Poker Night

So, last Tuesday my guy friend calls me up and tells me that they need a few people for poker night. This is, traditionally, a men's only group, but they were going to make an exception for the evening since they were desperate for players. I warned them in advance of my skillz (yeah, I spelled it with a z cuz I'm gangsta like that). They just laughed and told me to bring my money.

I hadn't really played with chips before, but watching WPT and ESPN really paid off. No one raised before the flop, so I could play hands that normally would've been trashed. I had a 4 of clubs and 7 of hearts when I got a straight flush. That's right, a straight stinkin' flush. I almost crapped my pants right there. Everyone else thought they had a good hand, so they started betting. It was awesome. When I revealed my hand, jaws dropped. It was priceless. After 5 hours of playing, I finally took home the money. I doubt I'll ever be invited back, but at least I have the memories...and the cash. Sorry boys!

Awww, Mem'ries (Part 4)

The Why

Once I arrived back home, I started to process what had happened. A wave of emotions hit me as I sat propped up in bed. I was angry, disappointed, and bitter. But buried deep down inside, I knew God had a reason for doing this.

When I was a junior in high school, I decided that I wanted to become a Supreme Court justice. The money and power seemed incredibly enticing to me. At 17 years old, I planned out my whole future career. In college I would major in Elementary Education (an easy major and also a fall-back if law school didn’t work out), then go to Yale Law School, then take over the world. I had planned on preparing for law school as soon as a graduated.

Breaking my knee pretty much interrupted my schedule and my plans. During my time in Costa Rica I felt God nudging me about becoming a teacher. I shook it off. “God, there’s no money in teaching. I’ll never really use this degree. It’s just a stepping stone,” I explained. But God continued to push. Finally, I told him, “I know that teaching is what You want me to do, but that’s not going to happen. I’m gonna do what I want.” So on Thanksgiving Day on the last day of school, God broke me. (Coincidence? No, I’m pretty sure He planned that out.) Physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually I was broken before Him. “Are you ready to listen?” He asked. God had my attention.


After graduation, instead of studying for the LSAT and mailing applications for law school, I was relearning how to bend my knee, one millimeter at a time. One day I was flipping through radio stations during my therapy and found K-Love. I set it as my alarm so that every day I would wake up to their music. The songs seemed to speak directly to me. There were some days when I would lay in bed for hours and cry because I knew God was drawing me closer. My relationship with Him, which had been stagnant for the past few years, grew stronger and stronger. And my knee grew healthier and bendy-er. By the end of the road to recovery, I was closer to God than ever before. I only wish it hadn’t taken a broken kneecap to get me there. But sometimes we have to learn the hard way. God, not my will, but Yours be done.

Awww, Mem'ries (Part 3)

When we arrived back at the house, I finally got to have my Diet Coke and chicken salad sandwich after 2 hours. Cindy was still upset, so I did my best to comfort her even though I was the one in the cast. Tracy (my other friend who taught with us at school) came over and spent the night because I was leaving early the next morning. The three of us had been through so much together during our time in Costa Rica that it seemed fitting that we should stay together till the end. We ordered pizza and watched Survivor with Spanish subtitles at the bottom of the screen.

The next morning I said my goodbyes, and Monica drove me to the airport. They had a wheelchair waiting for me. My pain pills were strapped to a pouch hanging around my neck. No questions were asked. No lines. No full-body searches. I got to be at the front of the line on each flight. They couldn’t seat me in first class, but they gave me the seat right behind there because it has slightly more leg room. I grabbed on to the first class armchair rests nearest the aisles and swung my way back to my seat. The flight from Costa Rica to Houston was not ideal. I was in the middle seat, between two very large beautiful black women. When they asked for seatbelt extenders, I knew I was in trouble. I used my backpack to prop my leg up, took a deep breath, and prayed that the 4 hour flight would only take 2 hours instead.


The flight from Houston to Oklahoma City was not too shabby. Everyone was very nice. The man who sat beside me asked what happened. He was a former NFL player, with a few bricks shy… So I told him I was surfing in the ocean when I noticed a drowning child in the water. As I got to the child, a shark swam up so I paddled as hard as I could. We got away, but not before a huge tsunami wave knocked us off the board, and I slammed my knee against the coral reef while still protecting the kid. Yeah, that was my story. The poor guy actually believed me. That was priceless.

My parents met me at the airport. All I wanted was to eat at Chili’s and have unlimited refills of Diet Coke (Yes, I have an addiction. I’m working on it.) My parents had different ideas though. Because of the miscommunication between my teacher and my mom, my parents wanted to take me straight to the hospital. “My leg’s not going anywhere. It's not like it can get more broken,” I protested, still not realizing that they’re picturing open wounds of horror beneath the cast. Guess who got their way. So we went to the hospital. They took more x-rays and showed them to us. The docs called it a “monkey x-ray” because it was so obvious it was broken that a monkey could tell you. The next day I got eat at Chili’s.

Awww, Mem'ries (Part 2)

While we waited for the ambulance, my roommate played photographer. She had finally stopped crying and was now moving all around me trying to get the best angle. (I hadn’t cried yet. Adrenaline is a blissful thing.) It was at this point that I noticed my right fist was still clenched. When I had first fallen I subconsciously tightened my hand as if to send all of the pain and feeling there instead of my knee. The ambulance driver arrived and blurted something in Spanish to me. I looked to my teacher, Monica, for translation, and she said he was going to straighten my leg out so he could put me on the stretcher. Oh boy, I thought. I squeezed my fist even harder, anticipating the pain to shoot into my knee. Nothing. Not a thing. I looked down, and my leg looked normal again. For a millisecond, I almost believed I was healed. Then I was loaded onto the stretcher. When the ambulance doors opened, I expected to see medical supplies and IVs and such. It was empty. The only purpose of the ambulance was to transport me from there to the hospital. Thank God I didn’t have a life-threatening injury! Sheesh!

We sped to the hospital while Monica followed behind. They hurried me in and took several x-rays. It was at that moment that the adrenaline shut off. As the Costa Rican x-ray tech bent my leg in all sorts of awkward and demented ways, I held my tongue (even though I was mentally cursing and chewing him out in Espanol.) While I was being tortured, I mean, x-rayed, Monica called my parents and told them what happened. Unfortunately, her English translation was not perfect. My mom asked her if it was a compound fracture. Monica thought she meant a multiple fracture. So my parents were thinking about bloody bones sticking out of my leg, when it was not nearly that gruesome. After the x-rays, the doctor concluded that I had a broken kneecap. Brilliant job guys! They put a cast on my leg, but as they were doing it the lights kept flickering on and off. Again, I was grateful that they weren’t operating on me. When they finished, I called my mom. It wasn’t until I heard her voice that I began to cry. Moms have a funny way of making you do that, huh? She told me they were getting a plane ticket so I could fly home the next day. I assured her that I was ok, but I’m pretty certain she was freaking out inside.

The doctor said I could leave, so I waited on a stretcher out in the hallway while Monica went to take care of the bill and pull the car around. As I laid there, patients or family of patients walked up to me and gawked. And I’m not talking about casually looking over. They were rubber-necking! Some came by, shook their heads, and sighed, “Pobre chinita” which means poor little Chinese girl. I was not amused in the least. After about the 8th person said it, I wanted to scream out “I’m not from China!” But I kept my cool long enough for Monica to pull up.

Awww, Mem'ries (Part 1)

Tomorrow marks the 4th year anniversary of God breaking me...physically breaking me. Most people know the quick story about what happened. Few know the entire story. Sometimes it takes so long to tell it, I figure I could just write it out. Then when someone asks, I can say, “Please refer to my blog posting on November 24, 2008.” Ok, here we go.

The What

I was doing my student teaching in Costa Rica. Yeah, I know. It was A-Maze-Zing! November 25, 2004 was Thanksgiving Day in the US. It also happened to be the last day of classes for my students aka the beginning of 2 blissful weeks of vacation before going back home. I had just learned how to surf the weekend before and was looking forward to spending those 2 weeks on a surfboard in the middle of paradise.

School ended early, so my mentor teacher, my roommate, and I headed home. When we arrived, I was starving! All I wanted was a Diet Coke and a chicken salad sandwich. Mmm, I could already taste it. I started walking toward the kitchen when SNAP! BOOM! My butt was on the ground, and I didn’t know how it got there. When I looked down, (Get ready! This is not for the faint of heart!) my knee was in a different location than it was 0.5 seconds ago. There was no blood, but my kneecap was an inch higher, awkwardly pressing against the skin and flesh that kept it held together. “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!” I yelled in disbelief. God please put it back in, I thought. The pain was gone, but the freaking out was not. My roommate rounded the corner. “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!” she yelled. In my head I was thinking, this probably would’ve been funny if hadn’t been real. About that time my teacher came down the hallway. “Holy Shoot!” she yelled. (We’re a religious bunch, you can tell.) Quickly, she got on the phone and called an ambulance. While we were waiting, my roommate was still freaking out. So I sent her on errands to get my passport, medical card, and my camera. That’s right! I had to document the worst injury I’ve ever received. Maybe I’ll post it if I get enough requests. =)

Ok, I'm tired. Tomorrow, we'll pick up where we left off.

I Don't Trust People

It started when I was in 4th grade. My best friend moved, and I was devastated. From there, the cycle continued. Some of my friends in junior high were not the best people to hang out with. I was following them down a path of hopelessness when Jesus Christ took hold of me. I was forever changed, and suddenly I realized that those I had surrounded myself with were pulling me down into a life of sin. I had to cut ties, and it broke my heart. However, I knew it was the right thing to do. High school brought many wonderful memories. I had several friends, but kept them at a distance. I was so afraid that if they saw the real me, I would be rejected. Then we went our separate ways to different colleges and states.

During my junior year at OSU, I met Andrea. For the first time since 4th grade, I felt like I had a best friend. But in the back of my mind, I wondered if it would last after graduation. On graduation day, I received my diploma in a wheelchair. I had broken my knee, and would spend the next 3 months learning how to bend my leg and walk again. Andrea lived 2 hours away, and I didn't really expect to see her much after graduation. But she surprised me. Every few weeks, she came to the city to hang out with me. Me! Broken, cranky, lil o' me. She called me just to see how I was doing. Although she might not have realized it, she gave me hope. She redefined the meaning of the word friend. And for that, I'm eternally grateful. I would give her my left kidney if she needed it.

In my hardened heart, I really deep-down, do not trust people. I trust my family and Andrea, but that's about it. I have been let down time after time. I still have the wounds of rejection, not being good enough, pretty enough, funny enough, or smart enough. But God is doing a work in me. He promises, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." He loves me exactly as I am. And each day I'm learning to trust Him more and more.

I've Never...

This is my first time to vote in a presidential election. First time ever!! Last time I was in Costa Rica during the election. The time before that, I was 2 months too young to vote. Sooo, this is kind of a big deal to me.

4 years ago I was living in Costa Rica. The whole country was pretty much anti-Bush, anti-war, anti-America. It seemed like their country was just as interested in the election as our people were. However, their country was completely one-sided. I don’t think you could find 1 Bush-supporter out of the whole bunch. The family that I stayed with questioned me about my beliefs on politics and repeatedly mumbled, “Mucha guerra” meaning “Too much war.” I learned real quick that I was going to have to stand up for my convictions or continue to be nagged at.

On the night of the election, my fellow Americans (the other 2 girls from my school) and I went to a local bar and grill to watch. Anxiously, we waited for the results. After hours and hours of waiting, finally the news anchor declared, “Bush gano!” which means, “Bush won!” The next day at school, I didn’t hear another word about it. I felt so proud. Proud to live in a country where people have freedom. Freedom to say what they want, believe what they want, and live how they want. The song “God Bless the USA” was going off in my head. “Cuz the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that awaaay-aaay!”

So no matter which side you’re on, remember that brave men and women fought for your right to vote. So get educated, get off the couch, and go cast your ballot.

2 Days, 18 Hours, 44 Minutes...

Since I drank my last Diet Coke. I'm off the stuff until Christmas. If you know me at all, Diet Coke has been part of my life...a big part of my life. Actually, it's probably attached itself to my DNA by now. I've always given credit to DC and Jesus for my 50 pound weight loss. But lately, I've felt like God wants total credit. Diet Coke's been a crutch. I go to it when I'm stressed, hungry, tired, angry, confused, etc. So for next 53 days, I'm taking it to God instead. Can't wait to see what happens during this time!