Four Out of Five

Cedar Valley News
January 23, 2026
Four Out of Five
By: Dan Larson
From the fictional town of Cedar Valley, where characters from Quiet Echo continue to respond to real-world events.

Mission: Guide readers with principles rather than provoke them with noise. Help them see today’s headlines through the steady light of faith, family, responsibility, and common sense.

In King County, Washington, four out of five seniors who qualify for property tax exemptions have never applied for them.

Let that number settle for a moment. Eighty percent. Help exists—real help, already written into law—and most of the people who need it don’t know it’s there.

This week at the Cedar Valley News, we’ve been writing about property taxes. On Tuesday, George Khan told us about Gloria Gaynor, the ninety-one-year-old grandmother in Pennsylvania who lost her home over a $3,500 tax bill. On Wednesday, Lars Olson explored a reader’s idea about taxing debt instead of homes. On Thursday, Chloe Papadakis connected the dots between Pennsylvania, Florida, and Alaska—three states, three mailboxes, one national conversation.

We’ve talked about policy. We’ve talked about reform. We’ve talked about what government should do.

Today, I want to talk about what we can do.

Jayne Lisbeth, an author in Tampa, wrote to us this week after reading George’s column. Her words have stayed with me: “The moral of this tale is one to pass along: keep an eye out for elderly neighbors, not just checking in, but checking to see if they know their rights and tax laws.”

Not just checking in. Checking to see if they know their rights.

That’s the gap, isn’t it? The distance between the help that exists and the people who need it. Four out of five. Gloria Gaynor had money—she wasn’t destitute. She just didn’t understand the paperwork. She got confused during a pandemic. And nobody was there to help her navigate it.

We can debate property tax policy until the cows come home. Florida can pass its reforms. Alaska can adjust its assessments. Legislators can argue about revenue streams and mill rates and exemptions. All of that matters.

But here’s what I know for certain: while we wait for policy to change, people are losing their homes. And some of them don’t have to.

Every state has exemptions. Senior exemptions. Disability exemptions. Veteran exemptions. Homestead exemptions. The forms are complicated. The deadlines are easy to miss. The language is dense. And the government doesn’t send you a letter saying, “Hey, you qualify for this.” You have to find out yourself. You have to ask.

Or someone has to ask for you.

Scripture tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. It tells us we are our brother’s keeper. It tells us that faith without works is dead. This is what that looks like in 2026: sitting down with the widow on Maple Street and asking if she’s filed for her senior exemption. Helping the veteran on Oak Avenue understand what forms he needs. Making a phone call. Filling out paperwork. Showing up.

It’s not glamorous work. It won’t make the news. Nobody’s going to write a bill about it in Tallahassee.

But it might save someone’s home.

George ended his column by saying, “The system won’t protect them. Only neighbors will.” I’ve been thinking about that line all week. He’s right. The system is slow. The system is complicated. The system doesn’t know your neighbor’s name.

But you do.

Four out of five seniors who qualify for help haven’t asked for it. That’s not a policy failure. That’s a neighbor failure. That’s a church failure. That’s a community failure.

And it’s something we can fix—not by waiting for Tallahassee or Washington or the state capitol, but by walking next door.

This Sunday, I’m going to ask our congregation to do something simple. Pick one elderly neighbor. Just one. Stop by. Ask how they’re doing. And then ask: “Do you know about the property tax exemptions you might qualify for? Can I help you look into it?”

That’s it. One neighbor. One conversation. One act of practical love.

If four out of five aren’t getting the help they need, maybe we can be the ones who change that—not with legislation, but with love.

That’s the work. That’s the faith. That’s the front porch.

— Dan Larson is Stake President, Cedar Valley Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and a regular contributor to this newspaper. He believes the best sermons are the ones you live, not the ones you preach.

This editorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series. While the people and town are fictional, the national events they reflect on are real.

Want to know the full story behind Cedar Valley? Teresa, Caleb, Dan, and the community you’ve come to know in these editorials first came together in Quiet Echo: When Loud Voices Divide, Quiet Ones Bring Together. Discover how a small town found its way from fear to fellowship—one quiet act of courage at a time. Available on Amazon: https://bit.ly/3ME4nSs

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