DiaBLOGue

As Winter Comes On

Beyond my chrysanthemums and barbed fence, 
aproned sisters, some in hair nets like cafeteria cooks, 
whisk their casseroles to the kitchen of the old wardhouse. 

This Is My Body

A deacon offers the broken bread. 
Aware of awkward wait as bishop 
Receives the bread of ritual first, 
I take it up, thoughtless of blessing, 

Hozhoogoo Nanina Doo

Max Hansen dipped his brush into the can and reached to the ceiling, spreading paint thickly and smoothly across the plyboard surface. He paused a moment, listening to a faint tapping sound. Rain? No. A…

To Be Native American — and Mormon

“Lamanite! I am not a Lamanite. They are a wicked people. I am not a wicked person.” I can well remember my father, Albert H. Harris, saying this, both in church and to anyone else…

“Great Spirit Listen”: The American Indian in Mormon Music

Misconceptions of native Americans began with the misnomer “Indian” based on a navigational error. Mainstream Mormon art, literature, and music, which grants the American Indians a Book of Mormon history and destiny as Lamanites, embraces…

My People, the Indians

Was it only yesterday that men first sailed around the moon? You and I § marvel that men should travel so far and so fast. Yet if they have traveled far, then I have traveled…

Helen John: The Beginnings of Indian Placement

Perhaps others than Helen John, Amy Avery, Golden and Thelma Buchanan, and Spencer W. Kimball might have compounded an equally powerful scheme for blessing the lives of Indians, but to these individuals fell that lot.