Orange Eyes

I am a champion toilet paperer.
If you grew up in the city then you might not understand what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the youthful right of passage of wandering the streets at night armed with toilet paper and then flinging it over the trees in your friends/enemies yards.
Some kids also forked and used shaving cream. I never did. My parents let us toilet paper as long as we didn't fork or use shaving cream. My mom even drove the gettaway car on numerous occasions.
I'm sure there was some vadalism rule about toilet papering but as far as I knew, when I was a kid, the only rule was if you got caught you had to help clean it up.
I was never.ever.caught.
In....1994 (I think) my parents let a French exchange student come live with us. It was August and my seester was away at Ohio State Fair Band. He was with us for the whole month and we had a lot of fun with him. One time he asked my parents how they got me to stop talking (I know, it's very surprising that I talked a lot back then). Dad told him they just whacked me on the forehead with the dull end of a table knife. A few days later we were at a restaurant eating and apparently I was talking to much because Xavier (the frenchie) calmly picked up his butter knife, blade in hand, and whacked me on the forehead.
Yep, that's the kind of 30 days it was.

At some point during that 30 days I mentioned toilet papering and Xavier just didn't get it; much like the French didn't understand Jell-O I found out later. I decided to show him. My boyfriend at the time was staying at his friends house a few miles down the road from me and we decided that would be the perfect night. Mom drove us to Millers to stock up on TP, Karen from a few houses down came over and the 4 of us set out. Boyfriends friend was named David and his house had a line of trees across the front of his property. That will be important information in a few minutes.
My mom turned around and parked on the side of the country road and turned off all the lights. It wasn't terribly late, maybe midnight or 1am, which was our first mistake. We were out of the car and flinging toilet paper around, trying to show Xavier how to successfully throw and unroll at the same time.
We spread out around the sides and tried not to giggle to loudly. As I rounded the back of the house I glanced in a window. I saw boyfriend and David standing there looking around. I froze. They looked out the window and saw me standing in the moonlight.
Almost in slow motion I saw them turn to run outside and I turned just as slowly it seemed while suddenly screaming, "Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!"
Karen snagged Xavier by the arm and I ran around my side of the house making a break for the car. I heard the house door slam and boyfriend and David shouting furiously. We all crashed through the tree line towards the getaway car. I glanced back briefly and then turned to speed up towards the car.
When I turned around I felt a smack in the face and saw a bright pop of white light. I brushed at my face and dove towards the car. Xavier and Karen were already inside and I turned to my mom screaming "GO GO GO!" As she peeled out from the side of the road she started shouting my name. "WHAT?!" I finally yelled back. "Your EYE!"
I flipped down the mirror and saw that I had blood streaming out the corner of my eye (by my nose) like tears.
Apparently the thing that slapped my face was a stick and by slapped my face I apparently mean it inserted itself into my eye.

We went back home and to Karens house a few houses down. Her aunt that she lived with was a nurse and saw I had tree bark in my eye and was afraid it would be scratched.
I had mom call Nicole, whose mom was an ER nurse at the time. They told me to take out my contact and come to the ER. Mom left Karen at her house and drove Xavier and I to the ER.
The whole way there Xavier told me how something just like this happened to his brother ("why do you speak of him?") and the doctor had to put a need ---> <------- this big (imagine him holding his hand farther apart then my head was deep) with no numbing medicine to fix his eye. Ughtastic.

Nicole's mom was working at the ER and when we went in she helped the doctor. They put numbing drops in my eye and they used a special light to look in and see if it was scratched at all. The eye wasn't scratched but there was a heck of a lot of bark in there. Their special drops made my eye glow orange under their special light and the pieces of tree were darker, so they knew what to pull out. After what felt like forever they pulled out all the bark and I was back to normal. Sort of.
They made me wear an eye patch. AN.EYE.PATCH.
Ughfreakintastic.
Even worse, I was working at a farm market with a boy that I had a crush on. I didn't even get one of the cool leathery bedazzled eye patches. Mine was tan, totally bland and not a bedazzled bead to be found.
The pirate jokes were the worst part. Thank God it was August and school hadn't started yet.

Love in my Life

I read Harry Potter for the first time last summer. Right before I read Harry Potter I was forced to read the Twilight series by a lovely lady that sent me the first 2 books.
I loved Harry Potter and was really over Twilight, and sometimes super creeped out by it.

Meanwhile, Malarie (a girl I work with) was reading and re-reading the Twilight series. My manager also liked it a lot. One day we got into a debate about Harry Potter vs. Twilight.
I of course was on team Harry and Malarie was on team Twilight. Back and forth we debated until Malarie said, "You know, the reason you don't like Twilight is because you don't want love in your life."
What she meant it, because I am not actively seeking a romantic relationship in my life. Which is probably a pretty accurate assessment of why I mainly don't like twilight. But I, being the sarcastic cut throat that I am, decided to take it and run with it.
This is why, almost a year later, there is still an ongoing joke in my department about how I don't want love in my life.

But today, oh ho ho today a new layer was added to the awesome awkward inside joke.
Two of the newbies were talking about something to do with NASA and Lindsey (one of the newbies) mentioned that she had been to Space Camp. So I said, "If I ever decide I want love in my life I want a bachelorette party at Space Camp." Ellen (the other newbie in the conversation) said, "Bethany do you want me to have Lindsey try to find someone to love you even if you don't want love in your life."
Oh, the awesome awkwardness.

Now I'm going to start saying at random times (to people at work at least) "Even if I wanted love in my life we have to find someone that's willing to love me!"

**Side Note: I do know what they ACTUALLY meant and that I am perfectly lovable (most days). I'm simply reveling in making awkward things more awkward because that's the kind of girl I am.

His character never changes

I love Alece. Her raw emotion and the gift of her sharing it with others is amazing to me. She usually blogs here, but she guest posted this past Thursday and you must read it:

Faith in the Key of Plan B (Alece Ronzino)

I’ve experienced God’s miraculous power in my lifetime. I’ve seen His divine
protection and provision. I’ve watched Him do incredible things.

But when my life crumbled around my feet a couple years ago, what God can do and what He was doing didn’t line up.

God could have stopped my husband from cheating on me. He could have changed his mind about leaving me for the other woman. He could have saved my marriage, protected our ministry, and kept my heart from the deepest pain I’ve ever endured. He could have. But He didn’t.

And I realized something simple yet extraordinary.

There’s a difference between faith in what God can do and faith in who God is.

From my microscopic vantage point, it often seems like God’s actions and in actions—what He allows—aren’t consistent with His character. But I can’t see the big picture from my tiny corner in the vastness of eternity.

Because the truth is, His character never changes. No matter what I’m experiencing in my life, God is loving, faithful, and trustworthy. He is just and merciful. He is Healer and Redeemer. And He doesn’t waste a thing.

Nothing—neither the best nor the worst that I’ve known—is wasted. Ever. Everything can be made new. Everything can be made whole. Everything can
be redeemed.

Nothing is wasted.Even when it doesn’t appear that way right now.

My faith is supposed to be about much more than trusting Him to make everything work out according to my “perfect plan”.

After all, He is more concerned about my holiness than my happiness.

So while life continues to unfold very differently than I’d ever imagined, I want to live with active trust in who He is, even in the midst of pain and brokenness.

Easier said than done, I know. The only way I can even think about making this shift is in moment-by-moment decisions of faith.

So right now, I’m choosing to anchor myself in the unmovable bedrock of God’s character.

And trusting that what feels like Plan B (or maybe Plan F) is really His best for me.

Posture

I've re-upped my melodramatic journey of weight loss. I've decided that I am just going to have to remember that it is important to remember that taking time for myself to get healthy is important and no one ever died from me being 10 minutes late (yet).
This weekend I'm going to talk to Dad about the schedule of jobs around my house and put my foot down. I'm so afraid sometimes of disappointing him by not doing what he thinks is right that I do things that I don't think are right to do. Not anything dramatic, I mean like spend my money on things I don't really think it needs to be spent on type of things.
I have a list of things I want to accomplish around my house in the next year and that's just what's going to happen. Now I just have to say that to him...
But I digress....where was I going with this....oh, right.

I'm also going to go to the gym 3 times a week. Even if it's only for 30 minutes I'm going 3 times a week. I'm going to Mexico in June on a mission trip and I want and need to be in better shape for that trip. I went Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday this week and I'm working on when I'm going next week. But again, I digress...hmmm....oh!
I was working out with FT at the gym Tuesday and I was doing these bicep curl thingys at a machine. I had to stand in front of it, feet together, bend at the waist, arch my back, pop my butt out, keep my chin up and then pull on the bar thingy to do the curls,...or pushes I don't know I was pulling it down, whatever.
Frankly, that was a lot of anatomical multi-tasking for me. I just giggled and tried to be all casual about it but FT called me on it and we started talking about my posture. He told me to use my butt more, so naturally I just clenched my butt. (I feel like I've blogged about my butt clenches before...but I can't find the post. Which means I might write one soon, aren't you lucky!)
FT just cracked up and asked me why I was so tightly clenched. He told me to pop my butt out and put my shoulders down and keep my chin up. I've been walking around work trying to figure out how to do that and realizing more and more that my old posture is one of curled in, shielding my center.
I usually walk with my chin slightly lowered, or my head down altogether. My shoulders are rolled forward and my butt is clenched inward. I was talking to someone at work about this new posture and I got a clear idea in my head that the way I usually walk around is in a semi 'C' position. Curled in, protecting my heart and ready to fight.
The new position leaves me open, shoulders back and down, chest and stomach jutting out slightly to lead the way and chin up with me facing the world as I walk into it.

I feel unsafe with the new posture. It's open, exposed, awkward to me because I'm not used to it. I feel like at any moment I could take a knife to the chest, metaphorically or otherwise. The thing is, it's not safe. It's not safe to walk into the world open and exposed like that. It's much safer in the short term to be closed off and inaccessible to everyone.
But in the long run, it's very unsafe to be that closed off. Life is better when other people are let in, even when it means they can hurt you. Life is just more when you look the world in the eyes and know that you'll be ok no matter what happens. Now if only I could convince my slumping posture self of that.

I'm becoming a little stiff trying to figure out this new posture. It's not natural, but it will be good for me in the long run. It will help my muscles as they develop and it will strengthen my abs instead of helping them atrophy between workouts.
It will just take practice.

Indifferent

Ambivalence: derived from the Latin valentia, meaning "strength". It is common to use the word "ambivalent" to describe a lack of feelings one way or the other towards issues or circumstances. A more specific and conventionally accepted word to use in this case, however, would be "indifferent"

I have spent years honing my ambivalence, or (thank you Wiki) indifference. I have realized lately how absolutely indifferent I can be sometimes.
There are things and people that care deeply about, but other things...to many things...I am completely indifferent to, devoid of feeling.
I'm practiced at the indifference because the alternative is to much for me to process.
I try to not react, or measure my reaction so it is more in line with what the peer group around me would deem appropriate.
When I was young I would get made fun of a lot; at church, school, with friends everywhere. I learned how to tease back and how to twist words like a knife into people. I was also told that people were just doing that to get a rise out of me, that if I would just not react then they would get bored and wander away.
So I practiced. I practiced indifference to other peoples words and actions. I practiced the sudden need to go to the bathroom or to another room to get something so I could escape before the tears fell. I learned how to summon complete boredom with someone even when I longed to be their friend and for them to accept me.

Because to feel it is to much. Whatever it is; I just am not accustomed to going there. I get angry still, but not a lot. Sometimes it's just not worth it, sometimes I should be angry. I get offended, but rarely for myself. Most of the time it's because I really think people get offended way to easily , but sometimes it's because I don't think I deserve to be taken up for, I don't deserve to be defended.
I still struggle with feeling like if I tell people how much they mean to me, how much I love them, how much I miss them and wish we hung out more, that they will not feel the same. They will look at me like I'm stupid and they will ask me for my name again because to them I'm just so forgettable.
So I practice indifference still in a way. I observe and learn the ways people react, but then I try to not copy them. I try to not mold myself into the same person they are emotionally and I try to not adopt their opinions without first seeing if I really agree. But it's still really hard most days.
Because I've practiced indifference for so long it's like I'm relearning how to feel again.

The X-Ray Results

After I cracked my chin open the 3rd time I got an x-ray just to make sure that nothing was broken. I remember sitting in Dr. Heiston's (I have no idea how to spell his name. I only know he stitched my chin up 3 times and gave me penicillin shots in my rump all the time and that I got ice cream after I went to see him) office on the thin Dr. bed paper waiting for him to come back with the x-ray. I thought it was totally freaky that I was going to get to see my face without skin on it.
He came back in and told my mom that I had no broken bones but had some really deeply rooted teeth. As he looked at the x-ray he realized that the deeply rooted teeth were really an incomplete THIRD set of teeth.
I'm basically a shark.

(Sharen, you might not want to read this part...it involved the dentist)
I didn't lose all my teeth until I was 15 because I had to lose all my baby teeth, and a good chunk of my 1st set of adult teeth.
I remember one of them wouldn't come out so the dentist used his little picky thing and was yanking and yanking on it. When it finally came out it flew across the room and shattered against the wall.

(Ok, Sharen you can read again)
The Dr. told mom that I had to be really careful about hitting my chin area because the roots went down to my jawline. He said if I hit my chin just right, and he's surprised it hadn't happened these past few times, my jaw would basically start to shatter from ear to ear because of the roots compromising the strength of my jawbone.
Talk about bad news for a kid that catches herself with her face instead of her hands.

In 4th grade our gym teacher had the brilliant idea to play Crack the Whip in gym. I was on the tip of the whip and when I was whipped off I fell down and skidded across the gym floor on my chin. I didn't crack it open but there a good chunk of skin missing. Mom came to school with me the next day and I heard her yelling at the gym teacher in the principals office. This wouldn't be the last time I heard mom screaming in the principals office defending me.

In 5th grade I was playing 4 Square with some friends (before they stopped being my friends and accused me of being a lesbian because I got my period first...but whatever) and I tripped and skidded across the gravel playground on (you guessed it) my chin. Mom came to pick me up from school and take me back to the good doctor. I again, hadn't cracked open the chin. But i did have to spend about an hour laying with my head thrust back and a spotlight on my chin while the nurses dug gravel out of my chin. I'm pretty sure they missed a piece or two because my chin is still a little bumpy down there...but that could just be acne.

Also, around 5th or 6th grade Sharen and I went with our dad over to a woman from churches house. She and her husband had just split up and Dad was helping her move some heavy stuff. Sharen and I were playing with their daughter that was closest to our age upstairs in her new room. I can't remember exactly what we were doing, it involved bouncing on the bed and trying to knock each other off. But I got knocked off the bed and took a face plant into the nightstand with my chin. Overdramatically shrieking (I know you're very surprised) I ran downstairs and my dad told me to shake it off.

So in summary: I was a really clumsy kid that couldn't figure out how to catch herself with her hands. Oh, and I'm a shark.

Chin #3

The summer after chin incident #2 I was heading into the 4th grade. I had newly pierced ears and was ready to join the ranks of upper classmen at South Main Elementary School. I was a little nervous, I had Mr. Branstrator for a teacher. People called him Mr. Brainstrainer and I knew that I had a year of learning long division ahead of me.
But during the summer, I was free. Riding bikes for miles on country roads (this was before there were pedophiles, but not before creepy guys that live down the road from you) swimming for hours on end, building blanket forts on the play deck in the back yard and camping out in the backyard in my Popple bed tent with my seester.

But this one fateful day....I was riding my pink banana seat bike down the road with Sharen. She and I were heading to CR260 to the abandoned rail road tracks to ride (what part of that doesn't sound like the beginning to a Lifetime movie called "Where are the Children?"!). Sharen was practicing riding with no hands, (I never could do it, I was sooo jealous). I was flipping my white-blond hair around and looking everywhere but in front of me. There was rarely any traffic on our road back then so I was also riding in the very center of the road.
Then it happened. My bike stopped in it's tracks thanks to a boulder my front tire hit. Ok, so it was only a regular size rock but I still flipped over my handlebars and ended up catching myself with my chin on the road.
My sister stopped and looked back at me lying in the middle of the road screaming. The people who lived in the brown house we were riding past stopped their yard work and stared at me. Sharen hopped back on her bike and rode the 4 or 5 houses back to ours yelling for mom and dad, leaving me in the middle of the road bleeding. Thanks sissy! (kidding kidding, this is why the memories are probably only partly true. I was a melodramatic kid and the memories have been cemented in my mind as such)
The people in the brown house came running out to the street and dragged me off the road into their yard and were pressing a white (great choice!) washcloth to my chin when mom and dad (running faster then I have EVER seen either of them run) came running up. I remember someone telling me that Sharen told them I was hit by a car and was dead...but I don't know if that's true or not really.
Back to the doctor I went to get stitched up with 12 stitches in the same place as the first two time. But this time, they took an x-ray to make sure I hadn't broken anything.

What the x-ray revealed...was even more interesting.

Ultimately I was fine, a few weeks of hydrogen peroxide torture and I was good as new...with the new addition discovered in the x-ray of course.