Jehovah's Witnesses.

Every few weeks,

there are Jehovah's Witnesses 
who set up a table

in the hall at UVU.

Those are my favorite days.

There's always a white board set up

that asks you a good question,

like

Do we need God?

And the older gentleman

who always wears a bow tie

sits on the couch behind the table,

swiping away on his i-device,

waiting for someone to approach him.

I love his patience,
and the devotion he shows
to be there all day.

It's a rare treat for me,

and a greater treat for him, I'm sure,

when someone actually stops to talk to him.

I smiled at him today.

Maybe some time I'll say hi.

Worth Saying.

I just read a nice blog post and thought,

"I want to say something worth saying."

So I thought about what that might be.

This is what I have:

Jesus is nice.

He can be your best friend,

and you can do things with Him all the time.

Those can be your best times.

And you can still be a normal person.

I hope I am.

It doesn't matter how much technology we create,

how intricate life becomes;

we'll never outgrow Him.

Salvador Dali

Malcolm.

I made a new friend recently.

His name is Malcolm.

Before I saw 

Seventh Child: A Family Memoir of Malcolm X

on a shelf at the UVU library,

I really didn't know anything about him.

Ask me about him, and I would have said,

"He was a black civil rights leader

who got assassinated.

He was a little crazy.

And he wore those glasses.

You know--

Malcolm X glasses."

I'm pretty sure

that I thought he was a Black Panther.

Not true.

He was Muslim.

And he wasn't just an advocate for civil rights,

but for human rights--

which the American government was,

for hundreds of years,

unfit or unwilling to secure for its black citizens.

He believed that his people

needed education and self-respect,

and to do whatever was necessary

to secure better lives.

What he believed in,

he believed in strong and true

and without apology.

And he gave his life to it.

The person I met in that book

was so dear.

And I miss him,

now that it's over.

Kati Dear.

This is Katilynn.

Not Kaitlyn.

She wears soccer bruises as a badge of honor.

She wears high heels like it's nobody's business.

The color of her hair is always changing

and it's always beautiful.

She was there the first time I gave blood.

I recognize her handwriting no sweat,

because she's written me about 200 nice notes in her life.

Before I even knew we were friends,

she was always telling me

that she loved me

and was happy to see me.

She's always doing that

to someone or other.

This Bitter Earth.

I have loved a lot of things lately.

The sesquicentennial of the Gettysburg Address.

Learning the origin of "The Princess Pat."

Reading a memoir of Malcolm X.

But one important thing hasn't made that list:

people.

It seems that the list of people

whose lives inherently interest me

has decreased dramatically in size.

If that sounds horrible,

it is.

I used to be shy

because I didn't know

that I had it in me

to be otherwise.

Then, I learned how to make friends,

and I had so much love in me

that I'd hold anyone's hand

that was near enough to grab.

And now,

I don't talk to others

not because I can't,

but because I don't want to.

But as it turns out,

not wanting to for a long time

makes you feel like you can't.

And if my life is like the dust

that hides the glow of a rose,

what good am I?

What good am I?

Heaven only knows.

...

This story doesn't have a moral

or an adage

or a word of advice at the end.

I don't know how to fix this.

But I still have faith

that somewhere between all these poles,

there's a happy nook to live in.

Humanism.

Today in church,
I looked at the hand

of the person sitting next to me.

And it was incredible!
It was as beautiful as this:

Zombie.

Before zombies were cool,

the Cranberries were cool.