On Daniel Helton.

When you've got a ticket to Paradise, you don't dig your heels in and fight to stay put. You just say, "Just tell me when." And that's the way Daniel Helton lived his life: as though his ticket was bought and paid for, purchased by the blood of Christ.

Carefree and one of the kindest men I've ever known, the only thing Daniel worried about was whether or not everyone else was having a great time. He was always the first one to wander up to the new person in the crowd and make sure they felt welcome; at least, that's how I met Daniel Helton.

Freshman year of college is tumultuous in a lot of ways, not the least of which is finding your new niche of people. I met Daniel when mutual friends brought me to his birthday party just before Christmas break Freshman year. From that night on, Daniel's presence colored my college career. Back home over Christmas break, we took turns gathering in my parents' basement or his parents' living room. There was always a guitar involved, and there was always, always lots of laughter.

He was the kind of person that would rather talk about you than himself. He'd reference things from your last conversation that you wouldn't even remember telling him. He'd call you just because. He'd get so lost in a song on his guitar that he wouldn't hear the room around him. He'd make fun of himself, or high five you if you got to it first. He downplayed his own illness so much that we were all shocked when he went Home this weekend-- he'd rather we not worry about him, so he didn't really mention it.

As I looked through pictures of Daniel yesterday, the word that came to mind over and over again was 'alive.' Every photo captured Daniel in a moment of joy: always ready with a laugh and a pose.

And so, as hundreds of people from Nashville to Auburn, and beyond,  mourn Daniel, I try to focus on Daniel's smile, his quick wit, and his warm nature. He was always ready for an adventure, and I picture him on his greatest adventure of all: exploring Heaven with the other saints, finding answers to life's mysteries (subject of many a late night talk in the basement). And most of all, worshipping. Worshipping at the feet of the Creator he so loved to serve.

Cheers to Daniel, for the life that taught us all so much, that helped each of us along the way somewhere, that spread joy no matter what.

Game nights. Panini Thursdays. Lunch on the quad. Auburn game days. Any instrument with strings. Hats. Ginger jokes. Deep conversation. Adventures. Rolling tumors when he finished chemo the first time. No such thing as a bad mood. Athlete, scholar, friend, musician. Midas touch. Hanging on your every word. Asking the hard questions, just for the sake of conversation. Always up for a challenge. Fiercely loyal. Kind.

We'll all remember different things about Daniel in the coming days and weeks; we'll all relive our favorite memories with our favorite ginger. These are the things I'll remember.

Stealing my camera.

Another night in the basement.

Dinner at Loco's

Considering a brown wig during chemo.

Road trip to ATL

Rain soaked and still War Eagling.

Game night and Breakfeast.

Rolling Toomer's Corner after finishing the last round of chemo.

Posh and Beckham at the annual Halloween party.

Summer nights at the lake house.

Dancing machine.

Always ready for a photo shoot.

I'm so glad you've found healing and peace, Daniel. Really, I'm jealous that you're walking streets of gold while we trod through this barren land. Can't wait to see you again.

flashbacks.

It's been a minute since I have to write a solid paper. Last semester, I got to do quite a bit of paperwork and maybe an essay or two. This semester is an internship, where I mostly do bonafide counseling and counselor duties (read: paperwork!). So I thought my paper days were behind me.

Last week we met on campus for class, but before that, we had a "comps meeting." Initially, I didn't know why we needed a meeting for this.

Do I have to take them? Yes? Then sign me up.

Oh, if only it were so simple.

Apparently getting my Master's degree is a little more complicated than signing up for graduation in during the last semester of undergrad. This week I have "petitioned for Master's candidacy." I thought if I passed, I just got the Master's. Evidently not. Let's hope my petition was persuasive.

(to those of you who might worry, this is standard protocol. I'll be approved. It's just another academic hoop to jump through.)

I have also officially signed up for graduation, assuring that my little name will be read at the podium on May 5. And don't worry, they charged me a lovely fee for this service. I guess my tuition just didn't stretch that far.

Additionally, my CV is updated-- I'm not sure when it goes from resume to curriculum vita, but alas here I am, official owner of a CV-- and soon I'll be pulling work samples for my portfolio, another step toward comps.

The work samples will have to wait until I'm done with this delightful 20-page paper I'm currently putting the finishing touches on. So much for an internship of just real world work. Let's pile on a few projects for good measure.

With all of that being said, our comps meeting concluded with being told that comps are Feb. 20. The professors have put together a 3.5 hour exam that will cover every class I have taken during my tenure at the U of A, regardless of whether or not I had that particular professor.

So now I'm sitting in my room pouring into this monster paper while Ryan Adams and Nickel Creek take turns serenading me on iTunes, and I can't help but to flashback to... well, every paper I've ever written since I first began my post-secondary career at Auburn. Regardless of subject, I have always managed to work best with my laptop plopped in front of me on my bed and indie music blaring-- admittedly, at this exact moment, I have deviated from the usual playlist with a little acoustic ditty from one Eric Clapton. Even the weather right now makes me think of late Spring in Auburn, writing those final papers for development classes, making plans to meet at Laredo's for dinner with friends...

Miss that place. Won't miss these papers.

gifted.

Today, I proctored the gifted test for half the second grade-- the rest will follow tomorrow.

The gifted test-- which has a more formal name in the form of an acronym-- is a series of pattern and designs that the little darlings have to put together. But here's the catch: this was their first ever bubble test experience. You know what I mean by bubble test: standardized A, B, C, D. Not only did the answers have to be bubbled in, they had to be bubbled in on an answer sheet separate from the test booklet.

Now, to me, the "gifted test" itself is whether or not the kids could figure out the bubbling system.

Think about when you learned how to bubble. You probably don't remember. If you're like me, it just seems second nature to you. But once upon a time, somewhere lost in your memory bank, is a lesson that blew your mind. Seriously, one kid filled in every bubble on the page. Why not? By the time you've carefully selected your answer to a confusing pattern question, make sure you're bubbling in the correct number, and double check that you remember the correct answer-- your tiny second grade brain is drained.

It was a frustrating day of explaining over and over how to do something that seems so natural to me. Equally frustrating is that I have apparently repressed the memory of whoever taught me how to bubble...

Thoughts & things on a long weekend.

The Hunger Games is quite possibly, with the exception of Harry Potter, the best book series I've ever read. I am genuinely having to tear myself away from the third book to drop this little line.

I am aching to visit Auburn. I don't know what's flipped this switch in me-- maybe talking to Alex yesterday about how much I miss Scoggins at FBCO-- but I've been thinking about it all day. Every time I see Lane or Carley or any number of friends still living on the Plains update their Facebook status about something Auburn-centric, I have to fight off waves of jealousy. A trip there is in order, and I'm hoping Cousin Anna-Kate will arrange such a thing any day now... (hint, hint).

Long-distance relationships are exhausting. Every second together is sacred, every minute apart a lifetime... but honestly, it's not OUR relationship that's affected. Instead, it's the lack of having a "home life." We're never in the same city two weekends in a row, so I can't help but see my friendships suffer. From missing David's birthday this weekend, to Wade's the month before, it seems like we're missing SOMEthing in one of our cities no matter where we are. It's hard to concrete any real relationships when things have to planned weeks in advance. I am really, really looking forward to living in the same city as my man, some of my very best friends, and hopefully lots of friends we'll make soon after we settle down.

I thought the fashion at last night's Golden Globes was some of the best I've seen. Yes, there were absolutely some train wrecks, but I think overall I was left wanting in the criticism department. Most of the starlets I watched grace the red carpet seemed very well put-together (I'm looking at you, cast of Modern Family).

Alright, one more chapter of Mockingjay and then I must go to sleep. This Monday-Friday, 7:30-5:30 schedule is new to me and a shock to the system, AND I get to throw in a trip to Tuscaloosa tomorrow afternoon. Yayyy... (I typed that in my imaginary 'sarcasm' font).

Night, friends. xoxo

limited edition.

When I met Kat almost a year ago, I knew immediately that she was for a limited time only, like a McRib.

"Lindsey, this is Katherine. She's about to move to Bulgaria."

Just the day before, Jon and I had broken up, and I didn't want to be at girls' night at Rebekah's to begin with, much less make small talk with someone I probably wouldn't see again.

But that's the thing with Katherine. "To know her is to love her," they say. You don't have a choice, really. I resisted the best I could, making jokes so I didn't burst into break-up tears at any moment. And she got my jokes... all of them, even the bad ones. Kat will literally laugh at anything, and it's such a bubbling, delicious laugh you can't help but catch.

By the end of the night, we exchanged numbers, in what would become our typical, awkward manner: "Look, I don't normally do this, but..."
"Oh my gosh, do you want to exchange numbers?!"
"I mean, yeah, kind of... I know we just met and stuff..."
"Yes! Definitely! Unless you think we're taking this too fast..."
"Absolutely not. Let's do this. Call me."
"Stalk you."

And we were off, just like that. She did call me the next day to go to lunch. In break up style, I just couldn't bear to see the light of day, so this fabulous stranger brought me lunch and actually wanted to be around miserable me.

A few nights later, she called to talk about a friend who weighed heavily on her heart, someone in desperate need of prayer. And she told me that maybe I was an answer to her prayers, and I knew that she was undoubtedly an answer to mine. Having lived a pretty lonely existence in Tuscaloosa for a couple of semesters, Kat opened her life up to me, willing to share her friends, home, and community to me within days of knowing each other. I wish I had the words to express what a major turning point for me this was... how the loneliness was overwhelming, the few acquaintances just familiar faces once in a blue moon... and then in dropped Katherine: insta-best-friend, just add wine.

We worked out together, we watched bad movies together (Ex. The Babysitter's Club), we ordered pizza and made cookies. In a lot of ways, we reverted to middle school slumber parties. The memories I hold dearest of my time in Tuscaloosa involve Kat; the people I love most that I met in Tuscaloosa are because of Kat.

By summer, we knew that Kat wasn't moving to Bulgaria in August as planned. We prayed, and she worked, undeterred. I've never seen anyone so committed to their calling. So willing to die to self and live for Christ. People adore Kat-- she's hardly escaping some ho-hum life here in the States. She's turning her back on a wonderful, thriving, comfortable existence here... to go to Bulgaria, the heartbeat of sex trafficking, to work with the loveless.

The road to Bulgaria was not an easy one-- time and again, the support just wasn't enough; for me, that'd be just enough to tell me to stay put right smack in my comfort zone. But Kat... she pushed on, like she needed Bulgaria as badly as they needed her. Her heart has been broken for the women of Sophia, Bulgaria, since before I met her, and it will never be at peace until it is with them, pouring out Christ to them.

When I heard the news that Kat had reached 100% support and had set a final departure date, my own heart broke. Because I was losing a very best friend for two and a half years. Because her family is losing her for two and a half years. Because she'll miss the birth of her niece or nephew. Because she'll miss my wedding-- a wedding that would have never come to be without her place in mine and Alex's life.

His ways are higher than my ways.


The theme of my life... I don't understand it. Last night, I held back tears as I hugged her and wondered why she couldn't just do mission work here. "Right here in our own backyard," they say.

And then my heart broke for other reasons. Because I'm not half the woman Kat is. Because I've never walked away from anything for a higher calling than my own. Because I'm a coward. Because it suddenly occurred to me how disgustingly selfish I've been to want Kat to do anything other than get straight to Bulgaria as fast as she could, to dive straight into the center of God's sovereign will for her life.

Katherine, you are my inspiration and my best friend. Few people have laughed and cried with me as often and as faithfully as you have. The Lord is going to do BIG things through you, and I can't wait to watch. Watch and pray, watch and pray. We're all praying for you, daily. Don't forget that-- even when it's dark. Lonely. Cold. Disheartening. We're behind you, and we'll all be there to sing praises when that darkness is pierced by Light, thanks to you-- when those loveless women finally see light, community, and grace. When they finally see Christ, through you.

If we all abandoned ourselves to be so fully used by Christ... what a difference.

You are inscribed on the palm of His hand, Kat...
Isaiah 49:16

registration.

For the first time since fall of 2006, my first semester on the Plains, yesterday I registered for something other than classes.

After a weekend of research and list-making, Alex and I headed out early yesterday morning to hit up registry hotspots like Target, Pottery Barn, Bed Bath & Beyond, and Belk.

This seems like it would be a lot of fun, akin to making a Christmas wishlist-- and for the most part it's a blast-- but it can also be very, very overwhelming. They say to register for double the amount of guests you expect, and that in and of itself is mind-blowing. There's just something kind of bizarre about asking so many people to buy me stuff.

But, no worries, I prevailed. After a few hours with "the gun," you get used to the idea.

My job situation won't be cemented until July, most likely, and Alex is ready for a career move as well, so it was kind of crazy to register for an imaginary home, not knowing what will fit or what rooms there will be to decorate and so on.

By the end of the day, my head felt like it would explode-- whether from all the decisions or the uncertainty of our career futures, I don't know. At some point, though, you just have to put your faith in the Lord and a solid return policy, so we finished on a high note with my personal favorite store: Pottery Barn. I'm just about to get on their website and do a little more damage, as a matter of fact.

Coming up: registering for comps (way less fun than registering for wedding presents) and registering in both our hometown gift shop circuits (back to fun!).