Tag Archives: Growth

family, love, Relationship

When The Familiar Changes

Fall is slowly approaching, and I can hardly believe another year is already drawing to a close.

There is something about this season that makes change impossible to ignore. The air grows cooler. The days become shorter. The trees begin releasing leaves they spent months growing.

Everything familiar begins to change.

Perhaps that is why this season feels so fitting for where I am right now.

So much has happened lately—some of it painful, some of it confusing, and much of it beyond my control. I find myself hoping these final months of the year will bring a little more light into my life and into the lives of those around me.

My uncle was deported back to Laos, leaving my aunt alone and uncertain about what the next chapter of her life will look like.

I want to help her.

I want to guide her away from choices that may bring her more pain. Lately, she has been returning to some of her reckless ways and surrounding herself with friends who may not be the best influence on her.

I want to remind her that she deserves better.

But she is a grown woman, and I cannot choose her path for her.

That has been difficult for me to accept. When I see someone I love struggling, my first instinct is to step in and fix whatever is hurting them. But there are some lessons we cannot learn on another person’s behalf, and some decisions we cannot make for them.

All I can do is remind her that she is loved, support her when she allows me to, and pray that she will find happiness within herself again without losing who she is along the way.

I also found out that my little flower moved this past weekend.

He used to live across the street from my aunt. Whenever I visited her and saw his car outside, I would breathe a small sigh of relief knowing he was home and safe.

It was such a small and ordinary part of my life that I never considered how much I would notice its absence.

Sometimes, when I was in the area and the weather was bad, I would leave a note on his windshield reminding him to drive safely. Although, knowing the Minnesota wind, I still have no idea whether he ever found them or if they disappeared sometime during the night. 😂

I haven’t had the chance to catch up with him yet, so I don’t know where he moved. After a recent awkward incident, I also wasn’t sure whether it was the right time to reach out and ask if he needed help.

So I will allow the distance to be what it is for now.

I trust that we will eventually move beyond the awkwardness and find our way back to an easier friendship. Until then, I will simply hope he is safe and settling peacefully into wherever life has carried him.

With both my aunt and my little flower leaving that neighborhood, a place I had grown so accustomed to visiting suddenly feels different. That familiar little corner of my life has changed, and I know I probably will not find myself there nearly as often.

It is strange how a place can remain exactly where it has always been and still no longer feel the same.

Over the weekend, I also attended a friend’s wedding and reconnected with one of my old YSA friends. She is the daughter of one of the grandmas from church who is now battling stage-five kidney disease.

I love that grandma so much.

Seeing her daughter brought me back to the first year I met her at church and how quickly I came to enjoy her sense of humor. So much time has passed since then, yet part of me still remembers her exactly as she was when our paths first crossed.

Now I find myself facing the possibility of losing another grandma.

I am working on arranging a time for some of the Relief Society sisters and me to visit her. Last Christmas, she was one of the members we visited when the missionaries went caroling. She was already growing weaker, but she was still well enough to sit with us and enjoy our company.

It breaks my heart to think about how much can change in less than a year.

Over time, the people I have met through church have become more than familiar faces I see on Sundays. Somewhere along the way, they became my family.

Perhaps that is why the possibility of losing them hurts so deeply.

I hope I will have more time with her. I have even considered taking the girls to visit her for one of our upcoming Young Women activities. Sometimes the most meaningful thing we can offer someone is our presence—a little time, conversation, and reassurance that they have not been forgotten.

My Young Women president is also enduring another painful loss. Her father-in-law passed away this past weekend and her family has not even held the funeral for her own father yet.

One grief has arrived before the first has had time to settle.

There is already so much weighing upon her heart, and I pray that the storm surrounding her family will calm soon.

Part of me longs for life to return to those peaceful, ordinary weeks when we can simply feel the Spirit and save the restless battles for another day.

But life does not always give us time to prepare for what is coming.

Sometimes change arrives gradually, like autumn settling over the trees.

Other times, it enters without warning and leaves us trying to understand how everything became so different so quickly.

I was reminded of that again during another conversation at the wedding. A friend told me something about my ex that shocked me so deeply that my mind went completely blank.

As I drove home, I could not stop thinking about what she had said. I kept wondering how differently my life might have unfolded if I had known then what his niece now says he did to her.

I am still struggling to process it.

His niece also says that she told me about it at the time, that I disregarded what she said, and that I continued dating her uncle anyway.

But I have no memory of that conversation.

Something so serious is not something I believe I would have knowingly dismissed or easily forgotten. If I had understood that she was telling me something of that magnitude, I know I would have confronted him.

I don’t understand why she remembers telling me when I cannot remember being told. Part of me wonders whether she now sees me as someone who knew what happened and simply chose not to care.

That possibility hurts because it is not who I am.

At the same time, I do not want my confusion over what I was or was not told to diminish the seriousness of what she says she experienced. Her pain deserves to be taken seriously, even as I struggle to reconcile her memory with my own.

I am left with questions I may never be able to answer.

What did I know?

What did I fail to understand?

How differently would I have acted if the truth had been clear to me then?

Perhaps one of the most painful parts of looking backward is realizing that the past cannot always give us the clarity we seek. We replay conversations, question our memories, and search for signs that only seem visible now because we are viewing them through a different lens.

But no matter how many times I revisit what happened, I cannot return to the past as the person I am today.

I can only decide what I will do with what I know now.

Recently, it feels as though so many parts of my familiar world have begun shifting at once.

My aunt is facing a future she never expected.

My little flower has moved beyond the familiar place where I once knew how to find him.

Someone I love is growing weaker.

Another family is carrying more grief than seems fair.

And a past I thought I had already left behind has returned with questions I do not know how to answer.

My instinct is to reach for everything at once—to rescue, protect, understand, and restore each situation to what it was before.

But perhaps that is not what this season is asking of me.

Fall does not try to preserve everything exactly as it was.

The trees release their leaves.

The flowers return to the earth.

The daylight slowly fades.

Nothing remains unchanged, yet the season is not without purpose.

Perhaps change does not always mean that something has been lost forever. Sometimes it simply means life is moving into a form we do not yet recognize.

With the year drawing to a close, I pray these final months will bring gentler days to all of us.

I pray that my aunt will find the courage to build a life that brings her peace.

I pray that my little flower will be safe wherever life has planted him.

I pray that those who are sick will feel surrounded by love and that those who are grieving will find moments of rest within their storms.

I pray for truth to bring clarity where the past has left confusion.

And for myself, I pray for the wisdom to recognize what I can change, the humility to accept what I cannot, and the faith to trust God with everything I do not yet understand.

Perhaps that is what this season is here to teach me.

Not how to keep everything from changing, but how to remain grounded when it does.

Not how to return life to what it once was, but how to trust that light can still be found in whatever comes next.

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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