The Cry of The Trumpet

When Righteous People Want Change: Why Alma the Younger Shows Us the Better Way Every generation of disciples faces the same tension: How do we respond when the world feels unfair? How do we lift the vulnerable, relieve suffering, and push back against systems that seem indifferent to the poor, the sick, and the struggling? Many Saints today feel drawn toward political movements—including groups like Indivisible—because they see real pain around them and want to help. Their compassion is sincere. Their desire for justice is genuine. Their involvement can even be good , especially when they bring a calming, moderating, peacemaking influence into heated spaces. But as President Dallin H. Oaks has taught, the gospel invites us to consider not only what is good , but what is better and best 13 . And when we look to scripture for the pattern of best , one figure stands out with startling clarity: Alma the You...

Agency, Compulsion, and the Spiritual Cost of Forced Goodness We live in a world where unfairness is real, visible, and often heartbreaking. It’s natural to want to correct it—especially when we see people suffering because of the choices of others. Recently, I’ve been talking with people who feel deeply that the world’s inequalities must be fixed by forcing people to be more charitable, more giving, more socially responsible. The intention is noble. The method is not. Because spiritually—and doctrinally— compulsory goodness is not goodness at all . The Plan That Promised Perfect Fairness Latter-day Saint doctrine teaches that in the premortal world, agency was the central issue. God declared, “I gave unto him his agency” ( Moses 7:32 ), and modern revelation affirms that “every man may act… according to the moral agency which I have given unto him” ( D&C 101:78 ). But there was another proposal. A plan that promised perfect fairness. A plan that guarant...

The Knight I Know by Carolyn Frances Krysiak

I cannot support choices that lead a person toward harm, but I can support the person themselves—and I can support their right to be treated with fairness and dignity. That distinction matters. It keeps me anchored in compassion without pretending that destructive patterns are harmless. Over time I’ve learned something that echoes the wisdom found in recovery circles: I didn’t cause another person’s harmful choices, I can’t control them, and I can’t cure them. Moral agency is real. Each soul chooses its own path, and no amount of worry, persuasion, or proximity can override that sacred freedom. Recognizing this frees me from the illusion that someone else’s spiritual direction rests on my shoulders, while still allowing me to care deeply about their wellbeing. When sin—or any harmful behavior—is treated as normal, it unintentionally teaches others to do the same and makes the path appear less dangerous. And normalization always has a cost. It may not show up immediately, bu...

There is an old story about a traveler who set out on a long road toward Home. Not the house he grew up in.   Not the place where his mail was delivered.   But the deeper Home—the one every soul remembers even if it cannot describe it.   The place of rest, clarity, and belonging.   The place where the heart finally exhales. The traveler knew the way in theory.   But the road was long, and like most long roads, it tested him. Some days he walked with purpose.   Other days he dragged his feet.   And on the hardest days, he grew cranky, impatient, and angry—   not because he was a bad man,   but because he was tired. Tired of the dust.   Tired of the detours.   Tired of watching others take shortcuts that looked easier, even if they didn’t lead anywhere good. One afternoon, after a particularly frustrating stretch, he slumped beneath a tree and muttered,   “I ...