If you want to understand the meaning Alma 30:44 (“All things denote that there is a God”) look no further than those lyrics from the famous Bossa Nova, The Waters of March, by Antonio Carlos Jobim. During my flight home from seeing my father in Idaho this week, I alternated between David Byrne and Susannah McCorkle’s versions, listening to them on repeat. Staring through the smudge of the former passenger’s forehead imprint on the scratched, plastic window, I viewed the landscape below, listening to those lyrics; I couldn’t help but sense the sublime and how small I was compared to all of it. Snow covered mountains, blue sky, cotton clouds, vast open space, all of it made me ponder God’s splendor and goodness for such gifts.

As usual, someone was bearing their soul to my mother.

Sighing loudly, I impatiently waited, annoyed to the level appropriate for any self-respecting 15 year old. January on Elm Street in New Canaan, Connecticut wasn’t going to get any warmer and I wasn’t getting any less hungry. Still, wanting to hear the confidences being shared, I leaned in to listen.

“I know how your family is, but how are YOU doing?” my mother pressed her confider.