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The Sisterhood I Never Wanted to Join

By Kimberly Sears

sayIn the files next to my writing desk there’s a folder labeled “Baby Sears 2014!” in neat, excited handwriting. Inside are ultrasound papers and the remnants of a treasure hunt I made my husband to tell him our good news. But of course there was no Baby Sears born in 2014. Because that was the …

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Guest Post: Life Cycle

By Hildie Westenhaver

Lindsey Price Jackson is an attorney at a child advocacy nonprofit in Connecticut, where she lives with her handsome husband. Lindsey spends many nights on her laptop, either teaching Online Seminary or writing the next great American novel! She is a cancer survivor who celebrates the beauty of life through endless ice cream cones, day …

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Sanctissimi Corporis

By Julianna Kelly Bratt

At Ogunquit Beach, where Maine meets the North Atlantic Ocean, we sprinkled my great-aunt Rosemary’s ashes. The sky was dripping and cold and grey, and I watched her sister pour her out into the sand, like she had always been a part of it. I want the same thing when I die. Dust to dust, …

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Waiting

Lime Kiln Point, San Juan Island

Today’s guest post is from Robin, who graduated from BYU in Broadcast Journalism and worked in TV news in Washington DC where she fell in love, literally and figuratively. Her Virginia-born husband tricked her into a life on the opposite side of the country in the Pacific Northwest. Robin is an Arizonan at heart who craves flip flops year round, taco stands and lime Cokes. She blogs at lovingcake.wordpress.com

There is a spot on San Juan Island boasting the best odds in the world to see a whale from land. That’s where we found ourselves Labor Day Weekend. We visited The Whale Museum to prepare ourselves. We read up on marine mammals, ooooed and awed over the newest orca babies, learned how to differentiate between dolphins and  porpoises, saw the genealogy of J, K and L pods, read about the harsh reality of tracking and tried to unlearn about the unfortunate existence of whale parasites.

Standing under a giant whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling I did what anyone would do – I imagined Jonah inside its belly. Before exiting the museum we brushed up on our whale calls.

My expectations at the beginning of the weekend in the whale spotting department had been pretty low. I was just excited to explore a part of the Northwest I had not yet been to. But after paying our $10 park fee and walking along the rocky cliff shoreline, the lapping waves did something to me. I was determined to see a baby calf with its mom or a pod. Squinting into the sun, I began scanning the water with a concentration reminiscent of my life-guarding days.

And then we waited.

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The Paradox of Hope

By Rosalyn Eves

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about hope. Of the three virtues—faith, hope, charity—hope has traditionally been the one I thought about least, because on the surface it seems like such a simple virtue, even for a habitual pessimist like me. But I’m starting to get that hope isn’t that easy, or that simple. Yesterday …

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A Dream and Three Ultrasounds

By Emily Milner

First, the dream, at eight weeks pregnant:
It’s my birthday and there is some kind of crisis–a doctor masked in black trying to kill people, but friends organize a huge line of women knocking on the door bringing me gifts. I wake from the dream with an overwhelming sense of being loved. I don’t understand the dream, but I write it down anyway.

And the ultrasounds:
I. Seven weeks
Only because I’m spotting, the doctor sends me to have an ultrasound. I climb onto the table and shift my jeans down to my C-section scar, the line that says I have done this before. She squirts warm jelly on me and moves her wand to find the baby. “See the flashing there?” she says. “That’s the heartbeat. Looks good.” She measures it, pronounces it normal, and types “B-A-B-Y” on the screen. She prints me out a picture.

I tuck the picture into my planner. The picture makes the two pink lines on my stick into an actual baby. I am starting to believe in this pregnancy, and it feels good.

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A Living Sacrifice

By Kathyrn Lynard

I SHIFTED MY WEIGHT on the pew and sighed as the sacrament meeting speaker stood to begin his talk. Seven months pregnant, I was swollen and sore, big-bellied, and exhausted from the constant demands of my five young children who were crawling on and off my nearly nonexistent lap, whispering (or not) in my ear, …

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