Here's my first blog, about a life-changing (and tough) experience, cleverly disguised by God as a fluke accident. :D
Valentine's Day... 2004
I went to my then-boyfriend's house, trying really hard to look sexy, wearing a little red dress and some black heels, with hair and makeup 'looking good'. Since it's valentine's day, I figure I'll seduce him like the girls in the movies do and have a "good time". I walk in the house (where all his friends are) and people start telling me how good I look, thus inflating my already over-sized ego. Soaking in all the compliments, I smile and thank everyone who noticed. At one point in the day, my boyfriend suggested that we ride a motorized scooter that his friend had. I didn't really want to, but I figured I'd be more appealing if I did what he wanted me to do. He weighed around 300 pounds at that time, and I weighed 130. He rode the scooter, then me, then him. The next time it was my turn, I (still in a little red dress and heels) went to turn the scooter around...
and the handlebars BROKE IN HALF as I was on the scooter!
Needless to say, I went flailing-hands-first toward the asphalt, rolling before I came to a stop, covered in dirt and road rash.
As I limped my gimpy-lookin' self back to the house, these thoughts ran through my mind:
"Ugh! I looked so good, and then this? "Valentine's day is ruined! I'm ugly now!"
"Stupid Curtis! I should have known better than to do this!"
"I'm so embarrassed!"
I think the first words I spoke going into the house were, "Curtis, your scooter's a piece of crap! It broke in half as I was on it!"
I said those words practically in tears, not because I was in so much pain (considering my body hadn't yet gotten over the initial shock of the partial skinning I'd gotten), but because I was ugly and dirty. I knew what I was planning would not happen now.
My boyfriend took me into the bathroom (or did I walk in there without waiting for him? I WAS embarrassed) and I started cleaning myself up as I cried, telling him that I wanted today to be special, or whatever...
That day, nothing happened.
Besides the fact that I was sore and could hardly kiss him without being in pain (I had road rash on my hands, knee, face, and arm) I just didn't feel like it anymore. I had such high hopes, and they were destroyed by one lame scooter.
The next day was a Sunday, and I decided to skip church. (Yes, that's right, folks, after all of my lewd thoughts and actions, I still considered myself a Christian!) I couldn't move without feeling pain. (The shock had worn off and every nerve felt like a firecracker on the fourth of July.) I think I did go to the night service... and that's where I heard the most horrible, terrifying, grotesque thing in my life: how to clean my wounds.
"Pour peroxide on it, and take the inside of a sock (the TEXTURED part) and RUB your knee with it, twice a day, to get the dirt out. After that, put an antibiotic ointment on it and wrap it in gauze. Do this EVERY day until the wound is gone."
There was, literally, a CHUNK of my knee missing... well, not a huge chunk, but still big enough for me to jokingly search for on the road after the incident. It was a deep wound, and I had to have my boyfriend pour peroxide on it, scrape it, put ointment on it and bandage it... but every day the pus and blood that was on there would soak into the gauze and dry, putting me in immense pain every day that he had to rip that thing off (and remember, he had to rip that thing off EVERY DAY).
All i can really remember about that time is lots of pain and screaming... crying, etc. It was not a fun time of my life. but one day, I was thinking...
Timmy weighs 300 lbs, and I weigh 130...
WHY DIDN'T THE SCOOTER BREAK WHEN HE WAS ON IT???
It didn't make any sense to me! I just sat there, pondering that fact, in pain, until:
"Maybe God was trying to tell me something. Maybe Timmy wouldn't have gotten it. Maybe it's not just a freak coincidence... What if I'm supposed to learn something from this?"
After all, I had been planning to do something that day that I knew was wrong.
I'd been going to church ever since junior high and had now graduated high school... and as I reflected about my choices in dating relationships, it did seem as if God had been trying to get my attention (so far, to no avail).
Eventually my wound had healed, and all that was left was an ugly scar.
It wasn't until November, after I had finally broken up with him and given myself more time to think about God, that I realized the full lesson of my painful scooter moment.