Prayers, Please

Though many of you do not know me, I felt the need to express how I am feeling right now. I am slightly stressed, anxious, nervous, emotionally exhausted, physically brain-fried, etc. I do not feel empty inside, but I do feel that something is different. I think my entire "state of being" right now is...concerned.

I am concerned for my cousin, who recently was left by her boyfriend of more than two years. Whole-heartedly believing that they would spend the rest of their lives together, she is incredibly hurt. My heart goes to her, for I know precisely what she is going through. Just over a year ago--five days before Christmas--my boyfriend of more than three years ended our relationship. I, too, believed that we were to spend our entire lives together. Nonetheless, that was not meant to be. God had (and has) something more planned for us. I can only pray that my cousin can understand what I have come to learn over the past year. I know that it will take time, but I pray that she will be able to handle the situation more maturely than I ever did.

I am concerned for school. Granted, I have always been a "good student." My GPA has never been lower than a 3.75 in the last six years, and I plan to keep it that way. However, with this year being my "senior" year, I find that my classes become increasingly challenging (obviously). This creates extra stress when I must--in one week--write two papers, study for a test, write an Italian essay, work for the first time this semester, prepare projects for Purdue's Literary Awards Program, and successfully complete my Resident Assistant interview. (This was all last week; I am exhausted.) I know that more is to come; that will not be my hardest week. I can only pray that, like last week, I will be able to take one thing at a time and keep my sanity (and emotions) stable.

I am concerned that I will not be getting a resident assistant position. Though I successfully completed the entire interview process, I am nervous for the results. I do not find out if I got a position until right before spring break (about two weeks). What concerns me is this: if I do not get the position, I will not be able to afford Purdue. That's not to say that I can afford it now by any means. By the will of God, I am here this semester. However--at this moment--I will only be able to afford one more semester before I must drop out...again. I do not know what I would do. Furthermore, I may have to tack on an ADDITIONAL semester to the ones I already have left. That means I graduate with a Bachelor's in five-and-a-half years--three semesters AFTER my original college graduation date. I am worried and nervous. I am scared.

I feel that my heart shall shrivel soon. It feels cracked at the moment, dangerously teetering near an edge that threatens to shatter it. My prayer notebook--the one in which I request God's help and assistance and guidance to others and myself--is filling up. Lately, I find myself asking for His help and guidance and wisdom for so many people...I have forgotten to ask for help for myself. I have forgotten to open myself up to Him and ask for wisdom.

Editorial non sequitur: I have never understood the phrase "words to the wise." Why would a wise person need guidance? If they are wise already (and I'm thinking Solomon, here), a person's words would "fall on deaf ears."

Lastly, I am concerned for my mother. She is my rock, and my family's rock. She's a survivor. She's an entertainer. She's wonderful. It is unfortunate that we must be 10 hours from each other. Though I am truly happy to be back at Purdue, I know that she misses me terribly. My little Oliver (my soon-to-be two-year-old cat) does not provide her with the comfort and laughter that we share when we are together. I, too, miss my mother, and I wish I could be there for her whenever she thinks of something "random" that she wants to share with me, be it news or inside jokes. (That includes references to Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Maverick, our "song" "Whip Me With a Wet Sock," and jokes about the reminiscent past.)

Last night, I received a phone call from my mother at 2:00 in the morning. I was asleep at the time, so I did not hear her call. However, I woke up at 4:00 because of the noise my suitemate's friends were making next door. I grabbed my phone to text her, but instead found that I had a voice-mail from my mom. "Why the heck would she call me at 1:53 in the morning?" I asked. "That can't be good."

I listened to her message, instantly worried.

"You know how I always prided myself on never having stitches or a broken bone? Well, mommy fell down and went boom and now can no longer say that..."

This morning, I called her after waking up. I learned that my mom had fallen right after work, in the parking lot. Bluntly put, she face-planted herself into the cement, giving herself a gash above her right eyebrow. Her glasses smashed, the lenses cracking. The items she had been carrying--newspapers, mail, her mug--went flying as her hands sailed through the air.

Good Samaritans arrived from the bank, helping her up and bringing her inside. They made the necessary phone calls, took her to the doctor's office, and took her home. (I am eternally grateful to those individuals.) A friend of my mother's took her to the emergency room, where she received three stitches on her forehead, right above her black-and-blue eye. Her left hand is splinted--the ring finger and pinkie finger are taped together. The middle finger? A compound fracture. She received multiple stitches and nearly had to have surgery, as the bone had poked through the skin.

Currently, my grandmother is with my mom, helping to take care of her. "Luckily," my brother was going to visit my mom this weekend anyway, so he is at the house as well. (I say "luckily" because I know that God planned for him to be there at this moment. It is no coincidence.)

Though I know the entire situation could have been much much worse, I am still concerned, and am still praying about it. My mother, independent, stubborn, and embarrassed to received charitable assistance, is being taken care of by individuals from whom she normally refuses service. I cannot thank those people enough for what they have done.

I wish I could be there. It shouldn't be up to my grandmother--a wearied and emotionally fragile woman herself--to take care of my mother. It should be my job, and--this moment--I wish the distance didn't separate us. I know that she wants me to be happy--and I am--but she is much more important to me than the daily stress I endure from mundane, 100-word Italian essays.

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