Numero Uno

First post, first post, first post...

What to write about, right? You all have felt it. The pressure of the first post, knowing that my one follower may disfollow me due to lack of creativity or the snooze factor. No, not this post! I am here to rock your world... Nicole.

14 years old, Brimhall Junior High in Mesa, AZ, playing flag football during P.E. a classmate, attempting to pull my flag, instead ripped my gym shirt rendoring it unusable. Flash forward 4 hours... me standing in front of my dad's dresser knowing a stack of $20 bills would be glaring me in the face. The years prior to this showdown were riddled with theivary. On occassion I would frequent the golf club parking lot in search for "chromies", metallic valve stem caps on luxury vehicles. I spent over a thousand dollars on useless baseball cards, the real story is that I stole another $300 dollars worth easily. But here I was a fourteen year old boy who was terrified of the thought of stealing even a dime from my father. So why? It was a gym t-shirt, my dad would understand. $14 dollars at the bookstore to replace it and the suspense / terror would be over. As you can imagine I slid my hand in the dresser and took a fresh $20 bill and never looked back.

Flash foward again now at the age of 28. Looming medical / dental bills, house payment, car insurance, etc. and the struggle lives on. Sure I learned my lesson at 14 when for 3 days straight my father, fully knowing I had stole from him, like clockwork every night before bed would ask me if I had taken the money from the drawer, and I would lie... "no daddy, I would never do that." Finally breaking down I wept, I confessed, I promised never to do it again. For the mostpart I delivered on that promise, staying away from the things that caused me to be a misbent youth.

However, there is one thing that I still have not been able to overcome. The one thing that led to the stealing, the lying, the hurt and pain. The fear of reaching out! Embarassment, guilt, humilty... all things I feared more than commiting the sin itself. I told my dad the day I confessed to stealing the reason, still to this day I am not sure if he took it as an excuse or if he felt I was being honest with him as I felt broken on my bed.

This weekend, once again, I felt that same feeling. Not becuase I stole, but because I felt ashamed to have to reach out to others / friends for help. I had a conversation with a close friend over the weekend that was aware of the mounting financial obligations that hit the fan over the weekend. And he asked me if I needed some help, financially. I told him, "we are good, I have always been able to count on God to provide." He responded with, "maybe God sent me." We both laughed but it was the truth. The lesson in all this is two-fold. I realized that asking for help is asking for love. This was an opportunity for this person to show me love in a way that is richer and true'r than words could ever express. He knew the need without me even telling him of the need in the first place. Now this afternoon sitting here at work, with surgery on the horizon, I can breathe. The burden is lifted and the benevolent man felt love by lending a hand. 2-fold! The clay goes through the fire to form the vase. Without the fire the vase would crack and whither away. But because of the fire the vase is smooth, strong and beautiful. We go through the fire in our lives to become strong, to withstand the falls and the elements. God is our potter, we are the clay! I am forever in his hands while he is forming me into this beautiful person.