Basic Training

1. I didn't make the musical when I was a freshman in high school.

2. After making varsity as a sophomore, I was cut from the cheerleading squad as a junior.

3. I did not get picked for the Teacher Exchange Program to Uganda for the summer of 2008.

That's it, my friends. Of all the endeavors I have hoped to attain, I can only think of three that have not ended up as I hoped. Three. Maybe there are more, but right now, in this state of mind, I can only think of three. I am not saying this to be cocky; I am trying to make you understand that I have either failed at taking risks in my life, or I have been pretty blessed. I think it is probably a combination of both. I haven't been trained in the realm of loss. If I can't win, I usually don't play. And, regardless of how gross it makes me sound, I usually win when I play. Not that winning is what I am talking about here, but you know what I mean.

When I got that email to go to Uganda, I nearly fell out of my chair. I was made for it. I knew it down to the very fiber of my being. I knew it. I prayed and talked and thought and wrote and thought and prayed, and I was sure that if I was supposed to go, I would. The problem is that I didn't honestly prepare myself for the possibility that I wasn't going to get picked. Like I said, I am not trained in such thought. I was made for this program. For the past two months, not a day has gone by that I have not pictured some aspect of going to Africa. Each day, I have imagined the flight or the children or the teachers or the schools or the food or the impact this adventure would have on my life. For the past week or so, I have been planning on what I would give to Paul to tell everyone at Morris Fork. I was mapping out my doctor's appointments and my plan for saving money and when I would take the break from graduate school. Not a day has gone by. Sincerely.

This break hasn't been too great. Yesterday, when I put into thought just how "not-great" this break has been, I thought to myself: At least I will have the joy of knowing about Africa before it is over, and I can start my semester by taking my students along for the ride to prepare. When I was getting ready to go to my mom's tonight, I signed into my hotmail account, and before I signed in, I thought to myself: Maybe I will have an email telling me I am going! When I saw Amy's name in my inbox, I started crying before I clicked open. I scanned it without reading it the first time. And then the tears really started to roll. "Thank you for trying," she said, "but others were better suited to the program."

No, Amy. You must be mistaken. Didn't you get the memo? I was made for this. How could there be any person who wanted to go more than me? Amy, didn't you hear? My heart has been crying for this opportunity long before even I could hear it.

The rational side of my brain knows that there are probably thousands of people who are more talented and passionate and have more money and are actually better suited for this, but right now, I just want to throw up my hands and cry. You see, maybe my life has been one open door after another because I don't work well when the door is shut in front of my face. Obviously, my heart will heal. I am usually the one who plays the "fixer," and I am fully aware that this too shall pass. I am aware that I am not meant to go because that is what I prayed, right?

It is just an odd feeling when God and I don't agree.

PS. This story isn't over. I will go one day. Of that I am sure.