Beyond Curves

06/11/2026

“Have you eaten yet?”

Recently, one of my clients shared how much she misses hearing those words.

At first, it seems like a simple question about food.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it means so much more.

It means:

❤️ I thought about you.

❤️ I care about you.

❤️ Your needs matter.

❤️ You belong here.

I’ve noticed that many of my Filipino clients express love this way. Through food, sharing, and making sure nobody leaves empty-handed.

A couple years ago, one of my youngest clients showed up proudly carrying a zucchini from the garden just for me.

Look at that smile.

He wasn’t bringing me a zucchini because I needed one.

He brought it because he thought of me.

And honestly, I think that’s what we all long for.

Not necessarily gifts.

Not necessarily food.

Just to know that someone remembered us when we weren’t in the room.

In a world that moves so quickly, there is something sacred about feeling seen.

So today, this little zucchini reminded me of something important:

The smallest gestures often carry the biggest love.

06/10/2026

As I prepare for my family history journey, I find myself pondering a simple question:

“Wilt thou be made whole?”

Not, Were you hurt?

Not, Were you misunderstood?

Not, Were you betrayed?

Not, Did life treat you fairly?

Most of us can answer yes to those questions.

The Savior asks something different.

Will you be made whole?

Will you forgive?

Will you trust?

Will you surrender what you’ve carried for years?

Will you let go of the fear, the anger, the shame, the need to control, the need to be right?

Will you allow Christ to carry what you cannot?

The older I get, the more I realize that healing is not always about what happened to us.

Sometimes it is about what we do next.

Sometimes we tell ourselves:

When they apologize…

When they understand…

When they change…

When they come back…

When they finally do what they should have done…

Then I’ll have peace.

Then I’ll move forward.

Then I’ll be whole.

But what if the Savior’s invitation is not waiting on someone else’s next decision?

What if becoming whole means trusting Him enough to move forward even while some questions remain unanswered?

As I study the lives of Martin Harris, Alma, Saul, Lamoni, and the early Saints, I am struck by the fact that heaven did not remove their agency, their struggles, or their opposition.

What it offered was an invitation.

An invitation to believe.

An invitation to trust.

An invitation to become something more than they had been before.

Though they were questioned, mocked, misunderstood, and told who they were, they continued to turn toward Christ.

Nearly 200 years later, I find myself realizing that the invitation has never changed.

Not what does the world call you.

Not what happened to you.

Not what burden you’ve carried.

The question is:

What are you doing with the invitation Christ has placed before you?

And when the Savior asks,

“Wilt thou be made whole?”

What will your answer be?

06/10/2026

A Family Gift ❤️

Tonight Mom, Tenille, and I were working on each other.

Mom worked on us.

We worked on Mom.

We shared techniques, stories, and experiences from helping people over the years.

At one point Mom became emotional.

I looked at her and said,

“Could you imagine this?”

Could you imagine spending your life helping people through your hands and then watching your daughters choose the same path?

Not because they had to.

Because they love it too.

There was something special about sitting there together.

Mom working on us.

Us working on Mom.

Three women from the same family, all finding joy in helping others feel better.

As I prepare for these family reunions, I’ve been thinking a lot about what gets passed down through families.

Not just stories.

Not just memories.

But gifts.

Talents.

Passions.

Ways of serving.

Tonight I felt grateful for the example Mom set for us and for the opportunity to share something we all genuinely love.

It made me wonder what gifts and talents I inherited from those who came before me, and what gifts I might pass on to those who come after me. ❤️





❤️📖✨

06/09/2026

This morning Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table playing cards when a notification popped up on her phone.

“Today is Joseph Grafton Hovey’s birthday.”

June 8, 1839.

We both stopped and smiled.

As I’ve been preparing for our trip to Millville, I’ve spent hours reading old records, studying photographs, and learning about the life of my 2nd great-grandfather, Joseph Grafton Hovey.

Today I learned even more about him.

He lived in Nauvoo as a child, endured the hardships faced by the early Saints, helped settle Millville, and served as Bishop when the ward was organized.

The town we are about to visit isn’t just a place on a map.

It is a place he helped build.

In a few days, Mom and I will stand in Millville Cemetery and visit his resting place.

What a gift family history is.

Sometimes it feels like the Lord gently reminds us that these people are more than names and dates.

They are family.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Joseph Grafton Hovey. ❤️

We look forward to meeting you through your stories.

06/09/2026

06/08/2026

Today It Dawned on Me ❤️

It actually started this morning with me sitting in my room wondering if I really needed to go to church.

Then a thought came to me.

If people don’t show up and do their part, there would be no church. No sense of community. No one to teach, serve, or strengthen one another.

So I went.

Throughout the day I found myself thinking about family.

In Fast and Testimony Meeting, I spoke about where I come from and the blessing of family on both sides of the veil.

In Sunday School, we talked about faith, suffering, and seeking God rather than relying solely on the wisdom of the world.

After church, Peggy Lacey came over and asked, “You’re a Hovey, eh?” She brought me a book and started sharing family stories and connections I had never heard before.

Later I sat in my room looking at all the books, journals, photographs, records, and family history things that seem to fill this house.

For a moment I wondered why.

Why does all of this seem to find its way to me?

Why am I so drawn to these stories?

Why do I feel such a pull toward these reunions and the people who came before me?

Then another thought came.

Maybe the greatest blessing isn’t the records at all.

Maybe it’s that I still have Mom.

When my dad became sick, he no longer knew me the way a father knows his daughter. He passed away when I was 17.

Today I realized how grateful I am that Mom is here.

She remembers the stories.

She knows the people.

She can still point to a photograph and tell me who it is.

She can still sit beside me on a road trip and help me connect the dots.

Lately I’ve wondered why all of this family history seems to be unfolding right now.

Maybe it’s because this is the season for it.

Maybe it’s because the stories are still here.

Maybe it’s because Mom is still here.

And today my heart is full of gratitude for that gift. ❤️

I don’t ever want to regret spending this time with my mom.

06/07/2026

“Tyree, look what we stumbled upon! This is amazing!” 🤠🐄🐕

Mom and I were driving together when she suddenly pointed ahead.

There, right in the middle of the road, was the most Alberta traffic jam imaginable.

A cowboy on horseback.

A hardworking dog weaving through the herd.

A side-by-side working alongside them.

And cattle stretching across the road as far as we could see.

Mom was fascinated.

“Look at that dog,” she said. “It’s just doing its job getting those cows in there.”

As we sat and watched, Mom started talking about how she used to help with cattle drives.

The more she talked, the more I found myself thinking about generations.

My dad was known as a horse whisperer.

Mom helped move cattle.

And before them were ancestors who crossed plains, worked the land, cared for livestock, raised families, and did their best to build a life for those who would come after them.

To make it even better, I had North to Alaska playing.

I’ve always loved that movie because Dad loved John Wayne, and people used to say my grandpa looked like him.

Years later, I even met a woman who knew John Wayne and attended his parties. She told me he was a genuinely kind man who preferred dogs over horses.

As I watched the cowboy, the dog, the horse, the side-by-side, and the cattle all working together, I couldn’t help but think about how generations work together too.

The horse wasn’t competing with the side-by-side.

The side-by-side wasn’t replacing the horse.

Each had a purpose.

Each brought something different.

And together, they helped move the herd forward.

Maybe that’s why family history matters.

Not because we live exactly like our ancestors or use the same tools, but because we’re still part of the same journey.

One generation passes on faith.

Another passes on knowledge.

Another brings new ideas and new ways of doing things.

The tools change.

The methods change.

The world changes.

But the journey continues.

For a few minutes on a dusty Alberta road, while North to Alaska played through the speakers and Mom shared stories from her own cattle-driving days, it felt like I was watching the past and present travel side by side.

My ancestors.

My parents.

My generation.

All moving forward together.

And honestly…

That’s a traffic jam I didn’t mind being part of. ❤️🐄🤠🐕

06/06/2026

Relaxation please 🙏

06/06/2026

What’s a story from your parents or grandparents that you’ll never forget?

Last night, as Mom and I were driving, I asked her how many times her family had gone to Waterton when she was growing up.

Her face lit up.

She told me it was one of her favorite places.

Then the stories started coming.

She told me how her mom would pack food for the trip and place it under the hood of the car to keep it warm while they traveled.

She told me about collecting buffalo patties to burn for heat because there weren’t always trees available for firewood.

She told me about collecting fur from fences to use for clothing and bedding because nothing was wasted.

She told me about living under a granary to stay warm in the winter and cool in the summer.

As I listened, I realized these stories aren’t really about buffalo patties, fences, cars, or granaries.

They’re about people.

People who looked at what they had and made it work.

People who sacrificed.

People who were resourceful.

People who endured hardship and found joy anyway.

Today, when we’re cold, we turn up the thermostat.

When we’re hungry, we stop at a restaurant.

When we need clothes, we go shopping.

But previous generations often asked a different question:

“What do we already have?”

A buffalo chip became fuel.

A fence became a source of fiber.

A car engine became a food warmer.

A granary became shelter.

What I heard in Mom’s stories wasn’t poverty.

I heard ingenuity.

I heard determination.

I heard love.

The more I prepare for this family history journey, the more I realize that family history isn’t just names, dates, and records.

It’s stories.

It’s sacrifice.

It’s resilience.

It’s discovering the ordinary people whose extraordinary efforts built the lives we enjoy today.

And I don’t want their stories to be forgotten. ❤️