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Best of Dialogue 2008 Awards

Dialogue Best of the Year awards are for contributions judged as superior in their respective categories:  ARTICLE  John-Charles Duffy, “Can Deconstruction Save the Day? ‘Faithful Scholarship’ and the Uses of Postmodernism”  Spring issue, $300 award …

The Beings I Love Are Creatures

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about mortality—meetings and partings and human frailty. The poet Geoffrey Hill is retiring from teaching at Boston University this year, and a few weeks ago I heard that he had said life gets easier when you accept the fact that you live in a fallen world. Wilbur Jackson of our bishopric furthered the development of my thought on this topic during that wonderful fifth-Sunday April meeting when he reminded us that we’ve left Paradise. We’re not in Paradise; it’s gone, so we’re going to suffer, get sick, sin, and die. The important thing, Jackson reminded us, is to be on the right path so we can return to Paradise. 

A Missive on Mountain Meadows | Ronald W. Walker, Richard E. Turley Jr., and Glen M. Leonard, Massacre at Mountain Meadows: An American Tragedy

In some ways, this volume is just the latest in a long line of books written on the Mountain Meadows Massacre of 1857. Historians, journalists, and others have told this story and furnished analyses from a variety of angles and perspectives, suggesting this devastating tragedy’s multiplicity of explanations and implications. Nonetheless, this book is sui generis, in that it was supported by the LDS Church with astonishing commitments of financial and human resources. All three authors are practicing Latter-day Saints, and are employed by or are retired from the LDS Church and the LDS Church History Department (xv; back jacket flap). The participation of Richard Turley, now assistant Church historian, signals an unprecedented degree of official cooperation. 

In a Better Country

But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly home . . . Heb. 11:16 “You don’t have to go,” she whispered, the morning grogginess in her voice betraying an urgency that was…

White Rain (forty years since our meeting)

We wake to cold, though it’s mid-spring, 
so silent at sunrise 
we both raise the pleated blinds 
and look out: everything a shock 
of ice . . . each draped petal and twig 
from weeping cherry, wire on the chain link 
fence—evenly glazed and still. 

Flying Out

This morning makes no shadow, compresses 
with its grayness and that knot 
I learned to grow against winter 
long ago in Wyoming.