Two Sundays in April

I’ve already told my story here. But that’s just what happened, and how it happened. Why it happened is a harder story to tell, especially since I don’t know (and may never know, because there may not be) an ending to it, at which point the answer will presumably be made clear. (Or not.) In meantime, however, I do have two Sabbath days to reflect upon.

Pretty Please

If any of you are familiar with the Morgan/Henefer/Coalville area of Utah and could recommend a place where two women, seven kids, and one husband along for the ride could meet up at a playground or similar, please email me.

Homecoming

We sojourned in the wilderness for seven years, spending years of famine and frustration in small apartments. Our children learned to play indoors; our driving skills deteriorated. Worst of all, we neglected our food storage.

Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker

I’ve brought my children west from the alluvial soil of Missouri to the sandy chapparal of Southern California for a few weeks. The first-order pleasures of being home include conversation in our domestic dialect marked at every intersection by shared memory and emotional habit, and free babysitting. Among the second order pleasures, though, are the stacks of wedding announcements at the counter to be perused at lunch and the piles of old Church News issues beside the recliner.