Hi my name is Emily and I am a stalker.

Seriously, I believe I have the genetic make up to be one. For the past 8 years we have lived in an older neighborhood where the homes are almost within touching distance. Although we love our house and most (not all) of our neighbors, we are in the process of moving. We’ve really just begun with getting the touching finishes on our house to put it in the awful market.

This means we’ve had to decide exactly what we want in this next home. For me that was an easy list, because I don’t require much. An attached garage, a dishwasher and more than one bathroom. That would make happy. Throw in a few things like laundry on the first floor and a big bath tub and you’ve pretty well made my year.

I could be satisfied just about anywhere, but my husband has other dreams. He would like to be able to sit out in the backyard in his boxers and listen to his New Kids On The Block cassette tapes blaring without being judged. Just kidding. But he doesn’t want to live so close to the neighbors that they can hear me yell obscenities when he drives into our fence. That happened here once and my voice carried throughout the city. But you know, if he just watched where he was going this wouldn’t be an issue.

Really he just doesn’t like the whole block knowing what Santa brought Ethan by glancing at the boxes on trash day. I on the other hand love being able to to decipher other’s lives by a little window watching. I enjoy watching people. Some might call me nosy, but I prefer the word curious. It just seems much nicer.

So who will I stalk out in the middle of nowhere? Think of all the free time I’ll have. Thank goodness for blogs and the ability to stalk all of you. I’m going to call it cyber-stalking.

Life is happening all around me and I’m finally able to participate. My ankle is better, not healed, but good enough that I can walk (or limp) without the metal chopsticks that cause more problems then they are worth.

I’m not certain the 7 day steroid pack I took had much to do with this improvement. I’m also not inclined to believe the glorified ice pack was a lot of help. They were all band-aids to the problem. When I was in the hospital after the accident, a co-worker and friend of my mom, took it upon herself to send a well-known priest a request to pray for me and my recovery. I’ll admit that when I received the package from him in the mail - complete with a little white prayer cloth that had been specially blessed - I thought it was cheesy.

Turns out I had a lot of people praying for me and my family during that time. My name was all over church prayer lists and uttered by people I did not even know. At the time I found it thoughtful, but not helpful. After all, I had survived and I was alive. What good would prayer do now?

Then, came the morphine withdrawals. After 30 days on straight morphine they had to take away the constant pump. I ended up with pretty severe withdrawals and pain. The kind of pain where you wonder if dying wasn’t the better option. During those blurry days my mom took the white cloth out of the envelope and placed it in my hand, telling me to clinch it and pray.

It is when you are helpless and suffering that you are most likely to seek help. So I did. Although it in no way took away my pain, it helped. Some people may say it just distracted me and allowed my pain to be redirected, but I have faith that it went beyond just that. Over the following months of numerous surgeries and lots of physical therapy I continued to build inner strength from prayer.

I contribute our lives continuing in a good direction to that. There were many, many times I wanted to give up and call it quits. On life, on my marriage, on my family. But prayer kept me centered and allowed peace in my heart.

Sometimes we forget which road led us to today. Last week I felt like my life was unraveling at the seams. I felt hopeless and defeated, and wondered how much more I could take. While attending a meeting someone mentioned this priest’s name and instantly I remembered how well prayer saved me from darkness before.

That night I found myself laying in bed alone and instead of thinking negative thoughts I prayed for all the positive things I have to be thankful for. Each day this week my ankle has felt a little better. It will never be healed completely. I’m not expecting miracles, but I won’t stop praying.