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Fault Lines

By Rosalyn Eves

I was in graduate school when I had my first child; I wrote my dissertation in snippets while he napped. School was logical, ordered. I knew the rules to the game and played it well. This parenthood was a new abyss for me. Some nights, I would sit up with my baby in those soft …

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Sabbath Revival: Leaving the Foyer

By Sandra Clark

I love everything that Annie writes, and today I resonated the message from this dear piece and remembrance from the vault. Although we aren’t in a new year, the new start of school is always a good reset time for me to rethink where I am and where I’m heading. 

In my old filing cabinet next to the piano, there is a folder marked “spiritual insights” with articles and quotes that, at some point in my life, sparked something within me. Lately I’ve needed some spiritual sparks—the shape of my testimony worn down by mundane daily-ness and taken for granted for too long—so I’ve turned to this folder to see if anything still hits a chord or can provide some New Year’s motivation.

Halfway through there is a paper (handwritten!) that I wrote as a 17-year-old college freshman for an honors religion class. We were asked to write weekly thought papers responding to the scriptural reading assignments. Mine tended toward the confessional, ardently admitting my failings and doubts on a variety of subjects. I enjoyed taking my testimony out and poking and prodding it like a specimen on a table in front of me. Keep in mind that every weekly paper included some variation on this theme:

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Lessons Learned

By Linda Hoffman Kimball

Mrs. Rainwater's 2nd grade class
Mrs. Rainwater’s 2nd grade class

Children are back in school. I have seen the Staples commercials and know that it’s the “hap-happiest time of the year” for many families. In honor of this season I wax nostalgic about lessons I learned through the years. Not all of these lessons are noble, but like too much sun exposure in my youth, their effects linger.

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Had it With Homework

By Leslie Graff

. When my children explode through the door at 3:15 and open their backpacks and folders, I find my blood pressure rising. It’s not just the chaos of the afternoon, the recounting of the day, the voracious snack consumption, or strewn backpacks, shoes, and coats. It’s the homework. I’ll admit it—I am a conscientious objector …

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When I wear old shoes, I raise my focus

By Jennifer Whitcomb

penil0

Summer’s winding down. To that, I say bah.

It’s always too short. I could do with one more beach day, one more book to read, one more day trip, and I’m up for finding one more reason not to embrace the finality of a looming Labor Day weekend.

A few weeks ago I salvaged binders, notebooks, pens and folders from the previous school year and realized I was rebelling against the onslaught of back-to-school propaganda; the momentum of must-haves to begin the new academic year. I can’t stand the fact that my kids think they can’t re-walk the hallways at school without new lunch boxes and backpacks, new pencil boxes and markers, new binders and book covers and certainly new clothing and shoes.

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“Your Mom Goes to College!”

By Angela Hallstrom

A few Sundays ago, a group of us was brainstorming ways we could help the sisters in the ward live more providently in light of the current economic crisis.

“Teach them to can!” a person offered.

“Create a Relief Society recipe book!” another said.

“Tell them to stop applying for secret credit cards and then hiding the statements from their husbands!” one cried passionately.

All good ideas, yes (in particular the last).

Finally, I raised my hand. “Encourage women who haven’t finished their degrees to go back to school!” I said with enthusiasm.

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