A waiting game

I have learned throughout my years that patience really is a virtue.

There are too many things in life for which we have to wait—some of them that are actually worth it, while others are simply a waste of time. Either way, there sure is a lot of waiting to be done.

I remember times when I was a little kid waiting for my mom to get home to take me somewhere. When it was to some place about which I was incredibly excited, I would go to the window and part the blinds almost every 42 seconds or so just to see if I could catch a glimpse of her red Suburban coming down our street. I think doing that almost made it worse—it made the wait seem that much longer.

Then there was the time in college when I went to the emergency room with pancreatitis (before I found out it was chronic), and I was in the waiting room so long that I curled up into a ball on the floor because of the pain. I had been waiting too long, and the wait seemed endless. Finally, they moved me into a separate room. Oh, wait, it was just another waiting room, but this one was just secluded so that people didn't continue to stare at me in my roly poly form. I waited for what seemed like an eternity in this room until they finally came and got me.

Recently, I've had to wait on a fracture to heal, which has been rather frustrating. But, thankfully, I can finally start running again soon—so long as there is ABSOLUTELY no pain involved. I have to wait for that to happen.

I have waited years upon years to cheer for a decent baseball team. Finally, the Rangers have come alive! It truly makes all those painful years of watching them fail every season fizzle away (well, sort of—actually, maybe they are still there, but this is so much better). Is it possible that DFW is finished waiting for a World Series? Good gosh, I hope so. That line of patience really is wearing thin.

Like every other person in this world, I have waited a countless amount of times in life. There is no escaping waiting. I mean, I'm essentially here just waiting for Jesus to come back and take me home. Waiting is everywhere.

We wait in lines for face painting and balloon animals (among other things,

of course); we wait for the little rainbow ball of death on our computers to stop spinning; we wait for our phones to ring or texts to come through; we wait for paychecks; we wait for the right people to step into our lives and change things forever; we wait for healing; we wait for answers; we wait for family and friends to arrive places; we wait for food and service at restaurants; we wait for broken hearts to be healed.

We wait. Always.

See, patience really is a virtue.

Things that make me smile

This list is definitely not complete, nor is it in any particular order.

-Jesus

-the Texas Rangers

-running

-watching sports

-ketchup

-my family

-my friends

-the DRP

-White Rock Lake

-C.J. Wilson

-ESPN

-Mike and Mike

-SportsCenter

-orange Gatorade

-my sister's improvisational songs

-family functions

-football and all things that come with the glorious gridiron

-my students

-Taylor Swift songs

-Mizuno Inspires

-proper grammar

-Saved by the Bell

-movie quotes incorporated into real life

-writing

-summer

-worship

-the Texas Rangers (no, this is not a typo)

This is what 26 feels like

I turned 26 today, but I'm really not sure much has changed since that Sweet 16 birthday.

Sure, I have been through 10 more years of life experiences, I live on my own and have a job, and I am no longer in high school anymore. But, I teach at a high school, so I have that whole atmosphere of insecure and giddy teenagers surrounding me.

Clearly it's time to compare my life from a decade ago until now.

My 16th birthday really wasn't that spectacular. Sure, I could legally drive from then on, but I didn't do anything special to ring in that age. I didn't even have a party. Turning 26 was much of the same—I took a nap, which people my age might now consider a party. Woohoo.

Ten years ago, I had never been on a date, never kissed anyone, never had a boyfriend and never had someone fall in love with me. Nothing has changed there.

Just like when I was 16, I spend more time watching sports than anyone I know.

I still get paranoid about hoppers; I would still rather run everywhere than walk anywhere; I still don't know how to cook; I still can't drive a standard; I still hate malls; I'm still the same height; I still don't own any make-up (or know at all how to use it); I still have never left the country; I still sleep with Tie, my stuffed koala; I still can only eat Tic-Tacs in twos.

But, there are some things have changed since I became an owner of a driver's license.

For starters, I wore Asics until after high school. But, when I tagged them as the cause of a few stress fractures, I switched over to Mizunos. That was definitely one of my best decisions ever. Also, I feel that it's worthy to note that I'm a lot better at microwaving mac 'n cheese—I think I have finally mastered the right amount of water to use.

I wear a lot more skirts and dresses (I guess I really am a teacher, huh?); I am not a vegetarian (that really didn't last very long); I have a much better vehicle; the Rangers are actually good (I predicted World Series this season during Spring Training); I have fallen in love; I have pancreatitis; I don't chew as much gum; I live in a different city.

Obviously there are plenty more of things I could put on a Venn diagram, but that might be as silly as the little list I just made. The bottom line is that these 10 years have flown by pretty quickly. I am so thankful for everything that has happened, because it has led me to where I am today. It will be interesting to see what this blog says when I turn 36.

Maybe then I will at least have gone on a date.

My STATE of AfFAIRs

I have lived in Texas almost 26 years and have never been to the State Fair.

It's true—I am a native who has never experienced the disgustingness of all of the fried experimentations, waving to Big Tex, walking around in the danger zone that is Fair Park, seeing people with non-human characteristics and whatever other oddities the fair holds. I don't really feel like I'm missing out on anything, though.

I've been to a few carnivals in my life, and I have to say that I wasn't a big fan. They always made me feel so icky. Sure, some of the rides were fun, but there was just something about the entire atmosphere that made me want to rush home and take a shower—and it takes a lot to do that!

I remember when I was a little girl, there was a carnival at Andy Brown Park in the AWESOME city of Coppell that was fittingly called PigFest. It had rained recently, so the ground was pretty muddy, and there was a nasty humidity in the air. I rode that spaceship-looking ride that sucks you against the wall and spins super fast, and you can't really move without being slammed back against the wall mat. It's ridiculous and, of course, made me feel sick to my stomach. The entire day from that point was just pure grossness—nausea and muggy air (and you definitely can't imagine what the humidity does to my hair!). Ugh.

Then there was the time that I went with a friend to an annual carnival at a church in Coppell. We were in fifth grade, and she was meeting her boyfriend there (who the heck dates someone in elementary school??!). So, naturally, she ditched me as soon as he got there, and I was forced to ride all the rides alone until that one fella with two missing front teeth offered to keep me company on the Spinning Octopus. Lucky me.

I'm just really thankful that I have the Rangers (playoffs like woah!!!!) and Cowboys to keep me company during these State Fair days. Otherwise, I might be reunited with my Spinning Octopus comrade.

Give Big Tex a high five for me.

I'm selfish, and I feel guilty about it

I don't like making decisions, and I've reached another difficult one.

As previously mentioned, I'm on the injured reserve list right now, so I won't be running the Chicago Marathon as planned. It's killing me. Each day, my friends update their statuses on Facebook with how much mileage they did or how many days there are until the marathon, furthering the depressing feelings I get each time I see someone running or hear anyone mention it.

I die a little inside each time.

So, it's obvious I won't be able to run 26.2 miles in less than two weeks, seeing as how I can't even run any distance as of right now. I think a marathon would only ruin the healing that's already occurred on my wretched fracture. The decision, however, comes in whether or not I will still go on the trip to Chi-town. I've already paid for my flight and whatnot, and I would love to be supportive for all of my friends, but there is this little (or HUGE) selfish bug in me that doesn't want to go. I mean, how much pain do I really want to cause myself watching hundreds of people do the one thing I love doing the most but can't do for almost another month? How much pain do I want to cause myself for not being able to run a race for which I trained months and months, putting in hours of dedication and early mornings in the brutal Texas summer humidity and heat?

I know it's selfish. Trust me—I know.

I would love to spend my birthday in Chicago with all of my wonderful friends, but I would also prefer not to be so self-pitiful on my birthday. I'm aware that I need a change of attitude, but I guess I never realized how sad it would make me not to be able to run—mainly because I never thought I would not be running. I had a dream last night in which I broke into a run, and it was one of the most amazing feelings. I woke up, and there were tears on my pillow that I hadn't even realize had leaked from my eyes.

I don't know what to do: I really want to be a good friend, but I also want to avoid furthering this slump. I think I know what I should do—I just hope I do the right thing.

Holding back the tears

I feel like lately I've been walking through a hail storm without any form of protection whatsoever.

First it was the tooth, then the ovaries, then the pelvic fracture. Someone told me bad things happen in threes, so I would be good-to-go soon. I thought that was only true for deaths, but I liked the idea of my woes coming to an end, so I chose to believe it. Too bad.

I had my follow-up x-ray appointment yesterday morning to make sure my fracture is healing. I guess I was hoping I would be some freak of nature and heal in half the time it takes average humans; I was hoping my doctor would look at me and say, "Looks like you will get to run the Chicago Marathon after all!" Instead, Dr. H chose to dash my hopes with a few simple words: "You're still broken."

Hold back the tears.

I asked him when I could start running again, and he said at least another four weeks. I thought I had just hallucinated, so I had him repeat himself. Oddly enough, he said that dreaded time frame again. I informed him that I really wanted, nay, needed to be running in about a week or two, tops. We clearly weren't seeing eye-to-eye.

"You do realize this is kind of a big deal, right? I mean, this break is pretty serious and one that typically take a long time to heal."

Ugh. That whole "long time" statement really wasn't working for me. He told me to come back in four weeks for another follow-up appointment. Oh, I guess he really was serious about this four-week thing.

However, he prescribed me some physical therapy about which I am pretty excited. It's at a place called the S-G Alter G Center, where you can run on an anti-gravity treadmill that is specifically designed to reduce one's body weight and help with existing injuries and injury prevention. My first session is today right after I get off work. I can't wait to run! I mean, I never really liked gravity, anyway. (I'm only kidding, so calm down all you Bill Nye fans.)

The other piece of bad news I received yesterday is a bit more serious, because it involves my uncle's life. I was at dinner last night with some of my friends, and they were really helping take my mind off of the fact that I was so down-in-the-dumps about not being able to run—and they are all runners, so they really are a special bunch. Anyway, my mom called, and I didn't answer because it was too hard to hear. Then my brother called. Then my mom called. Then my sister called. I started to get worried, so I sent my sister and mom a text that said I was at dinner.

"Call mom when you get a chance."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes."

Uh oh.

I immediately got up from the table and called my mom. As soon as she answered, I knew it wasn't good. I could hear the tears in her voice. She told me her brother was in the hospital, had open heart surgery and was now pretty much fighting for his life. This is my uncle with whom I communicate every single day. We have been in e-mail correspondence for years now, and I enjoy updating him on my life and hearing about his, as well. He keeps me informed about my cousin and her precious daughter, and I love all of the encouragement he gives me, as well. I didn't have an e-mail from him yesterday morning, but I figured he was having computer troubles, because that has happened before.

Not the case this time.

When I woke up this morning, I knew I wouldn't have a note from him, but I wrote him, anyway. I don't know what's going to happen to him, but all I can do is pray. I don't want to lose him. You see, my uncle isn't quite a believer, and I think I was the only person who ever regularly talked to him about Jesus. But I don't think I'm finished telling my uncle about the Lord yet. What if he still doesn't know His love?

My parents drove to Longview to go see him. He is the last person left of my mom's side of the family, and I know this is tearing her apart. She absolutely adores her brother.

Breathe. Pray. Repeat.

The paths we never chose

I am often amazed with how things work out.

Even though I know you're not supposed to dwell on "what might have been," I don't think there is anything wrong with wondering every now and then. For instance, what would have happened if I had stayed at one college for my entire four years? Or, what would I be doing now if I had stuck with sports reporting? Would I still be living where I do now? Would I have the same amazing group of friends?

My mind can't help but take a brief trip to possibilities on occasion.

Despite the mysteries of things that never happened, I find myself more than thankful for what I do have and where I am now in life. I honestly don't know what I would do without my Cincas; I hate to think of how my life would be without the DRP and all of the incredible people and friendships I have formed with them (seriously, is there another group of people full of so much love and encouragement??! I think not.); I truly don't even like to think too long on what I would do if I weren't a teacher; and, of course, I thank God every chance I can for my family (BAM!!). Everything in my life fell into place exactly as it should have.

So, maybe it isn't so bad to ponder on how our lives would be if we had taken different routes—it might make you appreciate where you are now more than you would have. But, I definitely wouldn't dwell on it—after all, you don't want to live in moments that don't truly exist. It's much better to be in the present, where there are always multiple pathways awaiting you, anyway.