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    Keep Fighting

    by Bre Lasley trigger warning: this story shares an account of an attack that may be difficult for some survivors to read. From the moment he came into my bedroom window to the moment he was holding his cold bladed hunting knife, which he used to stabbed me with minutes prior, I was in the depths of evil. I’ve grown up in the church. I’ll be the first one to admit I lived in the “Utah Mormon Bubble” probably until

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    Mother's Week

    OUR WEEK I’m almost 27 and I’m very much not a mom. So why do I care about Mother’s Day? I care about Mother’s Day because of what the Spirit taught me while studying this talk: Are We Not All Mothers? by Sister Sheri L. Dew These impressions from the Spirit help me understand that I am very much a mother. My kids just aren’t here yet. This understanding influences so many aspects of my everyday. I have no idea

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    Trading Television for a Testimony

    By Chelsie Hightower From the age of 18-24 I had the opportunity to dance on national television every week which brought many blessings and experiences into my life. Overtime the business of that lifestyle started to wear on me made it very hard for me to go to all three hours of church every week. Most Sunday’s I’d make it to sacrament meeting if I was lucky, but rarely ever Relief Society. During that time I experienced some of my

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    Infertility and the Temple

    By Sarah Mendoza “You will not be able to have your own biological children” Those were the most painful words I had ever heard. As someone who grew up dreaming of having 12 children, those words felt like daggers to my heart. Ever since I was a little girl when people would ask me “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I always responded “a mom.” There was nothing I wanted or dreamed of more. My mother

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    Eve, the Temple, and Fruit that is Bitter and Sweet

    by Amber Richardson I wanted to go on a mission. God told me no. I wanted to get married. God told me yes. Then my heart, made of glass as it were, was dropped from a skyscraper. To say it shattered wouldn’t be the most apt description, because what was left was a pile of fine, sparkling dust that grew as my heart was somehow dropped over and over and over again. But I’ll let you in on a secret.

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