Unexpected Miracle

(LONG POST ALERT. You have been warned.)

The past month of my life has been filled with the lowest lows and the highest highs I've ever encountered. It's all left me in a state of emotional vertigo, and I keep waiting for something else to happen. Life, for whatever reason, is not staying still right now. Things keep changing. Sometimes for the worse, sometimes not.

Not a whole lot of people know this, but last month, I actually found out that I didn't get into the nursing program at BYU-Idaho. I had been planning to start the program in January of 2018. My mind was on things like buying those beautiful royal blue scrubs and a hot pink stethoscope and plain white tennis shoes and getting CPR certified and going to clinicals, so I didn't really stop and take time to consider that I might not get in. Members of the nursing department staff had told me I was one of the more competitive applicants and that my chances of getting in were exceptionally high. I also scored very high on my HESI (an entrance exam). I graduated high school at 16. I have 3 years of hospital volunteer experience under my belt. Of course I would get in.

But I didn't. 

And it didn't make any sense at all. Not to me, not to my loved ones. It left me in such a state of shock, confusion, and anger. I was so angry. How could this be happening to me? Of all people? I've wanted this forever. I'm not like other people who go back and forth between majors and don't really know what it is they want; I have always wanted to be a nurse. In elementary school, I would always gravitate towards the nurses on career day. I always wanted to play doctor as a kid, never anything else. A&P was the class I loved the most in college. Everything about me, down to the atoms and cells that make up my DNA, says I was born to be a nurse, to be like my heroes. Ask anyone who knows me.

I emailed every high-up person I could think of. I emailed the nursing department chair, the nursing receptionist, the Dean of Students, the Dean of Agriculture and Life Sciences, the nursing counselor - everyone. For the most part, they all told me the same thing: sorry you didn't get in, but there's nothing we can to do to help you. It was devastating. It felt like BYU-Idaho, this school I had fallen in love with and become so loyal towards, had broken up with me, like I was no longer wanted. Every time I went to class felt like a slap in the face. I didn't want to be in Rexburg any longer; it was just a reminder of what I was losing. I stopped wearing my BYU-I shirts. I stopped going to devo on campus. I stopped trying to make friends. What was the point?

Because BYU-Idaho wouldn't let me apply again, I had to come up with some sort of plan B, something I had not prepared myself for. I had, as no one ever should, placed all my apples in one basket. I did not want to go home. The idea of going home to Texas felt like going backwards in life. It felt like I would just be reverting. Everything about it felt so unbelievably wrong. I was angry because I thought God wanted me to attend BYU-I. I thought it was where I was supposed to be. I thought it was divinely appointed. I was happy to live so close to my sister Ali and to be close to my friends. I thought becoming a nurse was a worthy goal that God would help me achieve. 

I found out I was 6th on the waiting list for the program, but I was smart enough to know that didn't mean anything. I would only get in if six people decided to give up their spots. Why in the world would six perfectly-qualified people drop out of the program? One was possible. Maybe two. But not six. In one email to the Dean of Agriculture and Life Science, I was told that the program would double check to see if they could allow more applicants in the program. I was also told that it was "unlikely," and to plan otherwise. 

So I did. I finally accepted that I was going to move home. My mom bought a one-way ticket, and I gave a lot of my things away. My friends would go off to school without me after the holidays, and I would stay in Texas forever. I would probably go to TCC. I thought about returning to my "hat and apron" job at Cinemark, the one I first attained at age sixteen, but I just . . . I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I had said my final goodbyes to that place. My time there was over. If I had to move back home, I was going to change a few things. I was going to get a new job. I was going to get a cat. I was going to paint my bedroom and buy myself a big desk for my writing. I had even planned a European trip with my cousins! This is how set-in-stone my situation was! It was final, it was decided upon, and even an optimist such as myself had to let go of my BYU-Idaho dream and move on. 

It's usually when I let go that God says, "Oh, just kidding."

I was going through my inbox when I noticed an email with the subject: "Congratulations!" It was from Rod Sanders - the Rod Sanders. You know, the one who runs the nursing program, the one I've corresponded with multiple times only to be told it's never going to happen. And then he emailed to tell me, oh snap, it's happening. I couldn't really comprehend it at first. I had endured a solid month of sadness and moping and not wanting to tell anybody because I was so ashamed. I had to rewrite my life plans. And I did. And I was okay with it all finally. 

It turns out that the dean really had done what he had said he would: he had double-checked to see if they could expand the program (because I had asked him to), and they could. By fourteen spots. So, myself along with thirteen others are able to start the nursing program in January after all. Whaaaaaat? Is this real? What? I literally asked my friend to pinch me. I couldn't be sure of my own consciousness. This, this, this, this just couldn't be happening. I was smart enough to never let myself hope for it. It would just hurt me if I hoped. But it's definitely happening? I'm not imagining it? 

It took me a few days before I even posted about it on social media. I wanted to make sure it was real and not some mistake. I was, and still am, paranoid that they're going to take it all back. Even posting this blog feels like a gamble . . . Knock on wood. Salt over the shoulder. Four-leaf clovers. Maybe then it can still be real.

I took the picture below after finding out I didn't get in, and then crying for a solid hour. I took it so I could always remember that incredibly low point. I wanted to look back at this picture when life was sunnier and a million times better. I just didn't know that day would come so soon.

This whole time I thought God had forsaken me. But He hadn't. He was always there. Even if I hadn't gotten back into the program, He still would have been there. The moral isn't God is only there for you when things go well in your life. It's just . . . I was so angry with Him. I was angry and I didn't want to hear any frilly quotes or advice. But I have been so humbled. Even though I was angry and ugly and hateful towards God . . . He still showed me love. He showed me mercy. He gave me what I so desperately wanted. He heard my prayers and He knows my desires. He cares about what I care about. And I know that now. I know that God is always on our side, regardless of whether or not things work out.