It was the photos she brought. Everything had been vague, a blur until that moment. Life seemed to be fuzzy, and Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always forgetting something. When he felt the gloss of the photo against his leathery hand, though, something inside clicked. He started approvingly through the sequence. At first the gloss just felt good on his hands as he listened to the drone of his daughter’s voice. The air was thick with her words and he didn’t hear them as much as he just heard sounds. The man he perceived to be himself advanced through the stack of photographs again. This time, though, memories began to flood over him like lava pulsating from a volcano, charring and carrying away all things with it. There was the sound of a child screaming, the feel of holding a baby for the first time, terrifying and yet so purely beautiful; the grandeur and illumination of the ferris wheel at the county fair. Michael felt something inside of him that he hadn’t for a long time: clarity. He jumbled through the photographs once more.

"My mother makes bombs."
-My Norwegian brother Kim, being totally serious.

I have probably had, like, a shot of Kahlua in the past ten minutes just by eating these cute little Mexican chocolates. I think I may love them. Today was a good Easter. I got to see some very good friends of mine and play some buumpball, which is SPEED in Kim's language. It gives me hope that Jesus died for me, paying my debt in full, then rose again to be my LIVING SAVIOR. What a beautiful, beautiful thing. And so I am grateful for this family. For drives to Provo. For watching pieces fall off of a backboard, for forgiveness, for green bean casserole, for health.

"Mom, I'm going to prom in California this year."
"Did you brush your teeth?"
-a conversation between the mother and her 15 year-old daughter, visiting from Boise.

I have heard my share of arguments, complaints, and fights this week. But I am happy, usually, and ready for the sun to start shining down.

Today at school, I got off Trax and thought, I am probably allergic to this, because the air literally smelled like allergies. Like a sinister plant smell. I do not understand it, but even right now I keep blowing my nose and having a headache. Probably I could just have a cold, because I am always a few days or weeks behind what my friends are sick with. Sophomore year of high school, this would have been terrible, because I was a hypochondriac, as in, I thought every single thing wrong with me was a bigger problem. I even almost wanted to have a terrible, awful disease just so people would believe me. Collin, or Philip, or maybe both, just kept telling me to stop smoking. That was their solution to coughing and headaches and even bruises. Hmm.

Also, off of Trax, a guy just starting philosophically musing to every single person around him. The whole walk up to school he was reciting, VERY LOUDLY, poetry about humanity, crucifixion, and thought. It was weirder because he wasn't homeless or holding some sign about the end times; he was just some college student. Some man dressed completely like me, but in opposite colors, just kept sideways glancing at me to make sure it was really happening. And it really was, for a long time, and I want to tell the guy to shut up and just let us all listen to our music. But I guess that isn't very nice, so instead I just listened to him until we went opposite directions.

I cannot stop sneezing. I cannot stop drinking mugs and mugs full of tea hoping to feel better. I cannot stop hoping that Lost will just get back to being as good as the Richard Alpert episode.

"Forget the protocol, I'll take your hand right in mine."-Vampire Weekend
(and I cannot help loving that song, because it is just so peppy)

I taught an old man how to use a debit card today. As in, I walked him through how to use it while he kept promising me there was money in his account. Simon and I also played the guess where that accent comes from game, and sometimes I think we should get paid more for boring Sundays. I even ended up back at work six hours later, to buy butter and sheepishly invite my boss to church on Easter. She could definitely use some answers, because the things she tells me keep breaking my heart.

Anyways. Royal Tenenbaums and sriracha come back into my life at exactly the right moments. Naps, too, because I've been able to take two this weekend. The simple things keep me going, and for now I think I will drink a simple cup of tea to get rid of this simple sore throat coming on.

I have been listening to First Impressions of Earth over and over.
"See, I'm stuck in a city, but I belong in a field."

Today was Kristen's memorial service. It always hurts a heart to go to those, but it was a celebration. Her mom, in the past six months, has lost two children. I can't even fathom that. It breaks my heart, but inside of it she knows who her God is. She has an unshakable faith through the most horrid circumstances. I was so encouraged listening to her speak about her daughter. There was peace there that transcended understanding, even though the hurt was so strong. My problems are so incredibly tiny compared, and I sit and complain through them all. WAKE UP.
I was also encouraged just listening to stories about the way Kristen lived her life. She was the one that was genuinely interested in my dreams of going to Africa, and she shared her stories with me as encouragement to GO. I still have that spark in my heart. Who knows when, but it's there. I heard so many stories of lives that she changed, things that she did for her God. She was fearless, and that makes me wonder if I am making an impact anywhere. What are my dreams? What are my GOALS? What do I want to be known for? A few things came to mind:
-I want to go to Africa and teach children, still.
-I want to play music, create, serve Christ with all of me.
-I want to love the lost and share Jesus with them!
-I want to plant churches.
-IMPACT. That word. How do I serve better? What do I do with my passions? What can I do every day to further the Kingdom?

This convicts me. I need dreams, we need dreams. Complacency is a scary, scary thing.

Luke 10:38-42
Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me."
But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her."

When I've read this in the past, I've tended to side with Martha a lot. I've had jobs and other things where people haven't carried their own, so it's easy to see why she was frustrated. She thought that in keeping busy and working, Jesus would accept her. But then I look at Mary. She, before, was the one that I couldn't understand. It bugged me that she wasn't helping because I completely missed the point. Instead of being worried, she had the faith of a child. She immediately sat down and listened to what Jesus had to say. Mary didn't care about the state of her house or the distractions around her. All she wanted was to sit at the feet of her Savior and listen to his words. Martha was more worried about the appearance of herself and her house to Jesus, getting 'distracted with much serving'.
Right here, in such a short passage, the character of Jesus is shown! He isn't harsh with Martha when she complains about the sister she thinks is just being lazy; he speaks to her heart, gently, directly. Jesus says Martha's name twice, just like you would to someone that simply didn't understand. He sees into her soul. Her anxieties and troubles are keeping her from relaxing and soaking in his words--it isn't just the serving. Martha's heart wasn't bad, it was just in the wrong place. She was anxious where Mary was willing to lay it down at the feet of Jesus and just listen.

I think that in some ways I am a lot like Martha, that we can all be a lot like Martha. It is easy, living in this world, to let our anxieties keep us from being STILL before God. Martha also felt like she had to do do do before Jesus would accept her. Instead, he told her to put off everything and just listen to him. It was more important, and is always more important, to be with Jesus. After that we can serve him, gladly and in a refreshed state. Like it says in Hosea, God doesn't want our sacrifices, he just wants us to KNOW Him. How beautiful! Let's all strive to be Mary.