Caroline Rose Sanders 4 Minute Read Curled up on the couch across from my dad, I bring up a nerve-wracking subject. My stomach twists as I slowly weave words, not about boys or privileges, but of books and pens put to paper. I ask him what he thinks I should do about it, about my writing. I talk about it as if it was something between a terminal illness and an upcoming coronation. What do I do about this inevitable, undying, powerfully pending thing?
Jennifer Church 3 Minute Read Apparently, I taught my brother to read while playing school. He was three. I was five. I don’t remember it, but that’s how story goes.
But I didn’t want to be a teacher. I liked helping Mom correct my siblings’ math. And I enjoyed teaching Sunday School. But I was going to be a nurse.
Chantel 4 Minute Read For as long as I can remember, I have found nothing soothes the heart and relaxes the mind like slipping away into a quiet place, surrounded by nature. There I can listen, and let the cares that burden the heart slip away with the wind. It is my hiding place, where I feel close to…
The End.
The End.