My Ruthie

My sister, Ruthie, and I share something in common. We both love to write (she being a grammar nazi is far better than I). When we are feeling happy or sad, angry or frustrated, writing seems to help us portray our feelings. One of the many reasons I love her is her positive spirit. Anyone who knows Ruthie, knows she was born a fighter. When I am having a rough day, as I did last Thursday, I think to myself, "this isn't so bad. Think of Ruthie." Ruthie has had more surgeries than I can count. Her head has been shaved several times (and normally it is only half her head that is shaved). We share the same fear of needles and she has been poked by hundreds of needles. Yet, she still has a happy attitude. Nothing gets her down for too long. Ruthie, is only 18 hears old, and has faced many obsticles in her life. She is a true image of strength and courage. She is my hero. She is my inspiration. Here is a piece that she wrote. I had to share it (of course, with her permission) . Enjoy. I am a music box...... by Ruthie Billie Gayle Chaney. Earlier today, I was cleaning my room. I had been wrapping presents in my room for the last few days, and I had created such a mess. Tubes of wrapping paper took up an entire side of my room, a trash can with price tags and other plastic wrappings sat overflowing in the corner, and I had yet to finish unpacking all my stuff from my first semester of college as well. On my dresser, I had all kinds of things strewn all over - my Norton Anthology of Drama books; cards and other mail I had received during my time living on campus that I had brought home to put in The Box; and a music box in the formation of a blue-winged, blonde-haired fairy in a pink dress holding an orb in her left hand as a streak of rainbow ran from her hand to the base of the cloud she stood on, with the words "Expect a Miracle" running across the base. In the process of picking up tubes of wrapping paper, I, being naturally clumsy, didn't pay attention to the way I carried the tubes and I knocked a few things off the dresser onto my floor. When I came back from putting the wrapping paper away, I started to pick up the objects and return them to their location on the dresser. I picked up the fairy, and right away I did a double take because I felt it scratch my hand as I picked it up; I had never had that kind of feeling by the music box in any way before... I looked at the music box and noticed one of the wings was missing. My heart stopped for what seemed like an eternity, and I felt like I would pass out. My most prized possession had fallen apart. It had broken. After ten years of constantly being handled, of being moved from place to place, just one clumsy move on my part had caused the music box to finally shatter. Not to worry - after I spent several hours crying pathetically, the fairy was repaired with superglue and I was smiling again. In that seeming eternity my heart stopped, I realized something important. Having dealt with so many different and often unrelated struggles through recent years, I realize I'm just like that music box. When I was born, I was brand new and special to my parents and family, as well as many other people. I meant something to each person who knew me. Even today, one of my motivations is that I've crossed paths with so many people that I've come to mean so much to and who in turn also mean the world to me. That music box came into my possession the day I first really heard. I remember the excitement I felt as I ran my hands all over it and turned it over and over in my hands as the music played. I realized that the music box meant something to me. It was brand new. It was special. It was BEAUTIFUL. What it stood for, no one would ever be able to even fathom. The music box, before long, was a huge part of me. Wherever we moved, whatever room I stayed in, whatever space I owned, the music box always had a spot where it would be proudly displayed. I am just like that music box. I am one of God's music boxes. I'm here for a reason; I mean something in this world, but to so many people. He's put me in everyone's lives for a reason, just like my parents brought the music box into mine. Just like a music box, I sing a song - by living the way I live. I can go for a long time with my struggles, but every once in a while something will break me. Just like fate had me knock my music box off the dresser and cracked it, some things occasionally cause me to crack. Just like the music box was repaired, with God's help I have been able to pick myself back up again.