The nearly 100-foot-high statue of Christ the Redeemer stands atop Corcovado mountain, spreading its arms wide, as if to embrace the entire city. The sun beats down on Rio’s beaches—beaches so filled with sunbathers and tourists that it can be hard to see any sand. Millions of tourists flock to the city every year, and for some, it might seem as though this corner of Brazil is paradise. A place untouched by the worries of the world.

Ruben and Eunice Paiva know better.

Ruben was a left-leaning Brazilian congressman in the early 1960s. But when the government was toppled by a military coup in 1964, Ruben was forced out and into self-imposed exile. He and his family—wife Eunice and five kids—returned five years later, but the military dictatorship is in control. And by 1970, that dictatorship feels increasingly under pressure: Terrorists are kidnapping foreign ambassadors and exchanging them for the release of political prisoners. The country’s rulers want to stamp out this insurgency now. Left-leaning protestors, journalists and educators are increasingly scrutinized.

Oh, and one-time politicians, too.

They come for Ruben on a gloriously sunny day—a holiday, when the Paiva family might’ve well gone to the beach. Several men walk into the house, armed and prepared for trouble. They tell Ruben they’d like him to give a “deposition.” As Ruben dresses for the trip, his daughter, Nalu, asks if she could borrow one of his shirts.

“Do I have a choice, Nalu?” he says with a smile, while a stranger with a barely concealed gun looks on. “And where’s my kiss?”

Nalu, clueless about the room’s looming peril, gives him one. And she asks why he’s putting on a tie.

“I’m just helping these gentlemen,” Ruben say. “I’ll be back soon.”

But he wasn’t back. Not that day, or that night, or the next day. That deceptively mundane goodbye launched the family into a nightmare one can barely contemplate.

The sun seems to always shine on Rio. But on Jan. 20, 1971, the Paiva family entered into a dark, uncertain night.

The post I’m Still Here appeared first on Plugged In.

The communists said they hoped for that, too. And part of their vision—rooted in the atheistic ethos of communism—was to “re-educate” all religious citizens in antireligious campaigns.

It’s why they pull a pregnant Neng from her teaching job for questioning. She’s married a man from the British colony of Hong Kong, and her parents sent her to Christian schools for education, so they’re concerned about her commitment to Mao’s vision for China.

Neng adamantly tells them that, though she may have gotten swept up in a Christian bandwagon when she was younger, she grew out of her beliefs as she got older.

But as she thinks about those beliefs she had had as a child, Neng begins to realize that, though distant, perhaps she still does believe in the Christian God.

“Are you a Christian?” A government official demands.

Slowly, the thoughts in her head racing, Neng opens her mouth to respond.

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Ever since he was a little boy, it’s been Plankton’s dream to take over the world—a dream he believes he can fulfill if he can only steal the infamous-but-secret Krabby Patty formula. The reason he believes this is a bit convoluted; but suffice it to say that Plankton’s plans have always failed, often foiled by SpongeBob himself.

Unfortunately, that repeated failure has taken a toll on Karen. She’s always supported her husband’s dream, but she believes he’s going about it the wrong way. Karen’s something of an evil genius herself—being a cross between a computer and a robot, after all—but for 25 years, Plankton has neglected to acknowledge her brilliance.

Well, enough is enough for Karen. So when Plankton refuses to listen to her ideas once again, Karen decides to end their evil alliance and take over the world for herself.

Realizing he can’t stop Karen alone, Plankton reluctantly teams up with SpongeBob. But the happy, yellow sponge doesn’t just want to save Bikini Bottom: He wants to save Plankton’s marriage.

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Proud. Drunken. Womanizing.

Those words all fit him quite well. He might even claim them. He’s also quite competitive.

And that competitive side of him always tends to peek its head up at the wrong time. Especially when Caligula is around, and he’s had too many cups of wine. Yes, it’s definitely unwise for a Roman soldier to purposely ruffle the feathers of Emperor Tiberius’ regent.

But Caligula is such a vile, self-indulgent man that he makes Marcellus look like a saint.

So Marcellus can’t keep himself from goading and prodding the man when he pompously parades into the slave trade. And soon after … Marcellous finds himself punitively posted to some barren outpost out in the desert. A dust bowl called Judaea.

The only good aspect of the whole affair is the fact that Marcellus reconnected with an old friend back at that Roman auction. Well, perhaps she’s more than a friend. Could he say that he once loved the pretty Diana? Perhaps. Perhaps.

In any case, Diana said she would talk to Tiberius on his behalf about Marcellus’ situation. All Marcellus needs to do is hold on for a while, and he’ll be transferred back to civilization before he knows it. And he’ll be returning to Diana. Yes, that prospect is sounding sweeter by the day.

So, Marcellus spends his time sweating and drinking. And waiting. When he’s finally called before the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, the man looks very disturbed. Not at Marcellus, but at the fact that he can’t seem to get his hands clean.

There is this magician in the city who’s been giving the governor fits. The Jews—well, many of them—call this bewildering person a “king.” And all Pilate wants is to see the man called Jesus done away with. So, he tells Marcellus to simply crucify this criminal. Then he can be gone, and Marcellus can leave this terrible place.

Marcellus has never killed anyone in this manner, but a few extra cups of wine will surely get him through.

The rest is a blur. Blood on his hands. Dying men breathing their last. Gambling with the Centurion guards.

But there’s something strange about this man they call Jesus. He bleeds and hangs on the cross, to be sure, but it’s as if He calls the time of his death. “Father, forgive them,” the man cries out as Marcellus gazes up at him. “For they know not what they do.” And then He dies.

Marcellus feels the shift before he sees it. The day slides out of gear, the sky grows black. The clouds swell. The people standing around quiver, look up and cry. And then the rains begin to fall.

Marcellus grabs this Jesus’ cast-off robe—for he had won it rolling dice—but when he puts it over his shoulders it burns, it scalds. Is the robe cursed? Or is it something else? Is the pain he feels outside him, or in?

On the way back to Capri, Marcellus falls ill and thrashes in nightmares. And when he reports his story to the superstitious old emperor, Tiberius, the ruler and his soothsayers quickly see what must be happening. Marcellus’ agonies are surely a curse, caused by the foul dead magician and his robe.

Marcellus must return to the parched land of Judaea and find that accursed robe. That is his foresight, his destiny. That will be his salvation, they declare.

And in a way … they’re absolutely right.

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And no, it wasn’t a long-lost relative or a neighbor from down the lane asking for a cup of sugar. This was a messenger from God, an honest-to-goodness angel. And the angel came with news: The young woman would give birth to a son.

It was surprising and seemingly impossible news, considering that the young woman was a virgin.

But in time, the woman did miraculously become pregnant. She traveled to Bethlehem with her new husband. There was no room for them in the inn, so they had to stay among the animals. And that is where the virgin gave birth to her son.

It’s the beginning of an incredible story—some would say the greatest story ever told. It’s a tale of miracles and wonder: more angelic visitations, supernatural healings and the ultimate sacrifice. The woman’s son grows into a man. But more than that, he is fully man and fully God. He lives a perfect, sinless life, preaching and teaching and proclaiming the Kingdom of God. He is betrayed, killed and buried, but he rises to new life, conquering death and paving the way to eternal life for all who hope in him.

Maybe you’ve heard of this story.

It’s the account of Jesus of Nazareth.

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She’d been born in Azerbaijan (then part of the U.S.S.R.). Her own two daughters were born there, too. Her husband, Ivan, works as a Soviet rocket scientist. She herself is a respected school administrator in Baku, Azerbaijan, and a proud member of the Communist Party.

But ethnically, she’s Armenian. And in the eyes of many, that makes her an outsider.

Nothing new there, either. She’d been used to the occasional side-eye, the derogatory remark, the infrequent burst of ethnic tension. As long as Moscow was in charge, those issues felt minor.

But in 1988, Moscow’s power wanes. The Soviet Union is fraying at its edges. And many former countries—or would-be countries—now strain at the seams, reaching for independence.

And in Azerbaijan, Violetta and her family don’t feel at home anymore—all because they’re Armenian.

Bricks shatter the windows of Armenian businesses. People carry signs promising death to Armenians. The school closes its doors to the Petrosyan girls—a sympathetic teacher telling Violetta that they’re simply not safe at the school anymore.

But it’s only when the shooting begins—executions of Armenians right in the streets—that the Petrosyans flee, running straight into Russia proper. There they hope for another chance at home.

But they find a cold welcome in Volvograd, Russia. Housing is dismal. Jobs are scarce—at least for Armenians. The only hint of friendliness they find is inside a ramshackle church, and that’s hardly a suitable refuge for the secular Petrosyans.

Sure, Violetta and Ivan have a place to stay in Volvograd. The apartment comes with walls, a roof—even heat sometimes. And if they need a bathroom, well, it’s just down the hall.

But a home? They’re still looking.

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He’s a hooded dude who’s been stalking loving couples on Valentine’s Day for the last few years. Then he butchers them (mid-hug, kiss or proposal) in the most brutally “romantic” ways: He might carve out their loving hearts with a machete. Or pin the lovebirds together with a razor-sharp cupid’s arrow. Or some other bloody atrocity.

That’s terrible and all. But frankly, Ally couldn’t care less.

While others are quivering on this hearts-and-flowers holiday, Ally has no fear of the killer in the least. You see, she just broke up with her ex-boyfriend. Then that louse instantly ran out and found someone else he could cuddle up with and plastered it all over his social media for crying out loud!

So, let’s just say that Ally is currently as stone-cold averse to all things lovey-dovey as she can be. If anything, she’s kinda thinking about the benefits of putting on a mask with cartoon hearts for eyes and doing a little beat-down on a few people herself.

Oh, and to top all that off, she just met this walking embodiment of a Hallmark card named Jay. He was brought in by her boss to prop up a failing advertising campaign that Ally had come up with. (Which kinda ticked Ally off, truth be told.)

Anyway, this guy just oozes “handsome” and “romantically sincere.” In fact, everything about Jay seems completely geared for some meet-cute rom-com scene. (Which makes Ally all the more angry.) And while she’s more than happy to turn her back on this gorgeous-looking lug, she has to meet him for a meal and discussions about the campaign. Argh!

But here’s the real issue.

From the outside-looking-in, the very pretty Ally and the strikingly handsome Jay make for a really adorbs couple. If you were an insane killer out scoping out a Valentine’s Day symbol to slaughter, this gorgeous couple might seem to be wearing the perfect heart-shaped bulls-eye.

Yup, I think it’s safe to say that Ally is having … a really bad Valentine’s Day!

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Grace is a misfit twin. She and her brother, Gilbert, lost their mother at birth. Grace’s mom was a malacologist, or, in Grace’s mind, a snail scientist. In a twisted sense of symmetry, Grace recounts how female snails must biologically die to successfully give birth.

From the moment her mother passes away, Grace has felt a connection to snails. In fact, apart from Gilbert, her pet snails are the only living things giving her life purpose.

Grace and Gilbert’s father, who had been an aspiring French street performer, sadly became a paraplegic due to a roadside car accident. He eventually passes away due to sleep apnea, which is a bitter example of Memoir of a Snail’s comedic tone.

Orphaned and separated from her brother in an unfortunate foster care decision, Grace ends up with a new set of parents more interested in joining a nudist colony than raising their foster daughter.

Moving through the badlands and suburbs of Australia, Grace ends up confined in her room, while Gilbert arrives at an apple farm that resembles a religious cult. Though they exist on separate sides of the Australian continent, Grace and Gilbert remain linked. Their story and hopeful reunion is recalled through future, older Grace’s narration, which is mainly focused on the cast of characters who wade in and out of her life.

Grace claims she’s an optimist—a perpetually glass half-full kind of girl. Yet as her glum disposition settles in, she becomes a hoarder, addicted to food, and reclusive to the point of sleeping entire weeks away with her snails and a local eccentric named Pinky as her only companions.

As Grace trudges through the doldrums of her life, she does her best to learn lessons from her snail friends. Admittedly, stop-motion animation provides an effective medium for the themes at play. Grace’s epiphanies arrive when she is patient, thoughtful, and measured. To face her life’s problems though, she’ll need to change who she is.

If only she could learn how to come out of her shell…

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Unfortunately, they’re also running from the law.

The three fugitives broke free from a chain gang and hightailed it away from their shotgun-toting captors as quickly as they could. And not just for freedom’s sake: The trio is after the spoils of a robbery committed by the fast-talking Everett before he got sent to the farm. The total sum of that heist? One million dollars. Well, technically, a million point two. That’s no insignificant sum of money, especially in the Depression-era South.

But why the rush? (After all, Pete only had two weeks left on his sentence.)

Turns out, the state government plans to flood the valley housing Everett’s treasure in just a few short days. If they’re to get their reward, they’ll have to make it there before the valley is swallowed up by 9,000 hectares of water. No small task, considering they’re still chained to each other.

So, with the authorities nipping at their heels, Everett, Pete and Delmar set off on an odyssey across the forests, fields and towns of 1930s Mississippi; a long and winding road that they’re sure will lead them to their fortune.

Though the fortune they find may be much different than they expect.

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But this day is special for him. Because today, this frowzled young man is determined to find folk artist Woody Guthrie, to tell the singer how important he’d been to Dylan. Guthrie’s songs had knocked Dylan flat the first time he heard them. They helped spur him on to writing some new songs of his own.

The problem is, Woody Guthrie isn’t in New York as Dylan had been told. Guthrie’s health had worsened, and he was in a run-down psychiatric facility in New Jersey. So, Dylan starts hitching his way there.

When he finally arrives, he finds Guthrie in poor shape indeed. The man’s Huntington’s disease had beaten him down to the point of barely being able to move or talk. Guthrie is lying, defeated and humbled, in a shabby bed. Pete Seeger, his one last friend, sits at his bedside.

The two men listened as Dylan has his say, praising Guthrie, speaking of the man’s inspiration, delivering his thanks. Then, as Dylan turned to go, Pete Seeger, a seasoned folk artist himself, said, “So, play it.”

“Play what?” Dylan asked.

“The song you were inspired to write.”

Dylan picks up his guitar and plays. His gruff, nasal voice sings of struggles and pain. And Guthrie is visibly moved. In fact, that’s the moment Pete Seeger decides to help this scruffy young folk singer. So he gives Dylan a couch to sleep on for the night. Maybe Seeger can even open a few doors for the guy.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

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