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I sat in Sacrament meeting, watching the mother in front of me rip open a bag of fruit snacks. Five years ago I would have mentally tsk-tsk-ed and thought about how inappropriate it is to feed children in the chapel. I always prided myself on getting my children to behave without stuffing their mouths with snacks. I also prided myself on feeding my kids breakfast before we arrived at church, not during. I loved to turn up my nose at parents who treated Sacrament meeting like a little picnic.
It's always an incredible experience to see the inside of a temple before its dedication, and here's what one nonmember said about his experience at the Cedar City Utah Temple.
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MR says: It turns out there is a lot monkeys can teach us about humility and the dangers of clinging to things that won't really bring lasting happiness.
Do you have peripheral artery disease (PAD)?
I can still see her out there, the second mission companion in a row I had driven crazy, furiously scrubbing her clothes in the concrete basin serving as washing machine in Brazil of the 1980s. I sat inside, fuming as well after another argument, but gradually embarked on a crucial mental trajectory. Maybe the problem was me. Maybe it wasn't these Brazilian companions who couldn't seem to work within a schedule to save their lives. Maybe there was something to be said for their spontaneity -- and something wrong with my rigid reliance on agendas and veiled criticism of their modus operandi.
Pamela Dolan wrote a great piece about holiday drinking last week, and invited other Belief St Louis contributors to chime in, roundtable-style. I thought I’d take the bait, though it’s not obvious what I, a teetotaling Mormon, could add to a discussion about drinking in St Louis, a city awash in the influence of Anheuser Busch. Faithful Mormons eschew all drinking, and that prohibition is absolute: no exceptions for holidays or special occasions, not even an occasional glass of wine. I have been an active Mormon all my life, and like many other life-long Latter-day Saints I have never tasted a drop of alcohol, even in college. Now in middle age, my habits and identities are so firmly set that the thought of having a drink at a party or tasting a sip of wine would never seriously cross my mind.
Ashley Mae (Ashmae) Hoiland received a BFA in painting and an MFA in creative writing from Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah. She is the author of 100 Birds Taught Me to Fly and the illustrator of Mother’s Milk: Poems Searching for Heavenly Mother. A writer at the By Common Consent blog, she lives in Santa Cruz, California, with her three children and husband
At the beginning of her new book, One Breath at a Time, Gabrielle Shiozawa writes of her confidence that her dad would be healed as his body began to experience heart failure.
In the second grade when I got my first pair of eyeglasses, my mother said, “My little girl isn’t pretty anymore.” A few years later, my brother told me I had ugly teeth and called me a rude name.