Category Archives: Faith

Faith, love, Speech, Spiritual, stories

Love Is Spoken Here

I wrote about Elder Gerrit W. Gong’s talk, “Love Is Spoken Here,” a few weeks ago, and this past Sunday, I felt inspired to revisit it for my sacrament meeting talk—hopefully my last one of the year. 😆 Just documenting another talk for the record!

Brother Chue Feng messaged me on Thursday while I was staring at my work screen at the office, and I thought, “Hmm, he wrote ‘Hey Angela’ with a question mark? What could it be?”

And of course he asked me to give a talk today.

So here I am.

He told me that because it was short notice, if I already had something in mind, I could speak on it. Otherwise, he had a topic for me.

At the time, there actually was something I’d been pondering over the last few days, so I confidently told him, “I have something in mind.”

And then later that evening, as I lay in bed, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

So I went back through my blog and was inspired by a post I had written after a thought came to me rather randomly while I was making my niece learn Primary songs a few weeks ago.

One of the songs I was having her learn was “Love Is Spoken Here,” which reminded me of Elder Gerrit W. Gong’s General Conference message with the same title. It’s from the October 2023 General Conference, so if you missed it, I invite you to go back and listen to it. He shared a beautiful message.

And it got me thinking about the different ways we say, “I love you.”

Some people say it easily. Some show it through service or by remembering the little things. And my favorite—some show it by making sure you’ve eaten. 

And some people may never say very much at all, but somehow, you still know.

And that made me wonder:

How does Heavenly Father say, “I love you”?

And maybe more importantly, do we always recognize it when He does?

In his message, Elder Gong speaks about different languages of gospel love, including “the language of warmth and reverence, the language of service and sacrifice, and the language of covenant belonging.”

I love the idea that love can have a language, because language is more than words.

We communicate through what we do—through how we treat one another, whether we listen, whether we remember, and whether we stay.

And I think Heavenly Father often communicates His love in those same quiet ways.

There have been times in my life when I’ve prayed expecting an obvious answer. I wanted Heavenly Father to tell me exactly what to do. I wanted something unmistakable.

And sometimes the answer came.

But other times, nothing dramatic happened.

Instead, someone checked on me.

A scripture suddenly meant something different.

Someone said something at church that I needed to hear.

An opportunity to serve came when I was too focused on my own problems.

Or there was simply enough peace to take another step forward.

Looking back, I can see that there were times I thought Heavenly Father was silent when He had actually been speaking to me all along.

I just hadn’t learned His language yet.

When I look at the Savior’s ministry, one thing that stands out to me is how often Jesus noticed individuals.

He noticed people others overlooked—the sick, the grieving, the lonely, the rejected, the sinner, and the child.

He didn’t simply see crowds.

He saw people.

And I think there is something sacred about helping another person know that they matter.

King Benjamin taught in Mosiah 2:17:

“When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

This connects beautifully with what Elder Gong calls “the language of service and sacrifice.”

Service can be such a powerful language of love because it teaches us to look beyond ourselves and notice people the way the Savior does.

And when we hear the word service, we might imagine something organized—a service project, an assignment, or a meal being delivered.

But service can also be incredibly ordinary.

It can be sitting beside someone who came to church alone.

Sending a message when someone comes to mind.

Listening without immediately trying to fix everything.

Helping without being asked.

Or simply noticing when someone doesn’t seem like themselves.

On the week of Christmas last year, I had an opportunity to experience that kind of simple service when I went caroling with the missionaries to a couple of families.

And we’re hoping to do it again this year, so stay tuned. 

We went from home to home singing Christmas hymns. We weren’t doing anything extraordinary. We were simply showing up at people’s doors with Christmas music—and probably some imperfect singing from all of us. 

But looking back, I don’t think the most important part was how well we sang.

It was that we thought of them and went to visit.

Each time someone opened their door, there was a simple message underneath what we were doing to remind them that:

“We remembered you.”

“We wanted to see you.”

“You are part of us.”

And just this week, I was reminded of that same kind of love in a different way.

Some of our Young Women and Relief Society sisters went to visit one of our church grandmas, Sister Pa Vang—or as many of us call her, Tais Paj.

She hasn’t been feeling well, and her daughter mentioned that she would appreciate it if some of us sisters visited.

So we did.

We couldn’t take away what she was going through or fix everything.

But we could be there when she needed comfort.

A few days before, I had encouraged our Young Women to learn a little Hmong phrase or sentence before the visit so they could share it with her and uplift her.

We haven’t quite accomplished that part yet, so girls, we’ll have to try again next time. 😆

But as I’ve been thinking about “Love Is Spoken Here,” I realized how fitting that little assignment was.

Sometimes love really is spoken in another language.

But what matters even more is the effort behind the words.

Someone cared enough to learn them—like our wonderful missionaries in the ward.

Someone cared enough to knock on a door and sing.

Someone cared enough to visit and sit for a while.

Someone cared enough to remember.

Both of those experiences reminded me that Heavenly Father doesn’t just tell His children that He loves them.

He lets us help Him show them.

The circumstances may look different, but underneath them is a simple message:

“You haven’t been forgotten.”

I think Heavenly Father sends that same message to us in so many ways—through a friend, a family member, someone in our ward, or even a prompting someone else chooses to follow.

We may never know when something small we do becomes an answer to someone else’s prayer.

I believe that’s one of the ways Heavenly Father speaks His love—through ordinary people who are willing to notice each other.

But sometimes we can recognize His hand in someone else’s life more easily than we can recognize it in our own.

If you know me,I love flowers, so naturally, one of the ways I’ve come to understand that is through looking at a garden. 😆

One thing I love about gardens is that they don’t look the same throughout the year.

There are seasons when everything is blooming, seasons when things are still growing, and seasons when the garden looks completely still.

I think our spiritual lives can be like that.

There are seasons when we feel very close to Heavenly Father. Prayer feels natural. Scripture feels alive. We recognize answers. We feel spiritually strong.

And then there are quieter seasons.

We struggle. We wander. We question. We become tired.

We may look at our spiritual garden and wonder what happened to everything that once bloomed there.

But if we looked at a garden only during winter, we might assume nothing was happening because everything seems dead.

Underneath the soil, roots remain.

Life remains.

The garden is simply in another season.

I’ve experienced seasons like that.

And one of the most important things I’ve learned as I’ve drawn closer to Heavenly Father again is this:

He never abandoned the garden.

Even when I wasn’t paying attention to Him, He was still paying attention to me.

Even when I couldn’t see growth, that didn’t mean He had stopped working.

Little by little, through scripture, prayer, covenants, service, and the goodness of other people, Heavenly Father reminded me that something can bloom again.

For a long time, I expected God’s love to arrive in ways I would immediately recognize.

But I’ve learned that His love can be much quieter.

It can be the strength to get through one more day.

Someone unexpectedly remembering you.

A prompting.

A correction.

Or simply looking back and realizing:

He was there the whole time.

And recognizing that has slowly changed the question for me.

Instead of only asking:

“How is Heavenly Father showing His love to me?”

I’ve started asking:

“How can Heavenly Father show His love to someone through me?”

Because I think that’s part of becoming a disciple of Jesus Christ.

We learn His language, and then we try to speak it.

We speak it when we forgive.

When we serve.

When we listen.

When we include someone.

When we choose compassion instead of judgment.

And when someone walks through the doors of this church wondering whether they belong, we speak it when we make room for them.

Near the end of his message, Elder Gong asks:

“Where and how does Jesus Christ speak to you in love? Where and how do you hear His love spoken here?”

At the beginning, I asked:

“How does Heavenly Father say, ‘I love you’?”

I don’t think there is only one answer.

His love may come through peace, through another person, or through a season of growth that we don’t understand until much later.

But I believe all of those answers ultimately lead us back to the greatest expression of Heavenly Father’s love:

His Son, Jesus Christ.

He is the greatest evidence that we have not been forgotten.

And because Christ has shown us what that love looks like, maybe there’s one more question we can take with us:

“When someone encounters me, can they feel it?”

Can they feel a little more seen?

A little more remembered?

A little more loved?

I hope our homes and our ward can be places where that love is spoken.

And I hope that when someone walks through these doors wondering whether there is a place for them here, they don’t have to wonder for very long.

I testify that Jesus Christ knows each of us personally.

He knows where we are, even when we feel lost.

He is patient with us in every season of our growth.

And through His grace, things we thought were lost can live again.

I’m still learning His language of love everyday.

I think all of us are.

And I hope that as we learn to recognize the ways He speaks His love to us, we can become a little better at speaking that same love to one another.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

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Faith, Reflections, Relationship

In The Service Of Love

Over the weekend, I spent time taking pictures of my aunt and her sisters-in-law. Although she appreciated the time and effort I gave them, she asked why I always seem to have so much energy to go out and do things for other people.

I thought about her question, and only one answer came to mind: I genuinely enjoy serving others. I may complain from time to time, but I find my greatest joy in serving the Lord by serving His children.

Interestingly, during Young Women class, one of my girls shared Mosiah 2:17:

“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

As we discussed the verse, someone asked, “Why does God want us to serve others?”

There were many thoughtful answers, but I felt that perhaps God asks us to serve one another so that each of us can feel loved. Although we cannot physically see Him, He often allows us to experience His infinite love through the kindness of another person. As His children, we become instruments through which His love is shared.

Who does not feel loved when someone sincerely cares for them? Sometimes it can be as simple as asking, “How was your day?” Other times, it may be a hug, a listening ear, or the reassuring reminder that someone has not forgotten us. What may seem like a small gesture could mean more to someone than we will ever know.

Perhaps that is why I try so hard to be there for people, even when they do not always bring out the best in me. I try to see them as God would and accept them as they are. Of course, love still requires wisdom and healthy boundaries, but I never want anyone to feel deliberately forgotten or left behind.

Perhaps my desire to serve and include others also comes from knowing how deeply it hurts to feel forgotten. Service is not always found in grand gestures. Sometimes it is simply remembering someone, making room for them, and reassuring them that they still belong.

I know what it feels like to be the friend who was not chosen, especially by someone I believed I was close to. That is why I try to be inclusive, even when mutual friends do not get along. I do not want to decide for someone that they cannot be present simply because another person may feel uncomfortable. I would rather be honest about who will be there and allow each person to decide whether they can set aside their differences for a little while to be there for me.

It saddens me when people feel that they must choose one friend over another. I never want someone I care about to feel as though they have to compete for a place in my life. If I invite them, it is because I thought of them and genuinely wanted them there. If their resentment toward another person outweighs their desire to be present for me, then perhaps that reveals something I must also learn to accept.

My faith has sometimes created a different kind of distance between me and the people I love. Because I no longer drink or party in the same way I once did, I am sometimes dropped from the invitation list or treated as an afterthought. That saddens me too. My choices may have changed, but my love for my friends and family has not.

At times, it feels as though the moment I chose a different way of living, I simply disappeared from their lives. Perhaps they assume I will no longer enjoy being around them or that I will see and judge them differently because of my beliefs. But I am still the same person who loves them. Choosing to live differently does not mean I expect everyone around me to make the same choices.

There have also been times when my beliefs were mocked, and I felt that I had to defend them. I understand that not everyone will share my faith, but I do not believe that anyone’s sincere desire to do good and become better should be ridiculed. We can believe differently without belittling one another. Respect does not require agreement.

I do not want another person’s feelings to determine how I treat someone I deeply care for. However, if that person repeatedly allows others to hurt me, excuses their behavior, or makes me feel at fault for the pain they caused, then I must recognize that as something different. Loving others does not require me to abandon myself.

That has been one of my greatest weaknesses—believing that everyone will love with the same depth and sincerity that I do, only to be disappointed when that love is not returned in the same way. Still, I do not want disappointment to harden my heart or take away my desire to serve.

I can love others while also protecting my heart. I can remain true to my faith without losing my love for those who live or believe differently. I can continue choosing kindness without endlessly pouring into relationships that leave me empty. When my love is not returned as I had hoped, I can move forward with peace, knowing that I gave what I could and acted according to the love God placed within me.

So, when I think again about my aunt’s question—why I have so much energy to do things for others—I believe the answer is simply love. It is not because serving is always easy or because my heart never grows tired. It is because I know how much it means to feel remembered, included, and cared for.

If serving others allows someone to feel even a small portion of God’s love, then I pray I will always have a heart willing to serve. I may not be able to love everyone perfectly, but I can continue trying to love them as He does—while trusting Him to teach me when to keep reaching out and when to place my heart gently in His hands.

Love,
Ang 🌸

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Becoming, Faith

Becoming Together

This month marks one year since I was called to serve as Second Counselor in our Young Women presidency, and I cannot fully express how much this calling has meant to me.

One of its greatest blessings has been watching my Primary girls grow into remarkable young women. Seeing them gain confidence, discover their gifts, and strengthen their testimonies has been a privilege I don’t take lightly. I pray they will continue choosing Christ wherever life leads them.

When I was first called, many of the girls were quiet and reserved. Then we spent a week together at youth camp, and something changed. It wasn’t only my relationship with them that grew—it was the way they began connecting with one another. The walls between “church friends” slowly disappeared as they laughed together, supported one another, and chose to spend time together outside of Sunday meetings.

That has always been one of my hopes for our youth. I want church to be more than a place they attend. I hope it becomes a place where they feel known, accepted, and free to be themselves.

Some of my favorite memories have happened outside the walls of the church.

Whenever we’d spend time together, I’d joke, “Today, I’m just another older sister. No leader hats today.”

Of course, my responsibility to keep everyone safe never changed, but I never wanted my calling to become a barrier between us. Some of the best conversations happened over food, during car rides, or while simply sitting together after an activity. I’ve learned that some of the most meaningful ministry happens in ordinary moments.

When I accepted this calling, I assumed my responsibility was to teach the youth. I didn’t expect them to change the way I see people.

In his General Conference message As a Little Child, President Jeffrey R. Holland reminds us that Christ placed a little child before His disciples because children possess qualities He hopes we never lose—humility, trust, sincerity, and love.

Serving these youth has reminded me that those qualities don’t disappear as we grow older. They simply become hidden beneath responsibilities, disappointments, and the expectations we place on ourselves.

Because of them, I find myself looking at adults differently. Instead of seeing people who should have everything figured out, I see individuals who are still becoming. We’re all trying to make good decisions with the understanding we have. We’re all carrying burdens others can’t see. We’re all hoping to become a little better than we were yesterday.

One unexpected blessing has been getting to know the young men alongside the young women.

The young women have shown me the beauty of openness. They laugh easily, encourage one another, and never hesitate to share what’s in their hearts.

The young men are different.

Their trust comes more quietly, and that’s what makes it so meaningful.

Recently, my brother and I took a few of them to watch The Odyssey. What I expected to be a simple movie night became something much more. They talked about graduating high school, uncertainty about the future, relationships that hadn’t worked out, and dreams they weren’t sure they could reach. They shared songs that reflected how they were feeling and opened up in ways I never expected.

Somewhere along the way, “Sister Angela” quietly became “bruh.”

I don’t think they realize how much that makes me smile.

They’ve reminded me that strength isn’t measured by having all the answers. Some of the strongest people I know are also the gentlest. They notice when someone is struggling. They ask how others are doing. They offer help without expecting recognition. They care deeply, even if they don’t always know how to express it.

If I could tell all of them one thing, it would be this:

Don’t rush.

There is so much pressure to know exactly who you’ll become, what career you’ll choose, or whom you’ll marry. But this season isn’t meant to be rushed. Learn who you are before trying to become everything for someone else. Build your relationship with the Savior. Learn to love the person Heavenly Father created you to be.

One of my favorite memories happened on the final night of youth camp.

One of the young men asked me, “Sister Angela, do you like us more before camp or during camp?”

I laughed before answering.

“Both.”

“I liked you before camp because I wasn’t constantly hearing my name every five minutes.”

Everyone laughed.

“But I loved seeing you during camp because I got to see who you really are. You laughed without worrying what anyone thought. You served one another without being asked. You encouraged each other. You were simply yourselves.”

That’s the version of each of you I hope never changes.

Looking back over this past year, I can honestly say this calling has given me far more than I have ever been able to give in return.

There have been disappointments. Not every idea succeeds. Sometimes plans change, and sometimes the work feels unnoticed. But those moments have never outweighed the joy of serving alongside such incredible youth. Every experience has taught me to listen a little more, judge a little less, and trust the Lord a little deeper.

To my young women and young men,

Thank you for trusting me with your stories, your laughter, your questions, your victories, and even your struggles. Thank you for letting me witness the incredible people you are becoming. You may never fully realize how much you’ve influenced me simply by being yourselves.

I’ve laughed with you, worried about you, celebrated with you, and prayed for you. Watching you grow has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

As you continue into adulthood, there will be moments when you question yourselves or wonder if you’re enough.

When those moments come, I hope you’ll remember this:

You are a beloved child of Heavenly Father.

You are loved more than you can imagine.

You are capable of becoming more than you can currently see.

Keep choosing Christ. Keep showing kindness. Keep lifting one another. Hold on to the goodness that already lives within you, even when the world asks you to become someone else.

Thank you for letting me walk beside you for this part of your journey.

I will always be cheering you on.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Love,
Sister Ang 🌸

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Faith, Reflections

The Language Of My Heart

I’ve often thought that the ten seasons I spent waiting would be my last. I never imagined another season would arrive—one where my heart would still find itself fluttering. Sometimes I wonder if heaven has taken pity on me, or if it is gently leading me into yet another season of trials and refinement.

Ever since I stopped living obliviously and began paying closer attention—not only to the people around me but also to my own feelings and reactions—I have realized how much I have changed. I notice the way people treat one another. I recognize genuine kindness just as readily as subtle wounds. I have become more aware of my own words, my responses, and the condition of my heart. I find myself feeling deeper sorrow when others suffer and greater joy whenever goodness quietly takes root.

There was once a version of me that believed love meant giving until nothing remained. I lived to serve, often forgetting that my own heart needed tending too. I rarely stopped to ask what I needed because I was too busy making sure everyone else was cared for.

Years ago, I prayed that Heavenly Father would open my eyes—that He would allow me to see the world through a different lens. Looking back now, I believe He answered that prayer.

I also have one quiet soul to thank.

When I feared my heart would spend a lifetime grieving someone who never truly understood how much I had poured into us, another person entered my life. I still don’t quite know what to do with his presence except to call him my little flower—a gentle bloom that appeared in my garden without asking for anything in return.

He has been remarkably kind, thoughtful, and every bit the gentleman I once believed existed only in stories. I don’t quite know where to place such goodness within my garden anymore. It feels both unfamiliar and precious. I find myself praying that it is not simply a passing season, but that his kindness remains as enduring as the goodness of his soul.

What frightens me most is not him—it is what he has awakened within me.

The walls I spent years building to protect my heart have begun to crack, despite every attempt to mend them. I am afraid that the feelings growing inside me may never be returned, and so I remind myself to stand my ground.

If I were to take that risk, would he step away?

Or would he choose to draw closer?

It is a question I am not yet brave enough to answer.

For now, I find peace in the quiet friendship we have. I fear that one impulsive step could create a distance that does not exist today, and I would rather preserve what we have than lose it altogether.

Still, I cannot help but be grateful for him.

He has never made me feel like an inconvenience. Every time I have asked for his help or invited him to something, he has met me with a willing heart. His generosity is never loud, only consistent. How could I not be drawn to someone whose heart gives so freely?

There is something undeniably precious about him—so much so that I cannot bear the thought of him being hurt.

These past few days, I’ve found myself reflecting on our conversations and the ordinary moments we’ve shared. More than anything, I have come to admire the way he carries himself. He listens before he speaks. He pauses before making a judgment. He chooses understanding before assumption. In a world that often rushes to be heard, there is something profoundly beautiful about someone who is willing to slow down long enough to truly see another person.

The other day, I found myself returning to Elder Gerrit W. Gong’s message, Love Is Spoken Here. He taught that the gospel speaks love through three beautiful languages: warmth and reverence, service and sacrifice, and covenant belonging.

As I reflected on those three languages, I realized they were the very qualities I had come to admire.

Love is spoken in the way someone pauses before responding instead of reacting.

Love is spoken in the willingness to serve without keeping score.

Love is spoken in making another person feel safe enough to be themselves.

I think that is what has drawn me to him the most.

He has become a gentle balance to my own spirit—the calm to my haste, the reason to my emotion, the quiet to my noise. Where I often feel deeply, he grounds himself in careful thought. Where I instinctively rush to mend every broken branch in my garden, he reminds me that some things simply need time to grow.

That may be why my walls have begun to soften.

Not because he has tried to tear them down, but because he has never once asked me to.

He has simply stood outside them with patience.

Maybe this season was never meant to teach me how to fall in love.

Maybe it was first meant to teach me how to recognize Christlike love when I see it.

For now, it is enough that we remain exactly where we are: caring for one another without expectation, enjoying each other’s company without forcing what has not yet been written. Some flowers are not meant to be picked the moment they bloom. Some are simply meant to be admired while they grow.

And if this season is meant to become something more, I trust that heaven will unfold it in His own time.

Until then, I will simply be grateful that my little flower found his way into my garden—and that, after believing my garden had withered long ago, Heavenly Father reminded me that it was still capable of blooming.

I believe that is heaven’s answer to the prayer I offered years ago—not simply to let me see the world differently, but to let me recognize the many ways His love is spoken here.

Sometimes through scripture.

Sometimes through covenants.

And sometimes through the gentle character of one of His children.

Until my heart is brave enough to speak, I will let it remain where it has learned to flourish—in gratitude.

After all, before love is ever spoken, it is first received.

And perhaps that has been heaven’s quiet lesson all along.

Perhaps that has been the language of my heart all this time.

Love,
Ang 🌸

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