Is survival a talent?

Last Sunday for sundayschool we talked about using our talents for God. Although this is a very important concept, that isn't what I'm going to talk about. Actually, we were then discussing what we think our talent is, whether it be Peter R.'s ability to grind pig food or Kaitlin M.'s ability to organize. Near the end, I was joking about how my talent is survival in this world.

"You know some people really need that," I laughed. "Some people like--like Andrew B. are just going through life hanging by a thread!"

Oddly enough, that very person managed to smash his finger two days later.

What's also odd is that maybe my talent is survival after all. Now don't mistake me. I am not particularly what you would call a dare devil by any means, but somehow I seem to attract the strangest injuries, be it accidentally punching a wall (I actually still have a mark from doing that last April) or banging my forehead on the gym floor.

Sunday afternoon, I was in the gym. I was actually practicing my volleyball serves against the wall, since they've gotten even more despicable than usual lately. One of these times, as I gave the ball a good punch and watched it sail up, what should happen but that my fist should keep going and land on my lower lip? My lower teeth then felt quite sore, and my lip was stunned. What had I just done? Curious and amazed, I dashed outside to better lighting to see if the liquid on my finger was blood. Rats, just saliva. But you must admit that not very many people punch themselves in the mouth when they serve a volleyball. And though it could have just been my imagination, the next day it did look like I had a red cut on my gum.

That was accident number one.

Last night we were playing sports. We were actually playing indoor frisbee, and there weren't a lot of people there which meant that you got more participation. That was actually a rather confusing game because I was switched from team to team twice as we adjusted to accommodate more people or to equal height advantages or disadvantages (no, we should not have Shawn and Katie G. on the same team!). But no matter, it was still a fun game. Nonetheless I was once running up by Katie to get open and receive the frisbee (or maybe I was running by to guard her?), when all of a sudden I felt myself tripping over her foot. "Sssqueeeaal!" The sound of my knees sliding across the gym floor sounded out in the echoey building so that everyone heard it. I scrambled up, everyone asking me if I was all right. I appreciated their concern, but I was almost blithe as I told them that I was fine, even though my knees did feel rather jarred. Today I have three bruises, a cut on my elbow, and a little floor burn to show for that tumble. Not that the tumble itself was that unusual, but how often do you get to hear someone's knees screeching across the gym floor? Thus concludes my unique accidents.

Maybe survival is a talent after all. . . .