“I Will Declare What He Hath Done for My Soul” | COME FOLLOW ME – OLD TESTAMENT 2026 | Psalms 49-86

The Temple Pattern of Descent, Ascent, and Exaltation in Israel’s Hymnal of Redemption

“Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul.” – Psalm 66:16 KJV


This study reads the selected Psalms 49-86 as a canonical and theological journey through mortality, sin, lament, repentance, remembrance, redemption, and public witness. These poems do not form a single authored liturgy; they cross the boundary between Books II and III of the Psalter and include wisdom instruction, penitential prayer, individual and communal lament, historical recital, royal hope, and testimony. Read together, however, they trace a temple-shaped movement from estrangement toward the presence of God. Psalm 49 exposes the inability of wealth or human power to ransom life from death; Psalm 51 turns confession into a prayer for divine re-creation; Psalms 63, 69, and 77 give faithful language to abandonment and distress; Psalms 66, 71, and 78 transform remembered deliverance into covenant testimony; and Psalms 72, 85, and 86 direct personal restoration toward righteous kingship and Zion. The Book of Mormon intensifies this pattern in Alma 36, Alma 26, Alma 34, and Alma 42, where anguish gives way to joy through Jesus Christ and redeemed experience becomes missionary proclamation. The central claim is that biblical ascent does not deny descent. The worshipper rises by bringing mortality, guilt, fear, and unanswered questions into covenant relationship with the God who alone can redeem, cleanse, heal, and receive the soul. Psalm 66:16 therefore becomes more than a memorable line: it is the vocation of a redeemed people.

Scripture and method note. Biblical quotations follow the King James Version unless otherwise noted. This article distinguishes the psalms’ ancient literary setting, their Christian canonical fulfillment in Jesus Christ, and their Latter-day Saint resonance. “Exaltation” is used first for being lifted into divine presence, covenant joy, and praise; restored doctrine gives that movement its fuller horizon in eternal life with God.

The Psalms as the Soul’s Ascent Back to Eden

The soul does not merely want relief from pain. At its deepest level, it longs for the presence of God – for the wholeness, communion, and holy order represented by Eden. That longing is one reason the Psalms remain indispensable. They do not speak only from the summit of faith. They also pray from the pit, the wilderness, the sickbed, the battlefield, the guilty conscience, and the long night when God seems silent. The Psalter gives covenant people permission to bring the whole truth of mortal life into worship.

Calling the Psalms Israel’s “temple hymnal” captures something essential, but it also requires care. Many psalms are rooted in sanctuary worship, sacrifice, procession, royal ceremony, pilgrimage, and public praise. Others may have begun in personal or communal crisis before being gathered for liturgical use. Sigmund Mowinckel emphasized the Psalms’ setting in Israel’s worship, while Claus Westermann stressed the dynamic relationship between lament and praise. James Luther Mays therefore describes the Psalms as both scripture and liturgy: ancient prayers that became the prayerbook of later communities (Mowinckel; Westermann; Mays).

The temple lens becomes especially fruitful when joined to the pattern of descent, ascent, and exaltation. The biblical sanctuary represents ordered creation and the divine dwelling among humanity; temple worship moves symbolically toward holiness and presence (Levenson 275-98). In the Psalms, that movement is often existential rather than architectural. The worshipper descends into fear, sin, mortality, exile, or confusion; ascends through remembrance, repentance, sacrifice, trust, and covenant appeal; and is lifted into renewed joy, praise, divine fellowship, and testimony. Walter Brueggemann’s well-known categories of orientation, disorientation, and new orientation offer a closely related account of the spiritual world of the Psalter (Brueggemann).

This pattern does not mean that every psalm begins in Eden, passes through a fixed ritual sequence, and ends in triumph. Hebrew poetry resists mechanical outlines. Its parallel lines deepen, contrast, intensify, and sometimes destabilize one another. Yet across Psalms 49-86, a recurring theological grammar becomes visible: false securities fail, the soul cries out, God’s mighty acts are remembered, mercy opens a path, and the redeemed worshipper declares what God has done. The result is a spiritual autobiography of redemption, not because all the psalms were written by one person, but because generations of worshippers can find their own descent and ascent within Israel’s inspired songs.

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Jesus Christ as the Good Shepherd leading His sheep from a dark valley toward the light of the temple, illustrating Psalm 23 and the plan of salvation.

“The Lord Is My Shepherd”: Psalm 23, Temple Descent-Ascent, and the Plan of Salvation

A Come, Follow Me Study for August 17-23, 2026: Psalms 1-2; 8; 19-33; 40; 46

“For thou art with me.” – Psalm 23:4

Most of us first learned Psalm 23 as a psalm of comfort. We hear it at funerals, repeat it in hospital rooms, and reach for it when grief has stripped life down to its most difficult questions. That use is neither accidental nor misplaced. Yet Psalm 23 does more than assure us that God will remain near when we die. It poetically traces an entire journey: the Lord provides, restores, guides, accompanies, protects, welcomes, anoints, and finally brings the worshipper into His house.

That movement makes Psalm 23 especially meaningful for Latter-day Saints. Its imagery can be read as a temple-shaped journey from ordered life into mortal darkness and then upward into covenant fellowship and the presence of God. Read within the immediate sequence of Psalms 22-24, the pattern becomes even more striking: lament and suffering in Psalm 22, the Shepherd’s presence in Psalm 23, and ascent to the holy hill with the King of glory in Psalm 24. Nancy deClaissé-Walford’s intertextual study similarly argues that these three neighboring psalms form a powerful statement of trust when read together (deClaissé-Walford 139-52).

This interpretation requires one careful qualification. Psalm 23 is not demonstrably a word-for-word transcript of an ancient Israelite temple ceremony, and the full Latter-day Saint plan of salvation should not be projected backward into every Hebrew phrase as though the psalmist were writing a systematic doctrinal manual. Psalm 23 is commonly classified as a psalm of trust or confidence, while a pilgrimage setting that culminates at the temple remains a respected scholarly proposal rather than an uncontested conclusion (Smith 61-66; Tappy 255-80). The temple and plan-of-salvation reading offered here is therefore a disciplined canonical and theological synthesis: it begins with what the Hebrew poem says, follows the intertextual patterns the Psalter supplies, reads the psalm through Jesus Christ, and then asks how Restoration scripture enlarges its hope.

What Come, Follow Me Actually Assigns for August 17-23

The official 2026 reading is often abbreviated as “Psalms 1-46,” but the assigned passages are selections rather than every chapter in that range: Psalms 1-2; 8; 19-33; 40; and 46. The manual invites readers to notice the Psalms’ vivid images of the Savior, including the green pastures, still waters, rod, staff, and overflowing cup of Psalm 23. It then connects Psalm 24’s “hill of the Lord” with the temple and with preparation to enter the presence of God (Come, Follow Me).

The broader three-week schedule is also selective. August 24-30 covers Psalms 49-51; 61-66; 69-72; 77-78; and 85-86, while August 31-September 6 covers Psalms 102-103; 110; 116-119; 127-128; 135-139; and 146-150. Keeping the actual readings clear strengthens the study because it allows Psalm 23 to function as the focal text for this week without forcing an artificial structure onto every psalm from 1 through 46.

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“Yet Will I Trust in Him”: Job, the Redeemer, and the Temple Pattern of Descent and Ascent

How suffering, covenant faithfulness, divine perspective, and restoration reveal the plan of salvation

What do we do when life falls apart—not because we have walked away from God, but while we are doing our best to remain faithful to Him? What do we say when prayer does not immediately change the diagnosis, restore the relationship, return what was lost, or explain why a righteous person has been permitted to suffer? Those questions are not signs of spiritual failure. They are among the deepest questions of mortality, and the book of Job refuses to answer them with a slogan.

Job is not a story about a man who never struggled. He grieved, protested, questioned, and pleaded for God to answer him. He described himself as stripped of glory, surrounded by darkness, abandoned by loved ones, and unable to find the God he still longed to meet. Yet his anguish never became indifference. Job kept turning toward God, even when he could not understand God. His questions and his faith occupied the same ash heap.

That is the spiritual tension at the heart of the 2026 Come, Follow Me lesson on Job. The manual emphasizes that faith in Job is questioned and tested without being completely abandoned. Not every question receives an explanation, but questions can coexist with faith. Job therefore becomes more than a case study in the problem of evil. He becomes a witness of what covenant trust looks like when familiar answers no longer seem adequate.

Read as a whole, Job is a temple-shaped wisdom drama of descent, covenant testing, divine encounter, intercession, and restoration. Its movement carries Job from abundance into ashes, from ashes into argument, from argument toward a living Redeemer, and from limited mortal understanding into the presence of God. The book does not merely ask, “Why do righteous people suffer?” It presses us toward a more searching question: How does a covenant disciple remain faithful until God reveals a larger perspective through the living Redeemer?

How Should We Read the Book of Job?

The first step in responsible expository teaching is to respect the kind of literature we are reading. Job begins with a prose prologue in chapters 1–2, moves into an extended poetic body in chapters 3–41, and returns to prose in the concluding portion of chapter 42. Within the poetic core are Job’s lament, three cycles of debate with Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, Job’s extended defense, the speeches of Elihu, and the Lord’s response from the whirlwind. This carefully arranged structure is one reason Job should not be read as if it were a modern courtroom transcript.

The Religious Studies Center essay “Hast Thou Considered My Servant Job?” acknowledges both the possible historical foundation of Job and the book’s evident literary shaping. Modern scholarship commonly classifies Job as wisdom literature, but that label does not exhaust the book. Will Kynes notes that Job can also be read through the lenses of lament, drama, controversy dialogue, lawsuit, exemplary sufferer narrative, epic, prophecy, and apocalyptic literature. Carol A. Newsom describes the book as a contest of moral imaginations because Job and his interlocutors do not simply exchange information; they present competing visions of God, justice, suffering, and human righteousness.

This literary awareness also helps us understand the heavenly scene in Job 1–2. The Come, Follow Me manual explains that these chapters poetically emphasize Satan’s role as adversary or accuser and should not be treated as a literal transcript of a conversation between God and Satan. The scene reveals the theological issue driving the drama: Is Job’s devotion genuine, or is it merely the price he pays for prosperity and protection? The question is not only whether Job will survive suffering. The question is whether worship can remain worship when the expected rewards disappear.

Catherine Petrany sharpens this literary observation by attending to the Hebrew expression ha-satan, “the adversary” or “the accuser.” The definite article makes the expression function like a title rather than a personal name. Within Job’s ancient heavenly-court scene, this figure roams, investigates, and prosecutes a case; he is not yet portrayed with every feature that later Jewish and Christian texts associate with the Devil. That historical distinction explains the role this character plays in Job without requiring Latter-day Saint readers to discard restored teachings about Satan’s premortal rebellion. The disciplined approach is to let Job’s prologue define the accuser’s narrative function, then let the wider canon supply additional doctrine without forcing all later details back into two poetic chapters.

To call Job a wisdom drama, or even to recognize mythic and liturgical dimensions in it, is not to call it false. In biblical studies, mythic can describe a narrative’s use of cosmic imagery, creation symbolism, heavenly councils, chaos creatures, and archetypal conflict. Liturgical can describe patterns of mourning, petition, divine encounter, sacrifice, and restored communion. Those categories help us see how Job’s personal anguish is placed within a cosmic frame without requiring us to deny that the story may preserve the memory of a real righteous sufferer.

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From the Ash Heap to the Holy Mountain: Hebrew Poetry and Wisdom Literature through the Temple Pattern of Descent and Ascent

A Come, Follow Me introduction to Job, Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes

Job, Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes do not offer one flat explanation of faithful life. They give us an inspired conversation. Job protests any theology that reduces suffering to a predictable equation. The Psalms teach covenant Israel to pray through joy, guilt, abandonment, fear, gratitude, and praise. Proverbs forms moral perception by training the disciple to fear the Lord and choose wisdom over folly. Ecclesiastes exposes the vapor-like instability of mortal achievement and the limits of human control. Read together, these books move repeatedly from order into disorientation and from disorientation toward a renewed, humbler communion with God.

This study proposes the temple pattern of descent and ascent as a theological and devotional framework for that movement. Descent names mortality, estrangement, lament, disorder, and the collapse of false certainty. Ascent names purification, covenant formation, divine instruction, unveiled perspective, and renewed presence. The framework is grounded most directly in the temple setting of many Psalms—especially Psalm 24—but it should not be mistaken for a claim that Job, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes were all composed as a single temple ritual. Instead, it is a canonical, Christ-centered reading that brings the wisdom books into conversation with Israel’s worship, the plan of salvation, and the Latter-day Saint journey back into God’s presence. The W.I.S.D.O.M. arc developed below provides the series structure: Walk, Invite, Seek, Discern, Observe, and Meet.

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What the Divinity of Jesus Christ Means to You

Why Jesus Alone Could Accomplish the Infinite and Eternal Atonement

What manner of man commands the wind and sea—and they obey Him? He who speaks to the chaotic elements and they submit to His will, revealing His divine authority over nature itself. His voice echoes through the storm, bringing peace where there was turmoil, demonstrating an unparalleled mastery that transcends human understanding.

What manner of man possesses the power to lay down His life and take it up again? He who, with the authority inherent to His being, presents the ultimate sacrifice, fully aware of the weight of such a decision. In laying down His life, He unveils the profound mystery of love and redemption. The same strength that allows Him to give Himself away also empowers Him to conquer death, rising triumphantly to provide hope and eternal life to humanity.

What manner of man suffers more than mortal humanity can endure, yet remains until the work of redemption is complete? He bears the weight of all humanity’s sins, feeling the depths of anguish and despair, yet persevering through the agony to fulfill His purpose. His empathy is boundless, experiencing sorrow in ways that only a divine nature could comprehend. In His endurance, He illustrates the profound depth of grace, revealing that true strength is often displayed in vulnerability and unwavering commitment to a higher calling, despite the unbearable cost.

This man is a testament to the coexistence of power and humility, a divine figure whose actions reshape the narrative of humanity’s relationship with the Creator. His life and legacy stand as an eternal beacon of hope, a call to embrace the extraordinary potential within each of us to rise above our circumstances and to foster love, compassion, and redemption in a world so often in need of these gifts.

These questions stand at the center of Doctrine Lesson 6, “What the Divinity of Jesus Christ Means to You,” from the 1974–75 Melchizedek Priesthood study guide When Thou Art Converted, Strengthen Thy Brethren. The lesson’s purpose was not merely to establish that Jesus was extraordinary. It invited priesthood holders to understand why Jesus Christ alone possessed power to accomplish the infinite and eternal Atonement—and why every one of us remains completely dependent upon Him.

Nearly five decades later, that central purpose remains unchanged. Some of the language used in the original lesson, however, has generated theological questions and apologetic controversy. In particular, statements by James E. Talmage and Bruce R. McConkie about Christ’s literal divine sonship have been interpreted by critics as teaching that God the Father physically descended and engaged in sexual intercourse with Mary.

A responsible modern treatment must do more than dismiss that criticism. It must distinguish among what scripture reveals, what individual Church leaders have proposed or speculated, and what the Church currently teaches as established doctrine.

It is best we do not allow controversy over the manner of Christ’s conception to distract us from the greater truth: Jesus Christ did for us what we could never do for ourselves.

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Our Heavenly Family: What the Gospel Teaches About Premortal Life and the Plan of Progression

What if your identity didn’t start at birth—but before time as you know it?

Culture and society constantly attempt to define you by your past, your struggles, or your achievements, the restored gospel of Jesus Christ offers a radically different foundation: you are not an accident—you are a child of God.

This truth sits at the very heart of Latter-day Saint belief and shapes everything from purpose to destiny. If you’ve ever wondered, Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I going? —this doctrine answers all three with clarity, hope, and eternal perspective. Understanding this inherent identity offers comfort amidst life’s challenges and reassures you that your existence is meaningful and intentional.

The idea that your identity predates your mortal experience invites a profound reflection on the nature of your soul. It posits that you were known to God before the foundation of the world, reinforcing a sense of belonging that transcends earthly definitions. This foundational belief encourages individuals to look beyond transient labels and societal expectations, fostering a deeper connection with the divine.

In this post, we’ll walk through the doctrine of our Heavenly Family as taught in Chapter 2 of the Gospel Principles manual—unpacking it through scripture, thoughtful explanation, and real-life application. We will explore how viewing yourself as a beloved child of Heavenly Parents impacts your day-to-day life, the decisions you make, and the way you interact with others. By examining scripture, we’ll delve into key passages that illuminate your divine lineage and help you internalize the powerful message that you are part of a larger, eternal family.

Join us as we navigate these teachings together, uncovering the significance of your eternal identity and how it serves as a guiding light through trials and triumphs alike. Through this exploration, may you gain a renewed perspective on your divine worth and a deeper understanding of your eternal purpose.

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The Ten Plagues of Egypt: A Typology of Mortality, Sin, Death, and Resurrection

When most people think of the Ten Plagues, they imagine frogs, flies, and fire raining down. However, the plagues were never random acts of divine wrath. Instead, they served as a spiritual roadmap — revealing what happens when humanity turns away from God, and how God still works to redeem His people. Each plague acts as a mirror. It reflects something about us, the world we inhabit, and the God who refuses to leave us trapped in bondage. When you connect the plagues with Genesis, the Gospels, Revelation, and even the Book of Mormon, a clear pattern appears — a cycle of descent, judgment, mercy, and ascent.

The plagues are not merely ancient events. They symbolize the human condition — mortality, sin, corruption, spiritual darkness, and ultimately death. They also represent deliverance — the Lamb, the Light, the Firstborn Son, the Passover, the Exodus, and the path toward resurrection. This is the reason the plagues resonate throughout scripture: in John’s Apocalypse, the Nephites’ cycles of destruction, the fall of Jerusalem, and the ultimate gathering of Israel. The plagues are one of many scriptural apocalypse.

I want to invite you as we take a moment to examine each plague in depth — the gods they challenged, the creation they overturned, and the Christ they foreshadowed. Hopefully you might see how each plague breaks down false systems, uncovers spiritual sickness, and unveils aspects of the gospel.

And I want us to take a broader view. By doing so, I want to show how the entire structure of the ten plagues forms the core of biblical prophecy, temple theology, covenant ascent, and God’s ultimate redemption of His people. This story is not just about Egypt. It is the story of every person that has ever needed deliverance.

As we begin, remember this: the plagues are not the conclusion. They are the gateway. They are the descent that precedes the ascent. They are the shadow that reveals the Lamb.”

Let us enter the pattern — from bondage to freedom, from darkness to light, from death to resurrection.

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Part II – Lesson 6: The Church of the First Century

Every surviving document from the earliest Christians points to one unmistakable reality: the Church of Jesus Christ was never meant to drift, improvise, or evolve by popular opinion. It was governed—actively, visibly, and globally—by living apostles who traveled, taught, corrected, and unified the Saints across thousands of miles. The idea of a fragmented, locally‑run Christianity would have been unrecognizable to the men and women who lived under apostolic direction.

Archaeologists mapping Roman travel networks now show how apostles could realistically maintain jurisdiction across vast distances. Historians studying Acts 15 identify the Jerusalem Council as the first Christian governing council—binding on every congregation. And New Testament scholars across traditions agree that Peter’s leadership was real, but never monarchical. The earliest Church functioned through a council of apostles, not a solitary bishop and not independent local leaders.

This emerging academic consensus paints a picture that looks far more like the Latter‑day Saint model of apostolic governance than the later structures of Catholicism, Orthodoxy, or Protestantism.

When Latter‑day Saints speak of a living quorum of apostles with worldwide jurisdiction, we are not inventing a new ecclesiology—we are recovering the original one. The historical record, the New Testament, and the best modern scholarship converge on the same point: the Church Christ established was led by a unified body of apostles who held authority for the entire household of faith.

This is the pattern that disappeared after their deaths. This is the pattern the Restoration restores.

What to Look for in this Lesson: 

  1. Most of the religions of the first century of the Christian era stressed the acquisition of salvation through mystical initiatory rites or elaborate ceremonies. Christianity ignored these aspects of religion and stressed a high standard of moral conduct. 
  2. Christianity was a rapidly expanding movement in the first century. Arrangements were made for supervision so that it would not become disunited. 
  3. Enrichment material. In Apostasy from the Divine Church, pp. 39-77 can be found some unique quotations and comments concerning the doctrines and worship of the early Christian church. 

How This Lesson Functions in LDS Apologetics

Apostolic jurisdiction is not an abstract ecclesiological idea—it is the structural backbone of the New Testament Church. Showing that the earliest Christians were governed by a mobile, authoritative quorum of apostles accomplishes three apologetic goals:

  • It demonstrates that the original Church was hierarchical, organized, and led by living apostles, not by Scripture alone or by independent congregations.
  • It shows that later Christian structures—papal monarchy, conciliar episcopacy, or Protestant congregationalism—do not match the first‑century pattern.
  • It clarifies that the Restoration restores a model that actually existed, rather than inventing a new one.

This lesson therefore becomes a bridge between historical reconstruction and Restoration theology.

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Truth to Mormons Exposed: Deconstructing Bill Young’s “Idol” Claim

Latter-day Saints are often exposed to someone who attempts to tell them who their God really is. Not by seeking understanding, but by speaking over them—loudly, confidently, and often inaccurately. When that happens, the question isn’t just, “How do I respond?” It’s, “How do I stay grounded in truth without losing my peace?”

Bill Young’s recent Truth to Mormons episode, “Watch Mormon God Idol Worship,” is the latest in a long line of videos that claim to “expose” Latter-day Saint belief. But beneath the sensational title lies something deeper: a pattern of misrepresentation that doesn’t just distort doctrine—it wounds real people. Many who watch these videos aren’t looking for a fight; they’re looking for clarity, stability, and a faith that can withstand scrutiny without collapsing into fear.

And the sad reality: Like most critics – Bill Young holds himself above any form of teaching, correction, rebuke, or refutation (2 Timothy 3:16).

This article steps into that space—not to trade blows, but to offer light. I am not here to defend God as if He were fragile. I am here to defend the conversation—to show that faith can be examined without being caricatured, and that discipleship grows stronger when we refuse to let someone else narrate our beliefs for us.

I write this as someone who has spent years in recovery, scripture study, apologetics, and theological study—someone who understands how spiritual distortion can harm the soul just as deeply as addiction harms the body. My goal isn’t to “win” against Bill Young or anyone else. My goal is to create a safe, honest, intellectually rigorous space where readers can breathe again, reclaim their spiritual footing, and see their faith through the lens of scripture, history, and lived discipleship—not through the lens of someone else’s outrage.

If you’ve ever felt shaken by videos like this, or if you’re simply seeking clarity in a noisy world, you’re in the right place. Let’s walk through this together with calm minds, open scriptures, and a commitment to truth that doesn’t need to shout to be strong.

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CFM | “This is My Work and My Glory”: A Verse-by-Verse Exposition of Moses 1 and Abraham 3

Before the curtain rises on the drama of Creation in Genesis, there is a prologue.

In the King James Bible, we open immediately to “In the beginning.” However, the Restoration offers a vital theological frame that Genesis assumes but does not explicitly state. Revealed through the Prophet Joseph Smith, Moses 1 and the Book of Abraham serve as this frame. They are not merely prefaces; they are the twin lenses through which we are meant to view the entire scope of human existence.

Moses 1 recounts a theophany (an encounter with God), a confrontation with the Adversary, and the ultimate revelation of God’s work and glory. It opens with a profound divine interaction where Moses learns his identity as a “son of God.” This chapter grounds us in the personal: it establishes the relationship between the Father and His children and highlights the duality of light and darkness. It reminds us that while we are endowed with agency, we are also met with opposition, encouraging us to discern and choose righteousness amidst temptation.

Complementing this is the account of Abraham, particularly the cosmic revelations of chapter 3. If Moses 1 teaches us who we are, Abraham teaches us where we came from and why we are here. Through the Urim and Thummim, Abraham is shown the governing dynamics of the universe—stars, orbits, and the great star Kolob. But this astronomy lesson is a parable for spiritual reality: just as one star is greater than another, spirits possess varying degrees of intelligence. Abraham takes us behind the scenes to the Grand Council in Heaven, revealing the doctrine of the “First Estate” and the blueprint of the Plan of Salvation before the earth was even formed.

Together, these texts restore the foundations of our faith. Moses leads us up the mountain to see God face-to-face; Abraham leads us into the stars to see the pre-mortal councils. A careful examination of these verses unveils theological depths that speak to our divine lineage, the eternal nature of intelligence, and a plan that stretches far beyond our mortal experiences.

Below is a verse-by-verse expository commentary that explores the deep theological currents of these remarkable texts. As we engage with the prologues of Moses and Abraham, we invite the Spirit to guide our understanding, deepening our connection to the divine narrative that encompasses our lives and the cosmos around us.

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