Religious Education Commons^™

Breeze, Daniel Teichert

BYU Studies Quarterly

What if our prayers were the wind to God, and carried our thoughts like the smell of cut grass and barbecued meat and skunk musk and cow dung and tire-kicked dust?

Rock Of Promise, K. D. Taylor

BYU Studies Quarterly

When storms from thine opposer Entice our hearts to fear, O God, thou great disposer Of blessings, bid us hear

Even Psalm, Darlene Young

BYU Studies Quarterly

Smog today, but I saw your wink in the pink light of the peaks above it, heard your chuckle in the plumes of trumpets and under-the-skin drums of the high school marching band practicing four blocks away.

Learning To Touch, Marilyn Bushman-Carlton

BYU Studies Quarterly

I was relieved when my daughter arrived at the dying, when she got to work saturating a hospital sponge, pressing it inside her grandmother’s cheek, allowing her to drink. I marveled

The Grove, James Goldberg

BYU Studies Quarterly

When the Smiths put money down on that plot of land, it was all trees. Maples and beech, wild cherry and ironwood; ash, oak, hickory, elm. The boys must’ve measured their hours by axe-stroke some days as they put their shoulders to the slow, sweaty work of clearing land. To make room for wheat, rye, and oats, for buckwheat and beans they brought down maybe six thousand trees— those towering majesties—some saplings before Columbus laid eyes on their world’s distant shore.

Psalter For The Eternal Mother, Tyler Chadwick

BYU Studies Quarterly

O, Lady of Luminous Things, Vessel of Radiance and Wisdom, Let-There-Be and Bearing Witness—

Our Lady Of The Unicorn Blanket-Cape, Tyler Chadwick

BYU Studies Quarterly

O, Mythical Daughter, Story-Seeker, Herald of Imagination and Reverie— May your frayed and faded mantle burden you with comfort and abundance— May it swaddle your dreams, nuzzling their shadows into pastures of promise and grace, boldness and prophecy—

The Rain On Alan Avenue, J. S. Absher

BYU Studies Quarterly

How the Missionaries Came to Marion, Virginia, 1955

In that far year when I was a child (you were not yet), I saw how rain on long afternoons can chitter and chat, gurgling and chortling out the downspout, its sing-song tune boring a brat with nothing to do.