Compassion and mercy within the stories we tell

There’s a weight to how we speak about others, a quiet responsibility that lingers in the spaces between our words. Joseph Smith’s reflection on kindness and mercy isn’t just about personal relationships — it’s about perspective. He stated, “The nearer we get to our Heavenly Father, the more we are disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls.” That inclination — to lift others, to see them not as their worst moments but as something greater — shapes not just our faith but the way we tell stories and the way we write about the world.

At its core, news writing is storytelling. It frames events, names actions, and assigns weight to words. But in today’s world, where headlines are written to provoke reactions, speed often outruns truth, and narratives or politics can be sculpted to fit agendas, the challenge is not just to report but to see — to see the person behind the mistake, the soul beneath the scandal, the full breadth of a life beyond a single moment. As they are our spiritual brethren and deserve our respect. We have been taught that we ought not to judge, that is why we need to stay as natural or to the facts as possible within our writing when giving the stories that shape news and media, but that siren call of sensationalism and popularity does temp so many news writers to make things seem catchy to invite more readers or report only on things that can grab a reader’s immediate attention. I ask that we not fall for this temptation but not be blinded and become bleeding hearts either and become hypocrites in our writing to convey truth to the reader.

Thus, compassion in writing doesn’t mean avoiding hard truths, glossing over reality, or pretending that wrong is right. Instead, it means refusing to reduce people to their worst days or anthropomorphize them into some abstract object easy to hate, much like the faceless background characters that are killed in mass in superhero movies and T.V. shows.  It means remembering that every failure, every triumph, and every quiet in-between moment belongs to a person with history, hope, and the potential for change if they so desire.

There’s power in mercy — the kind of power that shapes not just how we write but also how we read, interpret, and let stories settle into us. A merciful lens doesn’t ignore the truth — it enhances it, allowing for complexity and redemption for humanity.

If we want God to have mercy on us, we must have mercy on one another — even in our words. Our thoughts and words will shape our deeds until our destiny is set in stone.