Saints
I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2018, just as President Russell M. Nelson took the helm. Since then he’s announced nearly 200 temples worldwide. As a Texan and a member, I’m proud one is planned near Dallas-Fort Worth: the Fairview Texas Temple. But not everyone feels the same way. Texas means “Friend,” yet Fairview’s venom toward neighbors who just want to worship feels like a betrayal of our state’s heart, exposing hypocrisy at best and outright religious bigotry at worst.
On April 29, 2025, Fairview’s Town Council reluctantly approved the temple in a 5-2 vote, after a year of fierce disputes. The Church downsized from a two-story, 45,000-square-foot design with a 174-foot steeple to a single-story, 30,742-square-foot building with a 120-foot spire, addressing size and lighting concerns. Still, groups like Fairview United battled relentlessly, griping about a steeple’s height in a residential zone, as if a sacred space and altogether beautiful building threatens their “Keeping it Country” slogan. Odder still, they pushed the Church to rename it from McKinney Texas Temple to Fairview Texas Temple, only to keep vilifying it. Why claim the name if they despise the project? Mayor Henry Lessner complained about the Church’s engagement, while critics like Lisa Foradori feared federal religious freedom laws overriding local rules.
Fairview’s fury over a temple that will serve Texas’ 390,000 Latter-day Saints, easing strain on the Dallas temple, feels painfully selective. Right down the road in Frisco, a mere 20-25 minute drive, 17-year-old Austin Metcalf was fatally stabbed at a track meet on April 2, 2025. That tragedy sparked no coalitions, no rallies, no colors from Fairview’s vocal residents and proud Texans. Yet a steeple’s height is the hill they want to die on? They’re in it for the long haul now? I guess fighting a building doesn’t take as much courage.
Attacks on the modern LDS church are at an all-time high and this is just another, masked as zoning disputes. The Church compromised, but opponents still smear it. As a Texan and a member, I’m outraged. Our state and its members deserve better. Fairview’s temple, now approved, will stand as a beacon of faith against a community’s misplaced priorities and thinly veiled prejudice. Though I won’t be welcome or wanted in town, I can’t wait to do the Lord’s work in His house when it’s finished.
Click here for a timeline on the Fairview Texas Temple controversy
Sinners
Sinners is how you write vampires. Ryan Coogler nails it. They aren’t hokey, they don’t sparkle. They’re horrifying, ripping through a 1932 Mississippi juke joint like nightmares from hell. They follow the old-school rules (sunlight burns, stakes kill, they can’t enter a place without permission) but feel new, tied to Southern folklore. Picture a vamp tearing through a crowd under flickering lights, blood everywhere, all while strumming a banjo and singing a foot stomper. That’s the vibe. Michael B. Jordan plays twin brothers Smoke and Stack, and they feel authentic and distinct. He’s magnetic, juggling both roles without breaking a sweat. Miles Caton as Sammie, the blues kid with a cursed guitar, steals scenes. Delroy Lindo’s Delta Slim, a boozy harmonica player, is probably my favorite character in the film.
Then there’s Hailee Steinfeld as Mary. I’ll be real: I haven’t liked her since she fumbled the Barden Bellas’ Riff Off in Pitch Perfect 2 with that awful original song. Made my skin crawl. She’s fine here, playing a mixed-race woman tangled with Stack. The cast overall carries the movie, though. Everyone’s got chemistry.
But the movie stumbled for me with this random Black music history montage. It’s like Coogler paused the horror for a history lesson. You’ve got spirituals, jazz, then a DJ scratching records and women twerking next to Jim Crow-era cotton pickers. I’m not Black, so maybe it’s not for me, but it felt like a fever dream that didn’t fit. Jarring as hell. And then at the end when Smoke fights the KKK. We get it. Vampires may be slaughtering people left and right but the REAL enemy here is racism. Loud and clear.
Still, Sinners is a banger. The visuals scream Southern Gothic: sweaty cotton fields, neon-lit juke joints. Ludwig Göransson’s bluesy score rips. At 137 minutes, it’s long, but the gory vampire fights and a crazy mid-credits scene keep you hooked. Coogler and Jordan prove they can do horror as well as they do Creed. See it on the biggest screen you can find. I saw it in IMAX. It’s worth it.
Shedeur Sanders
The name Sanders sparks instant recognition. Deion Sanders, “Prime Time,” was a generational talent, one of the greatest to ever grace a football field. His son, Shedeur, hasn’t reached those heights and likely never will. Yet, after just one winning season at Colorado, Shedeur had his number retired? Let’s be real: that move was premature, more about hype than merit. A single solid season doesn’t justify such an honor, especially when his overall college career was promising but not legendary. Still, as questionable as that decision was, it’s equally baffling that Shedeur slid so far in the 2025 NFL Draft, landing in the fifth round. Talent-wise, he deserved better.
Shedeur’s draft slide wasn’t just about his arm or his stats. Some claim racism but, in a league where nearly half the players are Black, race alone doesn’t explain it. Here’s the catch: you can be Black, but you can’t be “Black and.” Black and too flashy. Black and outspoken. Black and tethered to a larger-than-life father like Deion, who never shies from the spotlight. Shedeur checks all those boxes. His style—confident, charismatic, unapologetic—clashes with the conservative tastes of NFL owners, many of whom are older, wealthier, and whiter. This isn’t overt racism but a subtler bias, a discomfort with players who don’t fit a certain mold. Shedeur’s flair, paired with Deion’s vocal advocacy, made him a risk in the eyes of teams craving conformity.
On the field, Shedeur showed enough to warrant a higher pick. His poise in the pocket, quick release, and ability to read defenses screamed second- or third-round talent. At Colorado, he threw for over 3,000 yards in his final season, with a completion rate hovering near 70%. Numbers like that don’t scream “fifth-rounder.” Yet, teams fixated on intangibles—code for “we don’t like your vibe.” It’s a pattern. Quarterbacks who challenge the status quo, especially Black ones, often face harsher scrutiny.
Shedeur’s story isn’t over. A late draft pick doesn’t define him. If he channels his father’s work ethic and swagger, he could prove the doubters wrong. For now, his slide is a reminder: talent opens doors, but conformity keeps you in the room.
Jeston is a former student of Texas A&M, the author of Jesse Granger: Bushranger in Hit the Ground Running, and a volunteer at the Cameron Park Zoo in Waco, TX.