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What do you want to be when you grow up? We've all been asked this question a

million times. Some of us know exactly how to answer; others, like me, change our

response almost every other week. Now that I am in High School and nearing the big

decision of college, this question suddenly holds more weight to it. The answer will

affect the rest our lives, which is overwhelming when you take a second to think

about it. These past few years have really informed and helped me decide where I

want to aim for. Although I am not completely sold on this answer and I think I have

a pretty good idea.

It all started in the winter of seventh grade on a brisk Sunday afternoon involving

a steep cement hill, a pink razor scooter, and my terrible driving skills. Within the

week I had two itchy, scratchy, purple and green casts on both my wrists. I

remember being disappointed at not being able to play basketball but having two

broken wrists did have some benefits. I got all my history and science notes printed

off for me, my dad had to write down math problems, and during computer, because

typing was a struggle, I got to eat and do homework. Those six weeks went by

quickly and before I knew it I was back on the basketball court and doing math

homework. The snow melted, and the grass started to fade from brown to green

announcing the beginning of spring, meaning soccer season. It was probably only

three weeks in to the season, when I got pushed by a more aggressive eighth grade

girl, and landed directly on my left elbow. It took a day or so to finally get it xMrayed

and, contrary to our preliminary thinking, the xMray showed no prominent signs of a

break. We went home relieved, only to get called that night by the specialist

confirming that there actually was a small fracture right below my elbow bone. The

next day I was in a bright orange cast up to my shoulder. Thankfully I only had to

endure that torture for four weeks, getting it removed a day before the annual

middle school Lagoon trip.

By the grace of God I remained injury free, except for the minor ankle sprain fall

of freshman year, until this past summer. The spring before some girls in my class

had formed a club volleyball team to get extra practice and compete in a few

tournaments and camps. Our season had gone well, and to close it out we headed

down to Dixie State University in St. George, Utah, to compete in a week long team

camp the first week of July. We arrived that Monday and in a whirl wind of sports,

swimming, and sunburns Thursday was upon us. We were in our third match of the

day, in the second set losing by only a couple points when I went up to block a

middle hit, and in the next instance I was on the ground with shooting pains going

through my right ankle. I gimped over to the bench, quickly putting it on some ice to

control the swelling, and tried to make a brave face for my team. I knew that it was

not just an ordinary sprain so I begged my mom, who was conveniently our coach,

to get it xMrayed. We traveled the short distance to the InstaMCare and sure enough

our worst fear came true, the xMray showed a small fracture on the fibula bone. I was

put in a large black boot and crutches and ordered to be completely non weight

bearing until I could see the specialist back in Salt Lake. The afternoon faded into

night and we had to make yet another trip to the hospital. Courtney had gotten a

severe concussion by falling off a table while dancing in an Ice Cream shop. Quite

humorous when we think back to it, but in the moment we weren't the least bit

chipper. Our team, whittled down to five, ended up winning first in our pool against

huge odds the next day. I remember tears trickling down my face as our team finally

captured the game winning point, not knowing why, but that it was okay. The team

headed back to Salt Lake as Rachel, my mom, and I continued on to California to

spend time with family. That trip is an entire other essay but I will tell you that it is

NOT fun to spend the day on the beach in a sand wheelchair with a broken ankle.

That brings you up to date on the journey of my injuries but don't worry I didn't tell

you all this without a good reason.

I don't believe in coincidences, I really don't, I think God places everything in a

certain place at a certain time, every single moment of our lives. Without modern

medicines and brilliant doctors and specialists I know my situation may have turned

out differently. That I think is what God has called me towards, to help kids, like me,

who get hurt or sick to heal both physically and emotionally. I am only fifteen and

college is still two years way, but if you never chase your dreams you will never

catch them.

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