Of Things Scientific

In a moment labeled
“Quality time,”
I gaze with you at the stars.
Your little-boy excitement
Tugs at my heart
While thoughts
Of Copernicus and Galileo
Lend me a moment to
So I ask,
“How do they stay in the sky?”
Then my tears send the stars swimming
In a misty kaleidoscope
As you teach me
With your
“I think
Heavenly Father
Glues them
To the clouds.”

The Quilting Bee

The women of our ward
welcome each new bride
with a quilt. Elbow to elbow
they sit around the frame
imprinting the cloth with stitches.
They bandy news items back and forth
like tennis players across a court—
new babies, illnesses, budgets,
schedules, clothes, and menus—
stretching the fabric of their lives.
Yet they dream and laugh and love.
The pristine coverlet spans their laps
like an unblemished prairie,
a wilderness to be conquered.
The women know it will be years
before the quilt is really finished;
they have witnessed the process before:
the residue of bitter tears;
oil from hands pressed in evening prayer;
milk and dampness from nursing babes;
colors faded from washings and sunlight
conspiring against the fresh, unflawed
coverlet and couple.
The women bleed a little with every quilt,
their hearts pricked by memories.
Still they dream and laugh and love
and quilt.


She crept up to her father’s knee
To sit there quite contentedly,
No word needing to be said.
Laying his hand upon her head
And looking down, he gently smiled
Upon his treasured, trusting child.
’Tis thus with me approaching prayer
Feeling Father’s spirit there.
In quiet peace all fears are fled,
Heart so warmed, so fully fed,
That oh, it’s just as though He’d smiled
On me, His blessed, joyous child!