breaking and entering

As I drove home this beautiful Friday night, after an intense day of teaching during acrofest, all I could think about was enjoying the solitude of my home and playing the piano. My parents had already taken off to go to a different church for the weekend... so it was going to be just me and my dog, Bucky, for the night. My excitement was dampened slightly upon finding the door locked. "This is no problem," I thought to myself, "I can just call the parents and find a hide-a-key." This would've been a fine idea, if we owned a spare key, but we don't, so the next mode of action was obviously the windows.

As I jumped on the roof to try and lift window #1, I noticed my neighbor arriving back home from work. It was dark outside and I didn't want to look like I was breaking and entering,so I cast my dark shadow on the side of the house and stood there until her car's lights passed me. I proceeded onto window #2 after finding the previous one locked. Our windows are kind of strange in that, when you open them from the outside, pressure must be put on the glass instead of the frame. I have done this way too many times to count, for good reasons that we can discuss later, and didn't think twice about it. Whether it was from the brute force of my weight against the glass or from the weakening of it(from the harsh winter, and quickly warming weather), I have no idea, but the window gave way to the pressure and my hand went through the glass.

I stood on the roof with very differing emotions for the next couple of seconds. My first thought was of guilt that I'd broken the glass, the second thought was that of relief and pride that I'd actually found a way into the house, the third was of worry and fear that I'd done something to myself in the process, and then of alarm after I'd shone my cellphone light onto my hand and panic after I saw all of the blood dripping from my wrist and fingertips. I really had no idea what the condition of my hand was, my finger could be close to falling off, for all I knew. Regardless of my fears, I finally managed to make it inside the window without any more cuts. After taking some pictures of my hand and washing the ever pooling blood off, I drove to a nurse friend of mine's house. She took one look at my hand and said I'd need stitches. What an adventure that was. I can't even begin to tell you how enthralling it was to watch the needle weave in and out of my skin. Call me crazy, but I had pain meds, so I wasn't feeling the majority of it anyway.

I am now all stitched up and bandaged up and I realize just how important it will be for me to ask others for help, since I can't really use my right hand. I absolutely hate asking for help... most of this is my pride speaking. I want to do things by myself so I can #1: assure myself that I am competent and able to accomplish things ranging from small to colossal and #2: prove to others much of the same. At times, asking for help almost seems like I'm admitting defeat; which I am not always humble enough to do. I also just don't like being a burden to anyone; it drives me absolutely crazy.

Maybe this is why all of this crazy stuff happened, so I will learn to drop my pride and ask for help. I just hope the next time God teaches me something, it won't take a hand through glass and 5 stitches.