And so we search …
March 1971

“And so we search …” Ensign, Mar. 1971, 17

And so we search …

“The Spoken Word“ from Temple Square, presented over KSL and the Columbia Broadcasting System December 27, 1970. © 1970 by Richard L. Evans.

“Years following years steal something every day.

At last they steal us from ourselves away.”1

These lines from Horace in some ways may be so—that each passing day steals something from ourselves away. But each day used well also adds something everlasting to our lives. It is good that there are times and seasons for the searching of ourselves. As we go about our daily rush and routine, we are often unaware of the reasons for our restlessness. We sometimes set our hearts on things we wish we had. We sometimes get what we thought it was we wanted—and find it doesn’t mean as much as once we thought it would. There are times we wonder why all the push and pressure and pursuit—and times to ask ourselves what it really was we wanted. Beauty? Physically it faded so fast. There is not much there to tie to. But there is beauty all around, and deep within, if we have eyes and hearts to see that it is so. Excitement? Excitement soon loses itself in the surfeit of excitement. And as to things material—if we have little, a little more means much. But too much more means less or little. And so we search—for peace, for purpose, for quiet conscience and contentment—and come to know that what at last we look for are the everlasting things of life; for the peace and happiness that come to where we are, with a mingling and intermixing of regret and gratitude, with need for faith—faith to move forward; willing to do what we ought to do; willing not to do what we should not do; willing to become what we can become.

“Between two worlds, life hovers like a star

Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge.

How little do we know that which we are!

How less what we may be!”2

“The business of life is to go forward”3—with faith.


  1. Horace, Epistles, Bk. ii.

  2. Byron, Don Juan, Canto xv.

  3. Samuel Johnson, The Idler, no. 73.