How many times can I break till I shatter?  

Give me a break; let me make my own pattern.  

All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered

There are moments in life that are forever burned into your memory.  Things you will never forget.  Your first kiss.  Where you were on September 11th.  The death of a loved one.  Graduation.  Receiving a longed for and very special gift.  A rejection letter. As I sat staring at the paper in my hand I knew this would be a moment I never forgot.  Everything I'd spend my whole life working toward had just been savagely ripped from my hands with no warning. The air had been knocked from my lungs and my mind scrambled to come up with an explanation.  I had put everything on the line to move here for this opportunity.  I'd spent the last four months searching for, and finally finding, an apartment I could afford.  I'd sold everything that wouldn't fit into my old, beat up, green Honda, and then made the cross-country trip to start living my dream.

Ever since I can remember, I knew music was my calling.  Like those kids in elementary school who knew they wanted to be teachers, doctors, or firefighters and then became those things, I knew music would be my life.  I also knew I wouldn't be in the spotlight.  That's not for me.  I'm not a performer.  Behind the scenes is where I belong.

Going against my parents' wishes I majored in marketing.  Being the only child of two very successful and high-profile corporate lawyers meant there were expectations I wasn't living up to.  Disappointing my parents had always been a difficult thing for me, but one that I couldn't seem to stop doing.  I thought this was finally going to be my chance to prove that this wasn't a foolish dream.  I thought this was my chance to show them I could be successful.  

Having to admit that it had been a mistake to move out here left a bitter taste in my mouth.  I felt like I was going to throw up.

Crumpling up the rejection letter, the words typed on the cream paper echoed through my head as hot, disappointed tears began to fall.

You need more experience...we decided to go with someone else...not a good fit...

I didn't understand.

Things had been going so well--falling into place so easily.  As if God himself were orchestrating it all.  The phone interview I'd had had gone great and the experience they were now telling me I lacked had never been brought up or even discussed.  How was I supposed to get experience when every opportunity was denied me?  I hadn't deluded myself.  I had known this internship wasn't going to be exactly what I wanted, but it was going to be my foot in the door.  I knew I was probably going to be a gopher the majority of the time--fetching coffee and doing grunt work--but it was going to be a great opportunity to learn and being to make contacts.

What was I going to do now?

Moving here had almost completely wiped out my savings.  The internship had come with a stipend.  It was small but, with what I had left in the bank, I had figured I would be okay.  I wasn't going to be living the high life by any means, but I wasn't going to starve either.  Now, I didn't know now how I was even going to afford Raman.  

With no other income, my savings would be depleted in a couple months.  I knew I could call my parents, but everything inside me balked at that thought.  Calling home would be admitting defeat.  My mother would tell me, "I told you so," and my dad would insist I move back home.  I couldn't do it.  Not when I was so close!  I was in L.A now.  Moving back to Retirementville, Florida would be tantamount to giving up.  I knew if I went home that would be the end of my dream.  I was twenty-seven.  I had to do this.  I was staying until I either found another job or starved to death.  Drawing on every ounce of faith I possessed, I pulled back my shoulders and wiped the tears from my face.  God had helped me get this far.  Yes, He had just closed a door on me, but somewhere there was a window that was open.  

I just had to find it.