Years ago, my friend Natalie taught a lesson during our women’s meeting at church on “Having Temperance in All Things.” That phrase alone was familiar to me, but the way she explained it that day completely changed how I saw it. I’d like to share the epiphany I had.

First, the definition:

Temperance = moderation and self-restraint

Before her lesson, I thought I understood temperance. I could apply it easily to obvious areas—like avoiding too many sweets or steering clear of addictive habits (such as binge-watching my favorite shows). But when I considered what temperance in all things really means, I realized I was out of my depth.

Take my goals, for example. I’ve never been good at pacing myself there. I tend to aim high, load up my schedule, and then get overwhelmed by everything I’ve taken on. I didn’t know when to step back and say, “I’ve done enough.”

Part of my problem was my genuine belief that I could do anything, and that there was no such thing as too much. Honestly, that belief helped me achieve some wonderful things—so why would I temper it?

The problem was, my mortal body couldn’t always keep up with my relentless pace. Predictably, I’d go through a cycle of unbridled ambition… then crash and burn… then recover just enough to do it all over again. That cycle is exhausting—for me and for my family.

It’s like bending a metal rod back and forth. Eventually, it snaps.

I understood the Law of Cause and Effect: every step toward a goal brings the goal closer to me. But that also raised a troubling question: How could it ever be okay to stop stepping?

That morning, I felt like I was on the brink of another crash-and-burn, so I prayed. I asked for insight—how to keep moving forward without destroying my health or relationships in the process.

A few hours later, I sat in the women’s meeting at church. Natalie stood at the front and began her lesson:

I like to make cookies.  In fact, I have a wonderful recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies that just works. Over the years I've used it, as long as I follow the right steps, we predictably end up with perfectly delicious cookies.

If I set the timer for 13 minutes and take them out when it dings, they're perfect.  But if I get busy and ignore the timer, pretty soon I'll start to smell them, and by then it's too late. Even if I get a whiff and then run to take them out, it's too late. They'll be hard, dark, and good for nothing, except to be thrown away.

So, after mixing all the ingredients together, letting them bake is one of the most important parts - otherwise, you just don't have a cookie. But baking them for the right amount of time determines whether or not they will turn out good. That's why the timer is so important: to help you make sure the cookies don't burn.

Life is the same way.

When you're trying to accomplish something good, your energy and attention on the goal is one of the most important parts, like heat in the oven baking a batch of cookies.  However, you've got to turn off the energy and attention when the "timer" dings, or you just might ruin it all. So listen for (and heed) that inner voice that says, "Ding! That's enough..."

Wow. I got it. That was my answer, right there.

For the first time in my life, I could see it clearly: too much of a good thing can be bad. Pushing beyond the right point doesn’t just fail to help—it can ruin everything.

So now, I remember: when the “dinger” rings, it’s not just okay to stop—it’s critical. Finding that middle ground, your own “13 minutes”, is essential. We have to trust that it’s by “small and simple things” (instead of endless, exhausting effort) that “great things are brought to pass.” Choosing to stop at the right time—and trusting that it’s enough—is an act of faith of the highest order.

Since that day, I’ve tried to listen more carefully to the Spirit of God, which works like my inner “timer.” It gently alerts me when I’ve pushed too far. Instead of rationalizing, “I can still do more!”, I think about burnt cookies. That way, my goals get just the right amount of energy—and I avoid burning myself out in the process.

And as for the Law of Cause and Effect? I’ve learned that sometimes the right action is… to stop acting.

Natalie ended her lesson by handing each of us a perfectly baked cookie and saying:

“Careful baking is what determines the quality of my cookie, and temperance in my actions determines the quality of my life.”

Thank you, Natalie, for being an instrument in God’s hands that day. My prayer was answered—and my family thanks you, too.

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