As I ring out 2025, I am not doing it with noise or victory laps.I am doing it quietly, deliberately, and with gratitude for lessons I would not have chosen but deeply needed.

President Russell M. Nelson repeatedly taught that contention is not just a social problem. It is a spiritual one. He urged us to end contention first in our own hearts, then in our homes, and then in our communities. Not by winning arguments, but by becoming peacemakers.

That counsel has stayed with me.

This past year forced me to confront something uncomfortable. Contention does not only live between people. It can take root inside the soul. It feeds on resentment. It thrives on fear. And if left unattended, it hardens a person until they risk becoming exactly what they never intended to be.

I am choosing to let that end here.

I am intentionally laying down the fear of dying mad and alone.That fear has no productive work left to do in my life.

Instead, I am choosing to develop a sense of humor again.

Not sarcasm. Not cynicism. But the kind of humor that signals healing.

Humor, when it is clean and kind, is a sign that the heart is softening. It means a person is no longer bracing for impact all the time. It means they can breathe. It means they can see life as layered instead of cruel.

That is why I recently subscribed to GoComics. It may seem small, but it is intentional. I want to seek out good, clean humor every day. I want to laugh without it costing me my values. And just as importantly, I want to share that humor with others.

Laughter is one of the simplest ways to say, I am still here. I am still human. I am still capable of joy.
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This focus on humor reminds me of three widowers I came to know while working at Maplewood Memorial Lawn Cemetery.

For three years, I watched them visit almost daily.

One was grumpy and constantly critical of how we cared for his wife’s grave. His love was real, but it expressed itself through anger and vigilance. He remembered her fiercely, but he carried his grief like a weapon.

Another was encouraging. He brought us treats. He shared fond memories of his beloved wife with warmth and gratitude. Being near him felt like standing in the presence of love that had not soured with loss.

The third widower came into the office regularly to visit with the cemetery manager. And every single time, he brought a joke. Not inappropriate. Not dismissive. Just human. Gentle humor. The kind that said, life still matters, even here.

At the time, I didn’t realize how much they were teaching me.

Today, I am grateful to all three.

Each remembered his wife. Each loved deeply. Each honored what she had given him.

But they showed me something else too. How a person treats memory shapes how they treat the rest of their life.
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My previous relationship is ending in divorce. That is a fact I do not deny or minimize. But how I treat the memories does not have to be bitterness.

I am choosing to learn from all three widowers.

I acknowledge pain without letting it calcify. I honor love without letting loss turn into resentment. I allow humor to coexist with grief.

Ending something does not require poisoning everything that came before it.

Instead, I choose to honor the past by making the best of the future. I choose to develop love and humor in the present. I choose to believe that memory can be held gently instead of tightly.

I am still alive. I still have something to offer the people around me. And perhaps, one day, my children will come around.

Until then, I will continue doing the work placed in front of me.
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I am also learning to live more fully in the present moment by returning to a simple question I have adapted from a meditation recording by Eileen Wilder:

"What is the next thing I can do or what action can I take to bring forth [Our] desires?"

That one-word shift matters.

This is no longer just about my desires. It is about becoming interdependent with God. Aligning my will with His. Allowing my hopes to be refined into something shared, something higher, something purposeful.

I believe deeply that "with God nothing shall be impossible." Including the removal of contention from my very soul and the planting of love in its place.

This season of my life has felt like winter. Cold. Exposed. Still.

But winter is not punishment. It is preparation.

Everything I have learned about gardening has become spiritual instruction. Weeds do not stop growing on their own. Negative thoughts require constant attention. They must be pulled deliberately and repeatedly.

And for every weed removed, something better must be planted.

Hope. Patience. Charity. Faith.

​Then those seeds must be nourished. Returned to again and again. The work is never finished, but it becomes lighter when done with intention and trust.

This new year is not about proving anything. It is about becoming someone.

A peacemaker. A man without resentments. A man no longer ruled by fear. A man who laughs again.

2025 taught me what I am no longer willing to carry. 2026 is about what I am finally ready to grow.

I ring out the old year with gratitude. I ring in the new year with hope.

​And I step forward committed to the work of peace, beginning within.
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​Create A Celestial Day, 
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​Scott Alan Westhoff