Sisters and brothers, aloha!
I have felt overwhelmed many times in my life.
I felt overwhelmed when I first arrived here at BYU–Hawaii as a new student. I felt overwhelmed as a young mother in graduate school. I have felt overwhelmed as a working mom, in new leadership roles, and even in trying to do the small, daily things I know matter most.
Maybe you have too.
For some of you, that feeling might come from school—deadlines, expectations, or uncertainty about the future. For others, it may come from family responsibilities, finances, relationships, or quiet personal struggles that no one else sees. Wherever it comes from, feeling overwhelmed can make us feel like what we have is not enough. Not enough time. Not enough energy. Not enough clarity. Sometimes, even not enough faith.
Today, I would like to share four lessons I have learned, not about how to eliminate the feeling of being overwhelmed, but about how to move forward through it with faith in Jesus Christ.
- Do what you can with the time you have.
- Bring your faith, even if it feels small, and ask the Savior to help you.
- Allow yourself to experience hope.
- Look for the angels around you. And be willing to be that angel for someone else.
First – Do What You Can with the Time You Have
The day I arrived in Hawai’i as a new BYU–Hawaii student was January 1, 2004. It was supposed to be a fresh start—something exciting and hopeful. But the moment I landed at the Honolulu airport, I called my parents to say I had arrived and learned that my grandmother had just passed away. I remember walking through the Honolulu airport in tears, completely overwhelmed—grieving, far from home, and unsure of what I had just stepped into. Moving forward into my new life at BYU–Hawaii, far away from home, felt impossible.
A dear friend I met while we both attended BYU–Idaho, Jihye Jean, was actually from Laie and picked me up from the airport that day. She and her childhood friend I did not know at the time, but now also call a dear friend, Caryn Lesuma, received me, my giant suitcase, and tear-stained face with such immediate and sincere kindness. I stayed with the Jean family for over a week until I could get into my student housing up on Naupaka Street—also known as the Point. I ate homemade Korean food her mother lovingly made, I watched Korean dramas with them, we took beach walks at night as she patiently let me cry up and down the shore, and slowly—very slowly—something began to shift. It wasn’t that everything was suddenly okay. But through their kindness, and through the kindness of so many students and faculty I would come to know, I began to feel that maybe things were possible again.
Looking back, I can see that I was not alone in that moment, even though I felt like I was. There were angels all around me. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord gives this promise:
“…I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” [1] At the time, I didn’t have the language for it—but I was being borne up. I didn’t fully recognize it then, but that experience taught me something I have come back to again and again: We are not meant to do hard things alone. And in ways I did not yet understand at the time, that season of my life was also the beginning of something else.
It was here, during my time as a student at BYU–Hawaii, that I met my husband, Thomas. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything extraordinary—it actually started in a very ordinary way. I was a staff writer for Ke Alaka‘i, and I had been assigned to cover a big event taking place in the ballroom that weekend. I ended up having one circumstance after another pile up, which meant I arrived at the event a little late and by the time I got there, I had completely missed the band that everyone had been talking about. I remember thinking, this is not ideal… I still have to write this article.
I told my friend, “I didn’t even get to see them play—what am I supposed to do?”
And she said, “Well, the good news is I know the drummer. He’s my Gospel Doctrine teacher, and he’s really nice—you can just interview him.”
So, I walked up to this tall, thin haole guy, wearing a skinny tie, and really cool shoes—which I noticed immediately, because I always notice people’s shoes.
And I introduced myself and explained, “Hi, I’m writing an article about your performance… but I didn’t actually see it.”
And he blinked at me a few times, kind of laughed under his breath, and said, “Seriously?”
And I said, “Yep. So… can you give me a quote for my article anyway?”
And he very kindly did. I don’t even remember what he said. But I do remember having a very clear impression at that moment: This person seems like he would be a really good friend. And at that point in my life, I really needed a good friend.
The next week, I was talking to someone from his band and mentioned that I had met their drummer and was going to quote him in my article.
And he said, “Oh—Tom?”
And I said, “I think so…”
And he said, “You two would actually really get along. I could connect you.”
And I said, “Absolutely not. That would be so embarrassing. I’m good—thank you.”
But, he gave him my number anyway. And Thomas called me the next day. We spent time together the day after that, and we have pretty much been together every day since. I went from missing his performance to attending just about every show his band played around the island—and even a few on Maui. And over time, that simple introduction became something much more. We built a life together. We have raised four beautiful children. We have gone through multiple graduate programs together. And we have walked through both joyful seasons and very difficult ones.
It’s a whirlwind BYU–Hawaii, Seasider, slightly punk-rock love story. But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t fully see then. What felt like a small, even inconvenient moment—missing a performance, arriving late, was actually part of something much bigger. I was exactly where I needed to be. The Lord was quietly shaping my life in ways I didn’t yet understand. And even then, even in that early beginning, I was not alone.
Years later, I felt that same sense of overwhelm again, but in a very different setting. I was a mother of four young children working on my first graduate degree at the University of Hawai’i at Mānoa. At one point, I needed to take a Spanish 202 class, even though I hadn’t taken a Spanish class since 2005, and it was 2019. I felt completely overwhelmed. I remember crying about it to my former Spanish language professor, Elaine McArthur. In my discouragement, I told her I didn’t think I could do it. She looked at me and said something that has stayed with me ever since. She said, “You can absolutely do this. But you will need to do what you can with the time you have.”
That simple phrase changed everything for me. Instead of waiting for the perfect amount of time, the perfect level of focus, or the perfect circumstances—I began to just start. Sometimes I only had five minutes. But five minutes mattered. Five minutes made it easier to come back later. Five minutes helped me move forward when I otherwise would have stayed stuck. I have thought about that principle often since then. Sometimes we think that if we cannot do something perfectly or to the fullest extent, it is not worth doing at all. But that is not how the Lord works. “…And thus we see that by small means the Lord can bring about great things”. [2] Sometimes Come, Follow Me looks like a deep and meaningful family discussion. And sometimes it looks like a single verse, read quickly, but sincerely. And that still matters. That is still a spiritual deposit. That still invites the Spirit into our homes and into our lives. Doing what we can with the time we have is not a lesser offering. It is a faithful one.
Lesson two: Bring your faith, even if it feels small, and ask the Savior to help.
There is a moment in the New Testament that has become very meaningful to me. A father, seeking help for his son, says to the Savior: “…Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief”. [3] I love the honesty of that. He doesn’t pretend to have perfect faith. He doesn’t wait until he feels completely certain. He simply brings what he has, and asks the Savior to help him with the rest. I think many of us can relate to that kind of faith. Because sometimes overwhelm feels like doubt. It feels like we are not enough. Like we are falling short. Like we cannot quite hold everything together. And in those moments, faith does not always sound like confidence. Sometimes it sounds like a quiet prayer: “Lord, I believe… help me.” And that is enough.
A scripture that I hold on to is found in 2 Nephi 31:20, “Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life.” [4] I took that fateful Spanish language class day by day, and with the help of my profesoras, tutors, and my Spanish-speaking father patiently getting on FaceTime each day, I completed the class with a good grade and increased faith. I have been able to apply that lesson as I worked on a second master's degree, getting my dream job as a librarian and faculty member at BYU–Hawaii, and facing many challenges that have been presented to our family whether we like it or not.
By making decisions every day to stay close to the spirit, I was able to experience a more perfect brightness of hope. Chieko N. Okazaki, former counselor in the General Relief Society presidency, said, Quote, “I think of hope as a modest but very tough everyday virtue, an ordinary but resilient virtue that is both gentle and beautiful. It is an unassuming but powerful force for good that will greatly increase our ability to do good and to be good.” [5] It can be difficult to keep your hope burning brightly when faced with overwhelm, but remember my friends, we were never meant to go it alone. President Emily Belle Freeman states, quote, “Have you ever accepted an invitation from the Lord and then felt unequal to the task? We all know what it is to doubt, to experience sinking moments. But notice where Jesus was when Peter accepted the invitation that seemed too big. He wasn’t shouting instructions from the shore or offering advice from the safety of the boat. He was in the water—with Peter. Within reaching distance. As you accept the Lord’s invitations, on both your best days and your worst, the same will be true for you.” [6]
In the last couple of years, I have felt overwhelmed again—but in ways that have been deeper and more personal. As my family has worked through health challenges, particularly as my husband has spent extended time being treated for advanced complications due to COVID at the University of Utah, we have felt the weight of separation and uncertainty. He has always been a very healthy and vibrant individual, and now his condition is so advanced that this medical intervention is our only hope at any quality of life for Thomas. We are so grateful that he has the opportunity to be seen by the capable professionals at the University of Utah Long Covid Clinic and hope their current research can address his many debilitating and life-altering symptoms, but we miss him. We feel his absence every day, and we have no idea when he will be able to return to our home. And as I get through each day trying to make up for his absence, in our home and the lives of our children with all their individual needs, I can’t help but miss the simpler days in the BYU–Hawaii Ballroom with the cute, tall drummer in the skinny necktie. I have tried to quiet my mind from worrying, alone in my room each night, and often think back to the beginning of our story here at BYU–Hawaii—how I almost missed meeting him altogether because I showed up late that night.
What felt like such a small, almost inconvenient moment at the time has become something I hold on to now. The same God who was present in that beginning has not left us in the middle of this. If I overthink the implications of what my husband, Thomas, is going through and what our uncertain future looks like…it’s too overwhelming to even describe. It is lonely. The possibilities are devastating. And the fear I feel is debilitating and can be very isolating. This trial has seemingly dragged on with no end in sight and no guarantee of a positive outcome as we try our best to patiently wait in the unknown and take small steps to keep our faith burning brightly.
Lesson three: Allow yourself to experience Hope
What does a perfect brightness of hope really feel like in these deep, dark moments? Sometimes when we hear the phrase “a perfect brightness of hope,” it can sound like something distant, almost unreachable.
It sounds like certainty. Like peace. Like everything is going to turn out exactly the way we want. But if I’m being honest, that is not what it has felt like for me in the middle of this current trial. There have been many days when I have not felt bright. There have been days that felt heavy, uncertain, and even a little dark. So, I have had to ask myself: What does a perfect brightness of hope actually look like when life is not perfect? For me, I have come to understand that it is not a constant feeling. It is not the absence of fear. It is not the absence of questions. And it is not the absence of pain. Instead, it is the quiet, steady assurance that God is still there.
During this season of my life, there is a hymn I have returned to again and again: “Abide with Me!” I think I understand it differently now than I did before. One verse says: “Change and decay in all around I see; O thou who changest not, abide with me!” And another says: “I need thy presence ev’ry passing hour.” [7] I have thought about those lines often during this season of uncertainty because there are moments in life when so much feels fragile and changeable. Plans change. Health changes. Circumstances change. Sometimes even our own emotions and sense of stability can change from one day to the next. And while some changes in life are beautiful and exciting, change can also be deeply destabilizing. Over the last several years, I have often felt like I was standing on constantly shifting ground. There has been loud and persistent construction at work, changing offices and responsibilities, new leadership roles, changing routines at home, and the ongoing need to adapt to what each of my children needs from me emotionally, spiritually, and practically from one day to the next.
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed simply trying to remember everything that needs to be remembered. And I think many of us feel that way sometimes. Life can begin to feel noisy. Unsteady. Heavy. But I have learned that what anchors me is not the absence of change. It is the presence of God. It is the constancy of our heavenly parents and our Savior, Jesus Christ. And it is the access we have to Them as we make daily choices that bring us close to the Spirit. That anchor does not remove the storm. But it keeps us grounded while we move through it.
Jesus Christ does not change. He remains. And I think that is what a perfect brightness of hope has also begun to mean to me. Not the absence of grief or fear or uncertainty but the steady presence of the Savior in the middle of all of it. A quiet assurance that even when life feels overwhelming and uncertain, there is still One who is constant or “changest not.” One who stays. One whose presence we can seek “ev'ry passing hour.” And somehow, through Him, hope continues to burn brightly even in difficult seasons. Even when I don’t know the outcome, even when I don’t have answers, and even when things are not getting better as quickly as I hoped or seemingly ever.
There have been small moments, very small moments, where that hope has broken through. Moments where I have felt peace come, even briefly. Moments where I have felt strengthened enough to take the next step. Moments where I have felt reminded that this is not the end of the story. And I’ve realized something: A perfect brightness of hope is not something we feel all at once. It is something that comes to us, little by little, as we continue to turn toward the Savior.
There is a verse in the Book of Mormon that has taken on new meaning for me during this time. In Ether 12:4, it teaches: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world… which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men…” [8] I love that image—an anchor. Because an anchor does not remove the storm. It does not stop the waves. It simply keeps you from drifting. That is what hope has felt like for me. Not the removal of the storm, but the ability to stay grounded in the middle of it. To not drift too far into fear. To not lose sight of what I know is true. And sometimes, that hope looks very simple.
It looks like getting out of bed and saying a prayer. It looks like choosing to believe—even if that choice will have to be made again tomorrow. It looks like trusting that even if I cannot see what is ahead, God can. That is what a perfect brightness of hope has begun to mean to me. Not perfect circumstances. But a perfect source.
I have also seen this kind of hope through my children. There are days when I feel the weight of everything we are facing in a very real and pressing way—the uncertainty, the fear, the questions that don’t yet have answers. And then I watch my children wake up each morning, ready to begin again. They still laugh. They still make plans. They still believe that things will be okay for our family. And their simple, steady trust has been deeply faith-promoting to me. They still feel the weight of our situation, but they demonstrate through their example that we can keep going and keep believing. It has reminded me that hope is not about having all the answers—it is about choosing to believe, again and again, that God is still good and that He is still with us.
I wish I could take the constant suffering from my husband for even a day, and the weight of this challenge from my children’s hearts, and that I could bear this heartache more patiently. Tracy Y. Browning once reminded us, “The Lord’s method of teaching is ‘line upon line, precept upon precept.’ We may be required to ‘wait upon the Lord’ in the space between our current line of understanding and the next yet to be delivered. This sacred space can be a place where our greatest spiritual conditioning can occur—the site where we can ‘bear with patience’ our earnest seeking and renew our strength to continue to keep the sacred promises we have made to God through covenant.” [9]
Lesson four: Look for the angels around you. And be willing to be that angel for someone else.
At home, I have tried to continue working full-time, caring for our children, managing our home, and meeting the many responsibilities of daily life. There have been moments that felt very lonely. Moments where I have felt inadequate to do it all. Moments where even preparing something like this devotional has felt overwhelming. But, I have not done any of it alone. And, again, that is not the point—we are not supposed to. I can’t tell you the number of angels in the form of people here on campus, in the community, my ward, my hometown, and family and friends all over the world, who have shown up for my family over and over in our time of sorrow. They might have felt shy or unsure or too tired to serve us, but they followed the prompting anyway, and it has been overwhelming in the best way possible to feel the Savior’s sustaining love through each one of them as we humble ourselves to accept help from others. I am truly grateful to my heavenly parents for this lesson they have taught me — even if it was over and over again, and I really look forward to not having to learn it so much someday. But we will always need each other, and I pray for the ear to hear when it is my turn to be an angel in the lives of others.
None of the experiences I have shared today were things I did alone. They were done in community—with angels that our heavenly parents placed in my path. Some of those angels were obvious. Others were quiet. A message. A meal. A conversation. A moment of understanding. And just as we have been blessed by those angels, we are also meant to be that help for others. Sometimes the answer to someone else’s prayer is sitting right next to them. Look around, you might have the answer to your prayers closer than you think and just as beautifully, you can also follow promptings and be the answer to someone’s prayer today.
As I have reflected on these experiences, I have come to understand something more clearly. The goal is not to eliminate feelings of being overwhelmed from our lives. The goal is to learn how to walk through it with the Savior. Because when we walk with Him: What we have becomes enough. What we can do in the time that we have becomes meaningful. And what feels heavy becomes lighter, not because it disappears, but because we are no longer carrying it alone.
I still feel overwhelmed sometimes. But I know that I no longer need to feel totally alone in it. If you feel overwhelmed, do what you can with the time you have. Bring your faith, even if it feels small, and ask the Savior to help you. Allow yourself to experience hope. Look for the angels around you. And be willing to be that angel for someone else. As you do, you will begin to see that what you have is enough, because He is enough. Not because everything is certain, but because He is, and through Him, you can feel a perfect brightness of hope.
I testify that Jesus Christ is aware of you. He walks with you. He magnifies your efforts. And He sends help—often in simple and quiet ways. We are not alone in this life. And with Him, we never will be. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Notes:
[1] Doctrine and Covenants 84:88
[2] 1 Nephi 16:29
[3] Mark 9:24
[4] 2 Nephi 31:20
[5] Chieko N, Okazaki, “Raised in Hope,” Ensign, November 1996
[6] Emily Belle Freeman, “Best Days and Worst Days,” Liahona, May 2026
[7] Abide with Me!, Hymns, 166
[8] Ether 12:7
[9] Tracy Y. Browning, “Seeking Answers to Spiritual Questions,” Liahona, November 2024, 81