Tonight, I am sad.

I'm upset tonight. Why? Everything came down on me tonight. I don't think I have ever been so sad and exhausted along with frustrated and upset all at the same time. I had church tonight where I took care of my cute little children in the nursery. I'm not really sure how the upset started. But I took Andrew (as I always do) into the sanctuary to give to Amanda because that's my job. Then, I went back to the nursery where the older kids were and waited for their parents to come get them. Nothing to set off my upset.

I rode home with my mother tonight like I normally do. I normally don't take my car to church on Wednesday's because I ride with my dad and come home with my mom. There's no use in bringing three cars when one parent would be up at the church at one point or another. Plus, gas is expensive and I don't wanna spend the cash.

On my way home, my mom was so upset and depressed. See, her passion is singing and there is a certain someone who upsets my mother. And tonight, she upset my mother to a point of my mother almost crying. She wouldn't talk much and only said that her day was hard. So, I didn't push the issue. I just put on my headphones and listened to music from my iPod.

So, we get home and I come in my room. I sat down on my bed. Nothing was on. Not the tv, not the computer, not my music. I just stared. And I just started crying. Why? I'll tell you. School has been horrible. Most people know I'm taking Creative Writing. In that class, I am always talked down in. I'm a creative writer and I assumed this class would be right up my alley, right? Creative writer in a creative writing class. Perfect connection? Wrong. Horrible connection. I kept this to myself and never told anyone about this but the teacher told us to write a short story on a subject of our choice. So, I chose a fantasy world. I was brave and said I'd read my story first. (I'm always one to be the first to do something. I'm a doer. I like to get it done with fast.) So, I read the story. Now, after most everyone else, there were light claps and some saying that the story was good. Not with me. They all just kind of looked at me. And the creative writing 2 students bashed me. And when I say bashed me, I mean they basically told me that my story was horrible. I wanted to cry. I mean, I really wanted to cry. I took what everyone said and I excused myself from the class. I walked out to my car and just started crying so hard. I mean, that's a serious let down to someone who aspires to be a writer.

Not only with that happening, my mother has had her fair share of medical problems. And then my father gets diagnosed with diabetes. He already has high blood pressure and there is a serious history of heart disease in my family. He's 49, overweight, and now has diabetes and high blood pressure. That's so scary. And he keeps saying how horrible he feels and everything and my fear is that one day I'm gonna come home and find him gone. And I don't want that. That was another emotion I came out with today.

But the thing that really got me was creative writing. I was told by my professor that I had to come up with a poem that didn't suck. And that was her nice way of saying "You had better bring something that doesn't stink." I got home today, sat down in front of my computer and tried to write something amazing. But nothing came to me. And the emotion of that first day hit me all over again. Who tells someone that they stink at the thing that they are passionate about? I've talked to my professor about it but her words to me were, "Suck it up. You're in college now. And if you want to make it in life, then you have to take criticism." Okay, I understand that but she does not have to be mean about it. Oh man, I need some encouragement from someone. I'm so upset and hurt. My passion is writing. But how am I suppose to follow my dream if even my professor says that I suck? That hurts. Deeply. I'm just so...I don't even know how to describe it.

My church family.

I thought I'd talk today about my church. The name of it is Lakeshore Congregational Methodist Church. We're not like United Methodist and certainly not like Baptist. Congregational means coming together and that's what we do. In fact, our website says, "People who care for people." And that's true. You come to my church and you're family. The music ministry is absolutely phenomenal. There is so much talent in this church.

I use to belong to the adult choir but I switched gears about three months ago. I decided I wanted to get back into the childrens ministry. My mother would carry on being in the choir, of course. So, I was offered a position to teach two and three year olds. I enjoy it so much. I'm usually in the nursery until around 9:30 on Sunday mornings then I go across the hall to the two and three year old room to teach Sunday School. Then, after that is over, I go diagonally to the infants nursery where I take care of the babies who are newborn-a year and a half or so. And get this. The infants nursery is nothing but boys! Nicolas, Matthew, and Andrew are the three common children. Andrew is my heart. He's just over a year old and his personaility just cracks me up. Matthew is my little fussy pants. But you stick a pacifier in that little guy's mouth and he's good. Or at least until food is present. Then, he will reach up for some. Then, there's Nicolas. Nicolas is the bully. He's a BIG baby. And when I say big, I mean big. He's already about 40 pounds and he's barely a year old! He's not fat by any means but he is husky and that's what makes him adorable. But he's not so adorable when he picks on the smaller babies. Andrew I don't really worry about that much because his daddy was in the army and is now a police officer. Andrew knows how to hold his own even if he is an only child. If Nicolas tries to take something from him, Andrew very quickly snatches it back and starts babbling at Nicolas. Nicolas gets mad and starts to throw a fit and me and Ms. Gail just sit back and laugh. Mostly because we both know Andrew is saying something to the effect of, "This is my toy, and no, you can't have it." Matthew will just sit there and laugh also. But when Nicolas tries to pick on Matthew, he doesn't do anything to protect himself and Nicolas will take away his toy and Matthew will just look up at me and Ms. Gail as if to say, "He took my toy. Tell him to give it back." So, of course, I get up and get the toy from Nicolas and Nicolas throws a fit again. The funny thing about Nicolas is the fact that he has an older brother named Harrison who is almost three. Nicolas outweighs Harrison by a good ten or fifteen pounds. And Nicolas is almost too big for his diapers. Jen and Michael may have to start puttin that boy in adult diapers. Or start potty training.

I love my kids and I often babysit Andrew on Wednesday nights when choir lets out. His mother, Amanda, is usually still singing or practicing something else. (Amanda is Andrew's mother and she has a beautiful BEAUTIFUL voice.) But I love all of my kids and especially my Sunday School kids, Sarabeth, Isabella, Zach, Emily, Emily, and Zoey. I'm hoping that more will join with time. And I invite anyone here if you are interested in coming to visit Lakeshore, the website is www.lakeshorecmc.org . The music ministry is amazing, the kids ministry is awesome, and there's always something to do! You can also email me if you have any questions or comment on this.

Blast from the Past!

I found my old blog here on blogger. And wow, my grammar SUCKED back then. Go figure. Oh well. The thing that caught my eye about my old profile was the thing at the top of my page. See, the old blogspot has an option to not only put a caption but a kind of co-caption to go with it. Like, if you look on my profile, the thing says "Journal Thoughts." But my other blog, instead of that, it had "When life screws up, all we can do is be still and know that He is God." And that was so true. I must have came up with it about two years ago and just forgot about it. But underneath it is a great quote from a very good missionary named Jeremy Kingsley. His quote says, "We don't read the Bible to finish; we read it to change." And that's true also. I have so many quotes that are very good so, periodically, I will be posting little things like that.

The World.

You know, the world can be a very negative place. Look around you. Watch people drive down the road. Watch people walk down the sidewalk. Just notice things. The world can be a very negative place! Road rage does not only exist on the roads. It exists in people as well. I can't understand it. What in the world can be so bad that you have to be mean and hateful? The natural explanation is this. "I've had a bad day." "Someone cut me off on I55." Or my mother's favorite, "It was a day." That's indication for my father and I to just back off and not ask anymore.

But you think about this. Millions of miles away from us, children are starving. Mothers are struggling just to have a meal a day for the family. Fathers are not able to keep a job down because he is too weak from hunger. Now, you look at your life and tell me which is worse. Someone cutting you off on 55? Or a family starving? Think about that. I don't know why I was thinking about this today but I did. I, myself, get caught up in my anger when driving down the road. People who are going slower than I want them to who won't get out of the way.

I almost came to tears after coming to the realization of how horrible I was thinking. The realization hit me when a van pulled out in front of me and cut me off on 469 on my way back to Florence. And I was just listening to a Lincoln Brewster song called Love The Lord. It's a very upbeat song and the lyrics are so simple. "Love the Lord." Simple, right? And I started thinking about how awful I was for thinking that.

I think we should all just stop and think before we speak. Think about those people who are so very much less fortunate than us. I mean, I compare my life to someone in a third world country and compared to them, I live in Hollywood Hills making a million dollars a day. I just cry when I think about it. This is a good time for a prayer.

Lord, I am sorry. I know I'm selfish in how I think. So many people are worse off than me yet I still think only of myself. I pray that You will help me to stay humble and not let the little things get to me.

Frustration!

I hate it when frustration gets the best of me. It really has with me these past few months. It all started last May. Towards the end of May, I started feeling really bad physically. My symptoms were nausea, diarrhea, feeling tired, severe heartburn, low grade fever, pain in my abdomin, and the feeling of utter depression because the doctors I went to couldn't figure it out. Like I said, these symptoms appeared May of 06. To me, I assumed it was because finals were getting to me. It was my first semester at Hinds and I took a 16 hour load. That's hard so, I thought it was just stress from finals. That can bring out those symptoms. But they didn't go away.

School ended and I started summer. I just relaxed and tried to focus on the next semester. Well, I couldn't relax because my symptoms not only were not letting up but they were also getting worse. I was worried, my parents were worried, my friends were worried, and my church family was worried. We started out going to MEA and the doctor assumed it was food poisoning that was making me so sick. He prescribed Phenergan and told me to go on with my life.

The Phenergan worked. The nausea would let up when I took the Phenergan but it wouldn't last long. My parents never asked me what was wrong. They just assumed that whatever I had was gone. That was until one Wednesday morning I was awake before my mom went to work which is not normal for me. It was summer. I usually slept later on weekdays. But that morning, I was awake very early because the nausea and diarrhea had come back in full swing. So, I came out of my room and my mom very nonchalantly asked me why I was up so early. I informed her that I was still very much nauseated. What were her words of encouragement? "Well, go back up to MEA." Well, duh! Even I could have told her that! I do understand that I don't show my pain easily but come on. How could you not see that I wasn't feeling good? I wasn't eating, I was pale, I just laid around the house. I only worked one day a week at that time and it was at FedEx Ground in a very hot warehouse with no air conditioning. Every Tuesday, I would call in and tell her that I was sick. My boss got so annoyed that she said the next time I called in and said I wasn't gonna be coming in to just not come in at all and turn in my uniform. But I hadn't told her why I wasn't coming in until I came in the next week. I couldn't get in to see the MEA man until the following Monday. But the Tuesday before I came in to work and I told her a little bit about what was going on. She told me that that didn't sound like food poisoning to her.

That Monday, I went back up to MEA with my father. Dr. Byrd was very concerned that I was still feeling these nauseated attacks and still experiencing the diarrhea. This had been going on for well over a month by now and food poisoning, I know for a fact, does not last that long. The doctor was beginning to think that I was pregnant. But I wasn't pregnant. I am a Christian woman and I don't believe in sex before marraige. Not to mention I'm only 20 and I don't need a child. I was 19 at the time of all of these examinations. So, after a dozen pregnancy tests, Dr. Byrd was finally convinced that I wasn't pregnant. Now, he was really concerned. My fever was getting worse and the doctors couldn't explain it. So, they sent me to get an ultrasound done.

So, that was Monday and the doctor went ahead and prescribed me more Phenergan to take for the nausea until we could figure out what was wrong. Well, here's a funny part to the story. My dad and I were at Kroger waiting to get the pills filled. My ultrasound appointment was for the very next day. Keep in mind, I work Tuesday's from 10AM-6PM. I had to make the phone call that I dreaded. I remember, my father was talking to my mother and he told me to go ahead and call Gloria to tell her that I wasn't coming in to work the next day. With a sigh, I pulled out my cell and found her speed dial number. I waited until she answered. Here's how that convo went down. I spoke first. "Gloria, hi. Listen, I have something to tell you." "Okay. What's up?" "I won't be coming in tomorrow." She sighed and said "Why?" "Because the doctor is concerned because I still feel the way I do. He's sending me to get an ultrasound done tomorrow." Here's where she went off on me. "You could have made that appointment for any other day of the week. You did not have to schedule it for Tuesday. You only work one day a week. You couldn't have made that appointment for another day?" This is where I got really upset with her. Wanna know why? She worked before I did. And she only works about 2 hours a day. Her paycheck is less than mine because she would only clock about 6 hours EVERY TWO WEEKS. Well, this is where I got upset with the conversation. "Gloria, I did not schedule the appointment, okay? The doctor did. You only work two days a week and I work one. I clock more hours than you do. You wanna fire me for smarting off? Fine, but I'm not coming in." "Oh, yes you are. Or you won't have a job." "Well, if I do come in it won't be until the afternoon because my appointment if for 10 that morning."

Now, keep this in mind. My dad is standing two feet from me carrying on a completely different conversation with my mother about what's going on. We're all upset and frustrated because we don't know what the heck is goin on with me! When my dad heard me raise my voice and get upset with her, he went into Papa Bear mode, if you know what I mean. He told my mother to hold on a second and he came to me with his hand out. "Give me the phone." He instructed me. Now, I'm a good girl. I respect my daddy. We trade phones. I'm upset but not at the point of crying yet. I get on the phone with my mom while my dad talks to Gloria. I got on the phone with my mom and our conversation consisted of her saying, "Is she giving you a hard time with this?" "Yes. She's mad because the doctor made the appointment for tomorrow. She's telling me to come in tomorrow anyway." In exact words, and I'm quoting her. I don't talk like that. "Oh, hell no, you're not. You're sick, damnit. You're not going into work. Period." "I know this. Dad's talking to her now." By this time, he had hung up on her and had now taken back the phone and finished his conversation with Mom.

Once he got off the phone, I asked him what his conversation was with Gloria. He informed me that all he said was that the doctor set the appointment and it wasn't my fault that I was sick and that I would not be coming into work tomorrow and if she doesn't like it, it doesn't matter because my health comes first. Now, I love my father to death but I'm not a minor. I can fight my own battles. But he very quickly informed me that it didn't matter. My voice was rising and that indicated that I was getting upset. And that is why he took the phone from me.

The next day, my parents and I went to the imaging place and got the ultrasound. Now, came the waiting. When the ultrasound results came in, my doctor called me right away to inform me that he saw what looked like sludge in my gallbladder. That could have been guessed because my mother had gallbladder issues when she was about 25 and I was not far off. We assumed it was hereditary that this would happen. So, after going to a gastrointestinal doctor, he told us to immediately go to Lakeland Surgical and get set up for surgery. So, we did. Surgery took place that next Friday. But that didn't help matters, for you see when they took the gallbladder out, they saw that it was working to 100%. There was nothing wrong with my gallbladder and the issues continued.

So, the battle continued. I ended up quitting my job at FedEx Ground when I was offered a babysitting job for a friend of mine. I would be picking him up after school each day and watching him until his mother came to pick him up. But in the midst of all that, I was still having the same symptoms as before. The fever had gotten better but it was still just enough to make ya miserable, y'know? It was as if I had an annoying stomach bug that wasn't bad enough to make me barf but just as annoying because you're nauseated and you have diarrhea and that fever that just makes you feel really miserable.

Fall came around and I had another appointment with my GI doctor as well as an Internal Medicine doctor. But those would come a little later in the season. I started school again and it just so happened that my first class was with a teacher that was very sweet. She was a very good listener and I could talk to her about anything. She was a real support system because my parents got tired of hearing me complain about what is wrong with me. They know that I'm sick. They know that I feel like crud but they got tired of hearing it so, I stopped complaining.

There was one day in particular that I was feeling really really bad. I just happened to be up in time to see my mom leave. She saw that I didn't feel good yet didn't say a word about it. My dad never asked questions about how I felt. He was the kind of person that you had to go up to and say "Hey, I don't feel good" to or he wouldn't ever think you're sick. This morning, however, I hadn't slept well the night before so, I was tired. And on top of that, I was still feeling pretty bad. (The doctor had prescribed a running prescription of Levsin and Phenergan for the nausea and diarrhea.) I knew this was a morning that I was running a nice sized fever. Not only that but on top of the nausea (I had gotten the diarrhea under control) I had a headache! And this was the day I had Algebra and Psychology. Both classes that I have to think in! Ugh. But the good part was for Algebra, my support system was my teacher, Mrs. Sapen.

I had taken a Phenergan and a Levsin the morning before I left for class. But I took them at about eight or so. I had class at 9:30. I leave me house around 8:30 to get to class without too much traffic of people coming in or out. (I usually would be there about 9 or 9:15) So, by the time I got up to the school, I was not only tired from the fever and nausea but I was also tired because I took two pills which cause the side effects of being tired, sleepy, and dizzy! So, I could hardly make it up the steps. But by the time I would leave class that day, I would be well enough to drive. Don't think I was DUI of pills lol. But when I got up to class, it was right about 9:30. Usually, I'd get up there earlier because I liked being the first one in my Algebra class to carry on a nice conversation with Mrs. Sapen about her children and what happened the weekend before. (All of this happened on a Monday.) But that day, I came in right at 9:30. And I was quiet. And the thing about me is I'm not a quiet person. If it's someone I know, I talk their ear off. And you put me and Mrs. Sapen together, we will talk for hours if we could. She knew about everything that was going on with me. And I told her when I am really quiet, then I'm not feeling good at all. This morning was no acception.

I came in with droopy eyes and slumped down in my seat. This was the day we were working on our review for a test that was coming up but she did a couple of problems on the board. And the thing with me is when I know an answer, I'll say it out loud very clearly. That was just my personality. But this day, I didn't answer a question. And this worried Mrs. Sapen. It worried her so much that when we were working on our reviews and she was walking around the room, she stopped at my desk and bent down to my level. I had my hand on my head, looking down at my paper working and trying not to think about my body betraying me in so many ways. But she bent down to my level and said, "Look at me." Of course, I minded her because she was my teacher. I looked at her. This was a day that I wasn't wearing my glasses. I had them on my desk but they were making my head hurt worse. She looked at my eyes and my face and said, "You don't feel good today. Do you?" I just shook my head. She felt my forehead and got this sympathetic look on her face. "You really don't feel good today." Again, I nodded. "Go home, hun. I won't count you absent." Of course, I tried to tell her that I was okay to stay but being in 'Mom' mode, she woudn't take no for an answer. I touched base with my Psychology professor and came home.

Of course, my dad asked me why I was home so early and I told him what was going on with me. He got this look of confusion on his face and said, "Oh, you're still feeling bad?" DUH?! Where have you been? I've been feeling this way since May. Of course, I didn't say any of this and I just told him, "Yes, I still feel this way." So, he asked me if I wanted to go back up to MEA and see what they say. I looked at him and said, "What good would that do? They haven't been able to help me before. What makes you think they can help me now?" Of course, he saw that as a smart elect remark and got on to me for smarting off at him. So, he told me to call my mom and ask her what I should do. She works up at St. Dominic so, she had connections with doctors and such. So, I called her and her reaction, if you can believe it, was just like my dad's when I told him. But she made connections with Dr. Layne (My internal medicine doctor) to come in adn see him.

So, I went in and saw him and he said that they will have to do an endoscopy and a colonoscopy on me to figure out what's wrong. And have you ever had an endoscopy and a colonoscopy? Oh, you haven't? Well, do yourself a favor and DON'T. Preparation SUCKS. You take pills that gives you the worse cramps ever (and I've never been pregnant so, I have never experienced labor but this felt like close to it.) and then when the first bowel movement occurs, you have to drink this nasty tasting, luke warm stuff that is suppose to "clean out" your digestinal system so the oscopies look right. It was so bad. But the next day, I go up there and they put me under and I get the colonoscopy and endoscopy. Now, I go in thinking "Alright, they're gonna go in here, find out what's wrong with me, and I'm gonna be all better!" Wrong. Two weeks later, I get a phone call from my GI doctor who tells me that they found nothing wrong with me! Can you see where the frustration is starting to come? Now, my parents are thinking that it's all psychological. Which is just fancy words for I'm faking it. Okay, first of all, why would I fake nausea? I hate being nauseous. I hate throwing up. I hate diarrhea. I did not just pretend all of this to get medicine. My symptoms are real. They are not in my head. I would love for them to live in my body for one day. One day to see the kind of grief I go through. The nausea. Oh my word, the nausea. Pregnant women complain about morning sickness. This is ten times worse because I've had it for an entire 9 month span. I'm worse off and it's not fun. And I'm losing the support of my parents who are getting annoyed because I'm still taking the Levsin and the Phenergan. They think I don't need it. But the nausea is bad enough. But try having a fever for the past 9 months. And then add on top of that, the medicine that I take makes me sleepy. AND on top of THAT, diarrhea SUCKS.

I tend to draw the attention away from me. Now, on top of the nausea and crap, I've had stomach bugs, two in the last 3 months actually, that add on to my frustration of feeling like I'm gonna barf. But a bombshell was dropped on our family this past week. See, two weeks ago, my mother and I simultaneously came down with a stomach bug that lasted us for about a week (5 days.). Well, my dad was feeling puny and dizzy much like our symptoms two weeks ago. A week ago Sunday, my nephew and his parents were in town. My nephew is 14 months. Well, Sunday, (I got hit with the virus first so, I was over it by Sunday) my mother stayed home because she still had the bug. She stayed home from church. Me, on the other hand, I had to be up there to teach my kids Sunday School and run the infants nursery like I often did. Dad is the video director for the church so, he had to be there as well. Beth and Sean (Will's parents) were not awake yet but Will was by the time it was time for me to get ready for church so, I went ahead and got him up and dressed and we packed him in the car and Dad and I took him with us to church. I took Will with me and Dad went up to the sound booth. Now, keep in mind, though my virus was over, the same nausea I felt every day was still felt now. But this morning was no exceptation. I felt so bad I thought I would barf right there in the church parking lot. But I stood still for long enough and my stomach calmed enough for me to get inside and sit down.

Church went on and I was stopped by a good friend of mine named Wesley who quickly informed me that my dad wasn't feeling good. His words to me were, "Why did you make your dad stay when he's so sick?" Well, this was the first I've heard of this. I looked at him with a confused look and replied, "I didn't know he was sick." I found him and he didn't look good at all. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that he was dizzy and he had blurred vision. Well, scared for Will's safety, I asked him to let me drive home. Of course, he refused but I was watching very closely the road so he wouldn't hit anything. He came close but never did and we made it home. I quickly informed my mother that he wasn't doing too good and that was that. Mine and my mother's assumption was that he had contracted the same virus that had plagued both me and my mother. And that was that.

The next day, he went up to MEA to see what was going on. I had class that morning but when I got home, I had a message on my answering machine. I checked it and it was my father telling me to call him. Of course, I did right then and I got his voice mail. So, I still didn't think anything about it. I thought he'd tell me that he needed me to clean the kitchen because he was stuck up at MEA or something like that. Well, he called me back about five minutes later. This was our conversation. I spoke first. "Hello." "Hey." "Hey, what's up? I had a message from you on the phone." "Yeah, I need you to put a load of clothes on the wash for me." "Okay, I can handle that." "Okay, do that for me. Thanks." "Wait, what'd the doctor say?" There was a pause before he asnwered. "I'm on my way to the hospital." I had to grab the wall after hearing this. "What?! What's going on?" "I was just told I have diabetes." "Well, my word, Dad. Way to drop a bomb here. So, where are you going? St. Dominic?" "Yeah, I've already called your mother. I just need you to put on those clothes."

That was the extent of our conversation. But right after I got off the phone with him, I called my mother. Here's how our convo went. "Hey, did you know Dad's on his way to the hospital?" "Yes, he called me right as he found out. His level when they checked it was 567." I almost passed out. That's coma level if you don't know. "What?! He didn't tell me that." "Yeah, but calm down, honey. He's okay." "He's not okay." "Okay, he will be okay. Look, call your grandfather and get him to bring some stuff up to the hospital for him. I'll call him and tell him what room number." "Well, what about me? Am I just suppose to stay here and wait?" "Someone has to stay home to manage phone calls. Plus, you'd be bored up here at the hospital. Just wait until tomorrow. Chances are he's staying the night because his level is so high." "Okay." That was the extent of our conversation. So, I gave the list to my grandfather and he took everything up to the hospital.

The initial shock didn't hit me until the next day. I got up early (this was Tuesday morning. I didn't have class until about 11) and drove up to the hospital. Oh, but that's not the only thing that happened. On my way up to the hospital, I get pulled over! Without thinking or paying attention, I didn't see the police officer until it was too late and he clocked me going 70 in a 55. So, he pulled me over and, of course I was upset. But I still couldn't cry. You would think that something like this would cause me to be upset. He came up to my window and this is how that conversation went. I spoke first. "Hello, officer." "Hey there. What's your hurry? You were going 70 in a 55." "My father's in the hospital and I'm trying to get to him to see him." "Okay, let me see your license and proof of insurance." So, of course I mind him, not wanting to get him mad. He went back to his car and I guessed checked my license. He came back with the ticket. "First ticket?" He asked. I nodded. "It's not as bad as you think. You can call this number and you take the driving course and it won't go on your insurance. This is a warning. Next time, I'll pull you over and give you a ticket that you actually half to pay." I thanked him and made my way up to the hospital. I was in better spirits because the officer told me that I didn't have to pay anything. So, I told my parents about my ticket and other than a "Don't speed again" speech, they were okay with it.

Later that day, I went on to class and when I got home, I looked for the ticket to take care of it and call the number. I couldn't find it. So, I called Flowood Police (that was where I got the ticket) and explained my situation and everything. I was quickly informed that I would have to pay for not only the ticket (which was about 165 dollars) but for the class as well and after that then I can take the class and get it off my record. Now, wait a minute. That is not what my police officer told me. He told me that because I was under 21, I could take the driving school course and I would only have to pay for the 40 to take the class. Of course, I was upset and because I couldn't find the ticket, I feared that my parents would be furious and kick me out of the house or something. So, I casually went back up to the hospital and told my parents. They were less than thrilled but then we remembered that a good friend of ours is a police officer. So, my dad called him and he told us that it was not right that I had to pay for both the ticket and the class since I am 20 and not yet 21. But he needed the ticket number or the officer's name to take care of it. Well, I couldn't find it.

That night, my dad was able to come home. Mom was a little bit behind us. I got home first and destroyed my car looking for the ticket. I took apart my purse and my room looking for it and I couldn't find it. Well, that sinking feeling came into my stomach now. I heard my dad pull up. I slowly walk out of my room and he sees me. "I need the ticket." He said to me. Here is how that conversation and reactions were. "I can't find the ticket." "I need the ticket. You need to find it." "I can't find it." "What do you mean you can't find it? I need it. Go and find it." "I can't find it. I've looked..." I couldn't get that out and he went off. "It can't have just walked away. Get out there and find it now." "I CAN'T!" "Don't yell at me." He started to say something else but I held my hand up abruptley and walked past him towards my car. "Hey, wait a minute! Get back here NOW." By this time, I can't hold back tears. I come back to the kitchen, and tell him "Dad, I can't find the ticket and you won't believe me! So, I'm going out to my car to look again. Please, just let me go and look!" And I stormed back out and he didn't say a word. My mom is pulling into the driveway by this time. I open my back door and start shuffling all of papers and such. My dad wasn't far behind. But not to yell at me. To help me find the ticket. I am upset and I'm crying at this point because the pain and every other emotion has now hit me full blast and I can't hold back what I'm feeling anymore. The pain of my unsolvable disease, finding out my dad has diabetes, and now on top of it losing a very important ticket had finally hit me and tears from back in May have finally come out.

Well, we still couldn't find the ticket and I get out of my car frustrated. I start back up to the house, still crying slightly and my dad called to me. I turned and walked to him and he got me in a bear hug and I just let go. Tears from months and months came out on my father. And I'll never forget his words. "Hey, what this is isn't something to cry about, okay? This is no big deal. You wanna know what's really something to cry about? Finding out you have diabetes." Of course, the ticket wasn't the only thing I was crying about. That was just the straw that broke the camel's back. (And even as I'm typing what happened that night, I'm crying because it brought back memories of that night.) I nodded to him and said, "I know."

There's been a lot of things that have happened to me. And I do understand that when you have a disease for a long time that no one can solve, sometimes the focus goes away from you. I do understand that. But the frustration of everything just came out in full swing and it was hard. Really hard. It was probably the hardest news for me to swallow. And of course, I don't want to bring attention back to me because of everything that's going on but I still have an unsolvable disease. I mean, diabetes is horrible, I know. But at least he knows what's wrong with him. No one can figure out what's wrong with me. And that's frustrating. And it makes me want to cry so hard every night. The nausea, the diarrhea, the fever, everything. It's not fun. And I just wish that the doctors would figure out what is wrong. I have no support anymore. My parents just shrug it off as my being dramatic. I'm not being dramatic. And I've never gone this much detail in my life. But this was important to me. Because once May 2007 comes around, I would have whatever this is for a year and it's still unsolvable. No, instead, the doctors I go to make me take pregnancy test after pregnancy test. If I was pregnant, then I would have had the friggin baby by now because I've gone through this for an entire pregnancy. Come on, people, get the hint. I'm not pregnant, I don't have manic depression, and this is not psychological. This is real. And it sucks. And I just wish someone would understand. The only one that would actually listen and sympathized with me I haven't seen since I got out for last semester. Now, I don't have anyone. And it's frustrating and tiring. I want this solved! And God bless you all if you read this entire thing.

My ministry with my children.

I have a great calling to a great ministry at my church. Since I was about ten, I have always wanted to be involved with children. I guess it started volunteering in the nursery. It started off small since I was only ten. When I was twelve, I was asked by the Childrens Church director to be a "youth" helper. Basically a youth helper isn't old enough to be a Leader but is old enough to assist the Leaders that were back there. You became a leader once you get to be a sophomore in highschool. It was the rule.

So, my ministry started when I was twelve. Mrs. Ava, the Director of Childrens Church, asked me to come back and be a youth helper to one of my good friends named Ricky, who was, at that time, a sophomore in highschool. (He's well into his 20's now.) I helped him along with my other good friend, Anna. I had so much fun doing that. And as the years passed and I was nearing my sixteenth birthday, (which was the age you could begin to train to be a leader) I was getting more duties given to me as preparations for being a leader. I was very excited when I was asked to be one of the Leaders as well as my friend Anna. (We're about a month apart in age.) So, Anna was the Leader of one group and I was the Leader to another one and we got two helpers helping us with our groups. There was always a dilemma though. See, Anna and I were very popular among the kids. But I would always be the one to have more kids because Wednesday night I would assist in the kids games that they have. Also, my Godsister and Godbrother were among the age for Childrens Church.

I continued my Leader roles in Childrens Church. When I was sixteen, nearing my seventeenth birthday, the Director of the Childrens Ministry asked me to be an assistant to the teacher for the 1st and 2nd grade Sunday School class. Again, I said yes because my Godsister was in the 1st grade and I'd have her in my class. My Godbrother was still in the kindergarten class and I wouldn't have him until Ashley went up to third grade. I was very excited about this. Well, as it turns out, I got an even greater opportunity just a year later. The person who was teaching the class graduated from college and was now in another state entirely so, the Director asked me to take over teaching the class. Of course, I was thrilled to do it. My helper was an older woman and we were a great team together. But because she was older, she developed a condition that caused her to have to give up her position as my assistant and I was assigned another. (And as it turned out, she is now my assistant for what I do now. Ironic? Coincidence? Who knows.)

Even as I was teaching the class, I was still a Leader in Childrens Church. But when I turned eighteen, I joined the adult choir. (See, I had been involved in choir since I was in preschool. My mom is a music major and I inherited her voice, as well as my brother. I went through all of the church choirs. Kids, youth, and adult.) The rule to join the adult choir is you have to be graduated from highschool. I informed the Director that I would be resigning from teaching the 1st and 2nd grade class. Ashley had already moved up to third grade. My Godbrother, David, was just entering 1st grade when I resigned. He was not a happy camper but I informed him that I would still be a Leader in Childrens Church.

Within the time I became teacher of the Sunday School class and a Leader in Childrens Church, I was also asked by my cousin, Lisa, who is the director of Childrens Choir, to assist my Godmother (who is the mother of my Godsister, Ashley, and my Godbrothers Matthew and David.), whom I call Mama Lori, with her class. Lisa told me that once I graduated highschool, I could come on as a teacher with Mama Lori. (And both Lisa and Mama Lori are members of the adult choir)

Adult choir was great but I felt such a void and emptiness after resigning my role as teacher. But we moved to a new church on Siwell Road. The campus was bigger and it would be a great change from our old church that was so small to our new church that was much much bigger. I continued to be in the adult choir and be a Leader. The way it would work is, I would get up Sunday morning and do choir through the 8:30 service and the 11:00 service and when the choir was released to go and sit with our families, I would go to the Fellowship Hall to be a Leader. My helpers would fill me in on what the activity was.

I love singing and I loved being in the choir with my mother. But our choir director retired because of medical problems. So, we got an Interim director. As time passed, we were blessed to find a new Director of Music named Aaron Odom. He is actually a great accompished singer and song writer with a beautiful wife and the cutest two year old in the world. But I couldn't stay in choir when he came on board. The reason I couldn't is because instead of doing the choir special during the early part of the service, he moved it to the end of the service. I did do the choir until this past Christmas Eve service which is more commonly called Carols, Candles, and Communion. It is well known in the South Jackson and it is a tradition that we do every year (as well as an Easter production called The Living Cross). The only reason I stayed for that long is because I had a solo in one of the songs (Light A Candle).

Once Carols Candles and Communion was over, I started doing Childrens Church full time again. Well, I was more drawn to the younger kids. I coudn't explain it. I talked with Mrs. Ava (who had really been great and a fantastic mentor to me during all of this) and she told me to follow my heart and what God would want me to do. I felt that God was really calling me to the younger kids (the infants, walkers, and the two and three year olds). So, I went and spoke with the Director of the Nursery, Mrs. Gail. She told me that she did need help at the 8:30 and 11:00 service which would completely cut me off from the adult choir. She also asked me that whenever I could, could I help at night on Sunday's and Wednesday's. I told her that Wednesday was not a problem but Sunday night would be because I was still a teacher with Mama Lori. She agreed and the deal was settled.

That was great and I really enjoyed being with the babies and toddlers but I still felt like something was missing. I loved what I did because I got to watch Andrew, who was the little boy of a very good friend of the family. Actually, both his mother and father, Amanda and Al, are very good friends. Al works up in the sound room with my father working one of the cameras and Amanda is the 5 year old Childrens Choir teacher along with her assistant, Adrianna. Amanda is also in the adult choir and is often asked to sing for services. (She sang last night and I just fell in love with it. I told her that I loved her voice and her passion. It reminded me of my mother's passion for singing.) Her son, Andrew, is just over a year old and the cutest little boy I have ever seen. (I jokingly refer to him as my boyfriend.) I often watch Andrew on Wednesday nights because Amanda is involved in the choir and Al works nights.

My void was finally filled when I was asked to be the assistant to the two and three year old Sunday School class. Who was the teacher? My assistant right before I resigned the first time. Now, I would be assisting her. Or at least that's what I thought. A couple of weeks passed and she asked me to take over teaching because she had just gotten custody of her granddaughter for the time being until her son came back from Ecuador on a mission trip. So, I was asked to take over teaching the class. Of course, I was thrilled. So, I began teaching. Now, during the 8:30 service, I'm in the Walkers room handling the few kids (usually choir kids) that come with their parents. 9:45 I go across the hall and teach the 2 and 3 year olds. Then, 10:30 I go to the Infants room where I watch Andrew and the few other babies that are in there.

God really gave me a slew of gifts. Not only did I inherit my mother's voice (which I use to worship God and give thanks to Him.), but I was also given a fantastic gift that I love. I have the gift to teach children. I connect with them on a level that most envy. When I left the adult choir, questions were asked of where I was. When my mother would tell them what I was doing instead of choir, they'd say "Oh, that's perfect for her." And that's true. I love the kids that I am involved with. Now, I work in both nurseries, teach the 2 and 3 year olds, and am a teacher in Childrens Choir. I enjoy it so much and I thank God every day for this wonderful opportunity. If you have a gift similar to mine, don't just ignore it. If you can use it in anyway, then do so. God will always find a way for you to express what you love. He has with me. And I'm loving every bit of it. I wouldn't trade any of this for the world. I am not a mother but I love what I do. And I know that I will be a great mother one day.

People and Words.

People hurt sometimes. They don't hurt themselves. They hurt the people around us. Rumors and gossip spread so quickly it's almost like a virus. No, it is a virus. How do I know? Well, it's simple. When rumors and gossip get to us, aren't we intrigued enough to stay and listen very carefully? We want to hear what the gossip is, who it is about, and how bad it is. But think about this. It's not so much fun when the rumor is about you. You go on the defense because the tables have been turned.

When I was in highschool, the biggest thing there was cliques and gossip. It seemed like every day, a new rumor was being spread about someone doing something that he or she wasn't suppose to be doing. Of course, everyone wanted to know what it was about but what I learned throughout my highschool was that 3/4 of the time, the rumors weren't true. How do I know? Usually when it got back to the person it is about, they very quickly explain what really happened and the rumors stop. I've had it happen to me lots of time.

Words can hurt. They really can. One thing like "You're not good enough" or "Don't quit your day job" hurt. Am I right? I think so. I can remember my first day of creative writing this semester. See, I aspire to be a famous writer one day so, in my mind, creative writing was just right up my alley. The professor told us to turn in our first draft stories. The catch was we had to read them out loud to be critiqued. She made it very clear that the comments about the story were to be encouraging and not discouraging. I got brave and decided to be first. I passed out my story and read it to the class. One comment I remember distinctively was from all of the creative writing 2 students. I'm in creative writing 1 but we had to combine the class because it was so small.

Well, the creative writing 2 students flat out told me that my story sucked and that I was in the wrong major. Can you imagine what I felt after that? I felt pretty dang rotten. I wanted to quit on my dream and just go to school to be a medical technician or something. My self esteem was deeply damaged after that. Once class was over, I was walking outside to my car and I was stopped by one of my classmates which I call Simon (his real name is Josh but we have an inside joke of him being Simon Cowell and me being Paula Abdul because that was how our personalities are.). He is a creative writing 2 student. I remember I was just about to my car and he called out to me. I turned to face him and he had this grin on his face. He came up and was like "Look, it doesn't matter what they say in there. I really enjoyed your story. It's one of the best I've ever read. Very exciting and entertaining. They are just jealous because they couldn't write something that good when they were in creative writing. You can do this. I know you can."

After hearing that, my confidence shot up a lot. And as the semester is going on, things have gotten better. But I still have the feeling on failure from the first comments about my story. But every time I think about that, I think about what Simon said to me. That really showed me what God wanted me to do.

Here's the moral to the story. People love to spread rumors and talk down to you when they don't like you. But just get up, dust yourself off, and get right back on that horse. Don't give up on your dreams. I know that sounds so cliche but it's true. Trust me. People can talk all they want. But don't let it get to you. If you give in to what everyone is saying, then all you're doing is quitting. And I am not a quitter. I will not give in just because someone says that I suck at what I do. I just try to make myself stronger and better. And you should too.

Thoughts.

I had one of these about three years ago before I got a myspace. My myspace is good but I never really had a good place to express my thoughts freely. I always thought that my parents or friends would see what I'm posting and either not understand where I'm coming from or get annoyed because I'd post so many blogs. With this, since it is blogspot, I can just come on and say whatever I thought.

My first blog will be about people and how their attitude about certain things can hurt someone else. When I was in highschool, I was not the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean. I will admit that I was a spaz and I slacked off with my grades and things and I was casually labeled the "drama queen" of my grade. None of that really bothered me until I got out of highschool and started college. I started to re-examine what happened back then to make certain people hate me and others avoid me. I had a really good friend who was nice enough to put up with my stuff and listen when I had a bad day. It wasn't until I got a taste of my own medicine did I realize how utterly stupid I was in highschool.

They say highschool is suppose to be the greatest experience in life. I agree. Though I was a spaz, I had a blast. My senior year was the greatest. I lived it up like any senior would. I just wish I could go back and change some things.

I actually found out from an old friend the reason I was named the drama queen of my grade. I was told I depressed people with my bad days. But what I didn't tell her was that I had a reason for being depressed.

I was discouraged a lot in school. My elementary school was great. It was a quiet little school called Southwest Academy. I was what people considered popular. Well, until my fifth grade year, which was the last year I was there, I began to get made fun of. There was one boy who called me Apple. (My real name is April) The boy I had a crush on basically told me that he wouldn't date me even if I was the last person on earth. And he wasn't nice about it either. He was very mean about it. I was made fun of so bad that my parents actually spoke to the principal about it. Not only that but I didn't have friends anymore. I don't know what I did to make them hate me but I was hurt deeply.

Hearing all of that, my parents pulled me from Southwest Academy and moved to Florence where I started going to Florence Middle School. There was no better. I was still made fun of. But my self esteem was deeply damaged from my experience the year before so, I didn't mingle that well. You've heard of the girl that sits against the wall at recess? Well, that was me. I'd just sit there lonely. No one wanted to be my friend. I was the "new girl" of the school. And I didn't get friends until my 8th grade year. And the only reason I had friends was because I had a boyfriend and his friends hung out with me.

Things got a little better going into highschool. My parents put me at Hillcrest Christian to finish out my education. But still the thought of what happened at both Southwest and Florence haunted me. I had friends but I was still very self conscious about, well, everything. Which was why I came off as the drama queen of my grade. But this leads me to the final phase of this blog.

Although everything happened to me, I became stronger. From my peers and most of my teachers, I was told "you're not good enough", and "you're not gonna amount to anything". Doesn't this usually come from a disappointed parent? This didn't. It came from my teachers and my peers and even the principal and headmaster. Talk about your let down. But you know what? I became a stronger person through all of this. I'm a very good student now in college. I'm working on getting a degree in English and becoming a famous writer and teacher one day. I have a publisher who is interested in reading my work so, I'm that much closer to a career of my dreams.

For my reunion, I won't go back and say, "you said I wouldn't amount to anything. Well look at me now." No, I won't say that. I'll simply stand back and smile. I am a stronger person. I never gave up on what I believed in. I am sad that my years in grade school weren't good but I'm thankful that I had these experiences. Because if I hadn't had all of those things happen, I probably wouldn't be where I am now. I'd probably be chasing a dream that I never wanted.

Here's the lesson I learned. It doesn't matter what people say. I know that I am strong. I know that I am a fighter. People can come up and say all they want. I know who I am on the inside. I know I can't give up. I know that now. I stand up for what I believe in even if others don't. I'm the leader. I'm not the follower. And if people want to talk, let them talk. Who cares? I know who I am. I mean, think about this. If someone came up to me and flat out told me that I had no talent and I'd never make as a writer, do you know what I'd say? I'd tell them to wait and see. Because years from now, I will be the writer I aspire to be. And I will be a stronger person. People can talk. I'll listen. But that doesn't mean they're right. Being right comes from your heart. And if you don't give up, you can accomplish anything.