From the Instructor, November 1950 —
“This picture was taken by Elder Robert J. Tingey, Mission Sunday School Supervisor, and Elder C.N. Thompson, Supervising Elder of the Georgia District, who unexpectedly dropped in and snapped this natural pose, this being a familiar Sabbath day scene of Home Sunday Schools held throughout the Southern States Mission.
“Seated from left to right are: Mr. Blevins, Hayes, George, Cordelia, Mr. and Mrs. Wooten, Mrs. Blevins and Mary Esther. Children seated on the floor are: Emma Jean, Eleanor and Brenda Sue. Four of the family were not present. They are studying ‘Leaders of the Scriptures.’”
(For more on home Sunday Schools, see this post.)
So, some of you recently said you’d like to read personal posts, and this is my first attempt to oblige.
An independent scholar – one without ties to an institution, and without a supervisor checking up on progress and deadlines – has only herself to keep herself in line. I’ve been independent for most of the last 18 years, and learned early that entire weeks could go by without productive results if I didn’t exercise a great deal of self-discipline. Historical work is what I would do if I didn’t have to earn a living, but it still takes discipline to achieve anything.
Probably every independent has a different routine. Some may get out and about far more than I do, meeting with clients or teaching classes. Independents with family obligations no doubt schedule their lives much differently than I do mine. But here’s a glimpse at what my work life is like, as a researcher and writer, mostly tied to libraries or to my home office.
These are the rules I impose on myself:
There will be a future, certainly. Thank you for all your comments, your helpful advice, your reports on what you read and don’t read. That’s been a big help to me in deciding what to do, and especially in reassuring me that there is still a vibrant audience for Keepa. The most pleasing thing about that thread was that it brought so many lurkers out into the open, if only briefly (all first-time comments end up in a moderation queue, as a spam-prevention device, so it was easy to note how many old-time readers but first-time commenters contributed).
Based on your comments:
I have added a social media function to each post, so that you’ll be easily able to share posts on Facebook and other social media sites. I don’t, however, want to move Keepa entirely to Facebook, or even to greatly expand activity there: it’s important to Keepa’s purpose that posts be made permanently available and easily found, and not subject to the whims and changes of Facebook. I also want to capture as much of the conversation as possible on the blog itself. But I’ll try to give Keepa a higher Facebook presence – and use other media if I can figure out how best to use them – including more regular plugging of Keepa posts.
Lesson 26: “To This End Was I Born”
Purpose: To help class members feel the Savior’s love for them and increase their love for him and their gratitude for his atoning sacrifice.
1. Jesus is betrayed, arrested, and accused of blasphemy; Peter denies Jesus three times.
2. Jesus is sentenced to be crucified.
3. Jesus is scourged and crucified.
1. Following the Savior’s example during times of difficulty
2. “I have betrayed the innocent blood”
3. “To day shalt thou be with me in paradise”
A Dublin doctor lately sent in a bill to a lady which ran thus: “To curing your husband till he died.”
It was a Western youngster who, having been presented by his uncle with a new suit of clothes, became for the first time in his life interested in his personal appearance, and insisted upon having a collar put on and having his hair combed. Taking the comb to the uncle that gave him the clothes, he requested him to comb his hair. “Well,” said the uncle, “which side shall I part it on?” The youngster’s ideas on the subject of hair-dressing were quite vague, but he was equal to the emergency. “Well, on the outside, I guess,” said he.
By Celia A. Van Cott
Crossing the Border
Billy sobbed quietly for a moment. Then ashamed of his weakness, he dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Maybe the lady at the lodge will know something about my uncle,” he reasoned to himself. He decided to inquire and rising, started down the cabin steps when a car rolled up the hill and stopped. Jed jumped out, followed by Uncle Christopher and a ranger.
Billy instantly recognized the stranger as the man who had come to his rescue in the early morning.
Jed rushed over to Billy and throwing his arms around his little friend exclaimed, “Billy! Oh, boy! It’s great to see you. We hunted for you all night long. Mr. Johnson thinks you’re a swell fellow.” Jed turned to the ranger for him to reaffirm his statement.
From the Children’s Friend, July 1941 —
The Bloggernacle as a community is long dead. Its individual blogs are mostly dead, or dying.
I’ll be frank here: The best-read Keepa post during the past month has barely hit 250 readers — way, way down from reader count even earlier this year.
Or rather, that’s the post with the greatest readership by Keepa’ninnies. To put that in perspective, an ex-Mormon site ridiculing a trivial bit of Mormon culture has sent 255 readers to an old post this month. An LDSLiving link has brought 11,642 visitors. Neither of those is the audience I want to reach. I don’t mind if they visit, but they aren’t the audience I write for.
I admit it. I’m discouraged at the lack of response to posts that sometimes take me ten or more hours to research. I’m NOT scolding readers — it isn’t your fault if a post doesn’t interest you enough to comment, or if Keepa is such a thing of the past that you hardly ever visit anymore. But just the same, I’m discouraged — I don’t know what else to offer that might interest you.
Is it time to pull the plug?
(This is not a bid for “Oh, no, please don’t go!” comments. If you can tell me what would interest you, what would be worth my time to research and post, I really want to know.)
To a Child … Who Grew
Dorothy J. Roberts
Tonight there is no place to turn
In thought for solace or for rest.
All the things I would forget,
Now the mind remembers best.
There is no roadway of return
To bring you back through time and place,
No way to pare the change of years,
To fill the need gone from your face.
Time tore your simple wants aside,
The little needs your eyes confessed.
Now though I long, the vanished years
Refuse you what my heart possessed.
This night is one to bear the scourge,
The whiplash of an old regret,
Until the wanted grace is learned,
Until the waning moon has set;
Till day brings other seeking eyes,
And other fingers that implore,
A chance to change the stone for bread,
To serve it through love’s open door.
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