Periodicals; Mormons; Religious thought; Philosophy and religion
Independent national quarterly established to express Mormon culture and examine the relevance of religion to secular life. It is edited by Mormons who wish to bring their faith into dialogue with human experience as a whole and to foster artistic and scholarly achievement based on their cultural heritage. The journal encourages a variety of viewpoints; although every effort is made to insure accurate scholarship and responsible judgment, the views expressed are those of the individual authors and are not necessarily those of the Mormon Church or of the editors.
Dialogue Foundation, 900 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, California 90024
Backstage Library Works - 1180 S. 800 E. Orem, UT 84097
Rees, Robert A.
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154 I Dialogue Airport that his heart would leap as it had when he returned from his mission, his body alive with memory, pride, gratitude, and love, but that had not happened. And it had not happened either when they drove around the point of the mountain and down into Utah Valley, the lights of Provo bright before them. He went alone to places he had felt emotion, the Provo High gym, tennis courts, and locker room, the ward chapel, every room in the house, familiar streets under familiar trees, places he used to park with his dates, but he felt nothing. Two weeks ago on one of his long night drives, he swam out to the middle of Deer Creek Reservoir, hung naked there in the hundred-foot-deep water staring up at the moon and stars, his whole body cool, which he knew he could keep cool forever if he wanted. Steve rubbed the right side of his groin. Dr. Jensen's license, medical school diploma, residency certificate in general surgery, and his army medical certificate hung on the wall over the examining table. The chrome, glass, and white enamel surfaces in the room gleamed in the diffused yellowish light. An open medical journal lay face-down on the glass-topped desk by the pile of manila folders. The glass reflected Dr. Jensen's gold-framed family pictures. He had two pictures of his son. Worn copies of the Articles of Faith, Jesus the Christ, and the standard works stood in the row of books pushed against the wall. The pad of white prescription blanks lay next to the pen holder. Down the hall a phone rang. "Well, hello, Steve. It's good to see you again." Dr. Jensen came in wiping his hands on a towel, his white jacket buttoned. He stepped on the foot pedal, dropped the towel into the large chrome container. He shook Steve's hand, his hand cool. "Well, you made it back I see." "Yes." "I think that your mother has counted every hour you were in Vietnam and said a thousand prayers. I guess you'll be finding a job and going to school at BYU this fall, and meeting a girl. The sooner you returned missionaries and servicemen get married, the better. You're going into law aren't you?" "I don't know." "Oh, I thought that was all decided." "I don't know anymore." "Well, there are lots of good jobs if you're willing to work hard enough. Find something you like and work hard at it. Too many people go through life never knowing what they want." Dr. Jensen looked down at his opened manila folder, adjusted his bifocals. "You've got some kind of skin problem, Steve? Something you brought back from Vietnam with you I suppose?" "Yes. It's on my army medical records, but I don't want to have to go to Salt Lake to the V.A. Hospital everytime I need some salve." "Where does it bother you the most, between your toes, around your genitals, under your arms, where you sweat? It burns doesn't it?" "Yes." "Go behind the screen and undress. You can roll your garments down to your waist." Steve stripped down to his shorts and walked back out, the tile cool on his feet. Dr. Jensen glanced at him, then pulled the long-necked lamp over to the white metal chair. "Sit down here." The cool metal chilled Steve. Pushing the lamp in