Day 9: The Test

I'm not big on tests. I have a degree in art for crying out loud. We didn't take tests. We made something and concocted a story to make it seem thoughtful, deep, profound, and legitimate. We were story tellers not test takers. The last test I remember taking was in a bookmaking class where we A) had to go to a different room with desks and B) needed a pencil - and not a HB or 2H - but a regular old pencil. This was hard enough. Then came the test pages. We were all confused as to what the process for taking a test was. It had been so long. Needless to say there was much chatter and murmuring as we tried to remind and encourage one another on this archaic form of proving knowledge.  

I think I passed. I don't really remember much else beyond the trauma of it.

I came to the end of the maintained county road yesterday. I think a mudslide washed the pavement away. I was caught in the slide and went bumping off the road. Surprise. Sucky surprise. 

I had a pastor friend tell me once, when I started working with the homeless, that I needed an alligator skin but had to stay soft on the inside. The soft core keeps you caring and effective. The thick hide protects from all the slung arrows and stabbing attacks. So, I wore my alligator hide and was effective. It was good advice and I am glad I took it.

I never thought I would need this protection at home, so I have left the alligator hide hanging where it belonged. Time to try it on and be sure it still fits, I guess. My fragile heart and exposed core let its guard down and has been cut. 

What have I done? 

What have I done...

Time to pull out the number 2 pencil, lick the tip, and focus. It's test time and despite the road I've been walking down over the last three years, I was not ready. 

Alligator on.

Begin.