PowerShell in the Windows World: Keep It, Kill VBScript

Picture me, a Workstation Engineer, chugging an "energy drink" in a chaotic corporate office when someone drops a bombshell: “Let’s disable PowerShell for all standard users!” They’re waving their arms, shouting about hackers and malicious scripts. I nearly spit out my Rockstar. Hold up, I think. Isn’t PowerShell the duct tape holding our automation together? Welcome to the great Windows admin debate: Should we lock PowerShell away from standard users, or is there a smarter way to harness its magic?

Spoiler: Banning PowerShell is like throwing out your toolbox because a wrench might be misused. It’s a terrible idea. PowerShell is the backbone of automation on Windows (and even other OSes with PowerShell Core), saving everyone’s sanity. But before we get to securing it, let’s talk about why disabling it is a disaster, why VBScript needs to be yeeted into oblivion, and how to keep PowerShell safe without breaking everything.

Why PowerShell Matters: The Automation All-Star

Imagine a data analyst—let’s call him Taylor—running a PowerShell script every Monday to crunch numbers and spit out sales reports. Five minutes, done. Without PowerShell, Taylor’s stuck clicking through spreadsheets for hours, cursing under his breath. That’s PowerShell’s superpower: It automates the boring stuff— file and folder management, report building and sending, inventory management, auditing, you name it. It’s not just for IT nerds like me; it’s for anyone who’d rather work smart than slog through manual tasks.

But power comes with risk. In the wrong hands—like some hacker or an overzealous employee—PowerShell can run rogue scripts or poke sensitive systems. So, some folks suggest locking it down for everyone but admins. Sounds logical, right? Nope. It’s a trainwreck waiting to happen.

The Case Against Disabling PowerShell: A Dumpster Fire Waiting

If I flip the switch and disable PowerShell for standard users, here’s what goes down. Brace yourself.

Productivity Tanks

Back to Taylor, our analyst. No PowerShell means they’re firing off IT tickets every week to run that report script. My inbox explodes, Taylor’s annoyed, and the sales team’s screaming about late reports. Multiply that by every employee who uses PowerShell for legit tasks, and we’ve got a productivity apocalypse. It’s like banning forks or spoons because someone might stab something—sure, it’s “safe,” but now we’re all slurping soup with our hands.

Admin Rights Nightmare

Here’s where it gets ugly. Taylor can’t run scripts, so they beg, “Just make me an admin!” Under pressure, I might cave and grant full admin rights. Now Taylor’s not just running scripts—they can install software, tweak system settings, or accidentally nuke the company database. That breaks my number-one rule: least privilege, where users get only what they need, nothing more. I’ve swapped a small risk for a massive security gap.

Shadow IT Sneaks In

Think users will just give up? Ha. Block PowerShell, and they’ll dig up sketchy third-party tools or write janky batch files. Suddenly, I’ve got zero visibility or control. It’s like banning cars to stop crashes, only to find everyone zipping around on knockoff scooters. The “fix” is worse than the problem.

Disabling PowerShell doesn’t solve anything—it just creates chaos. But before we fix it, let’s deal with an older, uglier problem: VBScript.

VBScript: Time to Pull the Plug

Now, picture another admin—call him Riley—leaning back and saying, “Why not just use VBScript? It worked fine for years!” I get it. Back in the day, VBScript was the go-to for automating Windows tasks—user management, file tweaks, you name it. But let’s be real: VBScript is a security nightmare and a relic that needs to go.

VBScript’s problems are legion. It’s got no real auditing, so tracking what scripts did is a guessing game. It’s a hacker’s playground—easy to exploit for malicious payloads. And it’s woefully outdated, lacking the muscle for modern IT environments. PowerShell was Microsoft’s answer, and it’s light-years ahead with robust commands, logging, and system integration.

So, what do we do with VBScript? Disable it. Completely. No nostalgia here. Using DISM (Deployment Image Servicing and Management), we can shut it down for good. Here’s how:

1. Open an elevated PowerShell Prompt.
2. Run:

   Get-WindowsCapability -Online -Name "VBSCRIPT~~~~" | Remove-WindowsCapability -Online -Verbose
   

3. Reboot should not be necessary but it's always a safe bet.

This kills VBScript. Why take the risk? VBScript’s a liability, and PowerShell does everything better. Riley might grumble, but modern IT demands modern tools. Let’s move on to locking down PowerShell the right way.

Smarter Security: Taming PowerShell Like a Pro

Instead of banning PowerShell, let’s treat it like a sports car: Add seatbelts, a speed limiter, and a tracker. Here are two killer ways to keep it secure while letting users do their jobs.

1. Signed Scripts: The VIP Pass for Code

PowerShell’s execution policies are like a club bouncer. They decide what scripts get to party. The top options:

• AllSigned: Only scripts signed by a trusted source (like my IT team) can run. It’s like needing a verified ID—no signature, no dice.
• RemoteSigned: Internet-downloaded scripts need a signature, but local ones run free. It’s looser, like checking IDs only for strangers.

When someone tries a script, PowerShell checks for a digital signature—like your phone verifying an app. Signed by us? Green light. Unsigned or from a sketchy source? Blocked with a “nice try.”

Why It Rocks: Hackers can’t sneak in rogue scripts. Even if they trick someone into downloading malware, it won’t run without our signature. I’d go AllSigned for max security—signing scripts takes effort, but it’s like locking your doors instead of hoping nobody breaks in.

2. Custom Profiles & JEA: PowerShell on a Leash

Not everyone needs the full PowerShell toolkit. A marketing manager doesn’t need server access any more than I need a flamethrower to toast bread. Enter PowerShell profiles and Just Enough Administration (JEA)—my dynamic duo for role-based control.

• PowerShell Profiles: These are like custom playlists, picking which commands (cmdlets) a user gets. For example:

  • Taylor gets file and data cmdlets for reports.
  • A helpdesk worker gets password reset tools, nothing else.
  • An intern? Maybe just Get-Help.

• Just Enough Administration (JEA): This is next-level. JEA lets me delegate tasks without handing over the keys to the kingdom. Think of it as a key that only opens the supply closet, not my office. Taylor can run their report script without admin rights or the ability to mess with anything else.

Why It Rocks: This nails least privilege. Users get what they need, nothing more, slashing the risk of chaos. It’s flexible too—I can tweak profiles for roles, teams, or even quirky one-offs.

A Day in the Life: PowerShell Done Right

Picture Taylor’s Monday with PowerShell secured, not disabled:

1. They fire up PowerShell to run their report script.
2. It’s signed by IT, so AllSigned lets it roll.
3. Their profile limits them to file and data cmdlets, so even if they try something crazy (like reformatting a server), PowerShell shuts it down with a “not on your list, pal.”
4. Report’s done in five minutes, Taylor grabs coffee, and I don’t see a single ticket.

Compare that to disabling PowerShell, where Taylor’s begging for admin rights or drowning in manual work. Which sounds better for my sanity?

The “It’s Too Much Work!” Complaint

You might think, “This sounds awesome, but isn’t it a pain to set up?” Yeah, signing scripts and building profiles isn’t as easy as flipping a switch. I’ve got to:

• Train my team on code signing.
• Map out roles and permissions.
• Test it all to avoid breaking workflows.

But the payoff? Huge. Fewer breaches, fewer admin rights disasters, and fewer users bugging me. It’s like installing a smart lock—takes an afternoon, but beats dealing with break-ins.

The Final Word: Keep PowerShell, Ditch VBScript

PowerShell’s a game-changer for Windows (and beyond with its cross-platform tricks). Disabling it to “fix” security is like banning pizza because someone might overeat—dumb and messy. And don’t get me started on VBScript—it’s a security sinkhole that deserves to be DISM’d into oblivion. Secure PowerShell with signed scripts and role-based controls instead. Your systems stay safe, your users stay happy, and you get to finish your Rockstar in peace.

Next time someone suggests disabling PowerShell, I’m grinning and saying, “Nah, let’s ditch VBScript and sharpen our PowerShell game.” Then I’ll hand them this article. They’ll get it.

Want to Dig Deeper?

• PowerShell Execution Policies Explained
• Just Enough Administration (JEA) Overview
• The Quest for Secure PowerShell: Navigating the Wild World of Just Enough Administration and Script Safety

Stop Treating Your Clients Like Lizards: Building Better Corporate Relationships

Introduction

We’ve all been there—trapped in a meeting with a manager who seems to have crawled out from under a heat lamp, blinking, demanding, and ready to strike. It’s tempting to joke that you’re dealing with a lizard person—cold-blooded, unreasonable, and likely to devour your sanity. But here's the catch: they’re not lizards. They’re humans. And often, they’re under pressures and constraints just like you.

In the high-pressure world of information technology, relationships with internal or external clients can make or break not only your day, but your project. When frustrations build, it’s easy to adopt an "us versus them" mentality. This article challenges that instinct and argues for a more mature, productive approach to difficult corporate interactions—one rooted in empathy, professionalism, and the principle of win-win.

The Dehumanizing Trap

Labeling people—especially as something subhuman like “a lizard”—is a psychological shortcut. It creates emotional distance and protects us from vulnerability or the discomfort of conflict. But it also blinds us. The moment we caricature someone, we reduce our ability to connect, understand, and serve.

Stephen Covey famously wrote, "Seek first to understand, then to be understood." That isn't just good philosophy—it’s sound strategy. In IT, where professionals often feel like order-takers or scapegoats, there’s a temptation to turn sour. But the client isn’t the enemy. They're the reason the job exists.

Quick Example:

I was in a meeting not long ago with a director and they advising me on how to deal with difficult clients. The conversation turned to emotional resilience and political navigation in tense environments. He told me, quite seriously, that in order to survive, you have to think of clients as lizards. This is not an exact quote but in essence he said, It’s how you protect yourself. You have to play the game. If you don’t, you’ll get eaten.

It struck me as an odd and even dehumanizing way to think about other people. I understood the sentiment—emotional distance as a shield—but something about it didn’t sit right. Given my own nature and upbringing, I could see that I simply didn’t share the same paradigm. I asked myself what it would mean to adopt that mindset. Would I become cynical? Would I stop listening to what the client was actually trying to say?

In our rush to resolve tickets and deliver fixes, it’s easy to dismiss client concerns—especially if they’re inexperienced or vague in their requests. But too often, those “vague” clients are just people placed in positions they’re qualified for on paper, yet without deep technical experience. They’re not lizards. They’re people trying to navigate a complex environment with tools they may not fully understand.

Treating them as “other” might feel protective, but it fosters distrust and disconnection. You can't truly resolve someone’s problem if you see them as beneath you, or as a threat. True professionalism—real collaboration—starts with seeing the person.

Understanding Their World

Every "difficult" person has a context—pressures, incentives, and blind spots that shape their behavior. Professionals in management roles are often juggling goals, KPIs, limited resources, and their own fears. When a manager is pushy or vague, it may not be because they’re inconsiderate. They may not know how to speak your language. That’s not malevolence; it’s misalignment.

So what can you do?

• Ask clarifying questions before jumping to conclusions.
• Look for their success metrics. Are they trying to hit a deployment deadline? Reduce costs? Impress a superior?
• Mirror their concerns in your language. (“It sounds like uptime is your top concern; here’s how we can minimize risk while addressing that.”)

This doesn’t mean surrendering your professional boundaries—it means aligning your efforts to support theirs.

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." — Maya Angelou

Communicating with Clarity and Respect

A major point of friction in IT-client relationships is communication. Technical professionals often assume clients understand more than they do—or they become frustrated having to "dumb things down."

It’s important to emphasize that if you're a technical person, it's perfectly okay to explain things in a technical way. That’s your language. The key is knowing when and how to pair that explanation with a relatable analogy or metaphor. This is especially useful when the client doesn't share your background, which is often the case.

Oftentimes, you'll find yourself not just solving a problem, but teaching others. Helping a client clearly understand what's at stake—and how a particular process works—can spark a more meaningful dialogue. In some cases, it may even prompt the client to rethink their request or rephrase it more effectively.

As someone who views the world through a technical lens, I know it can be difficult to relate those details to everyday comparisons. That’s where the principle of seeking first to understand before being understood becomes incredibly useful. Understanding what your client already knows—or thinks they know—about a given system helps you meet them where they are. From there, you can teach, clarify, or provide just enough insight for them to engage in a more thoughtful way.

There's no guarantee they'll respond well—but your respect in listening, paired with your honesty about the true impact of their request, builds trust and credibility. Respect goes both ways: respect to listen carefully, and respect to speak truthfully.

Here’s a more constructive approach:

• Speak plainly, not condescendingly. Don’t lecture; explain clearly and concisely.
• Use analogies or metaphors. If your client doesn't grasp DNS propagation, compare it to a message taking time to reach different outposts.
• Repeat back their concerns in your own words to ensure understanding.

This isn’t about playing politics—it’s about mutual clarity. Communication is the bridge to trust.

Reframing the Relationship

It's natural—especially in the corporate world—to think in terms of hierarchies. Many of us are taught to respect roles and chains of command through our schooling, careers, or military experience. That structure can be useful. It helps define responsibility and create order. But when it comes to solving real-world problems—especially in IT—it can get in the way.

When we treat clients as being lower in a hierarchy, we can unconsciously slip into thinking of ourselves as superior. We may even act like gatekeepers of knowledge, wielding our expertise like a weapon rather than a resource. But that mindset blocks collaboration, and collaboration is where real solutions begin.

Yes, you might be the subject-matter expert. And yes, your client might not fully understand the technical side of their own request. But your role isn’t to dominate—it’s to cooperate. The goal is shared success. The right frame of mind isn’t one of hierarchy; it’s one of partnership.

Changing your paradigm can lead to better conversations and better outcomes. Here are some ways to reframe common thoughts:

• From “They don’t get it” → “They see it differently.” Maybe I need to explain it another way. Or maybe I need to ask more questions to fully grasp their concern.
• From “This request is ridiculous” → “There’s likely a reason behind this request I haven’t uncovered yet.” Let me get curious instead of dismissive.
• From “I’ll just say yes to shut them up” → “Can I offer a better solution they’ll understand and support?” If I understand their real needs, I can guide them to the right answer—not just give them what they think they want.

Empathy doesn’t mean surrendering professional judgment. It means respecting the person enough to understand their point of view and working with them—not against them—to create a path forward. That’s how real collaboration happens.

Professionalism Means Emotional Maturity

Professionalism isn’t just about polished emails or meeting deadlines. At its core, it means being emotionally mature—choosing to act with restraint, clarity, and purpose even when others don’t.

Emotional maturity means you don’t lash out when misunderstood. You don’t escalate a situation just because you feel disrespected. You see the bigger picture: that your actions set the tone and direction of the relationship. It’s the ability to pause, listen, interpret, and respond—not just react.

It’s recognizing that your client’s urgency or frustration may not be personal. It’s their stress speaking. Instead of reflecting that emotion back at them, the mature professional offers steadiness. This steadiness builds credibility. It calms conflict. It fosters trust.

True professionals make space for dignity—even when it's not returned. They carry themselves in a way that invites others to rise. In this sense, emotional maturity is both a shield and a compass. It protects you from being pulled into petty conflict and guides you toward constructive outcomes.

And here’s the best part: it’s contagious. Show it enough, and even the most difficult client might just surprise you.

Conclusion

In corporate IT, you're not just a technician—you’re a relationship builder. While it may feel satisfying in the moment to joke about “lizard people,” it’s a trap that undermines your effectiveness. Instead, take the higher path.

Start with curiosity. Build bridges of communication. Seek win-win outcomes. And above all, remember that behind every frustrating interaction is a person—flawed, stressed, and perhaps more like you than you think.

Treat your clients not as reptiles to be handled, but as humans to be helped. You’ll not only be a better engineer—you’ll be a better coworker, leader, and person.

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"If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together." — African Proverb

Embracing Easter: The Journey from Sorrow to Joy

Easter is the heartbeat of our faith in the resurrected Jesus Christ, a celebration that pulses with the promise of life beyond the grave. It marks the moment when death was defeated, when the Savior rose, proving that no darkness is final. Yet, the joy of Easter is inseparable from the sorrow that precedes it—the agony of Gethsemane, the betrayal, the cross. This interplay of pain and triumph invites us to reflect on a profound question: why must we experience sorrow to know joy? Through scripture and the words of modern prophets, we find that sorrow is not a barrier but a bridge to joy, and it is Christ who makes this transformation possible.

Why does man need sorrow to understand joy? The Book of Mormon offers clarity through the prophet Lehi, who taught, "For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things" (2 Nephi 2:11). Without opposition, life would lack depth. Joy would be a flat note without sorrow to give it resonance. Lehi further explains, "Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy" (2 Nephi 2:25). The Fall brought mortality, with its struggles and heartaches, but it also opened the door to a joy that is more than fleeting happiness—it’s a state of being, refined through the trials we face. President Russell M. Nelson has echoed this truth: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” When we focus on Christ, our sorrows become teachers, shaping us for a deeper, lasting joy.

Sorrow gives joy its meaning by providing contrast. A life without challenges might sound appealing, but it would be like a melody without rhythm—lacking the cadence that makes it beautiful. The sting of failure sharpens the sweetness of success. The ache of loss deepens our gratitude for love. Sorrow teaches us empathy, resilience, and hope, carving out space in our hearts for joy to take root. But it’s not enough to simply endure sorrow; we need a way to transform it, and that’s where Christ comes in.

Easter is the story of Christ’s atonement and resurrection, the twin pillars that turn sorrow into joy. In Gethsemane, He took upon Himself every human pain, as Alma describes: "And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind... that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities" (Alma 7:11–12). He didn’t just pay for our sins; He felt our grief, our doubts, our loneliness, so He could lift us through them. On the cross, He endured unimaginable suffering, and three days later, He rose, fulfilling the angelic declaration: "Why do ye seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen" (Luke 24:5–6). This is the promise of Easter—not that sorrow vanishes, but that it is swallowed up in victory.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, in his BYU speech "Joyfully Receive the Unexpected Messiah," captures this beautifully: “True joy is not found in the absence of trials but in the presence of the Savior.” Christ’s life defied human expectations—a humble carpenter, not a conquering king—yet His path led to eternal triumph. Uchtdorf reminds us, “The unexpected nature of the Messiah teaches us to look beyond our preconceptions and embrace the divine surprises that lead to deeper joy.” The resurrection was the greatest surprise, transforming the despair of Good Friday into the hope of Easter morning. It teaches us that our own unexpected trials can lead to unexpected joys when we trust in Him.

Christ’s atonement doesn’t erase sorrow; it redeems it. He promised His disciples, "Ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy" (John 16:20). This isn’t a vague hope but a reality we can experience now. When we repent, when we turn to Him, He reshapes our pain into purpose. President Nelson has said, “When we choose to repent, we choose to change! We allow the Savior to transform us into the best version of ourselves.” Repentance is not just about correcting wrongs; it’s about letting Christ weave our sorrows into a tapestry of growth, where every thread serves a divine purpose.

This principle of opposition is woven into the human experience. Like a seed that must break open to grow, our sorrows—whether quiet disappointments or overwhelming losses—prepare us for joy. Without Christ, sorrow might feel like a barren wilderness. With Him, it becomes fertile ground, where every trial plants seeds of hope. As Uchtdorf teaches, “The Messiah often comes in ways we least expect.” Our moments of sorrow may be His gentle call to draw nearer, to discover a joy we could not have known without the struggle.

Easter’s promise shines brightest in this truth: Christ turns our winters into spring. His atonement transforms our deepest sorrows into sacred opportunities, and His resurrection—celebrated through 1,995 Easters since that first dawn—assures us that no pain is eternal. In Him, every tear becomes a prism for His light, every burden a step toward His embrace. He is the gardener of our souls, nurturing joy from the ashes of grief, and His living presence fills our hearts with hope that never fades.

Easter is a call to trust this divine alchemy, to see sorrow not as an end but as a beginning. It’s a reminder that Christ has walked the path of pain before us, carrying every burden so He could lead us to joy. Our focus on Him determines our joy. It’s His presence that makes joy real, even in the unexpected. This points to the heart of Easter—a Savior who lives, who loves, and who invites us to rise with Him. In Christ, our sorrows are not the final note; they are the prelude to a joy that echoes through eternity, a song of redemption that we are all invited to sing.

Appendix: Scriptural and References

📖 Scripture References

• 2 Nephi 2:11
  “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things…”

• 2 Nephi 2:25
  “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.”

• Alma 7:11–12
  “And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind... that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”

• Luke 24:5–6
  “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.”

• John 16:20
  “Ye shall be sorrowful, but your sorrow shall be turned into joy.”

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🗣️ Teachings of Modern Prophets and Apostles

President Russell M. Nelson

• “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”
• “When we choose to repent, we choose to change! We allow the Savior to transform us into the best version of ourselves.”

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf

• “True joy is not found in the absence of trials but in the presence of the Savior.”
• “The unexpected nature of the Messiah teaches us to look beyond our preconceptions and embrace the divine surprises that lead to deeper joy.”
• “The Messiah often comes in ways we least expect.”

Disaster Preparedness: Learning and Growing Together in Readiness

Disasters are unpredictable. Earthquakes do not send invitations. Wildfires do not wait for us to be ready. Floods do not rise on our schedule. When these disasters strike, they remind us how fragile life can be. But they also present us with a choice: will we face them unprepared and overwhelmed, or will we meet them with readiness, faith, and calm?

Today, I had the opportunity to attend a presentation on disaster preparedness led by Kevin MacArthur, the Assistant Emergency Manager for the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. His insights were both sobering and motivating. We were reminded that while we cannot prevent disasters, we can prepare for them. And, as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we have been counseled time and again that preparation is not just a practical measure—it is a spiritual principle.

At the start of the presentation, we were reminded of a promise from the Doctrine and Covenants, spoken through the Prophet Joseph Smith: “If you are prepared you shall not fear” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:30). This is not just sound advice—it is a divine assurance. When we take action today to prepare for the future, we can replace fear with faith. We can face the unknown with courage because we have done what we can to stand ready.

As I sat in the presentation, I realized something important: I still have a lot to do when it comes to preparedness. I am not an expert. I am a learner, just like everyone else in the room. But the more I listened, the more I understood that preparedness is not about achieving perfection overnight. It is about small, consistent efforts that build security and peace over time.

Family Preparedness: The Foundation of Readiness

Preparedness begins in the home. If we want to be ready for unexpected events, we must start with our families.

One of the first points Kevin MacArthur emphasized was the importance of having a family emergency plan. This plan should outline what to do in different disaster scenarios. Where will we go if an earthquake makes our home unsafe? What will we do if a wildfire forces us to evacuate? How will we communicate if cell service is down?

These are questions that need answers now—not in the middle of a crisis. I was struck by the simplicity of the solution: sit down with your family and make a plan. President Henry B. Eyring taught, “The Lord has commanded us to take care of our families” (April 2005). What better way to fulfill that responsibility than by ensuring our loved ones know what to do when disaster strikes?

The thought of gathering around the kitchen table to sketch out evacuation routes might seem tedious, but in reality, it is an act of love. It is an opportunity to strengthen our families by working together toward a common goal: safety and security.

Once the plan is in place, we must take it a step further—practice it. Having a plan is good; rehearsing it is even better. MacArthur suggested running through emergency drills so that each family member knows their role. This way, in a real crisis, panic is replaced by purpose.

Building a Supply of Essential Items

After establishing a family emergency plan, the next step is gathering emergency supplies.

I know that for many, the idea of stockpiling food, water, and emergency gear can feel overwhelming. Some might think, “I don’t have the money to buy everything at once,” or “I don’t know where to start.” But Kevin MacArthur gave simple advice: start small and build over time.

President Russell M. Nelson echoed this idea when he counseled, “Prepare temporally and spiritually” (October 2020). The Lord does not expect us to be instantly prepared for every possible situation. But He does expect us to take steps in the right direction.

Start with water—just a few extra gallons stored away. Add some non-perishable food items with each grocery trip. Slowly gather first aid supplies, flashlights, extra batteries, and other necessities. Preparedness is a process, not a single event.

I was reminded of Elder L. Tom Perry’s warning: “The Lord has warned us of famines, but the righteous will have listened to the prophets and stored at least a year’s supply of survival food” (April 1995). While having a full year’s supply is an admirable goal, even starting with a three-day or one-week supply makes a difference.

Beyond food and water, MacArthur stressed the importance of knowing where emergency supplies are stored. His personal story about his wife being unable to find the flashlight during a power outage struck a chord with me. What good is being prepared if only one person knows where things are? Preparedness should be a family effort, with each member equipped with knowledge and confidence.

Readiness Within Our Communities

Preparedness does not stop at the family level. A well-prepared family is a great start, but a well-prepared community is even stronger.

Kevin MacArthur emphasized the importance of checking in on neighbors, particularly those who may need extra help during an emergency. Who in our ward or community might struggle during a disaster? The elderly, single parents, those with medical conditions—these are the people who will need extra support.

President Gordon B. Hinckley once taught, “The best storehouse is the family storeroom” (October 1998). But what if our neighbors do not have a storehouse of their own? Sharing resources and looking out for one another is part of true preparedness.

Even something as simple as forming a text chain or neighborhood emergency plan can make a difference. When we strengthen the network around us, we create a safety net for everyone.

Spiritual Preparedness: The Anchor in the Storm

As we prepare physically, we must not neglect our spiritual foundation. All things—whether physical or spiritual—are spiritual unto God. (Doctrine and Covenants 29:34) This means that gathering food storage, setting aside emergency funds, or even practicing evacuation routes are not just practical exercises—they are spiritual acts.

Why? Because preparedness is an act of faith. It demonstrates our trust in the Lord’s guidance. It reflects our willingness to heed prophetic counsel. It shows our love for our families and our desire to be self-reliant so that we can serve others in times of crisis.

President Thomas S. Monson wisely stated, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past” (April 2014). There will come a day when the preparation we make today will be tested. Whether that test comes in the form of a natural disaster, an economic hardship, or even a personal crisis, we will face it with greater peace if we have done what we could to prepare.

Moving Forward with Purpose

Attending today’s presentation was a wake-up call for me. I have much to learn and many areas where I need to improve my preparedness. But rather than feeling overwhelmed, I feel encouraged. Preparedness is not about doing everything all at once—it is about taking consistent, meaningful steps.

Today, I commit to strengthening my family’s emergency plan. I commit to starting (or improving) my food and water storage. I commit to checking in on my neighbors and ensuring that our community is connected. And most importantly, I commit to spiritual preparedness, knowing that when we are ready in all aspects of life, fear has no place in our hearts.

Disasters will come. Trials will arise. But as we embrace preparedness with faith and determination, we will find ourselves standing firm. “If you are prepared, you shall not fear.” That promise is real. And as we take steps to prepare today, we will find strength, peace, and confidence in the days ahead.

The Everyday Practice of Hope: A Journey of Quiet Resilience

In the ebb and flow of daily life, there is a quiet strength in simply showing up—each day, with its challenges and small victories, becomes a canvas upon which hope is gradually painted. It’s not always the grand, sweeping gestures that define us, but the consistent, often understated commitment to be present, to engage, and to trust in the process of growth.

The Power of Small Moments

Every morning offers a fresh start—a chance to plant a seed of possibility. Imagine beginning the day with a moment of quiet reflection: a pause before the rush, a chance to gather your thoughts and set an intention for the hours ahead. It might be a few lines in a journal, a brief meditation, or simply sitting in silence while the world stirs to life. These seemingly small acts are the building blocks of a hopeful outlook, much like a single note that contributes to a symphony.

Over time, these little practices accumulate, creating a rhythm that can sustain us even during turbulent times. A kind word shared with a friend, a thoughtful gesture to a stranger, or a deliberate effort to listen deeply in a conversation—all these moments, though they may appear trivial in isolation, weave together a tapestry of resilience. They remind us that hope is not reserved for the few dramatic instances of triumph but is instead nurtured in the everyday acts of care and presence.

Embracing the Rough Patches

Life is not a seamless journey. There are inevitable days when obstacles seem insurmountable and when the path forward is obscured by doubt or disarray. It is during these rough patches that the decision to show up takes on profound meaning. When circumstances are less than ideal, when plans fall apart or emotions run high, there is great courage in continuing to engage with life despite the mess.

This resilience is not born from a denial of hardship but rather from an acceptance of it. It is about recognizing that setbacks and challenges are integral to the human experience—and that each moment of struggle carries with it the potential for growth. By confronting difficulties head-on, we learn to adapt, to adjust our approach, and to emerge stronger on the other side. It is in these moments of trial that our inner resources are refined, and the foundation of hope is solidified.

Finding Renewal in Quiet Spaces

There are times when our inner well seems to run dry, when the demands of life leave us feeling depleted and overwhelmed. In such moments, it is essential to seek out spaces of renewal—a quiet corner in a busy day, a moment of solitude amid the noise, or a familiar place where one can feel at ease. These spaces, whether physical or mental, serve as sanctuaries where we can pause, breathe, and reconnect with a deeper sense of peace.

Such moments of restoration are like resetting a system that has been running on empty. They allow us to clear our minds, recalibrate our emotions, and rediscover the quiet joy that comes from simply being. It is in these pauses that we often find clarity—a gentle reminder that even when our strength seems to wane, there is always a source of calm and renewal waiting to be embraced. This peace, though sometimes fleeting, is a powerful antidote to the chaos that can dominate our daily lives.

Building a Legacy of Resilience

Hope, when nurtured consistently, becomes a living legacy. Every decision to engage with life—every effort to maintain a positive outlook despite adversity—adds another layer to a resilient foundation. Think of it as a slow, deliberate process of construction: each small act of perseverance, every moment spent in honest self-reflection, and each time we choose to move forward, contributes to a robust structure built to endure.

This legacy is not measured by immediate, visible results but by the cumulative impact of countless little choices made over time. Much like an intricate tapestry, the threads of our daily actions—whether bold or subtle—intertwine to create a broader narrative of strength and hope. In moments of introspection, we may come to see that our most significant progress is not in the grand milestones but in the perseverance that carries us through each day.

The Unseen Impact of Persistence

There is a certain beauty in knowing that our efforts, no matter how small, ripple outwards and influence the world in ways we might never fully see. A supportive word offered to someone in distress, a silent moment of solidarity with a struggling friend, or the quiet habit of reflection can inspire others to persevere. The ripple effect of such actions is subtle yet profound, fostering a community of mutual care and support.

This interconnectedness is a reminder that our personal journey is also part of a larger, shared human experience. When we choose to show up consistently, we contribute not only to our own well-being but also to the collective spirit of hope that binds us together. Each act of resilience serves as a beacon for others, illuminating a path that others may follow when their own way seems uncertain.

Integrating Reflection and Action

While quiet reflection is invaluable, it is most powerful when coupled with action. The balance between contemplative moments and decisive steps forward is what truly sustains hope. In the midst of our daily routines, there lies an opportunity to blend introspection with purposeful engagement—turning reflections into tangible actions that bring about positive change.

Consider how the discipline of regular reflection can inform the way we approach challenges. When we take time to understand our emotions and acknowledge our struggles, we are better equipped to respond with clarity and compassion. This thoughtful approach can transform obstacles into opportunities, allowing us to navigate difficulties with a measured and hopeful perspective.

A Journey Marked by Quiet Courage

At its core, the journey of showing up is one of quiet courage—a daily commitment to face life’s uncertainties with a steady heart and a resolute spirit. It is about accepting that setbacks and failures are part of the process, yet choosing to press on regardless. This is not a call to ignore pain or to pretend that everything is perfect; rather, it is an invitation to embrace the full spectrum of our experiences, trusting that even in the midst of struggle, there is a profound and transformative beauty.

Every moment we choose to persist—whether through a thoughtful gesture, a reflective pause, or a determined step forward—we affirm our belief in a brighter future. Our journey is not defined solely by the challenges we encounter, but by the unwavering commitment to rise above them, to find meaning in every setback, and to nurture the seeds of hope that lie dormant until they are given the chance to blossom.

Embracing the Promise of Tomorrow

As we move through life, there is an inherent promise in every new day—a promise that our efforts, no matter how small, are paving the way for something greater. Each time we show up, we invest in a future filled with potential. It is an act of faith in the unfolding of our own story—a story where every line of effort and every moment of resilience contributes to a legacy of hope.

This forward-looking perspective is what allows us to see beyond the immediate hardships. It is a reminder that our daily actions, imbued with intention and perseverance, have the power to transform not only our present circumstances but also our future. Even when the journey feels arduous, there is a quiet assurance that each step is leading us toward blessings yet to be revealed.

A Call to Persist with Grace

The practice of showing up is, at its heart, an act of grace—a decision to embrace life fully, with all its imperfections and unexpected turns. It is an invitation to trust in the process of growth, to find solace in the moments of quiet reflection, and to draw strength from the gentle yet persistent rhythm of daily life.

Let this be a reminder that true hope is not an elusive dream but a living reality, cultivated through the dedication to small, deliberate actions. It is a call to remain steadfast in the face of challenges, to seek out moments of renewal even when the world feels overwhelming, and to trust that every effort, however modest, is contributing to a legacy of resilience and hope.

As you journey through each day, may you find encouragement in the simple act of showing up. May your quiet moments of reflection, your acts of kindness, and your steadfast commitment to move forward be a testament to the enduring power of hope—a hope that is built one day, one small step at a time.

Wrestling with God: C.S. Lewis’s Rational Path to Faith in Further Up and Further In

C.S. Lewis didn’t drift into faith like a leaf on a stream. He wrestled his way there—mind sharp, heart restless, a scholar and storyteller who refused to settle for easy answers. In Further Up and Further In, a play that brings his journey to life using his own words and ideas from his books, essays, and letters, we see him as a modern Jacob, grappling with the divine until dawn breaks (Genesis 32:24-30). The playwright weaves Lewis’s voice into the dialogue, sometimes quoting him directly, other times crafting lines that echo the spirit of his thoughts. An Oxford don turned reluctant believer, Lewis faced a world bristling with skepticism—war’s scars, science’s cold gaze, the ache of unanswered questions. Yet he emerged with a faith forged not in spite of reason, but through it, offering a map for anyone lost in the tension between doubt and belief.

This isn’t just his story; it’s ours. Today, when every headline of chaos or discovery seems to widen the chasm between us and God, Lewis’s path—vividly portrayed in the play—feels like a lifeline. He didn’t dodge the hard questions; he leaned into them, using logic, longing, and even pain as stepping stones. Along the way, voices of wisdom join his, their insights blending into the narrative like threads in a tapestry, deepening our understanding without pulling us from the flow. Together, they invite us to see our own struggles not as dead ends, but as doorways to something greater.

The Ache That Points Beyond

Lewis’s journey didn’t start with a sermon or a sacred text—it began with a pang. He called it longing, a sharp, sweet ache that beauty or memory could summon but never satisfy. As portrayed in Further Up and Further In, he muses: “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.” This line, drawn straight from his writings, reveals his logic: “Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: well, there is such a thing as water.” If we yearn for something no earthly moment can fulfill, doesn’t that hint at a purpose woven into us, a destination beyond the horizon?

Picture him on stage—pausing mid-step, gazing past the lights as if chasing that elusive something. It’s a scene that mirrors our own quiet moments, when the world’s noise fades and we feel a pull we can’t name. One thinker captured it this way: “The soul’s innate yearning is a yearning for home, a place where we belong, where we are understood, where we are loved.” Another voice adds, “We’re homesick for a place we’ve never been in this life, a sign of our eternal nature.” Together, these reflections frame longing as a clue, a whisper of design in our restless hearts.

In a culture that races to fill every void with distraction, Lewis challenges us to linger with that ache. What if it’s not a burden to shrug off, but a thread to follow? The play’s early scenes—Lewis restless, searching—become an invitation: lean into the longing. It might just lead you somewhere true.

Reason’s Stand Against the Void

Lewis wasn’t content to feel his way forward; he demanded answers. Surrounded by Oxford’s sharpest minds, he took aim at the idea that reality is nothing but atoms bouncing in the dark. In the play, he cuts to the core with a line inspired by his work: “If the materialist view is true, our minds must be merely chance arrangements of atoms in skulls. But if that’s so, why trust them to tell us what’s true—including the truth of materialism?” It’s a trap that collapses under its own weight. If reason works, he argued, it can’t be an accident—it points to a mind behind it all.

The stage crackles with these debates—Lewis pacing, words flying like sparks. His logic finds an echo in the idea that “the mind or intelligence we possess is co-equal with eternity itself.” Our ability to think, to question, isn’t a fluke—it’s a spark of something divine. Another voice chimes in: “The very existence of order and intelligence in the universe rebukes the notion of mindless chaos.” Step back, and the world’s coherence—love, beauty, the laws of nature—starts to look less random, more like a signature.

For Lewis, this wasn’t abstract. It was personal. He’d seen war’s wreckage, felt loss’s sting, yet found in reason a lifeline pulling him past despair. In a time when faith can feel like a relic under science’s glare, he offers a hand: belief isn’t reason’s enemy—it’s its ally. The play’s intensity here—Lewis dismantling doubt with a surgeon’s precision—dares us to test our own assumptions. What if the mind we use to question God is itself a gift from Him?

Pain’s Unexpected Voice

Lewis’s faith wasn’t born in comfort. It was hammered out in grief—war’s shadow, a mother’s death, the silence that followed his prayers. Yet he didn’t turn from pain; he listened to it. As the playwright declares in Further Up and Further In, echoing Lewis' words: “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” Suffering, he believed, wasn’t proof against God—it was a call to wake up. He even flipped the question: “The real problem is not why some humble, pious people suffer, but why some do not.”

On stage, you see it—Lewis hunched, wrestling with loss, then lifting his head as if hearing something new. It’s a shift others have felt too. One voice reflects: “The road through struggle always passes through a garden of agony, but because of that, it refines rather than destroys.” Pain as a forge, not a grave. Another adds, “Adversity bends iron into steel, tempering the soul for something lasting.” These ideas weave into Lewis’s own, painting suffering as a strange gift—a chance to grow, to align with a larger story.

In a world quick to blame God for every tear, this feels radical. Yet the play makes it real—Lewis’s grief isn’t a dead end; it’s a doorway. An old hymn lingers here: “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ’Tis not so; all is right.” Pain, then, might be less a wall and more a window. What if your hardest days are trying to tell you something—calling you to wrestle, like Lewis did, until you find the One on the other side?

Joy’s Fleeting Pull

Reason built Lewis’s bridge, but something softer helped him cross. He called it “Joy”—a piercing delight, half ache, half promise, sparked by a sunset or a line of poetry. In the play, he describes it with words rooted in his memoirs: “This intense, even painful desire—it feels like a delight, the pleasure called from the expectation that the desire will be fulfilled.” He reasoned: “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” Not escapism, but evidence.

The play catches these moments—Lewis still, eyes bright, as if glimpsing beyond the curtain. It’s a sensation others recognize: “The Spirit speaks in feelings we sense more than hear, a language of eternity.” Joy as a whisper from somewhere else. Another voice muses, “It comes as a pull toward something higher, a memory of what we once knew.” These threads tie to Lewis’s longing, suggesting that those fleeting stabs of beauty are invitations, nudging us past the visible.

In our rush to explain everything, Lewis slows us down. Don’t dismiss that pang when the stars align or a song hits deep—it’s a signal. The play’s quiet beats—Lewis lost in wonder—ask us to listen too. What if Joy is the heart’s way of saying there’s more to the story?

Faith as Reason’s Dawn

Lewis’s conversion wasn’t a blind plunge. It was a deliberate step, lit by logic’s glow. He wrote, and the play echoes: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” It’s a turning point on stage—hesitant, then sure, a surrender that feels like waking up. He didn’t ditch reason; he followed it until it met faith, a lens that made sense of the world.

This dance of mind and heart isn’t new. One counsel urges us to “seek learning by study and also by faith,” blending the two like roots and wings. Another elaborates: “Reason and revelation are twin pillars—neither stands alone; together, they hold up truth.” Lewis lived this, testing every doubt, praying through every question. A third voice adds, “Faith grows not by ignoring questions, but by seeking answers with both mind and heart.” It’s a path anyone can walk—slow, steady, honest.

The play’s climax—Lewis stepping into belief—feels less like a leap and more like arrival. In an age demanding proof, he whispers: faith can stand scrutiny. It’s not reason’s end, but its dawn.

A Story Just Begun

Lewis knew belief wasn’t the end. It was Chapter One. In Further Up and Further In, he dreams aloud with words from his fiction: “All their life in this world had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning the Great Story which no one on earth has read.” He stayed humble, aware the puzzle wasn’t complete. One reflection captures it: “We have enough pieces to know it’s a picture of beauty, but we wait for more to see the whole.”

He once said, “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing… to find the place where all the beauty came from.” A poet echoes, “The journey home is long, but every step sings of the destination.” Life, then, is a road—faith falters, questions linger, yet each mile matters. The play’s final image—Lewis walking into shadow—feels open-ended, urging us to keep going too.

Wrestling Toward Home

Further Up and Further In gives us Lewis unfiltered—a seeker who met doubt with reason, pain with courage, longing with hope. Like Jacob, he wrestled and found blessing. Voices join him—yearning as a compass, mind as a mirror, pain as a teacher, Joy as a guide—blending into a chorus that speaks to us all. Your doubts? They’re not the end. They’re the arena. Step in, wrestle, and see where it leads. Lewis did—and it brought him home.

Resources and Quote Sources

Below is a list of the quotes used in this article, organized by their order of appearance. The playwright of Further Up and Further In draws heavily on C.S. Lewis’s own words from his various works, though some lines are adapted or inspired by his ideas to fit the dramatic context. For clarity, quotes directly from Lewis’s writings are noted, while those crafted for the play are marked as such. Additional quotes from other thinkers are also cited.

1. “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”

   • Source: C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory (1941), p. 26.
   • Note: Used directly in Further Up and Further In to express Lewis’s view on longing.

2. “Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: well, there is such a thing as water.”

   • Source: C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (1952), Book III, Chapter 10.
   • Note: Adapted in the play to support Lewis’s argument from desire.

3. “The soul’s innate yearning is a yearning for home, a place where we belong, where we are understood, where we are loved.”

   • Source: Neal A. Maxwell, The Neal A. Maxwell Quote Book (1997), p. 158.
   • Note: Complements Lewis’s reflections on longing.

4. “We’re homesick for a place we’ve never been in this life, a sign of our eternal nature.”

   • Source: Terryl Givens, The God Who Weeps (2012), p. 12.
   • Note: Echoes Lewis’s concept of a transcendent home.

5. “If the materialist view is true, our minds must be merely chance arrangements of atoms in skulls. But if that’s so, why trust them to tell us what’s true—including the truth of materialism?”

   • Source: Inspired by C.S. Lewis, Miracles (1947), Chapter 3.
   • Note: Adapted for Further Up and Further In to reflect Lewis’s critique of materialism.

6. “The mind or intelligence we possess is co-equal with eternity itself.”

   • Source: Inspired by Joseph Smith, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith (1938), p. 353.
   • Note: Aligns with Lewis’s view of the mind as evidence of design.

7. “The very existence of order and intelligence in the universe rebukes the notion of mindless chaos.”

   • Source: Hugh Nibley, Approaching Zion (1989), p. 29.
   • Note: Supports Lewis’s argument for a purposeful universe.

8. “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

   • Source: C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (1940), Chapter 6.
   • Note: Featured in the play as Lewis reflects on suffering.

9. “The real problem is not why some humble, pious people suffer, but why some do not.”

   • Source: C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (1940), Chapter 6.
   • Note: Used in the play to reframe the problem of pain.

10. “The road through struggle always passes through a garden of agony, but because of that, it refines rather than destroys.”

    • Source: Jeffrey R. Holland, Broken Things to Mend (2008), p. 23.
    • Note: Resonates with Lewis’s view of pain as transformative.

11. “Adversity bends iron into steel, tempering the soul for something lasting.”

    • Source: Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Your Happily Ever After (2010), p. 15.
    • Note: Complements Lewis’s metaphor of suffering as a forge.

12. “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ’Tis not so; all is right.”

    • Source: William Clayton, “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (1846), hymn.
    • Note: Reflects a perspective on suffering akin to Lewis’s.

13. “This intense, even painful desire—it feels like a delight, the pleasure called from the expectation that the desire will be fulfilled.”

    • Source: Inspired by C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy (1955), Chapter 1.
    • Note: Adapted for the play to convey Lewis’s concept of Joy.

14. “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

    • Source: C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (1952), Book III, Chapter 10.
    • Note: Used in the play as a key insight into Lewis’s faith.

15. “The Spirit speaks in feelings we sense more than hear, a language of eternity.”

    • Source: Russell M. Nelson, Revelation for Our Lives (2018), p. 9.
    • Note: Echoes Lewis’s experience of Joy as spiritual.

16. “It comes as a pull toward something higher, a memory of what we once knew.”

    • Source: Sharon G. Larsen, Ensign (May 2002), p. 41.
    • Note: Aligns with Lewis’s idea of Joy as a longing for eternity.

17. “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”

    • Source: C.S. Lewis, Is Theology Poetry? (1944), p. 15.
    • Note: Featured in the play to mark Lewis’s conversion.

18. “Seek learning by study and also by faith.”

    • Source: Doctrine and Covenants 88:118.
    • Note: Reflects the balance of reason and faith in Lewis’s journey.

19. “Reason and revelation are twin pillars—neither stands alone; together, they hold up truth.”

    • Source: James E. Faust, Finding Light in a Dark World (1995), p. 22.
    • Note: Supports Lewis’s integration of intellect and belief.

20. “Faith grows not by ignoring questions, but by seeking answers with both mind and heart.”

    • Source: Henry B. Eyring, To Draw Closer to God (1997), p. 58.
    • Note: Resonates with Lewis’s approach to faith.

21. “All their life in this world had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning the Great Story which no one on earth has read.”

    • Source: C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle (1956), Chapter 16.
    • Note: Adapted in the play to convey Lewis’s vision of life’s purpose.

22. “We have enough pieces to know it’s a picture of beauty, but we wait for more to see the whole.”

    • Source: Dallin H. Oaks, The Great Plan of Happiness (1993), p. 12.
    • Note: Aligns with Lewis’s humility about life’s mysteries.

23. “The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing… to find the place where all the beauty came from.”

    • Source: C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces (1956), p. 74.
    • Note: Reflects Lewis’s lifelong search for meaning.

24. “The journey home is long, but every step sings of the destination.”

    • Source: Carol Lynn Pearson, The Search (1980), p. 19.
    • Note: Echoes Lewis’s view of life as a purposeful journey.