Chapter one
When Your Faith
Has Holes in It
"The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power. But He does ask us to believe. This emphasizes that faith is not about achieving a flawless state, but rather a choice to believe and act despite uncertainties."
— President Russell M. Nelson
There's no shortage of things we're asked to endure in this life: sickness, unfairness, careless words, financial strain, loneliness, silence where we hoped for connection, being misjudged or misunderstood… and at times, even opposition from those who treat us like enemies.
"Enduring" was always an interesting word to me when I read it in 2 Nephi 31:15, "Yea, the words of my Beloved are true and faithful. He that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved."
Of all the things our Heavenly Father could have emphasized in that moment, He chose to stress endurance. Why?
Elder Neal A. Maxwell said, "First, because God has repeatedly said He would structure mortality to be a proving and testing experience (see Abraham 3:25; Mosiah 23:21)."
Every one of us, in some form or another, comes face to face with the very trials that test what we believe and who we trust.
Enduring doesn't just mean surviving. It means allowing the hard things to draw us nearer to Christ. To embrace them and use them. When we take His yoke upon us, even in our small and personal ways, we begin to learn of Him, not just about Him. And it's in that process, step by step, that we start to become like Him.
You can and should continue to educate yourself, not only when you feel uncertain about what to do, but also when you already know the right path and just haven't been able to accomplish it… yet. There are countless resources available to you, including trusted friends, family, mentors, and even strangers. The scriptures, along with living prophets and apostles, offer inspired direction. Libraries, online resources, and communities of knowledge place an entire ecosystem of truth and perspectives at your fingertips.
And yet, if you're anything like me, you may find yourself bypassing the searching, learning, pondering, and wrestling that uncover absolute truth. Why? Because of a "leech" I call instant gratification.
It clings tightly. You may feel its pull, too, that whisper that says, there's a quicker, easier fix. It promises relief with minimal effort. But like a flimsy sticker, the solution doesn't last. Sooner or later, it begins to peel, warp, or fall away, leaving the real problem untouched. Worse, this patch often masks the deeper issue, allowing it to grow, while you compensate in other ways. Over time, those compensations can harden into habits that are even harder to break.
Take sports, for example. Imagine trying to master a game without proper training, teaching yourself instead of seeking out a coach, a skilled player, or even consistent practice with others. You'd almost certainly develop poor form and incorrect techniques. Eventually, those shortcuts would cost you, perhaps even getting you called out by a referee and removed from the game, or worse, resulting in injury to yourself or another. The truth is, learning the foundational movements, rules, and strategies from the start sets you up for long-term success. So why do we so often slap on a "sticker-solution," even when we know the deeper investment will yield lasting results?
The same principle applies to something as simple as hunger. A snack may take the edge off, but it won't truly satisfy you. Worse, filling up on cake and doughnuts may trick you into feeling full, but it won't nourish you or sustain your energy. Soon after, you'll crash, your motivation, focus, and strength drained. The "sticker-solution" gave immediate satisfaction, but not the lasting fuel your body actually needed.
Understanding the difference between a "sticker-solution" and a real solution changes everything. It helps us recognize when we're reaching for a quick fix instead of addressing the root of the issue. It reminds us that while the easy patch may feel good in the moment, only the deeper, truer choice will sustain us, strengthen us, and set us up for growth.
Why do I call instant gratification a leech? Because it silently drains the will to apply real effort. And like a leech, you may not even notice it clinging to you. Over time, instant gratification can become a habit that offers no true benefit, only a false sense of relief.
So why do we condition ourselves to let this metaphorical parasite suck away our long-suffering and patience?
For a long time, I thought life would be unbearably dull if it followed a straight, predictable path, no bumps, no twists, no surprises. But then came seasons of life that felt like whirlwinds, and I found myself on my knees praying for that simple, steady boredom I once dismissed. That's human nature. Change is hard. But as the Prophet has reminded us, "The Lord loves effort." And what better test of effort than finding yourself wedged between a rock and a hard place?
I lived in that space for nearly ten years. During that time, I often reached for instant gratification. Sometimes it was my own choice, other times the choices of others left me broken and emotionally desolate. In that dark hole, I realized I had two options: remain in misery, or seek to understand why the Lord designed this life the way He did.
As I began to learn His ways, I was blessed with eyes to see and ears to hear how He could help me change. This book is about that process, how I began to metabolize trauma. In the thick of it, I often felt caught in what my father-in-law calls the "maybe so, maybe not" moments of life, quoting an old Chinese proverb. The truth is, we don't always know until later. But with reflection and the guidance of the Holy Ghost, we can rewire our perspective and recognize the Lord's hand in our lives, as well as in the people He places along our path, even when we are in the thick of it.
Too often, we wish for circumstances or opportunities to be easy, instead of embracing the divine traits that make us human: the ability to reason, to choose, and to labor diligently in pursuit of good. My husband's mission president once told us, "Blessed are the flexible for they will never be broken." I feel a responsibility to add my voice to the conversation about embracing all truth.
As John B. Dickson once taught:
"Life is not intended to be easy, but I promise those that labor faithfully in the service of their fellowmen, and with determination handle every challenge properly and under the influence of the Spirit, that they will be blessed with feelings of happiness which will permeate their whole souls. These…are blessings that mold and build us, and can never be taken away."
Difficulty does not mean you are on the wrong path. Trials are not punishments from the Lord, nor evidence that He has abandoned you. They are part of His design to help us grow to be more like Him.
We have to follow the example of Jesus Christ when it comes to our trials. He showed us how to pray when He said, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt." That line teaches us how to trust. There will be times in our lives when we ask Heavenly Father to remove the burden, to soften the blow, and sometimes, the answer will be no.
Not because He doesn't love us, but because He does.
Sometimes, if the Lord stepped in the way we wanted Him to, it would undo everything we've been learning, stretching, and becoming up to that point. He sees the full picture. He knows what we need to go through to become who He created us to be.
Gethsemane and Calvary remind us that even the Savior wasn't spared from suffering, and yet He chose to trust the Father. We're asked to do the same: to kneel down, ask with faith, and then, if the answer is to walk through the trial, to do it with a willing heart.
The Lord will not cut short any trial that He has designed along with you for your benefit.
As George Q. Cannon taught, "Knowledge…is righteous power."
Some lessons I have learned through trial and error. Others I have absorbed by simply reflecting on my Savior's attributes, meekness, sacrifice, patience, faithfulness, and humility. But one thing I know: enduring hardship with faith always brings a harvest of wisdom. As the Prophet Joseph Smith taught:
"We gain knowledge of eternal truths a little at a time; we can learn all things as fast as we are able to bear them."
Elder Neal A. Maxwell once gave a striking description, later expanded on by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland:
"One's life cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free. It simply will not work to glide naively through life, saying as we sip another glass of lemonade, 'Lord, give me all thy choicest virtues, but be certain not to give me grief, nor sorrow, nor pain, nor opposition. Please do not let anyone dislike me or betray me, and above all, do not ever let me feel forsaken by Thee or those I love. In fact, Lord, be careful to keep me from all the experiences that made Thee divine. And then, when the rough sledding by everyone else is over, please let me come and dwell with Thee, where I can boast about how similar our strengths and our characters are as I float along on my cloud of comfortable Christianity.'"
The truth is clear: opposition is essential. Growth is impossible without it. That's why we need the gift of the Holy Ghost, to discern truth, to feel when it's time to shift direction, and to recognize God's invitations in our lives.
I think back to when I first tried out for the Winter Olympic sport of Skeleton at age twenty-six. It had been years since my college lacrosse days at Baylor University, and I felt wildly out of my depth. But I marvel at how the Lord placed the right people in my path, at exactly the right time, to extend an opportunity to me that led to choices I never imagined I would make.
I was working at a WeWork on 28th and Park Avenue when, on a day like any other, I decided I needed a brain break. A hot cup of something always gave me the motivation to power through the rest of my work. So, I wandered into the shared kitchen to make a cup of lemon ginger tea.
As I waited for the water to boil, a woman approached me. Without introducing herself, she looked me straight in the eye and said confidently, "You have the perfect body type for Skeleton."
I blinked, unsure if she was even talking to me. I glanced around the room, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. "What is Skeleton?" I asked.
Instead of answering, she countered with a question of her own: "What sport do you play?"
I told her about my background, thirteen years of gymnastics, followed by track, lacrosse, and cheerleading in high school, and most recently, collegiate lacrosse. "These days, I mostly run and do yoga," I added.
She nodded, then shared her own story. She had been a collegiate volleyball player who missed the competitive fire and community of athletics. While training for CrossFit, someone had once approached her, much like I was now being approached, and suggested she try bobsledding.
The conversation ended quickly, and I went back to my desk. But my mind couldn't let go. What was Skeleton?
When I returned to my desk, curiosity got the better of me. I Googled it and discovered skeleton is a Winter Olympic sport where athletes race face-first down an icy track, with their chin just inches from the ice, hitting speeds of 80–90 miles per hour, with no brakes.
And without overthinking, I signed up for a combine.
Before I share what came next, the steps that forever changed the course of my life, I want to pause on what I learned in that kitchen moment.
Breaks matter.
That day, I didn't need a week-long vacation at a spa. I simply needed to step away from my work, shift my perspective, and recharge. For me, a warm drink in a mug has become a gentle cue, reminding me that I can choose happiness. More often than not, as the soothing taste of chamomile, Guayusa, or mint tea touches my lips, I pause to reflect, to search for gratitude, and to notice the hand of the Lord in my life.
Choosing to be still and to seek happiness is, at its core, an act of faith.
The Prophet Joseph Smith once taught:
"Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God."
Echoing this truth, President Russell M. Nelson shared in his 2016 message, Joy and Spiritual Survival:
"The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives."
Whatever it is for you, find it. Build it into your daily life. Sometimes that means physically stepping back; other times, it's being still in the middle of chaos. A prayer, some meditation, a walk, or even a hot cup of something, whatever helps jumpstart your mind to search, ponder, and pray with a heart full of gratitude. As I've discovered, "we walk in the direction we are facing." So if you find yourself spiraling downward with stress, fear, or anxiety, turn upward. Lift your face toward Him. Involve our Savior, Jesus Christ.
He may not take away the burden, but He will help you carry it.
And like a car, life doesn't stop unless you know how to apply the brakes. If you hit the accelerator instead, you may find yourself speeding into burnout without even realizing it. That's why prayer, journaling, and trusted conversations are so vital; they help us recognize when it's time to pause, reset, and refocus.
Breaks can be life-changing. They can shift your entire trajectory if you let the Savior be part of them.
My first Skeleton combine was at the Olympic Training Center in Lake Placid, NY. The drive up was breathtaking, snow-blanketed mountains under a bright cerulean sky. My nerves tangled with awe as I pulled in, wondering what I was about to face.
The test included a 45-meter sprint, a broad jump, and a 12-pound shot put throw. Some combines also tested Olympic lifts.
I felt wildly unprepared. That very morning, I'd scrambled through upstate New York to find track spikes, and the only pair I could get was a size too small. Meanwhile, other athletes arrived looking like professionals, in spandex layers, with Tiger Balm and extra spikes in hand. I was intimidated and out of place.
When the results were posted outside the cafeteria, I scanned the list. My eyes trailed all the way to the bottom.
Courtney Webb.
Dead last.
Humiliation washed over me. My shoulders slumped as I replayed every doubt in my mind: Who did I think I was? Showing up for a sport I'd never even heard of until days ago? Learning an Olympic sport in my late twenties? This was a mistake.
I sat alone in the cafeteria, staring at my mashed potatoes and secretly praying, asking the Lord why He had led me here only to leave me feeling like a failure.
And then the young woman from WeWork appeared.
Wide-eyed and grinning, she bent down to meet my lowered gaze and practically shouted, "NO WAY! YOU ACTUALLY SHOWED UP!" She said it twice, her face enthusiastic with excitement.
Before I knew it, she was calling out to other athletes across the room, telling them how she'd met me randomly in New York and how amazed she was that I'd really come.
They invited me over to their table to finish my meal. One by one, they started encouraging me: "You did awesome! The hardest part is showing up." Another athlete held out his hand for a high-five.
Moments later, I was sitting at a table with seven other Olympic athletes and hopefuls, listening to their stories of injuries, financial struggles, setbacks, and resilience. Each had overcome obstacles just to be there.
The young women from the WeWork then took me to the push track outside, where I got my first real introduction to Skeleton technique. I wasn't great, but it didn't matter. My shame melted away, replaced by the determination to keep trying.
I showed up humbled and left motivated.
I showed up unprepared and left inspired.
I showed up alone and left supported.
From those athletes, I learned that true greatness isn't about flawless performance. It's about showing up, humbled, willing, and ready to learn. It's not always about the outcome you hoped for; it's about how you choose to respond to what actually unfolded.
As Stephen W. Owen taught in General Conference:
"The world teaches that leaders must be mighty; the Lord teaches that they must be meek. Worldly leaders gain power and influence through their talent, skill, and wealth. Christlike leaders gain power and influence 'by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned.'"
The best leaders are first willing followers. As I sat with these incredibly talented individuals, my respect for them grew, not just because of their skill but because of how they treated the people around them. These athletes didn't openly share whether they believed in Jesus Christ, but they radiated Christ like love in the way they showed up for others.
So when I saw new faces at later combines, I made a point to encourage them, just as my friend from WeWork and others had done for me. I'd listen to their sacrifices, share what I'd learned, and remind them that showing up was already a victory.
In God's eyes, the greatest leaders have always been the greatest followers.
One of the most important qualities I took away from my experiences with elite athletes was a deceptively simple one: show up and support others in positive ways.
That principle stuck with me. When you find yourself dreading a ward activity or hesitating to say hello to someone sitting alone, remember, your presence matters not just to those around you, but to the Lord. He wants us gathered with those who love Him. He wants us to seek out the one and invite them into the fold. And I say this as someone who can struggle with introversion. We show up not to be seen, but to help others feel seen. And that makes all the difference.
There are going to be days when the voices come:
"I'm not good enough to be here."
"I'm not ready."
"I don't even want to be here right now."
But here's the truth: your present circumstances are not an accident. They are the sum of every step you've taken, every decision that has shaped you into who you are right now. Even when it feels like you don't belong, you are exactly where you need to be.
So my advice is this: show up.
Show up when it's uncomfortable. Show up when you feel unqualified. Show up when you'd rather hide. You have a choice in this position. Bring with you a willingness to learn and the humility to grow, and you'll be surprised at how God magnifies your efforts.
In Skeleton, I had mentors who transformed the way I saw myself, not just as an athlete, but as a person. They lifted me when I stumbled, reminded me that gratitude is possible even in failure, and gave me the courage to view mistakes not as endings, but as beginnings.
This was my takeaway from doing multiple combines: trying new things builds resilience. Failure is not the enemy; it's the first stepping stone. Vulnerability, I came to realize, is gold. It reveals what's really under the hood, what you have to work with, and accountability is the fuel that helps you move closer to your potential. And if you're willing to see potential in others, you must also be willing to hold them accountable.
After my very first combine, I flew back to New York humbled and determined. I knew I wasn't ready, so I hired a coach to help me train for the next two. Looking back, I can see that my approach mirrored how I had come to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At first, I had wanted to rely on familiar voices, friends who meant well but knew nothing of the Book of Mormon. But if I truly wanted to know, I had to seek out credible sources. I began with members who had testimonies of the Book of Mormon. I studied the chapters for myself. I prayed, sometimes desperately, to know if the book was true. For months, I filled journals with my questions and the impressions I received. Slowly, steadily, I gained a confirmation so strong and undeniable that it anchored me. I knew the Book of Mormon was the most correct book on earth.
Training for the combines was no different. I went to experts, coaches, nutritionists, and fitness professionals whom I had met during my years as a fitness journalist in New York. I studied what to eat, how to recover, and how to prepare my body for the demands of Skeleton.
And here's what I've learned, not just in sports but in every corner of life: the more you do, the more God gives you. The more effort you put into knowing Him, the clearer His mysteries become. The more time and energy you dedicate to something that is of good report, virtuous, lovely, or praiseworthy, He magnifies it, if you include Him and seek His will in the process.
I improved with each combine. By the third, a skeleton coach pulled me aside and suggested I spend November and December training on the Park City track. That suggestion landed like a thunderclap.
Leaving New York for two months wasn't just inconvenient; it felt impossible. I'd have to give up my job, find a place to live, secure a car, and somehow get my hands on Skeleton equipment, which, for the record, isn't exactly stocked at Dick's Sporting Goods. Type "Skeleton" into a search bar, and you're more likely to find Halloween decorations than actual gear.
The idea felt outrageous. Wild, even. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I had been paying my tithing. And with that obedience came a promise that God would bless me. Maybe not in the way I imagined, but in the way I needed. He would provide. And so I stepped forward in faith.