June 8
Unfiltered Family Council: Polite Agreement to Real Connection
My teenager was sprawled across the floor with his head on a couch cushion while my second-grader was drawing a horse on the agenda paper.
Summer · June
from a small garden south of Salt Lake
Family discipleship, honest motherhood, and the slow work of making a home, written at the kitchen table by Melissa Whitaker.
Lately on the kitchen table
read more →A note from Melissa
LDS Family Life is a publication about LDS family life, motherhood, marriage, homemaking, and practical gospel living for families who want faith at home to feel lived instead of staged. I write first-person essays on family discipleship, spiritual formation in ordinary routines, and the pressures families are trying to carry with steadiness and grace.
The sink full of mixing bowls. The garden row that finally came up. The child calling for one more glass of water. The prayer I whisper while scraping plates after dinner. Those are the things that hold a family, and they feel worth writing down before they slip past.
with love, Melissa
Essays
June 8
My teenager was sprawled across the floor with his head on a couch cushion while my second-grader was drawing a horse on the agenda paper.
June 8
The coloring page was still on the table when I sat down with my coffee. It was a drawing of Jesus with sheep, half-finished, with one sheep colored purple.
June 8
The friend showed up ten minutes early, and I was standing in the kitchen holding a dish towel and a half-eaten piece of toast.
June 8
I found a LEGO piece in the rug on a Sunday morning. I bent down to pick it up and found three more scattered under the couch.
June 7
The pancakes were burning. I could smell it from the hallway where I was trying to help my toddler find her other shoe.
June 7
He asked me at the kitchen table, right in the middle of dinner. My teenager looked up and said, 'Mom, what if I am not sure I believe in God anymore?'
June 7
I spent three hours cleaning for a play date once. I vacuumed the living room, wiped down the baseboards, and hid the pile of mail in the pantry.
June 7
The crayon was melted into the carpet. I sat back on my heels and looked at the red smear and thought about how I had just vacuumed that spot.
June 6
I was folding laundry when my second-grader asked if Heavenly Father has a body like ours. She added, 'Sometimes I pray and I do not feel anything.'
June 6
The doorbell rang at 4:47 on a Tuesday afternoon. I stood there for a second, hand on the doorknob, and I had a choice.
FAQ