Wherein I wax philosophical

Here is what I am thinking about:

This weekend is General Conference. I love Conference weekend. It means lots of jammy-wearing relaxation, family breakfasts, and late-afternoon naps, to say nothing of spiritual enlightenment. It is refueling, both physically and spiritually.


Six months ago, I spent many of the sessions gazing at my small, not-yet-mobile daughter in wonder. Last year at this time, my belly was swollen and heavy with the weight of her. Half a year before that, I was throwing up my oatmeal while the tiny Floyd fetus inside me grew. I can measure my life in these even chunks--- April, October. April, October.


It was meant for me. I hear this often in the weeks following conference. It was just what I needed.


I have often figured that it was more the spirit of the meeting that speaks to the individual than the speaker. After all, with millions of listeners, surely the topic cannot be directed toward only one person. It is the truth of it that serves as a balm; the Spirit highlights, pulling and illuminating pieces specific to the listener.


Comforting, teaching, answering, guiding.


I know this is true.


And also:


Perhaps the content is just what we need, too. And the reason it can be “just what I needed” for many of us simultaneously is because we are not as different as we think we are. Sure, the details, the circumstances, the particulars vary, but maybe the heart of it all is much more universal.


I hurt, I want, I need. Help me.


And that is why I intend to listen for both--what the Spirit teaches, and what the speaker teaches--because I am not that different.