Best Friend Forever for Life for Realsies.

This is Brooke.

YOU JUST HAVE TO GIVE HER A TRY.

YOU'LL LIKE HER.

Because she sings like an angel.

She can't wake up in the morning.

She loves Cheez-Its.

She eats like a fifth grader.

She makes all of the beautiful things.

And she is all of the beautiful things:

earnest

kind

hilarious

true

driven

smart

I love her

for going on adventures with me,

for introducing me to Jimmy Fallon,

for watching 

all the Hilary Duff movies

with me,

for always being willing to split

a Little Caesars pizza.

I'm so grateful

that I woke up this year

on New Year's Day

and heard her singing all the words

to "Beauty and the Beat"

while she cleaned the kitchen.

I'm so grateful

for the time

I walked in the side door

and she was sitting on the couch

and she just started talking.

I'm so grateful

for a summer full

of Monday night church activities

when Brooke took turns

sitting in the back seat of the car.

When it comes down to it,

we don't have that much in common,

except loving each other.

Whatever she does,

I want to be standing somewhere on the side,

just so proud.

Christmas Lights.

I consider it

such a nice coincidence,

a pleasant irony,

a blessing,

a tender mercy,

a happy fact,

that even though winter

is cold

and sad

and I'm wishing

more than I expected

for summer long since past,

it is also the only season

that we get to have

Christmas lights.

How is it

that they make everything

softer and warmer?

They push away the darkness

gently

but firmly

and give the room

a tint of magic.

The kind of magic

that makes laying in bed

in the morning,

waking up slowly,

take on a divine quality--

just being alive

with Christmas lights

is an experience

that makes you

a better human.

I know I'm not saying anything original,

but it feels authentic

in my heart.

It's a brand new year.

Yesterday, on my drive home from school,

I picked a cd at random to listen to

(since I have a real fear of overplaying

"The Lizzie McGuire Movie" soundtrack

and coming to hate it).

It was the soundtrack

to a New Year's Eve program

that we watched at church in 2009,

featuring teenagers talking about their lives

and how they were trying to be good

and how they were trying to be Christian.

And there were songs

with lyrics like,

It's a brand new year

and my heart has been opened.

It's a brand new chance

to show where I'm standing.

And I don't want to miss this chance

for a brand new life!

Admittedly,

it's incredibly cheesy.

But when I was 17,

it captured my mind and heart.

I was going (hopefully) to BYU

in a few months.

I was going on a great adventure.

I wanted to be

more than what I was.

I wanted to become

this person

with goals and dreams

who lived up to them--

who made of her life

something rich

and meaningful

and useful

and beautiful.

A picture of me at that time.

Last night,

as I was listening to those songs,

they sent that burning right into my heart.

And it made me cry.

Because of how nice it felt

to feel the light of those dreams

like I was seventeen again.

Because of

how good my life has been,

and how much joy

life has given me

that I never imagined.

Because of all the times

that I didn't make my life

beautiful

and useful

and meaningful

when I could have.

And mostly,

mostly for the me

that felt those idealistic dreams

who is now long dead.

It's sad to have lost her

to someone

who sees that life is unfair,

that people are inconsistent,

that problems never get solved,

who feels grated by people who think

that faith is easy

and questions always have answers.

But it's okay to have lost her

to someone

whose heart is moved

to love others,

who looks for beauty

in the cracks between ugliness,

who wants to let other people

make choices,

and wants to have faith

that burns longest,

not brightest.

Even though that girl dead,

it's still natural somehow

to feel her in my heart,

because she is me.

But it is bittersweet,

as,

it turns out,

all of life is.

All Duh Little Things

Los Angeles.

Los Angeles.

View from the covertible.

It's literally a dream come true.

It's literally paradise.

The hills

and the green

and the palm trees.

It's the type of beauty

that has a touch

of charming arrogance to it--

like it knows how perfect it is

and it's pleased with itself.

As it should be.

The billboards.

The twisting knots of freeways,

always crammed with people

that I look at, thinking,

"You live here.

All the time.

This is your life."

It's hard to believe.

These people.

All of them.

All types of them--

not just Caucasians.

Not just Americans.

Murmurs of French heard

in the strangest places.

People working in Italian restaurants

a block from the beach.

People who live

just between the Pacific Coast Highway

and the water.

Tamales.

And sunshine.

And amusement parks.

And naked people

on the side of the highway.

And teenage boys surfing

and ladies cursing at each other

in the Costco parking lot.

And Koreans with cute babies

studying at UCLA.

And men that walk around

just dressed like Charlie Chaplin.

And,

and,

and,

all of it.

It buzzes with all the electricity

of all the people

whose dream it is to be there.

And when you're there,

you understand why.

The Puritan.

This is Katie.

And that's Jonathan.

They're going to get married.

Katie is my roommate.

She wasn't originally going to be,

but I think it was meant to be.

An example with explain everything.

One morning, I woke up at 7 am

and went down to the kitchen.

Katie was there.

She ate a cold leftover hamburger

and I ate ice cream out of the carton

and we talked.

But it's okay,

because with Katie,

it's always a judge-free zone.

And mornings and evenings

in the kitchen with Katie

are something to look forward to.

They make every day feel like

I have something really special planned.

She lets me try the health products

from her work--

even one called "intestinal cleanse."

And she dresses like a dementor

most days.

It's incredible how well she listens.

And how many nice things she says.

If she and Jonathan
can't find an apartment,
I'd be cool with that.
Then they could just move in with us
after they get married.

I'll miss her.

And I will also miss him
teasing me about boys

and sometimes having a Hitler mustache.

How I Felt at Church Today: The Snow Globe.

Today at church,

I started remembering

all these times

from when it was warmer.

Sitting next to Bryce,

eating pizza

and wanting to be his friend,

but not having anything to say.

Standing in a circle

and eating Creamies

in the Alders' basement.

Sitting in the grass once,

talking to people

that I didn't know well.

Driving into the mountains

to chase the Northern Lights.

There was

a strange sense of pain

in all of these memories.

Rejection.

Alienation.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

But as I thought about them,

I felt a circle of joy

surrounding me like a snow globe.

The joy of all these memories.

Bryce and I are friends now.

The Creamies were good

and the friends were better.

Sitting in that grass

with those people I didn't know well

meant that the next time I talked to them,

I knew them better.

We didn't find the Northern Lights

but we laughed in the car

and sang Taylor Swift.

I felt like

I was in a snow globe.

And those memories

had been lying around my feet

and I thought they were broken

and sad.

But then someone tipped over

the snow globe,

and the memories flew around me

like snow

and I could see

that they were joyful.

I could see

that everything in the past

that had brought me pain

was now made of joy.

See also
How I Felt at Church Today: The Dish and the Star.

One Brother.

I have

one brother

and one sister.

And I really can't imagine it

any other way.

I have one of each.

How could I have

more than one

of each?

Lately,

I've been noticing something

more often than usual.

When I see a boy

out of the corner of my eye,

there is always

one split second

when I think,

"Oh, that's my brother."

It's the movement of a hand

when he's talking.

Or when he's sitting next to me

and leans forward.

I have one brother.

And growing up,

he was the one

whose hand I saw moving.

Who leaned forward.

In my life,

I learned about

what boys looked like,

what boys moved like,

what they thought like,

through my one brother.

And they will always hold

a little bit of him

in them.

See also

Brother