The Great Race

Life has a funny way of proving a person wrong. For most people, this smackdown on pride only comes once in a while, popping out of nowhere to remind them that they are only a puny human running around on Earth and that there is something greater behind the controls.

For me, however, these pricks in pride have to come several times a day. I haven't figure out why. I am not arrogant in the least (and you if mistakenly take me as arrogant, you may go and talk to Sophie or Ted, who will tell you quite the opposite.), and I always make sure to remind myself of my spiritual puny-ness. But, I firmly believe I am God's sitcom.

Take, for example, yesterday. It all started off at 8:30 in the morning. I had been preparing for three weeks for my Marshner Presentation. I put in good, solid hard work! And I was scared to death. This surprises many people, but I hate presentations. I have issues with them. The last time I did a presentation was my Junior year in High School. For my English class, I had to recite a Robert Frost poem in front of the class. When I stood up and walked to the front, I began reciting. Just for the record, it helps life when you breathe. I suddenly realized I was not breathing. Then, the my world began to go black. Thanks to my Guardian Angel, I didn't pass out. But, I came darn close!

So, you can't blame me for having like five panic attacks before this presentation. These happened as early as four days before the presentation, and I would just drop my stuff and start walking up and down the hall, breathing deeply. Poor Ted was there during at least one, when we were leaving to attend mass in town at 7:45. At 7:15 in the morning (two days before D-day), I was shaking like a leaf stammering out incoherent sputters, while Ted was holding me by my upper-arm, telling me gently to breathe. It was quite a cute picture.

The morning I walked into Marshner, after talking things over with my best Friend God, I felt strangely calm. I think I was in denial and that God was pouring spiritual Ridalin into my body. When my term came to present, I stood up on my shaky legs and went forth to my fate. Thanks to a friend, I never had a chance to talk too fast, because she would tug on her ear before I had a chance to speed up. It was like giving a speech to Carol Burnette, on Purgatory. When I finished and went back to my seat, I fell into it triumphantly. I had done it! I hadn't passed out! And it went well! I felt victorious. And then it came.

"Umm...Miss Smith?" Doctor Marshner's voice rose from the opposite side of the class. From the time my presentation ended until I left class he told me what he thought about my presentation. I was mortified. Most of what he was saying was shocking. Especially since he had fallen asleep at least four times during my presentation. Why me??

I had workstudy after class and, to get away as much as is possible on this ant hill of a campus, I sat on the stairs in the library. I don't know if they planned it, but it seemed like everyone of the Apologetics students in my class decided to come to the library that morning. And they all had to put in their two cents. One of them even told me what grade he would've given me. Another prick, ouch!

So, after a calming afternoon (I had to unwind after a very stressful week), after dinner I went over to the Student Center with Ted, Beth, and Sophie to play air hockey. Now, let me just say that I love that game. Until last week, I had never played. But, I discovered that I had a knack for the game, because out of a million games, I had only lost two. But, God felt I needed yet another prick after that morning.

Kelly showed up at the Student Center. All of a sudden, we locked eyes, glaring each other down like cowboys-er, girls- from the Old West. One of those flute songs that play during Western gunfights suddenly echoed through out the room. Everything went quiet. We sidled across the floor, each taking a side of the air-hockey table. Dust and sand swept across the room. We each took a slider. Another glare. More music. The game began...and I got creamed. Once wasn't enough for me. I had to get creamed twice. But, it's ok. Kelly doesn't know this, but I let her win. I just didn't want to make her feel bad.

So, the day from...heck...finally ended and when I crawled into bed last night, I had the comforting thought that the worst of the stress was finally over. No, it wasn't. More was piled on my little plate again this morning and afternoon. I realize over and over again that it never stops. The stress just keeps coming, but I think it's easy for us all to forget that.

And with stress, comes God's pin pricks. He wants us to remember that we are not just us out there floundering to get things done. He's there with us, trying to tell us how to do it. We just don't always listen. We do it our own way. And then, He pricks us. And I always laugh, right along with God and the whole Communion of Saints, who are watching me on Heaven's television. Being God's little sitcome is fun. But, I just can't help but wonder: the actors on Earth get an off-season, why can't I? I think it might possibly be due to the fact that these are actors. I am not acting. This is my real life, and there is no break. But, so as not to depress myself, I try not to focus too much on that. After all, it's a tough job to be God's sitcom, but someone's gotta do it!