Every week I sit down to write, and the Lord is always faithful to give me something to say. I try to be insightful, relevant, inspiring, and encouraging, and for the most part, I feel like the Lord has helped me accomplish that goal.
Until this week.
I got nothing.
However, I told this story to my Pink House Crew on Wednesday night (some of my friends and some of our college kids who meet up at our college ministry house), and they declared it #BlogWorthy. So here you go. I hope if nothing else you will get a laugh at my expense.
My freshman year of high school I wound up having to get tutoring for Algebra I. Actually, many in my class were in need of help from someone other than our teacher. It turned out that one of my classmate's grandmothers was a retired math teacher, and she offered to help some of us out with the course.
The lady's grandson and another boy were also coming to get tutoring. One afternoon we were playing basketball in her driveway before tutoring. (Now, at this point, my mother-in-law, who is in two hall of fames for coaching basketball, is laughing.) I don't really know why I was participating in such because I was not an athlete at all. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was a freshman girl, and there were two boys involved. In the course of playing, one of the boys threw the ball at me rather forcefully. Instead of catching the ball (Duh), I blocked it with my fingers. What followed next was pain in my pinky finger of my right hand. Not terrible pain, but it was bad enough.
I managed to make it through the tutoring session, and arrived home later that evening still in pain. In typical Dad fashion, my dad told me I just jammed it. After a couple more hours, it had swollen quite a bit. My mom wound up taking me to the emergency room, which was a good thing since my pinky finger was BROKEN. A piece of the bone had chipped off the bottom joint.
One thing I forgot to mention was this happened in April. And if you know me, what was coming up in May? Piano recital.
Anybody else see the problem? My piano teacher did. What did I do?
I learned my piece with 9 fingers. Oh yes I did!
And to this day, it's probably the only one of my many, many years of recital pieces that I can still play.
To cap this all off, here is a picture of me showing that my love of music started early. So there you go. The first of many #BlogWorthy posts!
Until this week.
I got nothing.
However, I told this story to my Pink House Crew on Wednesday night (some of my friends and some of our college kids who meet up at our college ministry house), and they declared it #BlogWorthy. So here you go. I hope if nothing else you will get a laugh at my expense.
My freshman year of high school I wound up having to get tutoring for Algebra I. Actually, many in my class were in need of help from someone other than our teacher. It turned out that one of my classmate's grandmothers was a retired math teacher, and she offered to help some of us out with the course.
The lady's grandson and another boy were also coming to get tutoring. One afternoon we were playing basketball in her driveway before tutoring. (Now, at this point, my mother-in-law, who is in two hall of fames for coaching basketball, is laughing.) I don't really know why I was participating in such because I was not an athlete at all. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was a freshman girl, and there were two boys involved. In the course of playing, one of the boys threw the ball at me rather forcefully. Instead of catching the ball (Duh), I blocked it with my fingers. What followed next was pain in my pinky finger of my right hand. Not terrible pain, but it was bad enough.
I managed to make it through the tutoring session, and arrived home later that evening still in pain. In typical Dad fashion, my dad told me I just jammed it. After a couple more hours, it had swollen quite a bit. My mom wound up taking me to the emergency room, which was a good thing since my pinky finger was BROKEN. A piece of the bone had chipped off the bottom joint.
One thing I forgot to mention was this happened in April. And if you know me, what was coming up in May? Piano recital.
Anybody else see the problem? My piano teacher did. What did I do?
I learned my piece with 9 fingers. Oh yes I did!
And to this day, it's probably the only one of my many, many years of recital pieces that I can still play.
To cap this all off, here is a picture of me showing that my love of music started early. So there you go. The first of many #BlogWorthy posts!
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