It's more than a burned blanket.

I came home from my adventures Saturday night to find my forgotten straightener left on atop my bed with my prized comforter died blue from melted plastic. I cried a little bit, and then I cried a little more as I kept thinking of it while I drifted off to sleep. You see, this went much deeper than the issue at hand. It was more than a burned blanket to me.

The past couple of weeks at my new internship at the hospital have, although  been extremely rewarding, been highly challenging as well. I work a lot with some pretty rough cases and very sad people whose lives have turned a complete 180 in the blink of an eye, and not quite for the better. These people are dealing with some pretty serious stuff, and it can become wearing at times. I have been feeling some pent up emotion the past week, just waiting to spill over. Apparently Friday night broomball didn't quite cut it, but a burned little comforter did.

Even still, it was more than a burned blanket and an emotionally draining internship.

One of my dear friends got married on Saturday. She had a lovely breakfast before the wedding, got married a couple of hours later, and had a reception that evening. I was one of her bridesmaids and was to be there for the works. I got up Saturday morning, got ready, realized I had left my wallet in my friend's car the previous night, and dashed out to pick it up before making the hour drive to the breakfast; however, rather than being at the breakfast within the hour, I found myself in my car stuck in a chain link fence three minutes later. As we all know, ice and brakes aren't very compatible, and next thing I knew I was going from deciding where to park once I got to the breakfast to deciding if I should hit the car in front of me or crash through the fence off to the right. The next thing I knew, I was frantically and pathetically trying to push my very much stuck car out of the snow and back through the fence in a nice bridesmaid dress  and curled hair with very much no luck.

I had no idea who's fence I had just demolished and no idea what to do. The next thing I knew, I had a rally of people around me, scooping me up and taking care of me, all working to get my car out. A friendly neighborhood man (he will heretofore be known as Mr. Rogers) heard the crash and was first on the scene. He tried all he could, but was also unable to get me much further. A friend of mine I had called in addition to a girl from my ward who also lives in the neighborhood came next. The four of us tried some more together, and made some phone calls. The next thing I knew, a friend of Mr Rogers showed up to try his hand as well. Still no luck. Despite all the muscles and brains at work, my car was high centered in two different spots, and would not budge.

The next thing I knew, everybody was insisting on staying until my car was out and I was on my way again, somebody had wrapped a blanket around me, and a tow truck was pulling my car out. The next thing I knew Mr. Rogers and his friend are repairing the fence as best they can, others are checking out my car, and my friend who just lost his job, was trying to pay the tow trucker who is only charging $20 instead of the usual $85 (my friend let me pay him back when I caught him). Next thing I knew I was back in my car driving away.

Unsure of the total damage of my car, I drove back to my home, uneasy about driving for an hour on the freeway. By this time, I had long since missed the breakfast, and I was not sure I would even be able to get to the wedding. Next thing I knew, I'm explaining what happened to my questioning roommates, and both of them volunteer to give me a ride before I can even finish the story. Never mind the fact that one of them had been throwing up and trying not to pass out the day before. Next thing I knew, I'm chatting with my roommate (the healthy one) in the car on my way to the wedding.

I got there with frizzy hair, slightly smeared make-up, probably a wrinkled dress, and 15 whole minutes to spare before the marriage ceremony began. The next thing I knew I was being embraced in my friend's mom's arms in a big hug as she asked if I needed a mom hug, even on her daughter's wedding day. The wedding was beautiful and the reception was enjoyable. The family of the bride let me tag along with them for the day and was so ready and willing to get me to where I needed to be when I needed to be there in my car-less state. My friend's uncle's family let me tag along with them after the reception and took me the hour long drive back to my home.

It's here that I found my straightener melting into my comforter, and it is here where I completely lose it. I'm exhausted. I'm overwhelmed. My muscles ache. My body hurts. I feel stupid about my car. I feel bad that I imposed on my friend's family on the big wedding day. And by golly I love this comforter and I've worked hard to take quite good care of it for so many years.

It's okay though, because it's more than a burned blanket.

Turns out it's also a mark of love. It's an icon of the good people that surround me everyday without me  even realizing it. It shows that there is so much good in the world. It's a sign of the love and support that good people lend at the drop of a hat. It's a symbol of a loving, watchful God that tenderly cares for us and makes it all work in the end, whether a stroke or traumatic brain injury, a car accident, or just a bad day/week/month/year/etc. It shows that God will love and help even dumb girls that can't drive a car, even really sick people in a hospital, even me. It's a reminder that I can be better and I can step out of myself and be that reliable instrument in God's hands. When somebody crashes, I can be the answer to prayer that shows up on the scene to lend them a loving hand. It shows me of how much more I could be doing, that I should be doing. What started as a mark of defeat has turned into a mark of miracles and opportunities bigger than myself, and I now look upon it with very different eyes.

Peein in a cup.

I had to get a drug screen today. Drug screens frequently require peeing in a cup. I had to pee in a cup today. No big deal, I've peed in cups before, but none of which ever occurred quite like it did today. After filling out some paperwork I didn't really know how to fill out, and then after waiting in the waiting room for a while, a young man no older than myself comes out and calls my name. I'm next. I felt real happy my peer is going to be holding my pee in his hands. Here ya' go! It's really fresh. It's got a nice little yellow tint. It's kind of warm. Knock yourself out with that. After playing it through in my head, I decide it's going to be a real ego-boosting experience.
 
He takes me back to a special room lined with little bity bathrooms on one side, and a long counter with sinks on the other side. It has a very sterile feel. The guy proceeds to act incredibly strange and uncomfortably awkward. He holds up a cup, with stuttered instructions to "fill it up to about here" as he points to a line. No further instructions. He spoke hesitantly, as if embarrassed. I wanted to ask him what I was supposed to fill it up with, but I decided I would spare him the embarrassment and started to walk toward the indicated bathroom as he says, "Just go in there aaaand uuuh...do your thing." Do my thing? Really? Come on, just say it. It's not that hard of a word. Pee, urinate, micturate, tinkle, take a leak, there are endless ways to put it. Pick one.
 
I walk into the bathroom, and "do my thing", barely able to fill the cup to the line and wondering what would happen if I dropped the cup or kicked it over on accident. Deciding that wouldn't end very well, I determined to be careful. Distracted by the fact that there was no flusher to take away the toilet paper, I go out to give the guy my pee-in-a-cup and ask how to flush the toilet. As I open the door and ask if I'm not supposed to flush the toilet, the door starts to swing closed, hitting my outstretched hand in the process, knocking the cup to the floor, distributing my pee all over the little office space. Oops. Not so sanitary anymore.
 
I kind of freak out a little bit, and I apologize over and over again while he's just staring at the mess with his jaw dropped to the floor a little bit. Both of us a bit unsure of what to do, I continue to apologize incessantly and pick up the cup. There is a bit of drizzle left in it, and he informs me that it won't be enough. Go figure. Unsure of what to tell me or what to do with me, the guy starts to put on gloves as he tells me to wash my hands and bends down to clean it up. Mortified, I tell him to stop and I will clean it up. It's disgusting. He tells me it's okay, and continues to just kind of stare at the whole situation. He humms and ahhhs a little while until he informs me that this has only happened once before, and it was his fault at that. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable and since he won't let me clean it up, I apologize again and ask if I could come back in a little while and try again. With both of us relieved to get me out of there, he agrees and dismisses me.
 
By the time I get out to my car I can't stop laughing. I'm a spazz, it's cool. I down 5 cups of water in 5-10 minutes. Forty minutes later, I feel the need to urinate once again, and I sheepishly and hysterically make my way back. Apparently all he needed was to clean up some pee for his day to break the ice, because when I returned, he was suddenly all jokes and conversation. I know, my bodily excrement is very becoming. Knowing this time that the toilets don't actually flush from the inside, I'm able to successfully make it through the process without distraction or spillage. Despite the fact that we both know that he will forever think of me as that girl whose pee he once cleaned up, he politely calls out to me as I'm leaving, "See ya' later." Really though, let's be honest, hopefully not.