When people ask me about my plans for next year, my plans for writing, my plans for teaching, my plans with church, my plans with youth group, my plans in general- that is the answer- “I don’t know.”

About six months ago, as many of you know, I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to do. I had a plan and a vision and a desire to go in a direction. But all that, ALL THAT, has changed.

This past Sunday at church, Tom talked about in Matthew where Jesus turns over the tables in the temple. Immediately after that He begins to heal people (showing His power) and then children break out into spontaneous worship and that makes the Pharisees mad.

Here it is in Matthew 21:12-17
Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. “It is written,” he said to them, ” ‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’but you are making it a ‘den of robbers.’”
The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them. But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple area, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they were indignant.
“Do you hear what these children are saying?” they asked him.
“Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read,
‘From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise’?”
And he left them and went out of the city to Bethany, where he spent the night.

Many tables in my life (youth group, school vs. writing, friendships, etc.) have been turned over. It’s been scary at times, devastating at times, yet relieving at times, if that makes any sense. And I’m a worrier- How am I going to pay the bills? Who am I when I’m not ministering to high schoolers? What part does writing play in my life? To teach or not to teach, that is the question. (little Annie-ized quote there for you)

And now, here I am standing in the middle of all these overturned tables, my dreams and plans scattered on the floor like the money-changers’ coins. So I wait for the power. I wait for the Lord to show up in a big way. I don’t know what that’s going to look like, but we’ll know it when it is here. Then we’re all gonna worship. Like those children, we will not be restrained by our fears or our doubts. We won’t be able to resist the desire to praise Him for who He is and how He moves.

I had a Beth Moore moment today driving down I-285 after coffee with my dear friend Lauren. The sun was setting and my IPod was blasting. All the sudden, hearing these words, I had to open my window AND my sunroof, raise my hands (I was sitting in traffic, remember- it’s 285 at 5pm) and sing along, repeatedly. I pray these lyrics ring true in your heart today as well.

“No guilt in life, no fear in death, this is the power of Christ in me.
From life’s first cry to final breath, Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man, can ever pluck me from His hand.
Til He returns, or calls me home, here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.”

That is what I know. All glory, honor, and praise to the One who knows all.

My dear friend at school asked me to blog about this. For her sake, I’ll give her a fake name- Jenn.

Jenn and I are eating lunch. Let me preface by saying that I am, in general, a polite person. I ate my grilled cheese that came in a plastic sealed bag, like the kind around zebra cakes. Don’t ask me how they grill them in those things. And don’t ask me why I couldn’t think of a better comparison than zebra cake wrappers. I also had some veggie soup/chili. Not sure which is was supposed to be. I ask Jenn a question (“Why doesn’t the blue group have homework?”), and as I’m listening to her, all the sudden she stops and stares at me. That’s the moment that I realize that I have just burped on accident. And one of those short, low, kinda sick-sounding burps.

I HATE burping. I think it ranks as one of the top rudest things a person can do, in public or in private. I don’t like it. Those people who can burp the alphabet are not talented- they are sick individuals. There is no pride in that. To call it a skill is giving it too much credit. It’s gross.

Let the one who has not burped cast the first stone. Alas, for all my judging and inner-ridiculization (is that a word?) of burpers, I now have become one.

I’m ashamed of myself.

On another note, I got a new student today (remember I teach 4th grade) who is at least 2 inches taller than me, has a full blown mustache, and has a deep man voice. To say I was shocked when he walked in is an understatement- more like terrified. I think he has his own parking space, I’m not sure. But he looks old. We may have been in preschool together, who knows.

And I got real excited today when I thought the blocker on the school internet had been taken off my computer. But unfortunately not. Probably better- can you imagine what life would be like if I had access to this blog all day? Not good, my friends, not good.

So those are the highlights of a day in my teaching life. Probably a bit disappointing. I’m sorry.

Seriously, I heard that question posed tonight. Referring to a tattoo.

And I wasn’t with high schoolers. I was with moms. At possibly my favorite place- BOOK CLUB.

Jive me if you wish, but I have found a little slice of heaven in this book club. I know many think it is uncool, but it is NOT. It is good. In the words of a Bedingfield (I don’t know which to attribute this to, so I attribute it to the household), book club is “rich and good”. You have to shake your head from side to side and squint your eyes a little when you say that phrase. It is like you recognize the amazement that something could be both good and rich.

Let me just give you a quick rundown of our topics. (FYI- I just accidentally typed “rubdown” and I can not control my laughter enough to continue to blog.)

Ok, recovered. But that was a hardy laugh, I’ll tell you what.

Here were some, but not all, of our topics (in no particular order):
-Donald Miller
-the war in Iraq
-Gabriel’s desserts ( the cannoli were so good)
-Iran
-the drama of putting insulation in your house
-Jewish culture
-genuine belief systems
-the aquarium
-Lyle Lovett concerts and fights breaking out there (involving one of our own members- such an amazing story)
-God’s hand
-henna tattoos
-peppermint mocha creamer for coffee (great with cannoli)
-dogs
-terrorism and it’s influence on our everyday life
-American culture
-urban culture
-Liberia
-academic society
-Arby’s and a “crew chief”
-southern society
-PBS miniseries

Oh yeah, and the two books we read- “Girl Meets God” by Lauren Winner and “Reading Lolita in Tehran” by Azar Nafisi.

I love that it is okay to ask questions, to think outside the regular lines we draw for ourselves, to disagree on purpose and meaning, and to laugh. And I don’t list these topics in order to brag about our amazing brains (though I could do that too). I list them to show you the pleasure of a group of women sitting together from 7:30-11:15pm and having intellectual conversation about the world inside and outside of the books we read.

The ultimate compliment one day, when I know I’ve made it as an author, will be to write a book worthy of the book club.

I just love it. I have nothing witty or amazing to say here now that I’m done. The end.

It has been years since I’ve watched this movie from start to finish. In fact, in college, Haley and I decided we would come up with our own version of Titanic that we would view. We would start in the beginning and quit watching it before…. umm…. Jack and Rose…. how even do I say this? You know the scene I’m referring to.

Well, seven of us are sitting around my kitchen table. My friend James is telling us a lot of stats from his honor academy, and telling us all the things he’s not allowed to do- such as watch rated R movies or listen to secular music.

(I can’t really make a joke here without seeming un-Christian, even though a joke is easy to make in my mind. I’m just trying to be appropriate, okay? This is me ballet dancing. [see blog below]).

Here are some stats about the group of people at this table:

1 out of 7 may have Terrets Syndrome.

1 out of 7 has a poorly grown mustache, and it is not me.

2 out of 7 are still in high school. Don’t they have a curfew? Gah.

4 out of 7 are females. Not a good ratio for my life plan, but whatever.

3 out of 7 are arguing about marriage at the honor academy. I don’t even know why- none of us are married. (See above concern)

2 out of 7 have completed college and know what it means to have a very red face. Drunk. (WE aren’t drunk, that’s just what it means to have a really red face- we call it “drunk red face”.)

2 out of 7 do not live in the ATL, and so we are pleased to spend time with them.

Oh man, Ernie just walked in. All these stats are officially void. This is the challenge with statistics- constantly changing, folks. Constantly changing.

I’m sorry to waste your time.

I just watched three hours of PBS. It was a very interesting series about a man retracing the locations found in the first five books of the Bible. What started to him as a historical/research trip became a spiritual journey full of revelations about God, the desert, and the reality that is the Bible. It was beautiful.

In the middle somewhere, there was a commercial for Sesame Street. Big Bird goes into a child’s house, grabs the little girl’s hand, and leads her out. They go to lots of different places- the desert, the Berlin Wall being taken down, and to the ballet. Big Bird and the girl are standing towards the back of the stage “silly dancing” (can you picture it?) while the professional ballerinas are performing towards the front.

I found myself laughing a little and I literally said in my head, “That is so like Big Bird.” And I wished I was there with him.

With Thanksgiving being tomorrow, I usually make a list of things/people/ places/moments that I am thankful for. [For everyone's sake, I'll save that for my journal.]

Making the list this year, albeit near the bottom, is this:

I am thankful that I am still friends with Big Bird after all these years.

And I’m thankful for the reminder that most of the time it is totally acceptable to silly dance while everyone else is doing ballet. That’s very me.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Let me tell you, tonight was a good time. Those boys from Third Day put on quite a show at Gwinnett Arena. Mac Powell sang so nice and then brought the Word and preached. For real. I’ll tell you what- the presence of the Lord showed up. It was awesome. The whole concert was amazing. I reminisce to the first time I heard Third Day and I think I was in middle school at our Youth Camp. (I hope that makes Mac feel old.) I loved ‘em then; I love ‘em now. And a new Christmas album? Yeah, you’re gonna want that… right now. Itunes. Do it. You know you want to.

Along with Third Day was the David Crowder Band. I thoroughly enjoy them. His writing style and word choice are fantastic. He’s smart. Real smart. When I heard this song (“You Are My Joy”) at the concert back in February, I knew right then that I would own that CD, and I do. That puppy sat on repeat in the car for a solid week- and that, my friends, is a long time to listen to one song. Try it; you’ll see. And, If you haven’t read Crowder’s book “Praise Habit”, you totally need it. He’s the kind of writer that makes me gasp in amazement and then ponder with the book laying open on my lap. His brain doesn’t work like mine, and I like that about him.

All that good, but now I have to tell you the low point of the evening. Prepare yourself.

I dropped my cell phone in a cup of Diet Coke. Dorie did her best to rescue it in the car, wrapping it in a papoose of napkins. But I’ve got to break it to you, I’m not sure she’s going to make it through the night. I’ve taken a couple of breaks from blogging to use the ole hair dryer on it, and nothing good has happened yet.

Allow me to lower that low to another level by saying (and you may or may not know this) I just purchased this cell phone two weeks ago. I dropped my old one on the hardwood floor in my house and the screen died. On the spot. So I just paid for this cell phone and now, sans some miracle, it looks like I’ll be headed back to Wal-Mart to purchase another one.

I know, two posts in one day. Lay off. I’m loving this blogging thing. To close us out- here’s me and my Marie at the concert tonight. She’s so cute, huh? And funny. Read her blog. You’ll laugh. Or your money back. Guaranteed.

If you haven’t watched “What Not To Wear”, you need to.

If you have watched it, then you know I probably need to be on it.

If you want to nominate me, I am very for that.

Please don’t make me put up pictures on this blog to prove to you that I need to be on that show.

Think of the last time you saw me and ask yourself these questions:
1) Did I have jeans on?
2) Did I have a t-shirt on?
3) Did I need to have my eyebrows waxed?

If you answered yes to two or more of these questions, I’m embarrassed and you need to consider contacting TLC.

http://tlc.discovery.com/fansites/whatnottowear/whatnottowear.html?clik=tlc_leftnav

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

[Oh yeah, and Molly says your mom is an old hockey movie. Which I think is rude (does she ever KNOW your mom?), but I'm using her computer, so I'm stuck doing what she says.]

I heard Steven Curtis Chapman on the radio tonight and he said that. And it did a lot in my mind. If you know me, you know that words have started playing a pretty significant role in my life- hopefully VERY significant soon. So these words started rolling around in my mind- or I guess I started rolling around in them, like I was nine years old in the plastic ball pit at McDonald’s. (Where you would assume the bottom of the pit would be nice and cold but instead it was always a little moist. Ew.)

I started to think about how lucky I am. There are people all over this world who don’t have anywhere to call home. Who literally only have heard rumors of that place. And I’m not just talking about homeless people or orphans. I’m talking about our friends, people we know, who have no safe place. No where to just “be”. Not a one location where they feel comfortable letting go the facade and being real.

And then I started thinking about all the places I get to “be”-

My parents’ house- I spent a few hours there last night, and, as much grief as I’ve given them over the years, that’s home. I get to “be” there. It always feels warm, no matter the temperature. It’s just so right.

The Bedingfields- Where else can ten girls scream at a TV when Lorelai Gilmore comes back from Paris married? And eat cornbread after I’ve learned how to make it real good. And cry when I’m sad because life doesn’t always turn out as good as Caroline’s cornbread.

With the families- for their sake, nameless they shall be. But there are families that I hang out with, the kids and I run around screaming and jumping on trampolines. I can cry there too. The Dads love me and take care of me, threatening to seriously injure any boy that inflicts pain on my heart. (Literally, I’ll tell you the story sometime, just ask.) Moms who teach me how to love their kids while being human. Kids who love unconditionally and are teaching me to do the same.

At the mountain with Haley and Molly- who knew you could laugh and get teary-eyed while sweating profusely walking up the mountain? Be exercising your body and relaxing your heart at the same time.

At FFA-FCCLA for Summer Camp (also, in the olden days, In The Vine). Anyone who has been there more than once knows what I mean- it quickly becomes home. I know it inside out, know shortcuts and long routes, hideouts and places to be seen, and I know the Lord shows up there.

And there are more- with my roommates, in my sweet “French castle”-colored bedroom, at Jittery Joe’s in Athens with Caren, in a car with Danielle, I could continue.

The greatest of all, of course, is with the Lord. There is this picture I think that God put in my head. I won’t disclose it all because, well, it’s mine, but rest assured that I feel more at home there than anywhere. Sometimes I ache for that comfort. For our real home.

So remind me, next time I whine or complain about my life, that I have more – much more – than rumors of a place called home.