The Broken Window

When I was about 6 or 7 years old, I accidentally broke a neighbour’s window.
I don’t remember all the details, but after visiting my mum yesterday, she helped fill in a few of the gaps.
Her memory is that a group of us were playing outside and, for reasons that probably made perfect sense to those young boys at the time, we were throwing stones.
Then one of mine hit a neighbour’s ground-floor window. The glass broke, as did my courage and I ran home.
I can still remember the feeling all these years later: fear, panic and a strong desire to disappear before anyone discovered what I had done.
Of course, hiding didn’t make the broken window disappear.
Before long, our neighbour came to the house and spoke with Mum and Dad. I confessed, and mum recalled they paid for the repair.
I hadn’t thought about that story for years until I read Elder David A. Bednar’s message, “Therefore They Hushed Their Fears” in my Come Follow Me study this week.
He shared a similar story. As a young boy, he accidentally broke a shop window while playing with friends. Terrified, he hid under his bed, convinced that something dreadful was about to happen.
Childhood fears can feel enormous, but I think, adult fears can too.
The circumstances may change, but sometimes our instinct remains remarkably similar.
We can hide from difficult conversations, our mistakes, uncertainties and perhaps from things we cannot control.
Elder Bednar points to the people of Alma who found themselves facing a very real and frightening threat. Alma encouraged them not to be frightened, but to remember the Lord their God.
And then comes the lovely little phrase: “Therefore they hushed their fears.” – Mosiah 23:28
Their circumstances had not suddenly disappeared, and the danger was still real, but something changed inside them.
They remembered God.
Elder Bednar teaches that fear can be displaced by faith in Jesus Christ as we look to Him, build our lives upon Him and keep moving forward.
Perhaps that little boy running home all those years ago needed to learn something I still need to remember today: Hiding rarely brings peace, yet facing things does.
Making things right does.
And, above all, remembering Jesus Christ does.
I know there will always be broken-window moments in our life – things we regret, circumstances we fear, and futures we cannot clearly see.
We may not always be able to remove what frightens us.
But with faith in Jesus Christ, perhaps we can learn, little by little, to hush our fears.
What fear might become a little quieter today if we simply remembered Him?

Worth a Second Look

On a break the other morning in Perth, I took a brisk walk down the big hill beside the Aviva offices to get some exercise and fresh air.
As I rounded the corner at the traffic lights, I noticed a 10p coin on the ground.
I walked past it – it was just 10p after all.
Then curiosity got the better of me, so I went back and picked it up.
It turned out to be a 2019 James Bond 10p.
I had never seen one before and thought was it even real?
A quick check online confirmed that it was, and because it is one of the rarer ones still found in circulation, it could be worth around £10.
Not exactly a fortune, but definitely much more interesting than I expected!
I think I’ll hold on to it, simply as a curiosity. 😊
It also left me with a simple leadership thought.
In leadership (and in life), we are often moving quickly, oftentimes far too quickly.
There are conversations to have, decisions to make and plenty competing for our attention. In the middle of all that, it can be easy to move past something before we’ve really noticed what it might hold.
A second look might mean asking one more question, listening a little longer, inviting the quieter voice in, or revisiting an idea we had not fully explored.
Slowing down is so important.
Not everything valuable announces itself immediately.
Sometimes good leadership is simply having enough curiosity to slow a little and look again.
And perhaps that is what I liked most about finding the coin: I nearly walked past it because I thought I already knew what it was worth.
What might be worth a second look for you today?

The Courage to Answer

The photograph below was taken last week in Perth, with the latest cohort of our Lead the Way programme with Aviva.

It captures much of what I love about facilitating: warmth, laughter, conversation and people learning together.

But behind the smiles, there was also a great deal of thinking going on.

At various moments, I’d ask the group a question and the room would fall silent. People looked at their notes. Some stared thoughtfully into the distance. Others suddenly became fascinated by the pattern of the carpet!

I’d wait a wee while for a response—usually about three seconds.

Although, as a facilitator, those three seconds can sometimes feel remarkably like twenty minutes!

Yet I’ve learned that when someone doesn’t answer immediately, it doesn’t necessarily mean the question has failed. Quite often, it means the question is working.

They may be searching for words or examining something uncomfortable. They may be trying to separate the answer they think they ought to give from the one they actually believe.

That takes time.

My own experience of giving radio interviews and appearing on podcasts has reinforced that lesson.

When I am coaching or facilitating, I usually occupy the relative safety of the questioner’s chair. I can ask a nice, concise question, lean back and look thoughtful.

During an interview, however, I am in the other chair!

The presenter asks a short, apparently innocent question—and suddenly I am expected to produce an answer that is clear, concise, interesting and preferably finished before the programme ends.

Oscar Wilde observed: “Questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are.”

Muhammad Ali offered some reassuring advice too: “Silence is golden when you can’t think of a good answer.”

Perhaps—but silence feels slightly less golden when you are live on the radio!

All of this has reminded me that asking a thoughtful question takes curiosity; finding an honest answer takes courage.

The question may take only a few seconds to express. The answer may require us to look beyond our habits, explanations and carefully rehearsed stories.

Sometimes the first answer is the safe one, the second is the sensible one and then, after a little more silence, comes the honest one.

That is often where the real learning begins.

Rainer Maria Rilke counselled: “Live the questions now. Perhaps then… you will gradually come to live yourself into the answer.”

I know that some answers cannot be hurried, they simply need room to emerge!

What question might you need to give yourself a little more time to answer?

Unhurried

For years, one small phrase has found its way into much of my thinking, teaching and writing:
𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏.
I have come to believe there are things we notice about Jesus Christ, about others and even about ourselves that are very difficult to see when we are rushing.
A few days ago, Cooper Christensen came to stay with us. Cooper was one of our missionaries during our time in Belgium and the Netherlands, and over the last 3 years since his return home, this is the first time our paths have crossed in Scotland.
As we talked and reminisced, he told me something that made me smile.
At various moments in his life, particularly when things have been moving quickly, he has heard my Scottish voice in his head saying: “𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧.”
I’m not sure whether that is comforting or slightly worrying, but I loved knowing that such a simple thought had stayed with him.
Yesterday, another visitor arrived, our grandson Oscar.
We took him for a wander down to the Glen. Of course, when you are with a little boy, progress is measured rather differently. There are things to look at and things to pick up. Paths to explore and squirrels to feed. And, apparently, traffic cones that simply must be hugged.
At one point Monic looked at me and said something like: “Oscar helps you slow down.”
She was right.
Two visitors. Two very different stages of life. And somehow the same joyful lesson.

Peace and Rest

I thought again about Elder Patrick Kearon‘s wonderful recent message at BYU Education Week, Peace and Rest—Even Now. He acknowledged the importance of goals, plans and achievement, but invited us to consider what happens when they begin to consume us. His simple plea was, “Please, please slow down.”
What struck me most was his reminder that our Saviour Himself was not in a hurry. Jesus withdrew to pray. He noticed people. He rested. He sat with others. He created space for communion as well as service. Elder Kearon beautifully described discipleship as needing both service and stillness.
Perhaps that is what I have been trying to learn all these years.
Slowing down isn’t about doing nothing. It is about being sufficiently unhurried to notice what matters most. To hear, to see, to feel, to be fully present and to recognise the quiet promptings of the Spirit.
To enjoy two evenings of conversation with a former missionary who has become a dear friend.
To wander through the Glen at the pace of a little boy fascinated by a traffic cone.
Elder Kearon spoke of trusting “the slow work of God”—allowing ourselves to be unfinished while trusting that His hand is still at work.
Isaiah expressed it beautifully: “…in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.” Isaiah 30:15
So, this Sunday morning, I am grateful for two visitors who reminded me of something I have spent years trying to remember.
Sometimes heaven’s invitation is not to do more. Rather it is simply: 𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏.
And perhaps, when we do, we discover that our Saviour was already there. I must admit it’s been a great few days of slowing! 😊
What might you notice today if you slowed down just a little?

A Matter of Manner

Recently, Monic and I met with a doctor about a medical matter.
We left however feeling a little less reassured than we had hoped, not because we questioned his expertise, but because something in the conversation didn’t quite connect for us.
We also recognise that medical professionals carry pressures we cannot see, and that one brief encounter never tells the whole story. Even so, it prompted me to reflect on how much the manner of a difficult conversation matters.
The experience got us thinking about the phrase 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓.
It has very little to do with the bed and almost everything to do with the manner: how someone speaks, listens, asks questions, explains difficult things and responds to another person’s vulnerability.
And it struck me that bedside manner doesn’t belong only to medicine.

Leadership

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 leader has one too.
It shows up when we have to share difficult news, challenge someone’s behaviour, address poor performance, navigate uncertainty or simply sit with someone who is struggling.
There may be no hospital bed in the room, but the other person can still feel exposed, worried or vulnerable.
On our Lead the Way programmes with Aviva, we spend a lot of time considering leadership behaviours such as crucial conversations.
We explore respect, active listening, empathy and thoughtful questions. We consider not only what needs to be said, but how we help another person feel safe enough to hear it and able to respond honestly.
The image below looks like a professional toolkit—but it contains no ordinary instruments. Instead, there is an ear for listening, a question mark for curiosity, a speech bubble for honest conversation and an open hand for empathy and respect.
Expertise matters. So does authority. But neither automatically creates trust.
Whether we are doctors, lawyers, leaders, call handlers, coaches or colleagues, difficult conversations call for the same human tools.
Trust is often formed in the manner we bring to the moment: in our tone, our questions, our willingness to listen and the care we show when the conversation becomes difficult.
People may forget the precise words we use, but they rarely forget whether they felt heard, understood and valued.
What do people experience in the “bedside manner” you bring to crucial conversations?

Hearts Lighter. Minds Clearer.

Over the last few months, I’ve found myself listening to a few people once again in several coaching sessions – I love it!
Different conversations, different circumstances, different challenges and yet afterwards I noticed something very familiar.
Nothing dramatic had happened. I hadn’t produced a clever answer or found the perfect coaching question. Mostly, I had listened, asked a few questions, shared some observations, slowed things down and helped create some space for each of my coachees to think.
And somewhere in those conversations, something shifted for each of them.
Their challenges hadn’t necessarily disappeared, but somehow, they seemed a little less heavy.
𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒅 thoughts became clearer. Perspective returned and a way forward began to emerge.
Hearts felt a little lighter. Minds became a little clearer.
I’ve seen that happen so many, many times over the years, whether it be in coaching conversations, leadership programmes, workshops, mentoring sessions and frequently in quiet one-to-ones.
People often arrive carrying a lot: a difficult decision, a challenging relationship, an overwhelming workload, uncertainty about what comes next, or simply a feeling that something isn’t quite right.
I’ve learned that our instinct to fix things for people is rarely what they need most. Often, they simply need somewhere to think, someone who will really actively listen, so that they can be heard, and enough space for their own answers to emerge.
Empathy really helps.
That, for me, is at the heart of coaching and facilitation. It isn’t about having someone else’s answers; it is about helping them find clarity, possibility and the confidence to move forward.
My purpose has gradually become very simple:
𝑻𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒓, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑰 𝒈𝒐.
Perhaps that is one measure of good leadership too: Do people leave our conversations feeling a little lighter, thinking a little clearer, and seeing a way forward?
And if your own thinking feels a little tangled just now, perhaps a good conversation might help.
Sharing thoughts and emotions with someone you trust in a safe space, leads to actions.  Oftentimes, that’s where change begins.
I asked AI to help me capture what it can feel like when tangled thinking begins to loosen, unravel and clarify in a coaching conversation – see the image in this post.
Whose thinking could you help untangle simply by listening well?

One More Turn

Yesterday, I stumbled across this photo.
I received it three years ago from a group of sister missionaries serving with us in the Belgium/Netherlands Mission.
Behind their laughter were the daily rhythms of missionary life: praying, studying, planning, teaching and serving – then getting up the next morning to begin all over again!
The photo however, carried me back more than thirty years.
In July 1994, Monic and I were newly married and living in the Netherlands. Despite my limited language ability and in between my studies, I still had to find a part-time job; otherwise, even though I was married, I’d be deported! That was the law!!
The solution? A kaaspakhuis, or cheese warehouse, in Woerden.
Dutch cheeses are left to ripen for many weeks, sometimes for more than a year. To prevent them from drying out, they are covered with a yellow plastic coating, applied layer upon layer, and regularly turned so they mature evenly.
For several weeks, coating and turning cheeses became my work – row after row, with shelves stacked twelve high. It was heavy, smelly and repetitive.
Eventually, I became rather good at it.

Another Lesson

At the time, I thought the lesson was simply that repetition enhances learning. Yet, looking at this photograph again, I wonder if another lesson was waiting among those rows of cheese.
The cheese was not only being handled; it was quietly maturing.
One more layer was added. One more cheese was turned. There was no dramatic moment when everything changed, yet beneath the yellow coating, something was happening.
Now I know that’s how our spiritual growth takes place too.
We pray, study, worship, repent, forgive and serve – again and again. Perhaps God repeats certain lessons not because we fail to learn them, but because He is helping them become part of us.
Like those cheeses in Woerden and those sister missionaries faithfully living the routines of missionary life, we are shaped layer upon layer.
The scriptures teach us: “…be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” – Doctrine and Covenants 64:33
Heaven’s work is usually found in quiet, consistent goodness – not in occasional bursts of busyness that everyone can see.
It’s found in the missionary who offers another invitation, the parent who keeps loving, the friend who keeps listening and the weary soul who gets up and tries once more.
Nearly thirty years after I worked in that kaaspakhuis, these happy sister missionaries brought the lesson back to me. And now, three years later, their photograph has done so once again.
What quiet and repeated act of goodness may be shaping who you are becoming?

A Scotsman, a Tongan and a Hat

One of the funniest moments of our recent Mission Preparation Tour happened, as I stepped onto the coach one morning wearing my favourite cap.

Brad Wilcox was sitting near the front, spotted it immediately and said:

“Daryl, I like your hat.”

Without even thinking, I replied:

“It’s my favourite. You’re not getting it!”

Brad burst out laughing.

Now, the other mission leaders travelling with us were from Tonga, so Brad without missing a beat said: “What’s the difference between a Scotsman and a Tongan?”

There was just enough of a pause for me to wonder where on earth this was going.

Then came the punchline:

“He’d just give you the hat!”

That was it. We were gone. Absolutely helpless.

I’m not sure it did much for the international reputation of Scottish generosity, but it was one of those wonderfully spontaneous moments when the timing, the friendship and the sheer silliness of it all came together perfectly.

And every time I look at this photograph of Brad and me in Nauvoo, I think about that hat.

Thankfully, I still have it.

Brad still doesn’t. 😂

But perhaps there is a little Sunday lesson hiding somewhere in the laughter.

Paul reminded the Saints of the words of Jesus:

“…It is more blessed to give than to receive.” – Acts 20:35

The truth is that discipleship continually invites us to loosen our grip.

Sometimes on possessions, or our time, our opinions, comforts or convenience.

Perhaps generosity begins when we stop asking, “What am I going to lose?” and begin asking, “What could I give?”

Even if, apparently, the answer is your favourite hat!

Although Brad…

you’re still not getting mine. 😄

What is your “favourite hat” – the thing you find hardest to let go of?

Just Be There

At work, I’ve been thinking a lot about empathy recently.
Some new thinking began in an unexpected place, in the scriptures with Job, a few days ago.
In Job 2:13, after hearing of all that had happened to him, his friends came and sat with him: “So they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him.”
Seven days of silence might be taking things a little too far!
Notice that his friends didn’t arrive with answers or try to explain his suffering.
They simply sat with him.
Reflecting on that, it led me to explore an idea used particularly in military chaplaincy — the ministry of presence.
At its heart, it’s really simple: sometimes our most valuable contribution is not what we say or do, but our willingness to remain present with another person in a difficult moment.
Presence can matter more than explanation.
For years, I thought empathy was about trying to walk in someone else’s shoes — attempting to understand exactly what they were feeling and seeing the world from where they stood.
Now, I am not so sure anymore.
Perhaps empathy is less about walking in someone’s shoes and more about walking beside them — and noticing just how worn their shoes have become.
It reminded me of something that happened a number of years ago.
One day my boss walked into my office in London crying.
This was completely out of character. She was a strong, capable person, and it was obvious that something had deeply upset her.
I had no idea what to say or do.
So I didn’t say anything.
I simply stood up and gave her a hug.
That was it.
Years later, when our paths crossed again, she mentioned that moment and expressed thanks.
I’d almost forgotten it, but she hadn’t.
And perhaps that is one of the things I am learning about empathy.
We don’t always need the right words or need to understand everything.
Sometimes the greatest gift we can offer another person is simply our presence.
To sit beside them.
To notice.
To stay.
And if appropriate, every now and again, perhaps just to give them a hug.
Who in your life might not need your answers right now, but simply your presence?

A Pinprick of Light

Like many others, I got caught up in solar eclipse fever on Wednesday evening.

After watching the early evening BBC news – much of which was dominated by the excitement of the eclipse across the UK, I decided I ought to join in.

Monic and I were staying at the Preston Temple for a few days, so naturally I reached for the most obvious piece of scientific equipment available to me – a colander!

Out into the evening sunshine I went, holding it over a sheet of paper, watching dozens of tiny crescent-shaped images appear.

Later, Monic and I walked up towards the temple and were surprised to find quite a crowd gathered outside.

It was fascinating, as there were all sorts of wonderful contraptions in operation. Cardboard boxes had been adapted into viewing devices. Pieces of paper were being held at unusual angles. Advice was being freely dispensed to anyone who looked remotely interested.

There was, however, a real shortage of actual eclipse glasses.

For a few minutes, the temple grounds seemed to have turned into an impromptu science fair.

Then I spotted my favourite method of the evening.

One dear friend took a safety pin and made a tiny pinprick through her temple recommend, using the little hole to catch an image of the eclipse.

As I looked more closely, I noticed the image of Jesus Christ on the recommend.

And in that small moment, something shifted for me. What had begun as something fun and light-hearted became a little more meaningful.

Thoughts Change…

Here we were, standing beside a temple decorated with images of the sun, moon and stars, watching one of those great heavenly bodies pass in front of another.

The thought came quietly: Is there a God? Is there a Creator?

Bruce C. Hafen once used a striking image when considering that kind of question:

“What are the odds that a tornado spinning through a junkyard would create a Boeing 747?”

Alma gave his own answer centuries earlier when he said to Korihor: “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion.” – Alma 30:44

And perhaps that is part of what happened for me that evening.

The fun of the colanders, cardboard boxes and improvised contraptions gradually gave way to something quieter.

The Lord said:

“… Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. Treasure these things up in your hearts and let the solemnities of eternity rest upon your minds.” Doctrine & Covenants 43:34

Standing there beside the temple, watching the movement of the sun and moon, that phrase seemed especially fitting.

Perhaps, in the very act of Creation, our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ anticipated moments just like this, when generation after generation will look up at the sun, moon and stars and catching a glimpse of the wonder behind it all.

For a few moments, the solemnities of eternity really did rest upon my mind.

I don’t pretend that an eclipse proves the existence of God.

But for me, it certainly points towards Him.

The more we learn about the universe — its order, its laws, its movement and the extraordinary conditions that make life possible — the more wonder there seems to be.

What began that evening with a colander, a few homemade contraptions and a safety pin ended with a quiet reminder.

Sometimes the heavens really do declare something.

And sometimes all it takes to notice is a tiny pinprick of light.

What has caused you recently to look up, pause, and wonder at the hand of God?

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