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Riches That Unite Us

1clbp946kfzfr Kristin Goodwin is a mother of four on the East Coast. Among other things, she thrives on reading, cooking interesting meals, spending time in the outdoors, and playing her flute. She’s learning to accept her messy house and chaotic life with a sense of gratitude rather than resentment, as she realizes that it reflects what she treasures most after all. 

A long time ago, when I had just two little ones, a picnic-table conversation with friends veered to the question, What clues signal to you that someone has plenty of money? Everyone laughed at my response, which was curtains and zip-top baggies; but having been long-time poor students, my husband and I almost never used anything but fold-tops or even repurposed bread bags. Seeing a mom sit down with a whole bunch of food items in their own zippered pouches made me assume they must be dang well-off.

For some reason I’ve hung onto that mentality of scarcity a long while. Items that friends take for granted still feel like huge splurges for us, as we remain resistant to consumerism large and small. I must admit that deep down, I presume that a person who expends effort to be trendy in some way must not be thinking clearly about their values; they must be caught in a trap of fleeting, unimportant things that get in the way of the ‘real stuff’. I even initially discount someone if they seem too stylish or popular.

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Surprise: Happy, Happy, Happy Anniversary

By Linda Hoffman Kimball

Engagement photoIn July of 1994, my two sisters and I sifted through the belongings in our widowed mother’s home. She lay in a hospital nearby, unconscious and dying of a massive stroke at the age of 78. She lingered in that condition for nearly three weeks before she finally passed.

During those weeks, we hunted through the disarray of her home for documents, policies, and other papers that might be helpful for the disposition of her estate. It was grim and devastating work.

One trip to the dumpster behind her apartment complex allowed me (at last) to get rid of the embarrassingly poor plaster sculpture I’d made in high school two decades previously. I had never liked it, but my mom kept it in a place of honor. While there was a frisson of relief to see that thing go, my knees buckled with wordless grief when a set of Mom’s dentures tumbled with other “trash” into the dumpster, too. That she would never need them, never speak again, was more than I could fathom. My being the only Mormon in the family didn’t make my grief any easier to bear right in the midst of our loss.

My sisters Susan and Holly meanwhile had discovered Mom’s car insurance policy tucked into the 50th Rockford High School reunion program; stock certificates for companies long since defunct in one stack of papers; and boxes of old family photos – few of them labeled.

Holly pulled a small metal lock box out from one pile. Among the papers inside was one that baffled us all.

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It’s a Shame I Can’t Write about This

By Karen Austin

Photo by Mythic SeaBass via Creative Commons

For over a year, I have been trying to write a post about shame, and I can’t find the right words.

Shame is the belief that we are fundamentally inadequate and incapable of change.  While others might seek to shame us, we do have the power to accept or reject that message, especially as we become adults.   To shame someone damns them from ever changing. If we accept these messages of shame, we damn ourselves.

If someone was shamed us a child, it might take a long time to unlearn thoughts and emotions rooted in shame. However, I believe that we can overcome shame with the help of supportive friends, counseling, and the power of the atonement.   I also believe we can stop shaming others.

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Whitney Finalists: Historical Round-Up

By Jessie Christensen

Historical fiction has long been one of my favorite literary genres; as a young adult I read it almost exclusively, eschewing other genres like science fiction and fantasy. Although my reading tastes have broadened as an adult, historical novels are still one of my favorite things to read and one of the categories that I most look forward to when it comes to the Whitney awards. This year the finalists in the category are all established authors whose names should be familiar to you. There are three previous winners: Gale Sears for Letters in the Jade Dragon Box, 2011; Carla Kelly for Borrowed Light, 2011 and My Loving Vigil Keeping, 2012; and H.B. Moore for Abinadi in 2008. The other two authors, Jennie Hansen and Phyllis Gunderson, have both been finalists in previous years. Competition in this category is going to be stiff, especially with such a diverse group of books covering a wide range of historical periods.

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2013 Whitney Nominees

By Emily Milner

whitney logoThe Whitney Nominees for 2013 have been announced! It’s been over a week, but I wanted to introduce this year’s nominees to Segullah readers even though I’m a little late. Here’s a link to the site with all the covers, and here is a list of them by category, with a few thoughts along the way:

In General Fiction:
Love Letters from the Angel of Death, by Jennifer Quist.
Mile 21, by Sarah Dunster
Road to Bountiful, by Donald Smurthwaite
Ruby’s Secret, by Heather B. Moore
The House at Rose Creek, by Jenny Proctor

My first thought on reading this list is gratitude that there are no inspirational fiction books here.

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Mortality

By Julie Nelson

“even we . . . groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption . . . the redemption of our body.” Romans 8:23 We wander on a wandering planet, with creatures muted, lost in weary wilderness. Valleys carve a cavity for sorrows, oceans, a catalogue of tears. We are foreigners, foraging remains of home and belonging, longing …

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Going home

By Catherine Pavia

I spent yesterday and this morning (hence the extreme lateness of this post) making the journey up from Arizona to northern Utah, where I grew up. The journey is both physical and mental for me. As I drive through small farming towns tucked into rolling valleys, I’m reminded of the small town I grew up …

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Nauvoo

By Michelle Lehnardt

Dust scattered in the morning light as my mother fed lengths of blue gingham through her sewing machine. Newly converted to the Church, she used a few scraps and a borrowed pattern to create a bonnet and pinafore for my first 24th of July parade. She finished the final hem, tied the bonnet ribbons under …

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“You live in Utah now, put on some clothes”

By Shelah Miner

A couple of weeks ago, the day finally arrived when our belongings would be delivered to our new house in Utah. The truck was scheduled to arrive at the house between 9:00-9:30, so I got up before the sun, tossed on my running shorts, and headed out the door. By the time I got back to my in-laws’ house, where I was staying, I was worried about rush-hour traffic. So instead of showering, I threw my bags in the car and headed up to the new house. If we beat the traffic, there’d be plenty of time to shower before the truck arrived. Miraculously, there was no traffic, and we arrived at the house a full hour before the movers were scheduled to show up. But when we turned the corner onto our street, there they were, waiting for us in the driveway, eager to start working.

So instead of warming up with a hot shower and a pair of jeans, I stood in the drizzle on the driveway for the next four or five hours, shivering in my running shorts, checking off numbered boxes as the rolled off the truck. Pretty soon, a steady stream of neighbors started to come by the house, introducing themselves as the Scoutmaster, the Bear Den leader, the former owner’s mother, and the Visiting Teaching Coordinator.

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What spoke to you today?

By Dalene Rowley

Don’t you just love how General Conference can be so personal? Here are a few of my favorite moments: I loved being able to stand as part of the Relief Society and raise my hand to sustain our new prophet. Saturday morning session: Elder’s Wirthlin’s talk about loving, accepting, belonging and coming back (and wasn’t …

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