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How much pain are you in?

I'm not tired at all. It's 12:45 am and I've only got one thing on my mind: pain.
We always ask our patients to give us their rating of pain, on a scale of 0-10. Zero being: they aren't in pain at all and ten: they would rather be dead (for clarification- no... I don't actually ask my patients if they would rather be dead, but you get the idea). It is quite an effective little scale and even young children can comprehend what we are trying ask them... especially if it means giving some more morphine to cope with what's going on with their bodies.
It is this concept that has kept me awake so long. Not necessarily the subject of morphine, physical pain, but more along the lines of emotional pain... being hurt. When we are hurt, we feel a multitude of things such as: anger, abandonment, confusion, we feel unloved, unwanted, etc. I, personally, feel these things on a pretty rare occasion and most of the time, it has been on the account of someone else that I love being hurt.
For some reason, I have never understood the full extent of how God feels pain. I haven't really thought about it in these last few months anyway... and in all honesty, when I'm in pain, I only think of myself. For some reason, I have finally come to the realization that God does feel pain. He feels pain when I don't communicate with him, when I don't take his advice, or when I choose anything else over him. I realized fully today that this is how he feels every time I do something against him: he feels disappointed, abandoned, unloved, unwanted. He feels the hurt just as strongly as I do. I don't know if he keeps a continuous pain scale going, but I'm pretty sure I've caused him many "tens" and today, I really wished I had some morphine to give him.

My man, C.S.

I have decided that C.S. Lewis is really smart... probably one of the smartest I know of. He knows exactly how to put things in a way that most people can readily understand. If I can use the same amount of brain power in my life that that man did in 40 years, I think I may consider myself accomplished. Here is something from his book, Mere Christianity, that is lovely to chew on:

"When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him. When a man is getting worse he understands his own badness less and less. A moderately bad man knows he is not very good: a thoroughly bad man thinks he is all right. THis is common sense, really. You understand sleep when you are awake, not while you are sleeping. You can see mistakes in arithmetic when your mind is working properly: while you are making them you cannot see them. You can understand the nature of drunkenness when you are sober, not when you are drunk. Good people know about both good and evil: bad people do not know about either."

The beginning

I have been getting into reading the Bible more these days. I've decided to dig a little deeper than usual and started looking up the references along the side of my Bible. This is my new version of Genesis 1:1-

"In the beginning was the word an the word was with God and the word was God. Jesus was in the beginning with God. Everything was made through him and without him, there was and is no possibility of anything being created. God created the heavens and the earth. He made the world and everything in it. He is the Lord of Heaven and earth and he does not dwell in temples made with hands. He has said that heaven is my throne and earth is my footstool, what house will you build for me? Or what place of my rest? Has my hand not made all things?
He does not dwell in temples nor is he worshipped with man's hands, as though he needed anything, since he gives to all life and breath, and all things.
For the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being. He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, and has determined their pre-appointed times and the boundaries of their dwellings.
All the inhabitants of the earth are nothing; he does according to his will in the army of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth. No one can restrain his hand or say to him "what have you done?"
God says "I am a God near at hand and not a God far off. Can anyone hide himself in secret places so I shall not see him? Do I not fill the heavens and the earth?"
So, we are to seek God in the hope that we might grope for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us.
For in him we live and move and have our being."

This is only Genesis 1:1. Looks like I have a lot more left to go. This is just the beginning.

A bike ride mixed with frustration and lack of air.

My excitement woke up with me this morning and only mounted as I set out to plan the perfect bike route, with the help of Honey Bunches of Oats and Google Maps. I found a 44 mile (round trip) road bike trail just a measly 20 miles away from my apartment in Orlando, FL and started driving towards it with very high expectations and a whole lot of adrenaline.

Upon arriving at the trail head, I thought it would be a good idea to ask another bicyclist which direction would be best to take (since the trail head was in the middle of the 44 miles). I stopped a seasoned gentleman and after my inquiry, he asked if I was a good bike rider- "I'm alright," I said, with a wink. He told me which way to go and after saying thank you, I headed back over to my car to pump up my tires. As soon as I started pumping up my back tire, I heard a "PSSSSHHHHHHH!!!" I looked down and saw my tire, sinking down to the ground... matching the deflation of my high hopes for the day. The old man came over and asked if I had a tire kit, to which I replied that I had forgotten mine that day. I wasn't about to tell him that not only had I forgotten mine, I didn't even own one. I always thought I would be close enough to call a friend if I ever had trouble, and I'm a bit of a frugal person as well and haven't wanted to spend the money on one.

Off to the nearest bike store I went and about an hour later, I had a new tube in my bike (for 15 dollars). The bike mechanic asked if I wanted a tire kit for the next time a tube popped. I turned him down... after all- I had just gotten my tire fixed and there was no way my tire was popping again.

I found the "West Orange" trail head again and started off. The West Orange trail is something that I'd never seen before. It was about as large as a road, and paved, but it ran next to the road and sometimes split off into more scenic areas. It was pretty much just for road bikes. My energy just increased with each mile I rode, partially due to the energy pack I'd had just moments before starting off but either way, I was on cloud 8 or 9. The only bad thing that happened was that my sunglasses fell in a toilet around mile 10, there was no soap so I just put them back on and continued. The miles just kept flying by. I was on about mile 12 and figured I could go another 5 before turning around... coming out to 34 miles total!

"PPPPPPPSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" That sound scared me so bad, I almost couldn't get my clip-ons off in time and just about toppled over. Unfortunately, it was the sound of my back tire popping... again. I was so frustrated, I probably could have left my bike on the side of the road and walked the 12 miles back. This second popping episode posed a bit of a predicament for me, because ALL of my nursing friends were at work. The only other person that wasn't was not answering her phone. My options were: walk 12 miles back, or hitch hike. I was at a point in the trail where there was a stop sign for bikers, and a small car road that passed in front of it. I walked out to the front of it several times, to see if I wanted to attempt hitch-hiking. Just the thought of it sent pictures in my head of possible newspaper headings... "21 year old girl is said to be missing- she went on a bike ride by herself, without a tire kit, and hitch-hiked because of a flat tire. Authorities think a newly escaped convict picked her up..." or another heading: "Mother kills daughter after finding out she went hitch-hiking."

Regardless of the thoughts running through my head, I decided to hitch hike. Thankfully the two men who picked me up were firefighters and were married to nurses... not that that really meant much. They were also on a job at the moment and had to go 12 miles in the opposite direction of where I needed to go, so they dropped me off at the closest bike store.

Mistake #1- not having a tire kit, mistake #2- going by myself on a trail in the middle of nowhere in Florida, possible mistake #3- hitch hiking. AND #4- forgetting to bring my money.

At least I had remembered to bring my phone with me. My friend called back and agreed to come and get me... and pay for everything. While I was waiting for her, The nice people at the bike store chewed me out thoroughly for not having a tire kit and told me they hoped I'd learned my lesson...
Not 5 minutes after putting the bike in my friend's car, we heard "PSSSSHHHHHHH!!!" Back to the bike store I went for the 3rd time in one day. If you are in Orlando and you happen to see a Bianchi Imola road bike on the side of the road, you'll know what happened.

Anyway, the bike people were right... I have learned my lesson: don't go on a bike ride by yourself and don't go on a bike ride without a tire kit. I'll probably go for many more bike rides by myself, but as for the other issue, it's safe to say that I now own a tire kit.

Flat bread

I have never been completely with it first thing in the morning. This morning was no exception to the rule. I stumbled out of bed and found myself in the kitchen, where I made an egg and cheese sandwich and cut up some grapefruit. For some reason, I forgot I was carrying two things in my hand when I went to the living room to eat. I subconsciously set the plate with the sandwich down on the couch and thinking that it was still in my hand, promptly turned around and sat down... right on top of my sandwich. My day only got better from here.

A bundle of sticks and a substitute teacher

"Okay guys, it's time to read from your story books... everybody go get one, they're in the back" I said, as I scanned my classroom of 12 bright-eyed 7 and 8 year olds. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a little one at my side, looking up at me with that little blond head and sparkling blue eyes saying, "Miss Beth, can we pleeeeease go pick a partner?" Well, how could I resist?

They got into groups of two and the reading began. I went around the room, making sure Donavon and Lecyrus weren't at each other's throats again, and making sure the kids were actually reading. As I went from group to group, sitting at each for a couple of minutes, the story unraveled. It was called "A bundle of sticks" and as I began to piece the story together, from segments at each group, I found that it was about two brothers who were fighting over who was the better of the two. The father, saddened by the constant bickering, gave the boys a task. He gave them a bunch of sticks and told them to break them all at once. They quickly realized that they were, seperately, too weak to break them and had to do it together to accomplish the task.
After every group finished reading, I called them all back together to discuss the book.

"Do you guys ever fight with your siblings?" To see all the hands that went up in the air, you would think they were a gospel choir at a Baptist church. As I picked on the hands that were raised, I got the full lowdown of exactly how it was between these kids and each one of their siblings and exactly how their parents punished them. They would tell stories of, "... well, this one time, I pushed my brother, and my momma came and gave me a whoopin'!" or "... I couldn't play with my x-box anymore." Some even had stories of an infamous "spank spoon" or a certain corner they had to go sit in.

Then, I asked them this question: "Who do you think it hurts when you fight with your brother or sister?" I thought of all the different responses I could get... and the one response I actually wanted to hear. The kids answered about it hurting their mom, dad, sibling, or grandparent. Not one of them said that it would hurt God- that was the answer that I was fishing for.

This was a public school and the name Jesus or God was obviously not to be spoken by me as a teacher. It was okay to talk about God if a kid asked a question about him... but even then, I was to clearly state that it was only my opinion. I guess I asked that question because I wanted to see what they had been taught about Jesus, if anything at all. All throughout the day, I had seen snapshots of their home lives and this was just another picture.

One teacher told me that day that she could never be a nurse and she doesn't know how we do it. I told her that I could never be a teacher and I didn't know how she did it. What I actually meant by my statement though, was not about how hard it was to teach a class full of rambunctious kids. It was that I could never work in a place that didn't allow me to speak about God. I felt like I was about to burst when I asked the kids that question. I can't imagine feeling like that every day!

... so, I have a question for my readers. Why must teachers refrain from speaking about God in the classroom?

Not just any school day...

I was in Adult II in the new nursing building, just like any other school day. We had just finished an hour of lecture and were on a 15 minute break.

A couple of hours earlier, I had looked at my pilonidal surgery spot (where there were still 8 stitches) and it just didn't look like I thought it should. "I should talk to someone experienced about this," I told myself.

On this 15 minute break, I decided to find my Adult 1 teacher and ask her about this. I found her in another nursing teacher's office and asked them if they were knowledgeable in the area of pilonidals. One of them had even had one and the other had worked with a surgeon who used to remove them. I told them what I had seen that morning and asked them if that was normal.

Their response?

"Oh, girl! You want us to look at it?!" (in a slightly southern accent)

Well, I didn't really know what to think of this. For them to see it, I'd have to take off my pants. THAT, I DID NOT want to do. At the same time, I wanted to make sure it was alright, so...

Off they went. Right there, in her office, in the new nursing building.

The result?

It was fine.

This just goes down as the most embarrassing moment for me this week. Hopefully it doesn't get topped.

Warning: this was written while I was on Oxycodone...

I have never been able to pee on command. The last time I was asked to do so, at a doctor's office, I ended up having to stay an extra hour. Nothing came out, even after the extra hour, and I ended up having to take the cup home with me and bring it back to the office the next day.

Today was no exception. I was scheduled for a 7:00 am surgery. This meant no food or water past 12:00 AM last night... so naturally, I became pretty dehydrated. This fact, mixed with the fact that I had urinated before I went to the doctor, and the fact that I get really nervous when told to pee pretty much doomed me for the upcoming urine sample.

As soon as I was called back to the pre-op room, I was given a cup and told to pee in it. This is a very standard pre-op procedure; It just assures the doctors and nurses that the patient is not pregnant... if there is no urine sample, there is NO surgery. I took the cup and walked into the bathroom... knowing I would be in there for quite some time. After sitting in there for about 15 minutes, I came out and told the nurse that I just couldn't go.

She decided to go ahead and start my IV to try and get fluids in me to see if that would help. I put on the nice little gown without a back and held my arm out... but I was so dehydrated, she couldn't even find a vein and had to get another nurse to start it. After about 500 mL had been put in me, she took me to the bathroom again.

I sat there... and sat there some more. I turned on the water to see if that would help me out some. Nothing. I put my hand in warm water to see if that would help. Nothing. 30 minutes later.... still nothing. The nurse came in and I asked her what would happen to me if I couldn't pee. She said "then, you just won't have surgery."

... SO... I told the nurse to CATHETERIZE me. I actually told the nurse to put a catheter in. What was I thinking? Not really sure at this point.

I will not go into the details of explaining just how the catheter felt going in... for my non-medical field readers. If you really want to know, just come ask me later. I'll just say that I can now sympathize with my patients when I put one in them. I have never been so excited to get a urine sample before.

The surgery went well. It was a removal of a pilonidal cyst. I will not explain exactly what that is either... it's pretty gruesome. Again, if you want to know, just come ask me.

I'm glad I went through all of this though. I believe it will help me become a better nurse. Would I do it all over again just to gain the same perspective?

Well I don't know about that... I'll sleep on it and say later.

He's got it.

I have extreme test anxiety. There has never been a test that I have not had sweaty palms, increased heart rate, or jittering leg for. Sometimes I even feel like I'm going to pass out. Finals are no exception to the rule. Finals are worse. I worry about them from the very beginning of the semester.

I tend to put everything on the back burner when that dreadful week comes. Exercise, eating, sleep, and devotions are the ones that I worry about the least. I suppose they should be the ones I pay attention to the most... but that doesn't cross my mind when I'm near a panic attack.

Devotions were definitely not on my "To do" list this week... but somewhere in between increased heart rate and gnawing on trail mix, I decided I'd just take a quick look. I got out my Steps to Christ book and this is what God reminded me of yesterday morning:

"If we would but fully believe this, all undue anxieties would be dismissed. our lives would not be so filled with disappointment as now; for everything, whether great or small, would be left in the hands of God, who is not perplexed by the multiplicity of cares, or overwhelmed by their weight. We should then enjoy a rest of soul to which many have long been strangers."
-pg. 86

I need to write this verse on my wall with bright paint so I'll never forget the thing that is the hardest for me to remember:

God's got it when I don't (and even when I think I do).

umm....

I have lack of sleep, crying brain cells, I have a test this afternoon... and I'm writing a pointless blog.

Fortune?

I have received some pretty good fortunes from fortune cookies in the past. I opened my cookie tonight in sweet anticipation, hoping for the best one ever. My mouth dropped slightly upon reading it... this is probably the worst fortune in history:

"Come back later... I am sleeping (yes, cookies need their sleep too)."

Unbelievable.

small talk

I hate small talk. I think it is necessary in some ways to get to know someone better, so deeper conversation can ensue, but I still don't like it. I wish I could just start talking to some stranger about their stance on an issue without having to ask their name, where they're from, what year they are in school, etc... first. I guess small talk is seen as the polite way to go about things in our society, and without doing so can be seen as rude, but sometimes I don't want to do it. There have been times that I just jump straight to a deep conversation right after meeting someone. A while ago, upon meeting one of my roommate's boyfriend, I said "so, what do you think about homosexuality?" I really wanted to know what he thought about the issue and didn't feeling like asking all of the preliminary questions I was supposed to ask to find out.
One of the typical versions of small talk I hate most is this one:
Person 1: "hi, how are you?"
Person 2: "Good, how are you?"
Person 1: "Good."
Person 2: "That's Good."
One embarrassing time, I repeated the previous conversation twice in a row with a person. Awkward.
Today, I almost had an embarrassing small talk conversation. I was washing dishes at the CK with a fellow worker. Conversation was starting to die and I almost asked "SO, where do you work?" Good thing I bit my tongue on that one.

The CK

I work at the Campus Kitchen ("CK"). Every so often, I get some customers that really make me chuckle. At the beginning of the year, it was the freshmen who had no idea what to order and would stand in line for an eternity asking about every single option on the list. There are those other people who change their order about a million times and still don't really know what they want. Then, there is a different breed of people who mean to say one thing, and it comes out the wrong way and it sounds absolutely hilarious. I had one of those people order from me this last Friday. This is how the conversation went:

Me: "Hi, What would you like today?"

Customer: "I would like to order, uh, Crap!"

Me: (laughing) "You would like to order what?"

Customer: "Uh, Oh no!"

Me: (Laughing quite hysterically by this point... it had been a long day) "You want to order Crap?!"

Customer: (Laughing and shaking his head) "no, no, no!!"

... Customer then looks a little worried and says "You don't serve that here, do you?"

Me: "I don't think we serve that here, but if and when we ever do, I'll let you know."

The List

This summer, I've made up my mind about the thing I'd like to call "the list." Let me clarify what exactly it is. It is a LONG list of qualities and "deal breakers" that I have wanted in my future husband. Almost every girl I know also has one of these lists... either a mental one or on a piece of paper.
It's not bad to have a list of qualities and characteristics that we want, but the problem lies in just how big the list is and what exactly is on that list. A lot of the things I had on my list were unreasonable and unrealistic. To prove my point, I even had such nit picky things as this, on the list: "doesn't have a motorcycle, doesn't pick his nose, has clean toe nails..."
I think one of the largest problems with me having a list was the simple fact that I was limiting God. I was making and creating the perfect man for myself on a piece of paper; but do I really know who the perfect man for myself is? I don't think I completely do. “And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” – Phil 4:19.
God knows me so much better than I know myself. If he knows me so well, I believe he would have a better idea of the husband for me than even I would. According to this verse, it says that he will meet all of my needs; I would put a husband in that category- as long as God doesn't plan for me to be celibate. This doesn't mean that I can now have a laissez-fair attitude toward the choosing of my future mate. It definitely doesn't mean that I'm going to date just anyone that comes off of the street. I'm just giving God more room to do his job.
I haven't physically thrown out "the list," I'm keeping it so I can look back at it and laugh at myself a little. I have a small mental list of things God and I both jive with; a list I can count with just one hand. It was a hard process to go through; one I don't even think I'm through with yet. It is a scary process, because it involves me giving up things I think I need, over to God. Little by little, I'm trusting more in God and I have faith enough to realize that by the time this process is through, I won't be saying "I do" to some ax murderer on my wedding day.

not so fearless.

The other day, my family was over at our neighbor's house. We were all talking about the fact that I was going to be a substitute teacher this summer. I stated that I was a little scared about this whole concept of teaching and Mrs. Parrish (my neighbor) shot me a stunned look and said, “Beth, are you really afraid of anything?” I realized then that some people, not just my neighbors, may have the notion that I am fearless.
I try not to show my weaknesses, just like every other living, breathing human being. My fears are known to few and far in between… and even I have yet to completely understand some of them.
When I was younger, I didn’t fear monsters in the closet, but ones that hid under the bed. I believed that they would grab my toes if they were uncovered and drag me to my death. To fix this problem, I would keep my feet covered at all times when in bed, no matter how hot it became underneath the covers. I would also run and jump into bed, so these crazy little goblins wouldn’t reach out and swipe at my toes. This was a crazy fear, but even to this day, I keep my toes hidden and yes, I sometimes run and jump into my bed.
I am also afraid of the dark. It makes me feel like something is going to jump out and abduct me. It really freaks me out to have all of the lights off in my house, when everyone else has already gone to sleep. I have this little system prepared so at least one light is always left on downstairs so I can walk upstairs without darkness enshrouding me. When it comes to things like the dark, who cares about conserving energy? Not me.
I have never liked elevators. If I could choose to take the stairs every time, I would. I absolutely hate it when the elevator doors close. I have always been afraid of someone sticking their hand in, at the last minute, to try and stop the doors before they close. I actually stare at the doors while they are shutting, just holding my breath and praying no one sticks their hand in the way. I’m not scared of them getting their hand cut off, it’s more a fear of them actually getting on… I’m afraid of the person who owns the hand. Axe murderer? Sure, could be. Crazy, Psychotic person? Sure, always an option. Now I know this is strange because, anyone who just walks on with me could be those things; so why is it the poor person who’s running late and sticks his hand in? I don’t know. It just is.
Am I fearless? Absolutely not. Keep in mind: these are just three of my many fears too. I try not to let them ruin my life though; if I did, I don’t think I would have much of a life. I just found this verse tonight, shortly after dealing with another dark house episode:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation: Whom shall I fear? The Lord Is the Strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies and foes, They stumbled and fell. Though an army may encamp against me, My heart shall not fear: Though war may rise against me, In this I will be confident.”
Psalm 27:1-3.
Take that, you little goblin toe grabbers!

Late nights

I knew I would be staying up late this week, but not this late. It is currently 2:41 am and I can't go to sleep. I went to bed a little after 1:00 and pretty much stared up at the ceiling for more than an hour and a half. This has been a common occurrence for me, for about the last month. I go to bed, stare up at the ceiling for and hour, finally fall asleep, and wake up early (before my alarm goes off). This may be what is called insomnia. Initial, and terminal. Initial, meaning: not being able to fall asleep and terminal: waking up really early. I learned about it in nursing this last week.

Anyway, after staring at the ceiling and turning over for the millionth time, I decided it was time to get up. Studying for finals time? Nope, that already took up a lot of my Saturday evening. Blogging was obviously the next best choice. So, here I am. Sitting in the chapel. I'm not really sure why it is open, but I'm glad it is.

I've realized that there are few things as thought-provoking as solitude. This is probably why I don't like to spend a lot of time alone. Sure, I like thinking about things and pondering different areas of my life, but it makes my brain stay in constant motion... and my brain is already filled with paperwork and medications, molecular structures and formulas. I have been, in what seems like, constant isolation this semester. Studying, clinicals, and responsibilities have taken over and I just haven't had time to spend with the awesome people that I call friends. As soon as I realize all this, I also see that the semester is coming to a close. My friends are graduating, going as student missionaries, task force, or just leaving Southern. Missed opportunities, forgotten promises to hang out, and delayed reunions all come to mind. It makes me sad that I placed studies as my highest priority this year. Good grades? yeah, I want those. Graduation? Sure, I want it to come sooner... but when I look back on college, I don't just want to remember how much time I spent studying and good grades I achieved. I want to remember faces and memories. Faces of people I grew to love and memories that I made with them.

... I guess I also want to remember that I got some sleep somewhere between freshman year and graduation. Here's to staring at the ceiling for another couple of hours. Hoorah.

Deodorant

The other day, I realized I was out of deodorant so, off to Wal Mart I went. After I had made my purchase, I started thinking of all the deodorant smells that would be atrocious to have. Among those, I thought of grapefruit. I like the taste of grapefruit but I don't like the smell. It just isn't one of those really pleasing, sweet smells. When I think of a grapefruit, I think of the taste, which is sour. Who would want sour deodorant? not me.
As I was putting away my Wally world goods later that day, I realized that I had not even looked at the scent of the deodorant before I purchased it, so I looked. straight across the front, the odor that was clearly written in orange-colored font was "Grapefruit."
Ironic? Maybe. Returning it? Nope... I'm going to make myself try it out and if I smell sour in the process, so be it.

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.

Edelweiss

I have always had a tradition at camp of singing my girls to sleep every night. I have found that it is the most effective way of getting them to quiet down and count sheep. There is one song that I have always sung my girls every week and sometimes every night, without fail. That song is: "Edelweiss," the song that is sung on The Sound of Music. There is just something so peaceful about it that made my girls fall asleep every night, without so much as a peep. I even sung the song to Livvy(a little three year old that I babysat throughout high school) during her nap times. It worked for a while, until she memorized the lyrics and would ask me to sing the song, just so she could sing along and therefore, prolong the inevitability of her much dreaded nap. My mother also sung the song to "mini" me before my bed times.
I was actually curious about the history of the song, so I looked it up on Wikipedia, which is the most reliable of sources. I had originally thought that it was Austria's national anthem or something to that extent. The song was actually written by Rodgers and Hammerstein specifically for The Sound of Music. There is actually a Christian version of the song that is called "May the Lord, Mighty God," which was written quite some time after the original version. The song is about a flower that grows primarily in the European alps.
The Edelweiss flower is white in color and is actually known for its use in easing abdominal pain. This flower was known for its "love charms." To prove their bravery and serious intentions, men would actually attempt to climb mountains, where the Edelweiss grows, to pick bouquets of the flower and present it to their lover. Apparently, many men died in the attempt, because of such steep mountainsides and bad weather conditions. It kind of makes the store-bought flowers of today seem a little cheap in comparison. The flower is being protected by most all of the European governments and is now illegal to pick, so I would recommend a different approach in proving bravery.
In case you don't know the words to this famous song, I will write the lyrics below so you can learn it and possibly sing it to a cabin full of munchkins... or to yourself, when you are trying to get some sleep.

Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white,
clean and bright
You look happy to meet me.
Blossom of snow
may you bloom and grow,
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever