I was sitting in Sacrament meeting today and most people were talking about their impressions on last weeks (April 2021) General Conference sessions. As always, every testimony meeting, I sit and think about what my testimony would be this time if the Spirit prompted me to share it.

I thought about what most were talking about – the conference talk that really struck them. I don’t remember a singular talk that was above any of the others for inspiration, but there were a lot that gave me a specific feeling – we are in a new dispensation. I thought about where this all began and I realized that like dispensations, there is a lot of setup and a lot of impact.

It reminded me of how I love the beach and watching the ocean, but it isn’t the cresting waves I find fascinating. The cresting waves are beautiful, but they are momentary – a few milliseconds of beauty that demonstrates the power of water and energy.

It seems, for most people, this is what is fascinating. I believe because it is what most people associate with. Life seems to be one continuous battering of cresting waves, for the good or the bad. Those moments of immense beauty that can be elating or terrifying, possibly both at the same time, where the forces of nature come to a point and it becomes obvious that something out of our control is happening. I think that people are focused mostly on the crashing of waves because, if you look at photography, pictures of cresting waves dominate. Probably rightfully so, because it is also the most interesting and identifiable aspect of waves, which also furthers my metaphor here. 

What I actually find more fascinating and alluring is the before and after. I find myself watching the horizon behind the waves, looking for that one point where I can see the wave begin, then follow it on to shore. And then, once the heartbeat of cresting occurs, I watch its end crawl to shore, interacting with the sand, the rocks, the seaweed, and shells. It is the before and after of the crest that I identify with the most. I shoot more of the water bubbling to shore than I do the cresting of waves. I don’t shoot the beginning because it is so subtle, it isn’t visible in photography.

I see dispensations operate the same way. 2020 was the crest of a spiritual dispensation. for decades before, the slow rise of change has been there. We couldn’t see when it started, but, like ocean waves, the current and energy has been there. The point where I saw the wave begin on the horizon was President Hinckley’s enthusiastic embrace of technology, starting with satellites, then TV, then the internet.

I saw the wave building with more energy and evidence with President Monson’s expansion of LDS social services and outreach, the extra investment in internet technologies, reducing the age for missionary service, the accelerated pace of building temples by reducing their size and scope, the change to our entire teaching systems and focus, push for self-reliance, and his example of humility and service.

The wave started cresting with President Nelson and the more assertive changes in church, in teaching, in calling on members to church more regularly at home, changing how baptisms for the dead are handled and a slew of additional, palpable policies and processes for the body of the Church.

The crest and energy peaked with the pandemic. It all became obvious – we were being prepared to withstand the world shutting down.

Now I watch for the impact.

However, today in Sacrament meeting I saw a greater metaphor. I saw how the ocean of our lives are much like the waves of dispensations. While most people focus on the crashing of the sudden break of the wave, I watch the stillness. I know that Heavenly Father is force of nature, the energy, the current, the gravity, and the wind that starts way before I can see it.

We all have personal dispensations where we can mark the point where the wave crashed, whether for good or bad, but how often do we accept and appreciate that Heavenly Father has to start the wave from somewhere. Those quiet, peaceful, and seemingly uneventful moments in our lives where we don’t see the change coming, we don’t see the meaning in seemingly unconnected and disparate events, even those that we cannot possibly be aware of, are all part of the wave building.

In this momentum building phase we may feel like we are alone, that Heavenly Father has forgotten us, or isn’t answering our prayers. When, in fact, he is answering your prayers by building the wave. We cannot see it.

How often do we accept that a wave is coming and have faith that the wave will come, the crash will come, and then only focus on the wave breaking? We can see those moments where the wave is forming. We can see that a wave is coming. But there is absolutely no way we can predict what the break will look like, and that’s what we find beautiful. Yet, we might see the wave coming and then decide what the breaking wave will look like in our lives. We have faith that we will see something beautiful in the breaking wave of the ocean, but we won’t let go and have faith that the life change of what Heavenly Father has wrought will be equally as unpredictably beautiful.

Then there is the result. I watch people walk away after a wave has broken and not observe what that energy will do to beach. How often do we live our lives like this, also – change comes, we react to it, but then not watch its impact on the beach. Once the personal dispensation of the breaking wave is identified, we should ponder and watch how the power after the cresting has manifested in our lives. Mostly, we should look at how it has changed our expectation of the beach, which now has completely different details.

Our lives are like oceans, in this way. We have personal dispensations of cresting waves, but we don’t have the patience for the build nor observe how the beach has changed with its impact. All things in the Gospel are manifested in man. As the Gospel changes in dispensations, so do our lives change. We should treat these personal dispensations with the same awe, reverence, and respect for the power that brought them as we do the waves of the ocean.