50 inches tall or 50 inches wide?

So today was not a smooth day: meaning most of today's events were bumps and caused uncomfortable jolting. I will not bore you with all the events like the quiz in classics, the overflowing toilet, the inkless computer lab, or my graceful fall going up the Bate stairs. No, I instead I have chosen to inform you of the highlight: the search for the lab coat.

I am two credits away from being a biology minor. This is coming from a vessel that avoided science at all costs starting in elementary school; all I can say is God is good. This semester I was forced to take Microbiology the lecture and Microbiology the lab. 

I get this email: "Biology 2111 [microbiology lab] students come to Tuesday's lab prepared, wearing long sleeved shirts, close toed shoes, pants and a lab coat. The lab coat must come below the knee. Students who come unprepared will not be admitted into the lab."

As I delete the email I am thinking, no problem, I have long sleeved shirts, pants, and closed toed shoes: all I needed was the lab coat. The search began this afternoon, after all of the bumpy events like the toilet and inkless computer lab. I started out at the student store. The place was packed with smelly students. I had to fight my way to an employee to ask where the lab coats were. I followed the young man to the art department. 

"Here are our coats.. there aren't many left." he said with a drawl. "We only have one size left for you.. it says 50.. but I'm not sure whether it is 50 inches tall or 50 inches wide." 

I tried to control the contortion of my face. I looked for it, but there was no hint of humor in his face. Really? I thought to myself. Do I look 50 inches wide? Please explain to me, do I look 50 inches tall. The coat was huge. It looked like it needed two coat hangers to support the weight of the fabric. 

So the search continued. I called uniform shops around town. Most were out of smalls in lab coats. Everyone was picked clean. Finally I reached a store that wouldn't guarantee me a size, but offered a little hope. I got in my Echo and sped (acchem drove with gumption) to the store. 

Did I mention today was the first day of school for Pitt County? Let it be known today was the first day, and that all of Pitt County children are required to have uniforms. Let me just say this store was hopping. I pushed my way through to a rack of thousands of white lab coats. Half the store was made of these coats, or so it appeared. 90% of the thousand white lab coats were above the knee, and only .7% of the remaining 10% were in a size I could get by with. 

After spending forever trying on coats and eyeballing what other ECU microbiology lab girls were returning to the racks, I finally found one. Of course when I got to the checkout counter the debit machine broke, but eventually I did get out of the store with lab coat in hand.

Pointless story yes. BUT I did get the lab coat, and it wasn't 50 inches wide either. 

So frustrating.

My relationship with my Father has progressed very steadily. Yet I now find myself in a place of frustration.

I want to write a song.

One must understand how my soul thirsts to write. I want to write how I feel but simply writing is not enough; I want to sing how I feel. I want the words to be my own, I desire that connection of personal worship. The connection I feel when the words fall out of my mouth revealing the condition of my heart.

The connection is lost, and I am frustrated. How can this be restored? How can I be so close and not be able to write about where I am? None of this is making any sense to me. Is my song writing chapter over? Has He taken the gift away? And if He has, why do I have this aching?

I have never been one to sit down and say, "Now I will write a song". No, the words have always been given to me. Over the last few weeks the words that have been given don't make any sense.
For an example this morning I wrote this:

I'm reaching for something, longing for it to be real.
While searching for the answers, my soul longs to hear.
I come up empty, grasping at nothingness.
And my heart beat echoes hollowly, hollowly, against my now empty chest.

These verses are out of character for me. I cannot figure out what God is trying to say, or if He is trying to say anything at all!? I am frustrated to the point of being hurt. I just don't understand what He wants. I just want Him to fix me, to break me, rebuild me...do something and let me sing about it!

Out of all honesty it makes me angry. Yes, I am admitting I am angry at God. How can He give me a desire and then refuse to fulfill it. I am sure it is all part of His master plan, but right now I am stomping my feet and saying it isn't fair. Maturity will come I am sure... maybe tomorrow.

"Do not cast me from you presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." Psalm 50:11,12

Aren't you a history major?

So life is crazy. I have come to grips with that fact. Each season I go through has its times of absolute insanity, and also its periods of lulls. Right now its one of those "I'm not going to panic stress will not and cannot kill me" times.

In spite of all the pressure and my friend Mr. Stress, the Lord continues to show me favor. Today the history "quiz" was returned, and I made a B+. After class my professor and I engaged in conversation, and I found out I was one of the top grades. During this casual chat he said, "So did you tell me you were majoring in history, English, or classics?"

I know my expression was like "Say what!" Of course I couldn't help but laugh. He had a similar reaction when I told him I was a Nursing major. "But aren't you a history major?" Nope. "Ah, but you have such a sharp mind."

Looking beyond the fact he insinuated that nurses aren't very sharp...I was very flattered.

Just get through....

I woke up this morning with the notion: if I can just get through today everything will seem brighter. This is not a good way to start a week, but I tried so hard to optimistic.

Here I am now, saying: if I could just get through tomorrow.

The downfall began in my Ancient Greece history class. This is a junior level class which requires a lot of my attention, particularly in the form of assigned reading. I have three books for this class: a text book, a book by the ancient historian Herodotus, and a book by the ancient historian Plutarch. Notice two of this book were written before Christ.

Well this weekend I went home to enjoy the pleasures of an only child (Grant and Becca being in VA), and I accomplished everything on my checklist assuring myself I was getting ahead. I read, took notes, made flashcards, wrote a term paper, etc.

I get to class today to find out the 250 plus pages I read in Plutarch.. was actually supposed to be read from Herodotus. AND I have a test on those readings tomorrow.

Say what!? This would be an okay mistake if I didn't have an Anatomy and Physiology practical tomorrow AND a quiz in Ethics. What have I gotten myself into???

I am trying so very hard to stomp down the lump of anxiety that is now living in my throat and stay optimistic. I have even resorted to strong coffee, after being on a caffeine sabbatical for 3 months. It appears I will be staying up late tonight and ignoring the dishes in my sink and laundry in the dryer. I will try not to think about how I am not prepared for the Bible study tomorrow, and pretend I don't have an Ethics exam on Friday.

If I could just get through this week....

Find the navel..

To go to nursing school I must be a certified Red Cross professional rescuer. That basically means I must be trained in the art of keeping someone alive until the real professionals arrive. Instinct told me to register and take the class now, and not wait for the fall rush.

So today was my day. I was nervous, besides the babysitters course I took when I was eleven I had no background in providing first aid. I arrived at the Red Cross early and waited in my car until right before 8am. They only offer this class once a month so I was surprised to walk into an empty classroom. Empty aside from the instructor. He was a geeky, awkward looking male with apparent social disabilities.

I must of looked surprised, he quickly explained that there were three others on their way. My classmates included a male with 20 years of EMT experience, a woman with 18 years of EMT experience, and a male radiology student.

The class was a mixture of lecture, videos, and dummy practice. I learned a lot including how to clear airways, preform CPR, and use a AED. We were each given a face mask with a mouth peice to practice on the dummys. Occasionally, John (the instructor) would have use one of us for demonstrations, and make us practice certain steps on each other.

I made myself comfortable among my peers, and after the first two hours we were comfortably chatting and poking fun. Of course all the jokes involving me had to do with my size. John was concerned my size would limit my ability to preform proper chest compressions. Haha, funny funny.

So when he called me to the front of the class I approached it with boldness. I had fun pretending I was choking, but the fun all came to a screeching halt when John started to go through the steps of the Heimlich.

"Put your foot between the person's legs, support the front with one hand and preform 5 blows to the back. Then find the navel..." Stop stop hold on is he really finding my navel right now, he most certainly was.. can we say awkward? Having someone put their finger in your belly button at 8 in the morning isn't the most pleasant experience. But I survived, the worst was over right?

Of course not, now it was time to practice on each other. My partner: the woman with 18 years of EMT experience. Did I mention she was at least 300 pounds?

John walked us through the steps, narrating each one. "Place your foot between the person's legs. Preform 5 back blows. " This was easily done but it must have been a sight. Picture this. By this point by foot is between this woman's legs, my supporting arm is barley reaching her middle, and a panicked thought came over me; I knew what was coming next. "Now find the navel."

Another College Friday Night

Tonight I had my scheduled date with the Pride and Prejudice. I am perfectly content laying on the floor on a Friday night, amongst pillows and hot cocoa, softly chuckling at Mr. Darcy's arrogance and Elizabeth's ignorance. This film marks the start of a weekend and relaxes my wrinkled stress face into a pleasant half-smile. I look forward to this ritual.

I would like to point out that I have read the book by Jane Austen, and fell in love with its storyline before seeing the film. This I believe establishes my credibility as a true Pride and Prejudice fan.

The entire nature of the book and film intrigues me. Perhaps I am drawn to Elizabeth because of our similarities. She is not interested in men like her peers. She is attracted and notices them yes, but keeps her distance using the gender's shortcomings as an excuse. She has entertained the idea of becoming an old maid, but in honesty she wants the romance without the disappointment.

Mr. Darcy catches her off guard as he sets himself apart from the rest of the male population. Arrogant but quick, it is almost as if Elizabeth sees him as a challenge. They engage in a game of wit, and the love blossoms. All is not peachy as Elizabeth is quick to judge situations without gathering the facts. Her judgments were probably fueled by her inward fear of the newfound relationship.

Yes I see myself in Elizabeth, and I guess every woman could on some level. I love how she never compromises herself or dumbs down her intelligence to appeal to Darcy. The best part is through all the ups and downs she knew that he was the One. Even after she lashed out unjustly the story ends well. He waits for her, fights for her, and perseveres all for her. So mushy, but it appeals to every chick.

I am not a chickflick watcher, but this one gets me. The other films leave me feeling as if love is unattainable; the Pride and Prejudice in contrast reassures me love can be genuine, and can be found even when you aren't looking for it. Like in a crowded ballroom with live Elizabethan music and elegantly dressed ladies.

Boil water.. say what?

Boil Alert for Greenville. Boil alert? Say what? I've heard of smoke alert, storm alert, traffic alert but never a "boil alert". I received a forward informing me, "Greenville Utilities Water is Contaminated with Fecal Coliform. Boil Your Water Before Using." I was skeptical and went directly to the Greenville Utilities site to check out the forward's credibility.

And there it was.. "Fecal coliform bacteria were found in the water supply today, June 25, 2008. These bacteria can make you sick... "

You have got to be joking me. Should I mention I received the email at 1pm, and that I make a point of staying hydrated? The contamination was discovered at 6am this morning; by that time I had already consumed approximately 2 glasses of fecal water. Not to mention brushing my teeth, and taking a shower. By 1pm I had ingested an estimated 10 glasses of water.

When I arrived on campus for my 2pm final everyone was freaking out. Yes, freaking out. Signs were posted with scotch tape on every surface; classroom doors, bathroom stalls, random trees. Students were calling everyone they knew on their cell phones, "Sally.. like.. don't drink that water.. like it's full of.." "Billy.. hey man.. did you hear?"

Oh yeah. People were soaking up this drama, the media included. Supposedly officials were/are shutting down restaurants, and monitoring ER admissions closely.

Meanwhile I have been trying to determine whether my current state of nausea was brought on by the mayhem or the 10 glasses of fecal water pulsing through my body. The rational side of me knows that humans ingest fecal particles on a daily basis via hand to mouth transmission, and this really isn't a big deal. The other side of me swears her body is "fecally" saturated.

So while my inner battle rages on, I will follow orders by boiling all desired water for the next 48 hours, leave dishes in my sink, and resist showering. Bottled water anyone?

Plasma and Pretty Boy Part II

Okay, let me make myself clear, I do not intend on making this the "Plasma Chronicles" but this was a blogging must.

I had my day all planned out, as usual. Met mom in Kinston at 7am, go to the gym, shower, plasma, study. Met mom to get my phone. Check. I couldn't find a parking spot at the gym so I ran in the park. Check. Showered at the apartment, and shaved the legs. Check, check. Now onto the plasma.

I prepared my body for today. I drank extra water yesterday, ate a good breakfast: I did everything correctly. I read the pamplets. I entered the center like a pro, walking over to the sign in sheet beaming at everyone. A woman signed in after me turned and said, "You go to Covenant?" I replied, "Yes Ma'am." She said, "Yeah, you sing in da choir. You look different without your makeup."

I should of turned away and walked out of the center. That my friends, was my sign, but it was on my list. So I sat down laughing at my self and began to study my flashcards. I went into the assigned booth where they weighed me, pricked my finger, asked me about my "behavior" blah blah etc etc. All was going well.

And it was about to get better. They called me back and I took my place in section two, and who was there to greet me? Ah yes those melt-me blue eyes with long dark lashes (see part I for full description). Oh yeah, this definitely made that woman's comment/insult fade away. All was going to be okay. I got situated. Pretty Boy was not in the talking mood so I let him do his thing without interruption. We decided to use my left arm today. The needle went in but felt strange. It wasn't a prick, more like a pinch. But I was off, my count was up, draw began and my plasma bottle began to fill.

Then I started to notice something strange; the second tube that is usually clear began to turn pink. I called a lady over as Pretty Boy apparently was MIA. She said it was nothing so I relaxed. Then the machine began to beep which is never a good sign. My count was low. A sweet worker came over and said she thought there was a clot in my tube. She couldn't find it. By now, the pinch feeling had evolved into a "bite" feeling. I informed her that I was getting hot, which is usually my sign of pain. Mr. Know-it-all from part one then preceded to walk over with his attitude to adjust me.

Enter here: Pretty Boy. He was now off his break, and entered the room to see three workers crowded around my bed. "What did you do," he asked me with a smile. I wasn't laughing. I couldn't even smile. He moved everyone, including Mr. Know-it-all away. I then remembered something. Last time he'd used a smaller needle, I reminded him of this fact. "Ah!" He said, "that may be it. Do you mind if we use your right arm." I was thinking "why the heck not?!"

So we switched over to the right arm. I should of said no. I should of said thanks but no thanks. It was now found the clot; nearly my entire tube was clotted. The fun continued. He couldn't find my vein on my right arm. I tried not to writh in pain, I didn't want to cause a scene, but that was out of my hands; the man next to me began to cry out, apparently it looked disgusting. Pretty Boy called Mr. Know-it-all over. He then preceded to fish for the vein. By now my whole body felt like it was on fire. Pretty-Boy began to fan me.

He got it. All was well. I felt better all ready. Mr. Know-it-all left me with Pretty Boy to clean up the mess (I won't go into detail here). Pretty Boy wrapped my arm and told me I get an extra 2 dollars for all the trouble. Great. Just Great. A half a gallon of gas. Wonderful.

Well my count never went up. They 250 mL of plasma out of me, opposed to my recommended 750 mL. Pretty-Boy said it was over he preferred to stop the process and just return the blood to me. He didn't feel it necessary to put me through any more. He also recommended jokingly, that I stop partying so hard, to prevent this from happening again. "Baha," I replied, "I don't believe in alcohol". This started an interesting conversation.

So plasma. Half-check. Flirt with Pretty-Boy. Check. Two blue bandages. Check. One huge bruise. Check. Get 42 dollars. Check.

Unfortunately besides flirting with Pretty-Boy this experience was horrible. So horrible in fact I treated myself to ice cream afterwards. Needless to say, after this experience plasma will no longer be on my list.

Plasma and Pretty Boy

Today started like any other ordinary day. I had goals that needed to be achieved; the gym, grocery store, learning the muscles of the eye and plasma center.

Plasma center? This wonderful place is a college town phenomenon. Here you can donate your blood's plasma twice a week and get paid anywhere from 20-40 dollars a pop. Consider it a good cause with an incentive. I have been meaning to get in there and go through the initial process, but haven't found time. I was also intimidated by the long lines that formed outside the center in the mornings. Today I made time and conquered my fears, and what an experience it was.

When I described the process to my mother a few months ago she responded as if I was going to sell a part of my soul. Am I that desperate for money? The answer is no, I don't need the money per-say BUT why not? I cannot sacrifice hours to a part time job, but I can sacrifice 45 minutes. I just can't pass up the idea of making money with little time or effort.

Plasma is simply the "water" part of your blood. The process is similar to when you donate blood, except with plasma donations your blood is returned to you. The donor is hooked up to a machine. The machine goes through a series of "draw" and "return". When the machine is in "draw" mode, blood is taken from the patient. The blood is spun in the machine at a high velocity which separates the blood cells from the plasma. The machine then kicks into "return" mode where the red blood cells are returned to the patient, and the plasma drains into a collection bottle. The steps then repeat until the desired amount of plasma is achieved. They base how much plasma to take from a donor based upon weight class.

How fast the process goes depends on the patient's level of hydration; the more hydrated the better. The body replaces all the plasma in the body within 3-4 hours after the donation. How quickly the body recovers is also linked to hydration.

Sooooo. I did it. The doors opened at 8am and I was waiting in line outside the center. They had a separate line for new donors, and I didn't bat an eye when they informed me the process may take up to 4 hours. I figured their screening and questioning process was going to be thorough. And thorough it was.

I had to pee in a cup- wait for the results, show my social security card, prove my Greenville residency, get my finger pricked, blood pressure checked, temperature taken, read legal documents, take a test on the AID's virus and do jumping jacks. Jumping jacks? Yes... my blood pressure was almost below the set limit. They apologized for punishing me for being "too healthy".

In addition I had a meeting with the medical supervisor where he further explained the risks, and asked more questions regarding medical history, sexual and drug activity, and overseas contact. During the meeting I signed my life away vanishing all chances of suing the plasma center, and ensuring them the right to sue me if any of my answers proved false.

FINALLY I made it to the backroom. As I walked into the back room my eyes were met by individuals comfortably staring into space. It was clear that all of my fellow donors had done this before and were accustomed to the wait. I was directed to report to a chair in section 5. This chair is a mix between a lazy-boy recliner and a hospital bed, with built in support to raise the legs. The chairs and machines lined the white walls, and in the middle were workers in navy blue lab coats with movable carts. Apparently each employee was assigned a section and manned the section with his or her cart.

I sat in my assigned seat and waited for further instructions. I spotted a very nice looking male in a navy coat across the room. Yes, he was "fearfully and wonderfully made". Other girls would defer from him because he was obviously vertically challenged but that is not a problem for me. Now imagine how enthralled I was when this male started wheeling his cart towards my seat. What luck! Please note he was even better looking up close. His eyes where wow stunning, melt-me blue with long dark lashes. My father would probably call him a "pretty boy", and I would have to agree.

Unknown to me, a sign had been placed above my head, letting everyone know that I was a first time donor. This sign proved to be a nuisance as everyone who passed by checked my machine and inquired after my "feelings". This also prompted a long speech from the pretty boy named Bill. He checked my veins and then called for a fellow lab employee. They concluded they would need to get a smaller needle from the storage room. Apparently I have small veins.

I attempted to start a conversation with the one called Bill in attempt to keep him near and also to defer my attention away from the "small" needle being placed in my arm.

Bill and I were soon joined by the medical supervisor. He informed Bill I was to be closely watched and to lower the speed of my machine because I was "so little". The process took 1 hour to get 750 mL of plasma. During that hour I had an interesting conversation with the medical supervisor about military fathers, and a disturbing conversation about pot with another lab employee. I was also brought a blanket by a woman worker. The place was freezing! and my shivering and goose bumps drew pity. In that hour I also corrected a big headed male lab employee who insisted on lecturing me about hydration. A subject that I have a lot of knowledge on, and I took great pleasure in cutting him off.

The ongoing conversations and frequent visits by Bill passed the time. I have to go back Monday to donate again, or they will throw the plasma I gave today away. They will speed my machine up with each visit, so next time will go faster. Not to mention I will get 40 dollars at the end of my next donation.

At the end of it all I successfully gained the acquaintance of one of God's beautiful creatures, made known to medical supervisors, and made 20 dollars in cash. It was process I will gladly do again.

A day without my phone

It happens to the best of us. It starts with the sudden realization we have lost something. Followed by a sinking feeling accompanied with a lump in the throat and sudden headache. The mind begins to race quickly retracing your steps, and at the same time analyzing the seriousness of the situation.

Okay maybe it doesn't happen to everyone, but it happens to me and my mother on a regular basis. Whether it is a credit card, id or phone number, we misplace it and find it only after frantically searching. Note most of the time the item we are looking for is found where it should of been.

This time the item is my phone. My "sudden realization" happened somewhere between Richlands and Greenville. But surely the phone is in my book bag! To be sure it is in my purse! Well friends as sure as the sun shines my it is not. I have searched everywhere. I pulled into a gas station on my way to school to search my car and bags. Once at my apartment I went through everything again. Where is it?

At home surely it is at home. According to my mother it is not. So where is the phone?
My only "semi-personal" lifeline has been broken. My daily phone calls to my mother have ceased, and my sense of "security" is gone.

I live by myself; my roommate is currently paying rent but living with her boyfriend. My phone gave me a sense of security: if anything went wrong I would at least be able to call for help. Now I will have to send an email.

My lack phone disturbs my routine as it was my alarm clock and watch. Not to mention I am expecting important packages any day now and the apartment offices rely on my phone for communication.

So to all who call or don't call FYI my phone is lost, and will continue to be lost until further notice.

God is good!

And I mean what I say!!! He is good all the time even in the most difficult of circumstances.. and we would realize that fact if we looked with His eyes.


Jesus had confidence in the His Father's goodness even when all was not clear.. John 11 is a perfect example... Most know the "shortest verse" in the Bible... "Jesus wept (John 11:35)".. Do you know the context?


Side note: Weeping and crying are too different actions. When a person weeps he/she is vulnerable.. it is a complete, utter, outward expression of inner feelings. It signals a surrender... (I could talk more abt that buut on to the point.)

The context:
Jesus received news that a friend named Lazarus was sick.

His immediate response was, "This sickness is not to end in death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified by it." The Son of God knew the plan... God was going to be glorified in this circumstance.


Long story (but an awesome one) short... Jesus waited until Lazarus passed away before going to see him... and then rose Lazarus from the dead... He took the opportunity to show the people to have faith in the Father...

It is said that Everything works for the good of those who love Him... according to His plan.. (Romans 8:28)..the plan: the glorification of God.


Through this whole passage... Jesus stood confidently on the promise of God... He knew that Abba's glory would shine despite the thickness of the clouds.. He had eyes to see that no matter the circumstance... God was in control and there was a purpose..

God is so good and He wants us to know it.. gauge your human eyes... put in the eyes of God... and if its too hard.. if you feel like you just can't do that.. just have faith that everything will be more than okay.. He is in control.. He will be glorified..

A blog? Why?

Hello all,

The decision to begin blogging was birthed out of my current social status, and the constant "God happenings". God is working in my life constantly and I want to share the progress and stories. If possible I would sit with each of you and talk forever about His goodness: telling story after story. With school demands and my case of "phone phobia", informing everyone is next to impossible. Blogging will allow me to keep everyone up to date, and also act as an outlet for my pinned up energy/joy. Expect a combination of rants and journal type entries.

The latest:

I decided to take some summer classes and the first session is nearly finished!! This session includes Anatomy and Physiology (class and lab), and an online theatre class. God has shown me favor and I am currently making A's in each class. The intensity of these courses exceed chemistry, but the material is relatable and straight- forward. All evidence has lead me to this path at ECU and nursing school. I am aware my success in school is only by the grace of God, and His favor that covers His plan.

He is so good! and I look forward to narrating my journey.. our journey.