Listen to a conversation about this piece here. There is in every person an inward sea, and in that sea there is an island and on that island there is an altar and standing guard…
Dialogue 56.3 (Fall 2023): 1–33
Practitioners and historians of Book of Mormon archaeology have tended to narrate the emergence and history of the field as a story of conventional scholarly investigations by Latter-day Saint professionals, professors, and ecclesiastical leaders. These narratives foreground the efforts of educated, white, upper-middle-class professionals and Church-funded institutions based in Salt Lake City and Provo, near the centers of Mormon power.
Many years ago, my husband was saved by a series of remarkable events. Or miracles? Our international Muslim and Mormon family, which now includes four adult children, their spouses, and a growing number of grandchildren,…
On our ride home from my brother’s house last Easter Sunday, having spent a few hours basking in our blessings of atonement and progeny, we pass an accident on the interstate. I say accident, though…
In 1967, Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon. Before that, women weren’t allowed to enter marathons. There’s an iconic photo of Switzer just a few miles into the race…
Listen to an interview about this piece here. The new young Bishop Fredning had not asked Vernie to prepare and narrate the Christmas program. For the first time in twenty-seven years, the bishop of the…
Some nights here there’ve been singings the children out into twilight . . . their countings,their hidings, their ally ally oxen frees.And sometimes the crickets were not sounding bereft but offered impressions you needed to hear. Now in…
when birds disappear taking strips of light folded in feathersnight insects ready themselves for meals from leaves of rose and raspberrythe hollow by the lane pools with evening like waterno moonrise cool radiance but night…
Closed to drift most of the year,trails descend through short lives of wildflowersbright in colonies, August air verging on frost,its thin metallic edge:snow squalls visible aheadwhere a continent divides.Life stays steep. Nothing in the view…
It’s turning fall in this long alley of young trees,poplar leaves still and golding in deep shade.You see no one and hear not even birds. But the pale trunks together seem to humlike choir rows,…