LDS Storymakers Conference

      This last month has been exciting for me.   In December I registered to attend the LDS Storymaker's Conference  May 4-5 in Provo, Utah.  Sandra (my daughter) is one of the presenters and I am excited to have the opportunity to see her present.  In addition, I hope to make connections that will help me with my books.  I have one children's book "finished" and am working on editing it.   I have 4 chapters completed in the second book.   I decided to enter the first chapter of each book in the First Chapter contest and have been doing some intensive work to submit the best writing that I can.  I sent my entries in yesterday.  

          Additionally, ldsstorymakers is sponsoring a contest during the month of Febrary.  The Show Your Love contest information can be found at  This contest is only open to people who are registered for the conference.  Three winners will get to eat dinner at the table with agents.  How cool is that?   Today I decided to enter this contest also.  If I don't enter, I can't win.  After all, if I won a car---yes a car!--back in 1978, why couldn't I be fortunate enough to win this contest? 


When I was going through my creative writing files on my computer, I found this story.  I had forgotten it.  As I read it, I was impressed by what I had managed to captured.  I have made some slight revisions and wish to share it as my Easter gift to my friends.

I Am Stone 

            I am stone. I am strong and firm and unmoveable. I have purpose in life. 

            A man named Joseph of Arimathaea —an important man, a rich man—prepared a tomb for himself. It was a fine tomb carved from  rock. This tomb was built in  a beautiful garden near Jerusalem. It was a tomb worthy of such an important man. And I, I was chosen to close the door of the tomb, chosen to keep out robbers and keep the body of Joseph safe after he died. 

            I am strong. It took 3 laborers to move me from the hillside and into position by the entrance to the tomb. After many, many cycles of waiting, the day came when a funeral possession came bringing a  body to the tomb. My time had come. I would now  fulfill my purpose. But wait! The body they carried was not Joseph for he was one of the mourners!

            I listened to their cries. I listened to their words. This man had been crucified. “Ah,” I thought. “A criminal then. This man was a criminal. But why bury him here? This is Joseph’s tomb.” But even as I thought ‘criminal,’ it did not seem right  to describe this man as a criminal.   Somehow, I felt this man was something more.

            The body was laid within the tomb. It took 3 men to roll me in front of the entrance. Three strong men. For a time,  I was alone, doing my duty, protecting the tomb. That was my responsibility, my function. 

            Soldiers came. And as they guarded the tomb, I heard them talk. They had been sent, they said, to guard the tomb. It was feared that his friends would steal the body and claim he was resurrected.

            Impossible, I thought. I am stone. I have survived through eons of time. Once a man is dead, he stays dead. Earth holds his bones forever. No man can take those bones and reconstruct  himself. This was my thinking. The guards, I thought, were not needed. Was I not here in my appointed place, guarding this tomb? I stood as a barrier between this man Jesus and the world outside. 

            In the darkness within the tomb, there came a light that grew ever brighter. It  was not yet  morning. Daylight had not crept into the garden.   Nevertheless, there was a light inside the tomb. A personage of light stood there, inside the tomb,  beside the body.   This personage, this angel,  reached out his hand and touched me. I felt myself become lighter, less dense. He  pushed on me and I rolled away from the entrance. I was astounded. The guards were astounded. They cried out and fled. Light shone forth from the open tomb and Jesus walked forth. 

            I am stone. I am strong and firm and unmoveable. I have purpose in life. I lay here in the garden. I connect earth and sky. I exist forever and I know what I know. He is not here. He is risen. 

Rose Owens
copyright 2010

Losing Weight--Or At Least Trying To

On Dieting 

            I was not happy with me today. I was a failure. My skirt bunched around my waist—the skirt that fit perfectly before. How could this be? How could this be? I wore this skirt just last week or was it the week before? It fit me then. I examined my life, my week. 

            This week was my new start, my new beginning for losing those pounds that had crept back on and then dumping more. I had weighed this morning and the scales confirmed what my bunching skirt revealed—I had not lost weight but had gained a half pound! I had not emailed my sister or explained how she might join me on this weight-loss trek. My mind was full of all the good things I hadn’t done and all of the bad things that I had done. Obviously, something had to change. I began to analyze my week to determine what went wrong. 

            I began by offering up my excuses to myself. It was a busy week. My doctor, because of pains in my leg, had told me to reduce my exercise by half. I had told myself that I would compensate by watching my diet, being strict about staying on program. And I had—until Friday.

            Friday was Girl’s Night Out—a social evening with some of the Relief Society Sisters and I went. I decided to give myself permission to eat snack foods. My sister had told me that one day off program shouldn’t set you back in the long-range view of things. I began by nibbling just one chip. I drank water. We  laughed and visited. We ate. We played games. And we ate. We shared stories and we ate—wonderful things, forbidden things: chips and dip, cookies and chocolate—but only water to drink. I returned home. I was already off program so I indulged some more. I was tired. I should have gone to bed but I didn’t. I snacked some more.

            Saturday I was having company for dinner. So I needed a plan. I had already had my “one day off program” this week so I knew that I needed a different plan. I would keep my points low for breakfast and lunch, save points for dinner and dessert. I would only eat one piece of cake. It was a plan. I could do this. And actually I did. But it wasn’t enough. The scales and my skirt told me that. 

            I was a failure. And I knew it. 

            Then my better self took over, reminding me that I could begin again, return to program. I knew how to exercise, to diet, to succeed. I had proved this to myself in the past and would prove it to myself again in the future. I reminded myself that there were many good things in my life that had nothing to do with calories. I must not let my discouragement weigh me down. Yes, being thinner meant being healthier which added quality to my life. But being happy, being positive, would also add quality to my life. This week, apparently, I could only choose to have one “additive”—I could choose to be positive. Next week I plan to have both!