No public profile Sign out. Follow unitedchurch on Twitter. Do you like this page? I moved to the window to sit on my homemade perch, a green chair with black legs precariously propped on top of dresser drawers. From my lookout I would scan the other dorms and observe students walking among opportunity. Walking where I couldn't bring myself to walk.
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I puffed my cigarette softly through the new quiet of my thoughts. Should I follow my cigarette butt out the window today? Is this what I wanted to become? Where had all my strength gone? I used to be so strong. Now my shoulders slumped, my gaze limp. Nights were dreamless, my alarm clock no longer rowdy in the morning. I didn't even bother to add money to my dining account. Dirty laundry became too sparse to be gathered. The only energy in the room was the university-provided fridge containing moldy pizza.
I flicked my cigarette over the crest of the ninth-story window. My eyes dreamily followed the cigarette to the ground. Slumping off my perch, I sat on my bed. I gathered my journal and wrote in hope I could write myself away from my emptiness. I set the journal down and draped myself over my pillow and wished for some quiet from my dull thoughts.
I was no longer discovering new ideas. It was growing emptier. How long could this go on?
Talk to God
How long would it be until I slipped off my perch? My only interaction with other people narrowed to letters from family or friends of the family. My favorite letter was from Rodney M. For that I respected him. He believed in what he did. Growing up I witnessed him taking in his sister-in-law's baby. He was raising her as his own without the guarantee that he would be able to keep his beloved treasure. When he would visit my parents, he usually spoke of God's kindness. While he talked I would be drawn to his peaceful countenance and confidence. I had not seen Rodney for some time. In his letter he asked me how I was doing.
He also told me how he met his wife at WSU. He said if they were in the area he would love to visit. The letter had such an exciting tone. He ranted and raved about WSU and the potential it had. I started my return letter by letting him know WSU was no longer a nostalgic place of opportunity and future. He also had mentioned how great God was in the letter. Oh, he is great all right, I sarcastically wrote.
Trusting God Quotes ( quotes)
I needed to tell Rodney how miserable I was and that God was not doing a damn thing for me. I wasn't passing any of my classes and my roommate just stole my boyfriend. I started to tell him about Jesus and how Jesus, this great Son of God, had abandoned me and left me in darkness. When I went to write the name of Jesus, I could not remember how to spell the name. Was it J-u-s-e-s?
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No, J-e-u-s-u-s. No, that didn't look right either. I was growing frustrated.
I should know how to spell this name. I was raised in a Christian home and grew up singing songs to this guy. Wasn't he the one in the song who loves me because the Bible tells me so. I became agitated and nervous. I should know this. Finally, I interrupted my roommate and asked her. That was scary. How could she know how to spell his name and I don't? Wait a minute, that doesn't match up. The parade of thoughts intensified. How can I be blaming God for all my misery if I don't even know how to spell his name? It doesn't seem we know each other, or for that matter have even met.
I finished my ramblings of woe-is-me and sent the letter, not admitting to my guilt of blaming the wrong person. My mind continued to reel with clarity and logic after writing that letter. How many other people had I blamed for my misery and unhappiness, who actually weren't responsible? What if I am the reason I am unhappy?
Fighting Pride’s Preoccupation with Me
It had never occurred to me. Had I been blaming and looking to the wrong people? There was that thought again. Had I been waiting for them to fail so I had an excuse? Had I been waiting to say, "See I told you so! You mean I can't blame others! I can't blame God because I didn't even know how to spell his name. Who is left? I needed a plan. I had exhausted all the resources I knew of. I left college. I had failed the first semester.
I withdrew in November even though the semester ended in December. The semester could not be salvaged. I began working again at the nursing home I worked at during high school. My position, certified nurse's assistant. In the veterinarian world the person would be called a pooper scooper. This line of work gave me a chance to start connecting with people. These grandmas and grandpas were non-threatening and needed love and acceptance as badly as I did.
We were a good fit. In this line of work you are not supposed to have favorites but we all did. I couldn't help but love a little woman named Helen. Alzheimer's has a nasty way of being a living death. By the end the person is unable to move, communicate, and eventually unable to swallow.
I made a little deal with God. Now any preaching man will tell you don't do this. It is not good to make deals with God. Well, I bargained anyway.
I told God that if he was to take her quickly and my little lady would not have to suffer, I would start following him again. I had made this deal with God the week before my lady moved from my ward and went to the ward where they can no longer walk nor take care of any of their own needs. This was the last stop for our residents. Two weeks had passed. I was on my dinner break smoking a cigarette when my wing's med nurse came to the door.