Some Things Never Change

You know how people say there should be a theme song for their lives? Well, if there was a concept of a "theme picture" for my life, this would COMPLETELY encompass at least four days of my week. Actually, this picture is my future goal because this man fell correctly (if that's possible, maybe he's a professional goob too and knows how to minimize the pain) and did not nail his head like I have done THREE times now. Yep, you heard me. I just drew one more point on the scoreboard of Shelby's head-games with the floor. If you're keeping score at home it's Shelby's head- 0. Tile floors, brick floors, and bathroom sinks and possible towel rack- 3.
Before we get to the THIRD attack on Shelby's skull, let's get to the serious part. I should at least postpone you laughing at me as long as possible, right? Good, I thought so too. So last Tuesday, I was sitting in class when I got a text from my mom. It told me to call her as soon as I got out of class. Automatically, my stomach went into turmoil mode because my mother never has to tell me to call. I call her at least a THOUSAND times a day to discuss pathetically simple things that I should be beyond capable of handlling at twenty. The ladies at her work laugh at the amount of times that I call- it really is absurd. Back to the point, I was a nervous wreck. When I got out of class and called and asked my mother what was going on, she just casually says that her and my dad were at the hospital since three that morning. I know she said it this way to comfort me, but my goodness mother you weren't taking a stroll through the park to "One Fine Day!" (I am much more dramatic than my mother). She proceeded to tell me that they were at the hospital because my dad had woken up in the middle of the night with chest pains. They were running tests to make sure it wasn't his heart. She kept going, but I was already in another world of whirlwind.
I was in disbellief, and to be flat-out honest,I was a little angry. I thought to myself, "God, have you not seen my past month? Did you forget that I have already had my fair share of rain lately? Sure, I made it through the two concussions, the end of a two-year relationship, and then losing Mr. Miller, but THIS IS MY DAD. I can't handle this one. I made it through the others, don't let this happew now too. It is not fair." I was being selfish, and I was Peter who was hesitant and scared of sinking through the waters instead of listening to the One who was and is trying to teach me how to walk.
Thankfully, my dad's problem was not his heart, and my selfish desires were answered. Yet, God still had a lesson for me the next day. Wednesday, I was so excited because Allison, one of my best friends from high school, and Lindsey were staying with me. This sent me on a mission to find an air mattress that I could sleep on, so I took it upon myself to skip/run down the halls as I was searching. Well, unfortunately for me, my sweet neighbors didn't alert clumsy me that they had sprayed Raid in their doorway. Raid on a floor+Shelby running= a reaction that I am sure you can easily predict. Yes, as I ran into their room, I slipped on the Raid, and I successfully hit my head on the tile floors of Crosby.As I laid in the middle of my friends' door, I quickly pictured the male nurse with his female-function questions, and I quickly stood up and told everyone I was fine. No hospitals for me. But where was my sweet best friend?
I could hear her snorting and laughing from my room. If you know Allison, you appreciate this situation tenfolds more because when Allison laughs she has, well she has some issues. Yep, as my newer friends asked if I was ok, my old friend was sprawled out on my dorm-room floor( hadn't even moved to see if I was alive) rolling in laughter. Maidee Parker, my other friend, was standing in the hall between the two of us, shaking her head, not able to choose which one of us was more idiotic as she always had in high school with every other embarrassing situation we put her through. Although I had just humiliated myself for the 394985985 time in my life, I couldn't help but smile because some things never change. No matter how old we got, no matter how many miles we were apart, no matter what university we went to, no matter WHAT, I was still the clumsy girl that fell while Allison was the one who laughed hysterically and had her issues while Maidee Parker would run and hide or stand in the middle of us and do nothing but shake her head. In the midst of our crazy lives, we were still the same. Nothing had changed.
I believe that if I had listened a little closer to my other Friend the day before, He would have told me the same thing. He would have said, "Hey, I know it's been crazy the past month. I know you think I haven't been listening or haven't noticed. I know you're scared. I know you're tired, but why are you questioning me? I haven't gone anywhere. You're still the one who has to learn, and I am still the one who has to teach. You're still the one who doubts and fears the waves, and I am still the one reaching out my hand. You're still the clay, and I am still molding. You're still the one who sometimes gets off track, and I am still the one who will be here waiting every time. I will never forsake you or leave you. I love you."
Basically, He was saying, "Some Things Never Change."
Although it is comforting to know that my friends and I are still the same retarded people and nothing has changed, at the end of the day, it's a thousand times better to know that there is a God who loves you beyond reason, will never leave you, and will never quit reaching out His hand to you in the midst of storms. So as you go throughout your week and approach Thanksgiving, be thankful that "some things never change."

When the Spaghetti Comes Rolling Down

Spaghetti. It has ALWAYS, and I mean always been one of my favorite foods. So no doubt about it, when I heard we were having it for dinner at my sorority house last night, I was 110% there. Who knew I would soon find significance and depth in lifeless noodles and meat sauce? I had just finished eating my truckload of food and talking to some friends when out of nowhere I saw and felt NOODLES and MEAT SAUCE rolling down my body.

I am NOT kidding you. A friend had dropped an entire plate of spaghetti down my shirt. Imagine your horrifying scences from a Lizzy McGuire, Boy Meets World, Amanda Bynes, Amelia Bedelia, LUCY RICARDO movie/episode/book and that was me. I think I even pulled a noodle out of my tennis shoe. Yet, these events are everyday life for me, so I laughed it off and said, "IF THIS IS ANY INDICATION OF THE REST OF MY NIGHT, I NEED TO LEAVE NOW."

I should have hit the ground running. Oh, how I LOVE irony.

After dinner, we had practice just like every other Wednesday, Yet, this would be a different practice for good old me. Long story short, my feet came out from underneath me, and I hit a brick floor head-first. The entire room went silent, and when I sat up, people were untying my shoes. It is never a comforting thought when people think you're incapable of taking off your own shoes. I tried to shake it off, but tears were flowing down my face from my throbbing head. I went upstairs and laid on an ice-pack, but soon they told me I needed to go to the doctor as a precaution. So, Maidee and I got in Chelsie's car, and she drove us to the ER. It is a really overwhelming moment in life when you look down on a sheet of paper and see your name with "head injury" beside it.

After the infamous ER wait, me trying to crack corny jokes with the workers, getting taken through two different rooms, discussing my last lady cycle with a male nurse, touching my nose with my fingers multiple times,taking a urine sample that of course the MALE nurse had to come receive, and seeing the actual doctor, I was told that they were going to do a CAT-scan to check for any possible complications like swelling or a brain leak.

Swelling or leaking in the brain. Those are extremely large words to swallow at nineteen.

My mind began to race. I began to think of every possible head injury I had ever heard about, and all I kept thinking was that this could not be the case for me. I was only nineteen. I had to master Accounting 201, convice 900 girls why they should be a DG, successfully park in between two cars without backing up a thousand times, and worry about missing the latest Glee episode. Not a brain leak. I know it seems overdramatic, but I am an honest worry-wart. Then a nurse came in with a wheelchair, and I had to leave my friends behind. As I was slowly pushed towards the next room, anxiety permeated my mind. I had never been to a hospital without my mother there (she did however drive like a bat out of Hades and got there right as I was dismissed), never had to have my head checked, and never heard the possibility of "brain leak." When we arrived in the room, I saw a screen that I had seen a thousand times in Grey's Anatomy and similiar TV shows, but this machine wasn't for a fictional character. It was for me. That's another horse pill to swallow. However, the system was down, and the guy had to leave me for a brief second before the scan began. As I sat in the room alone facing a screen with a diagram of a brain that would soon show my own, I felt like my "spaghetti had come rolling down." My once compact, undisturbed, mixed together, and neat plate-of-spaghetti life had now come rolling down. It was messy. It was chaotic. The noodles were separated from the sauce. I didn't have my friends, I didn't have my strong-as-a-mule mother, and I didn't have the answers either. I only had one place to turn when my spaghetti came rolling down. With tears in my eyes as I was waiting for the man to come back, I started praying out loud. Although I desperately hoped the man did not come back to see me talking out loud to the empty room and think I was much worse off than I was and send me to a mental instituition, I did not care. I was talking to the only One who could reassemble my spaghetti. I was talking to the only One who could comfort me when things were messy. I was talking to the only One who can give hope when your plate comes rolling down.

The CAT-scan results were minor. I had a slight concussion, and the only consequence I received was a very sore head/neck and a week without physical activity. My plate was neatly reassembled. Yet, this would not have been possible without two amazing friends, a God-send of a mother, and faith in One a lot larger than me.

So although my incident is minor compared to a BILLION of other people's unfortunate days, I learned a lesson from it all, and the lesson came from the beginning of my crazy-Lucy day- the spaghetti. When your perfect plate of spaghetti comes unexpectedly rolling down, where will you turn? When no one else around you can help you and you are alone, how will you make sense of the mess? When your noodles and meatballs are scrambled, where will you find strength and peace?

"Cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you."- 1 Peter 5:7

Let me rephrase this for you: "Give me, your dropped plate. Give me every slimy noodle and every enormous meatball. Don't worry. I will make your mess into something neat again.I will reassemble your spaghetti."

So, the next time your spaghetti comes rolling down, remember there is always someone waiting to take your mess, give you hope, and reassemble every noodle.