This is my prayer...

"I’ve been housing all this doubt and insecurity and
I’ve been locked inside that house all the while you hold the key
And I’ve been dying to get out and that might be the death of me
And even though, there’s no way in knowing where to go, promise I’m going because
I’ve gotta get outta here
I’m stuck inside this rut that I fell into by mistake
I’ve gotta get outta here
And I’m begging You, I’m begging You, I’m begging
You to be my escape."

-Relient K-

Would you like fries with that...

Well it's official... yours truly has joined the lovely team of McDonald's! I went into the job, laughing a little, imagining myself wearing a shirt with the famous golden arches and the "I'm lovin it" quote, asking people if they would like a big mac or a Mc double. It has, though, been one of the greatest eye opening and humbling experiences in the world. I went from girl who lived in Jamaica for months to girl who pours coffee and smells like french fries. This was the humbling part. Eye opening for me though, is meeting the people I work with. There's the ditzy smiley high school girl who wears too much make up, the younger boy who likes the ditzy girl, the guy who looks like Chip from Napoleon Dynamite, the girl who's pregnant, the guy with the mustache, the shy girl, the boys who talk about illegal drugs, the older workers and the guy who makes all the dirty jokes. Yes they are all there... but that's ok. I mean who am I? What part do I fit into when people come to the counter and order their fries and a drink? I could be the cute girl who doesn't have a hand. Do I fit into the McDonald check list of handicap workers. Yes we're all here. . . Boy with mustache-check, girl with no hand-check. On a side note or maybe a continuing, there are no levels of society in my mind any more. And I didn't realize that by going to Jamaica and seeing some poorest of the poor. No I didn't learn that by finding out that "uncool" or "un pretty" people have stories. I already knew that. I'm a person who thrives on hearing about people's lives and where they came from. No I learned this because I went through a period in Jamaica where I felt out of my mind. For moments I knew the true meaning of crazy. I would fall asleep crying and had to ask people for help. I remember thinking "God! I don't care who you send but send someone who knows what I'm going through. I don't care if I need to ask help a thousand times as long as I can meet someone who understands". I no longer could be Stephanie who had it all together, calm cool and collected, having all the answers. No I was the Stephanie who would cry on any ones shoulder as long as they would care and want to know what I was going through. And now I work at a place where it's only a joke for people, a last resort. So now I understand. I can't fully describe what it is I understand but that's ok. All I know is that pride is walking out my door and for some reason... I kinda like it.

To be known

"To be known is to be loved & to be loved is to be know". . .