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It’s All About Poop

By Andrea Rediske

Another Guest Post from Andrea R. Thanks! Again. When my husband and I first were married, we talked about a lot of things. We’d go to movies and then spend the evening discussing and critiquing them. One year, we saw every movie that had been nominated for an Academy Award. We read books and then discussed them, much like you might in a good English class ”“ we talked about the characters and their motivations, plotlines, exposition, and how the stories made us feel. We talked about music ”“ exciting new independent artists breaking onto the music scene. We went to live shows and discussed what was played and which songs were our favorites. We talked about politics, culture, and ideas in the ever-changing world around us. We talked about ourselves, our individual histories, our futures together. We were young, we were hip. We had our whole lives ahead of us.

Ten years and three children later, we talk about poop.

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Write and Remember

By Jennifer Boyack

When I was seven-years-old, my parents gave me a treasure: a pale pink diary. Shiny, dark pink daisies adorned the cover and surrounded the words, “My Daily Journal.” Even the pages were pink! There was one more detail–and probably my favorite feature–it had a lock. I was ecstatic and I wrote in it the very next day.

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Truth Beautiful

By Elaine Rumsey Wagner

I remember sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen Surrounded by the warmth of the wood furnace, stoked hot Against the four-foot drifts of the Snake River Plain outside. She told me how beautiful I was, Her creased hands against my cheeks. She talked about the beauty of youth that doesn’t need Lipstick and cream blushers. Her …

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Hands

By Melissa Young

My hands are aging. I know, the rest of me is aging along with them; but I can easily ignore these changes or ascribe them to babies or chocolate rather than the passage of time. But my hands . . . I cannot escape the evidence in my hands. It’s hard to say exactly what …

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A Living Sacrifice, Part II

By Kathyrn Lynard

A few years ago I read a poignant personal essay in Exponent II’s special issue, “Being Single in a Married Church.” The author, a single LDS woman, wrote candidly about the challenges of single life: the intrusive comments made by others, the indignities that sometimes came from “playing the field,” the uncertainty and loneliness that often crept into her heart. Her tone was not whiny or bitter, just honest about the “behind the scenes” difficulties of single life.

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Eat, Fly

By Maralise Petersen

My two and a half year-old “baby” doesn’t eat, at least not enough.

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Patience

By Angela W. Schultz

Patience. I’ve learned a lot about that word since my husband got sick two and a half years ago. Of course I’ve learned lots of other things too. I can tell you how standard lyme tests have a false negative rate of 40 percent or more, which led to a delay in Don’s diagnosis. I can tell you about the difficulties of treating late stage lyme. I can even tell you about the alternative treatments available. But what I can’t tell you, despite all my research, the thousands of dollars in medical bills, and the lifestyle adjustments we’ve had to make, is when this roller coaster ride will be over. Despite all that, I think I’ve shown patience in dealing with the big challenges we’ve been dealing with. But like Rebecca Rice Birkin, I’ve also found that it’s often, “the little household crises that get to me.” Just yesterday, chronic illness hit me where it really matters—in the sugar bowl.

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The beginning from the end

By Kathyrn Lynard

Want people (e.g., Segullah editors) to read your stuff?

Want them to walk away saying “wow”?

Two words: beginning, ending.

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Watching Over Mom

By Carol Petranek

IT WAS QUIET THAT EVENING in the hospice room. Mom had left to go home, and my brother and I were the only ones with Dad. He was dying. Filled with sadness, I tried to be reassuring and supportive of him—just as he had been to me throughout my life. As we talked, he expressed concern …

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Hands

By Valerie Nielson Williams

I walked into the room where you were; You looked so peaceful, resting there. So natural, like you’d looked many times over the two decades I’d watched you sleep. I leaned over and kissed your lips still warm, But not reciprocating now. I smoothed your snow-white hair with my hand. By small measure my heart …

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