Catalyst. Part One: Ellie.

Let's talk about those moments that just feel right.

Where your spirit is ignited and at peace all at once. Typically surrounded by incredible people and in a place that has a comforting familiarity, whether it is actually a place you know or perhaps it was just a part of your journey waiting to be discovered.

Last weekend I was privileged to have one of those moments, thanks to Ellie Sabry and her organization, Catalyst: Spark a Chain Reaction. 

I have known Ellie since our time together at the Orange County School of the Arts (OCSA). Ellie's conservatory was dance; she was undeniably born to dance. She is an effervescent spirit with a smile so bright that I'm almost certain the phrase "her smile lights up a room" was written about her. She is a powerhouse of strength, talent, and compassion. 

Ellie and I became friends in a freshman Geography class where we were seated next to each other, Sabry and Spencer. I liked that she would let me play with her hair. She told me stories about her close knit family and her rich heritage. We joked back and forth under our breath during class and made half hearted attempts to stifle our laughter.

Junior Year, 2004.

Ellie and I never got the chance to become close friends because I had to leave our school two years later at the start of junior year when I got sick. I remember hearing at the time that Ellie was facing problems with her hip and a potential surgery that may leave her unable to dance. As I watched my own artistic abilities slip away due to the ailments of my body, I mourned the possible loss of Ellie's, too.

Two years after that, Ellie and I both ended up at Chapman University. I was thrilled when I heard that she was a dance major...it meant she was still dancing. I was in and out of school with surgeries and health issues and didn't get to see her around campus. Because I had left high school so abruptly, I always wondered if anyone still remembered me. I was often too embarrassed to say hi to old friends. Social media wasn't like it is today, so I easily lost touch with a lot of people when I got sick.

During junior and senior year of high school, I was too brokenhearted to attend any performances at OCSA. I couldn't bring myself to watch the shows and concerts that I would have been apart of. But by the time I came to Chapman, I was desperate to bring art back into my life. At Chapman, I could go to dance concerts and sit in the back of the audience, smiling in the dark as tears ran down my face, watching my old friends embrace the stage that had always been their home. 

A few of my OCSA friends entered Chapman's dance program together and continued their amazing growth as artists. I saw at least one show of theirs every semester and was there to silently support them as they made the journey from the back row of ensemble pieces as freshmen, to the front of the stage as featured performers, and then to gifted choreographers. Knowing that their minds created the beauty on the stage always took my breath away.

Abruptly, last year, something took my breath away in a completely different manner. I was looking over my Facebook newsfeed when I saw a post from a Chapman student asking for prayers for a friend of hers that had been in an accident. I felt the desperation in her virtual words; she had little information about the situation but was clear about the need for prayer. I stopped then and there and prayed for her friend. I thought about it all night. I even woke up in the middle of the night thinking about it. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. 

It wasn't until the next morning when I saw a few more posts on my newsfeed that it hit me. There were friends of mine from OCSA and from Chapman posting about the same incident and asking for prayers. I frantically searched for the original post I had seen the night before. "Please pray for my friend, Ellie."Ellie.

Oh, God. Not just her friend, Ellie. My friend, Ellie. 

Ellie had been in a horrific car accident. She was hit in a head on collision with a drunk driver who was speeding the wrong direction on the freeway. She was in the ICU, unconscious, had a brain bleed, and her arms and legs would require many reconstructive surgeries.

I didn't think I could pray any harder, but somehow, I did. 

Ellie's accident would bring her and I closer (virtually) than ever before. I anxiously awaited every update. I prayed and sent my love and thoughts to her throughout her surgeries, cast removals, hospital stays, first days out of bed, and her long awaited first steps.

The feet that once lifted her effortlessly across the stage now struggled to support the body of the warrior above them. 

Ellie was told not to bear weight on her right leg for three months, but she would not let that keep her from dancing. There are just some things that we cannot be separated from, no matter the circumstance. Ellie and dance refused to be torn apart. Her bones could be ripped from her ligaments, but the reconstructed pieces of her body could never be torn apart from their lifelong hunger for dance.

Months after the accident, Ellie was finally allowed to take her first steps using her right foot. Thanks to technology, they were recorded; this meant that I could watch the video over and over as I wept with gratitude. Her smile was full of so much joy. And yet, as someone who had been in the shoes of recovery and adversity, I could see the apprehension. The glimmer in her expressions that conveyed fear about the unknown road ahead. Those tiny steps were the answer to so many prayers and yet there was so much more we were all hoping for. We wanted her to dance. She wanted to dance. 

Never underestimate the power of a desire placed upon the heart of a fierce woman. 

Ellie and I would talk frequently through social media. She somehow always knew when I was having a hard day. She could see past my smile and through my mundane updates and would reach out to me with encouraging words, unconditional understanding, and undying support and positivity. I would write to her as she posted about her triumphs and struggles, congratulating her on how far she had come and at times reminding her to take it easy on herself. Some days I would just get a feeling that she needed an understanding shoulder to lean on. I'd write out a prayer to her or would give her a slew of compliments about how ridiculously awesome, beautiful, bold, and inspiring she is. As she unveiled her recovery after each surgery, I sent her messages to reassure her that she bore the scars of a survivor. I never wanted her to doubt the power of her spirit or her journey. I wanted her to feel supported every step of the way. 

I watched in awe, cried tears of joy, and praised God as she reached each milestone. As her body grew stronger, apparently her spirit did, too. 

National Dance Day 2012. Five months after the accident.

Months after the accident, I heard about Catalyst: Spark A Chain Reaction for the first time. It didn't surprise me at all that Ellie was impassioned and ready to help make a difference. For a while I was under the impression that Catalyst was born during her recovery from the car accident. Little did I know that Ellie's motivation for this incredible organization existed even before she had faced her own extreme injury and miraculous recovery. Her heart had always carried the desire to make a difference for artists battling life threatening illness. But now, Catalyst had an even stronger catalyst. Ellie's own experience breathed new life into her organization and she was more determined than ever to start making a difference.

All she needed to do now was launch! 

(Check out Catalyst. Part Two: The Launch Event for the next part of Ellie's story)