There are people reading this who have dreams that have not been realized, expectations that haven’t been met. Others have experienced divorce, miscarriages, infertility, infidelity, homelessness, and job loss. Some of us have buried lovers, buried children, buried parents, buried sisters. When we find ourselves in these moments, we often ask, Why? Why does suffering happen? Why is sorrow in my life? What did I do? Why is God doing these things to me?

On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization officially declared that the COVID-19 virus was a global pandemic. The next day, President Russell M. Nelson closed every temple in the world, canceled all church events including local sacrament meetings and even one-to-one ministering visits, and started chartering flights to return missionaries to their home countries immediately.

On a January morning in Wisconsin with temperatures in the single digits, I pull up at 8 a.m. to my work at a community nonprofit that focuses on creating food and housing stability.

I had a dream once. I saw myself standing alone on a rocky cliff above the ocean with wind and rain raging all around me, while the waves crashed high enough to almost reach me. I saw many shades of gray – the sky, the water, the leafless trees, even the cabin in the distance. All gray. The only color was my purple fleece jacket, getting darker as it absorbed more water from the rain and the ocean spray.

I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a convert from being an active member of the Catholic church in 2017 at the age of 35. The prompting from the Spirit that began my investigating the Church was to read the Book of Mormon. There are so many incredible chapters, verses, lines, and phrases in The Book of Mormon that have built my testimony, strengthened my faith, and have edified and tutored me by the Spirit.

They come from Eritrea, Thailand, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan, Iran, and Afghanistan – mostly Afghanistan. None of the countries in which my faltering but growing Spanish would be useful. And no, Duolingo doesn’t offer Pashto lessons – I checked. I wish I could at least say hello.

As a teenager, I would enjoy my own “silent, holy night” after my parents and sisters had gone to bed in December. After turning off every other light in the house and plugging in the Christmas tree lights, I’d sit on the couch facing the tree and bask in the glow of tiny white bulbs illuminating each branch and unique ornament.

I remember watching my grandfather bake pie crust for garden rhubarb pie and fluffy white rolls for our monthly family dinner. My memories of those days recall the joy of companionship with my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents–a shared sense of belonging indistinguishable from the pleasure of “Grandpa Rolls.”

A few years ago, my mother gifted me one of our favorite books for Mother’s Day. She inscribed it, “For Rachel, my traveling companion.” When I began my own travels away from her as a young adult, she would often stuff a card for me in my suitcase that I would discover later. It helped me feel close to her, and like I was brave enough to have my own adventures knowing she was still with me.

Many Christian institutions imply a uniform historical tradition of women in supportive roles; however, recent biblical scholarship reveals that women held many authoritative positions in the early Christian community. In Christian theology and biblical discussion, it is commonly perceived that women were not commissioned or given ministerial authority from Christ, but a deeper analysis of Mary Magdalene may challenge this theory.

As anyone that has sung in a ward choir I’ve directed knows, I love a good praise song. I find exuberant harmony, declarations of God’s goodness, and a joyful “Hallelujah” irresistible. I may have even had the primary children hold neon scarves and shake musical instruments while we paraded around the primary room singing “Praise to the Man” when I was the primary music leader.

As we approached 2022, I felt worried and intimidated. After the last three years studying Come, Follow Me, I felt a close connection with those books of scripture that I simply did not think I would have with the Old Testament. To add to this, I was asked to give a talk about the importance of the Old Testament.

Although the conversation happened several years ago now, I still think of it often. While serving in a leadership role, I was meeting with another church leader. We had been discussing several women who had left the church or who stood on the very precipice of leaving. Although each woman had her own circumstances, a deep-seated concern with gender inequities at church was a central thread in their unconnected stories.

As a young adult, I began to identify as a feminist while remaining an active member of the church. I clung to and cherished the gospel truths I had been taught as a young child, while also choosing to ask questions and consider different perspectives through a feminist lens.

When I was a baby, I was adopted by two wonderful, loving parents. I was given love, safety and security, and every opportunity to grow. My talents and abilities were fostered and encouraged. I really could not have asked for a better life, and how the Lord had guided me and protected me through that vulnerable time as a baby and led me to parents who would also guide me and protect me.

There is a Bible story you won’t be learning about this year as part of Come Follow Me and Sunday School. It’s the story of the Woman of Thebez found in the ninth chapter of Judges. I see this oversight as a tragedy. This single chapter of the Old Testament contains incredible imagery relating to prophecies in the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price, Isaiah, and the New Testament.

“Pilate . . . said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born” (John 18:37).

The first person to whom Jesus announced his ministry (at least recorded for us) was the woman at the well. When Bethany Brady Spalding and I were writing our Girls Who Choose God for the Bible, we had to sift through a lot of options, but this one was a shoo-in.

One hand guiding the soft wooden casket, the other hanging awkwardly by my side, I shuffled next to my cousins and siblings, guiding my grandmother to a place of honor for her last mass.

Several years ago, a friend and I signed up for a triathlon. Neither of us had ever completed one before. In fact, neither of us had ridden a bike much since we were kids or had swum in a lake more than just splashing around. Over the next six months, we swam, biked, and ran. We purchased wetsuits and tri shorts and put together training schedules.