I’m selling my house.

My sweet little house has truly been a refuge and a creative center for me. It has been peaceful even when life wasn’t. I love the paint colors and the decorations and my furniture, including the most expensive red couch in the entire hemisphere. [Ok, that's an exaggeration ... maybe ... but it sure felt true when I bought it.]

This little home has been the location of many Bible study nights (Give it up, She-Ra girls!), Christmas parties, goodbye parties, move ins, move outs, slumber parties, set-ups (yeah Candace and Jason), break ups, tears, laughter, dinners, lunches, ice cream in abundance. And many days I just sat in my white chair and a half, looked out the window as the sun shone in, and fell asleep to the sound of nothing.

It’s been the perfect home for me.

Is it really true that all good things must come to an end? I’m not talking Heaven, don’t go there, Sammy Spiritual. But honestly, thinking of earthly things, they all come to an end, don’t they?

I’ve been really pondering it. Because I so anticipate what is coming next that I have moments where I think “if this doesn’t hurry up I’m going to explode”. Then there are other moments where my brain screams “Get me the heck off this train to Change-ville!!!” And I wish none of you knew my plans so I could just bail and not let this season of my life end. But that’s stupid and not God, although it sounds easy. I don’t want owning this house to end.

But I do. In order to get the next best thing God has for me, I have to give up the current good thing.

Which is weird. But true. Take it to the bank- you have to give up good for best. You have to give up now for then. You have to give up here for there. Every good thing cost something. Even salvation- it’s free for US, not for Him.

I want you to hear something. The reason this blog exists, the reason this post exists, the reason I exist- it’s not for me. I write all this, add a spice of humor, and give you my current plans because I CAN NOT CONTAIN my delight in how God is showing up for me. I have never known Him like this- because I’ve never been willing to trust like this. And I will never be the same.

I will never be the same because of Him. I will never be the same thanks to Him.

And I want so badly for you to be braver than me. I want the world to be changed because you realized that God deserves your trust. I guess I can’t guarantee that THE world will change, but I know YOUR world will change. And isn’t that enough? Maybe if we each changed our own world, THE world would change, too? Roll that one around a bit….

So my attempt-to-be-brave-in-08 plan is to sell the house [pray!] then move back in with the ole parentals for a while to save up the doll hairs. [that's dollars, for you non-David Spade fans.]

What could the next step be after quitting grad school, abandoning my career (after June), and moving home in order to squirrel away money?

Ask Danny Garmin.

Chew on these verses for a while. Read them until they are true. You’ll know when they are true to you- your insides will expand until your chest cavity feels like it can’t contain your heart. And that’s the moment you remember that God isn’t a part of your life, He IS your life. Because no one else is worthy.

Lamentations 3: 21-25

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.

I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.”

The LORD is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him.

Amen.

One of the coolest kids in the youth group, Kelly, made this for me. Seriously, I gave her some instruction (the words, etc.), but she make the logo herself. I think it is RAD. No joke, how can a high schooler [correction: MIDDLE SCHOOLER- 8th grade!] be this talented? I told her, in all honesty, it blessed me that she was able to do this. God has given her an awesome eye for these things and the knowledge of how to create them. And I’m glad to know her (for lots of reasons, not just her mad graphic design skillz.)

It will mainly be used for my letterhead. You know, I have lots of brilliant ideas to send via snail mail all over the United States. And some of them may have to do with writing. [bah-dum ching!] I was reading a writing website yesterday and it says you really need your own letterhead. I think it’s a bit weird to have your own logo, but I’ve never shied away from weird before. So I went for it.

And I would also use it, or a version of it, for my [yet to be created but much desired] writing website.

If nothing else, someday I’ll be rocking on my front porch, sipping sweet tea and my grandchildren will be chasing each other all over the yard. Covered in sweat, one of the littlest ones will sit on the steps of the porch and ask, “When did you realize you were a big deal, Gran Annie?”

And I’ll sigh, rock back in my chair, and say in a slow grandma southern drawl, “The day I got my own logo, chil’. The day I got my own logo.”

Oh geez. My mind is not right. But just so you know, I am laughing out loud at myself right now. I wish Tatum was awake- I’d make her read that immediately. OH WAIT! Yes! She just walked down the hallway- please pause while I force her to listen to my good jokes……….

She loved it.

Previous to this blog post, I had just returned home from book club. Another awesome night- it is truly a highlight of my life. I wrote an article about it a year or so ago. If you’ve never seen it (it was P.B.- “pre blog”), you can check it out here.

Stepping Update:
1- mailed package to agent today
2- important meeting tomorrow (Wednesday) at 3:45- pray for wisdom (more info to come on this)
3- got registration letter from writer’s conference
4- got butterflies in stomach due to letter
5- forgot how to write in complete sentences when making a list

So where did I spend the majority of my weekend?

Here.And where was I until ungodly hours last night?

Yeah, here.
And I’m actually sitting here right now.

I have SO MUCH writing to do that it has confined me to this chair. But I feel it my duty, dare I say my “call”, to give you, my bloggites, your deserved daily attention. And possible entertainment. But no guarantee.

Please take notice of a few items in my guest room/writing room/current jail cell.

1) Swirly mug on desk. Mmm…. British tea. My mom told me when I bought the swirly plates, bowls, and mugs, that it would be my “college” pattern and I would not like it later in life. She apparently underestimated my ability to be thrifty and stubborn. 9 years later and we’re still rockin’. And no, I will not tell you whether I still genuinely like it or not.

2) Words on wall. Well, attempted words on wall. Blame Justin. I tried to be cool like him. But I had no paint. I did have ….. how do you say … super jumbo sharpies. And did you know that black sharpie fades to a beautiful shade of ORANGE SHERBET on a khaki wall? Well it does. Miracle- you can actually SEE one of the markers I used. It’s on the desk. It’s blue. Even dumber idea.

3) My bookshelf is messy. And there are piles of books [it's an expensive addiction] and other sundry items all around. I have no “because” statement to follow that. I’m just assuring you that I realize the situation and will remedy the problem as soon as I quit having a life.

4) I have fake nails. With all this changing and the complete redo of my life plans (no biggie), it caused me to bite my nails until they BLED. G-ross. So, for my own sanity and so people weren’t repulsed by my hands, I bucked up and got fake nails. If I had a dollar from every joker who make a prom reference, Candace would need to pay up.

5) The look on my face. Have you ever tried to read your own writing more than ten times attempting to edit and make it better? Me either. I made it to nine and then began seeing words in other languages and wishing I was a prize boxer instead of sadly writer’s blocked writer.

On that note, I have 90 minutes to outline an entire book. Again, no biggie. Yeah right. Mild panic is bubbling beneath the surface, but luckily I just got back from Torture-ville at school and my muscles have no strength to panic.

So I type on……

In normal world (i.e- not teacher world), you give your employer two weeks notice before you leave. Am I correct? I mean, I remember the days of old, pre-degree, when I was a waitress. [At PoFolks, just for your information.] And I recall calculating when I wanted to quit and then knowing exactly what day to put in my 2 week notice. To be honest, I was tired of smelling like biscuits and green beans. I had to get out of there.

And a friend of mine, the corporate type, just got an awesome new job in the downtown ATL. To listen to her describe the interview process, negotiations, resignations, and bonus-ations [I made that up] was quite enlightening. The world is far more like Ally McBeal than I ever realized. And as I talked to corporate friend, I remembered that normal workers can switch jobs any time of the year. Not just August.

Do you remember when you were little and your entire life revolved around a SCHOOL calendar, not a REAL calendar? I still say “this year” referring to August 07. “Next year” is August 08. I have multi-year years. You don’t. Because you are normal.

There are many advantages to this calendar and this profession. Namely
1) June
2) July
3) 2 weeks at Christmas
4) Spring Break “Yeah baby! WHOO HOO!! SB08!!” [I have no real cause to do that, it just always feels like the correct response when saying "Spring Break", doesn't it?]

But there are disadvantages. Like when you have to sign an intent form for your principal in January 08 that determines your job life from August 08 to May 09. Gracious. That is a long time away. And every year it makes me break out in cold sweats to plan that far in advance.

Not this year.

I walked in to my Principal’s office Tuesday morning and handed her my intent form. She hugged me, smiled, and said, “I’m so proud of you”. That’s a good leader.

She knew before I even showed her the paper. I won’t be going back to Woodstock Elementary School after this year ends. In fact, I won’t be teaching at all for the 08-09 year.

I’m going to try to be a writer. The real kind. The going after a dream kind. The “if God doesn’t show up for me financially I don’t know what I’ll do” kind. [I think I just threw up in my mouth a little- still working this faith thing out.]

The taking step #3 kind.

But starting in June, I get to live by a normal calendar for the first time in my life, though I fear that a school calendar is so ingrained into my mind that all things will work on a 180 day schedule for the rest of my life. I’m okay with that if I can keep that June/July part.

I couldn’t write about it before today because there were two terribly important kids that I wanted to tell personally. We go get smoothies on Fridays after school; it’s our tradition. We drive through neighborhoods and pick out houses to live in when “we grow up”, we play random games with the radio, we talk about God and baptism, and we always laugh about things. And sometimes I think one of the main reasons God brought me to WES is for them. And He probably brought them to WES for me. The idea that they would hear of my leaving from a teacher, or (God forbid) a teacher’s kid, freaked me out. So I kept it kinda quiet for their sake.

It’s hard to explain to 4th and 5th graders whom I LOVE that I feel God leading me away from them. That doesn’t fit into the God box in their head. So I prayed and prayed for God to show them Himself in our conversation today. Because I DESPERATELY want them to love God MORE because of our friendship, not be saddened by His ways.

I cried dribbly tears as I told them, their faces blanking out on me in defense mode. Their laughter gone, stoic faces in place. My smoothie turned sour. And all I could think was, “God, this better be Your plan because I’m hurting them.” No eye contact. No one really spoke much as we got to their home. The parents already knew- I teach with the mom and I consider them good friends- so they were prepared for a less than enthusiastic entrance.

It was awful, to be certain.

I have to wonder. Is this what Jesus means by losing your life? Maybe. It sure feels like it.

Matthew 16:25
“For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me will find it.”

Pray for these two friends of mine, as you pray for my stepping, that God would be their rock. That they would know His great love for them. I’m praying that the boy would grow up to be a mighty man of God who stands by his beliefs and leads others with Godly wisdom. I’m praying that the girl will cultivate a gentle and quiet spirit that trusts Him at every turn and is strong in her convictions.

And I’m believing that they will both be braver for God because of this.

Trying to type is painful. My hands don’t want to be this close together. It makes the muscles in my shoulders hurt.

Let me back up and explain what brought this about- this torture in which I am a willing participant. But it can’t be too long- I keep having to take a break and stretch.

We have this secretary at school and she is buff. I mean, she’s about knee high to a grasshopper, can’t be more than 125 soaking wet, but she could put a hurtin’ on me. And I’m a tough girl.

And she decided that our school needed to get fit … namely our teachers … actually our grade level … okay probably just me. Anyways, she stands up at a staff meeting in December and announces that personal trainers will start coming to our gym 2 afternoons a week and for a price, we can join them. As she’s talking, my silent mantra is “please Tuesday Thursday please Tuesday Thursday” [because, see, I went to grad school at the time, you guessed it, on Tuesdays and Thursdays]. Sadly, she said “And we’ll meet every Monday and Wednesday.”

Doh.

So there was no getting out of it. I mean, there WAS, officially, but the peer pressure and the sideways glances made it clear that sister here needed some gym time. [Back off, folks, I have a great personality.]

Fast forward to 3 weeks ago when the trainers arrived. First of all, they leveled us. As we are doing jumping jacks [I want to punch the man who created THIS exercise], they are moving us from row to row. “Come up one row”, “Go back 2 rows”, etc. Then, in our rows that are now our groups, we move from station to station, doing exercises that focus on different body parts. Bizarrely enough, none of the stations involve napping, which is how I prefer to spend my 3-4pm hour.

There were about 18 of us that first day. Everyone in pretty good spirits. “Gonna look great in 08″ and all that jazz. Our smiles quickly turned to grimaces as we realized that we had inadvertently signed up to be punished. And this is not the humorous part of the blog post.

You may be thinking this whole idea of almost twenty elementary school teachers doing high knee runs down the gym is pretty funny, and to be honest- it probably is. But let me assure you that “funny” is the farthest word from my mind from 3-4pm on Mondays and Wednesdays. There are some other words, but I’ve made a promise to myself….

Each training day, as I see another victim [okay, "workout partner"] in the hallway, she’ll say (with a look of strong distaste), “You know what today is, right?” and my answer is “I really want to skip.”

But I don’t skip [even though I can almost hear my car starting like Kit in Knight Rider, begging me to bolt]. Because stupidly enough I PAID MY HARD EARNED MONEY TO ATTEND. Seriously? I have got to get my brain checked.

Now in all fairness, the trainers couldn’t be nicer. But the things they ask me to do, always in sets of 10, make it easy to forget that they are good people. I have to let you see them; you need a visual – so here is the link to their page. Yep. Those are 2 of the 3 trainers. They are all very knowledgeable but GOOD GRAVY they have no compassion for my whining.

We have 7 more weeks to go, I think. That makes me cringe just thinking about it. I’ll keep you updated. If I ever quit blogging, it might mean my arms finally gave up and just fell off. Impossible, you say? Come next Monday and you’ll agree that losing a limb or two after one of Rik’s workouts might actually feel really good.

Oww. Seriously. Can someone bring me some Icy Hot? My left tricep is cramping.

I’m spent.

All weekend long, sweet Mandy kept asking me if there was anything specific I wanted to see. She knew I was there to try to hear the Lord and to feel some direction from Him, but I was pretty sure there was no billboard that was going to answer my every question. I mean, I figured there wasn’t. Maybe there was and I just missed it. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants.

My answer to her question, throughout the entire weekend was, “I’m cool with whatever, honestly. I just want to go to your church on Sunday morning.”

[Here we are, by the way, at lunch on Saturday. Because I wasn't quite sure I had completely saturated your mind with visuals of my trip. Now I think I have.]

The weekend wasn’t about seeing all the sights, necessarily. It was about seeing the people. About hearing them. About experiencing the everydayness [I made that up] of this city that I had never been formally introduced to. And going to church.

Kevin and Mandy go to Midtown Fellowship, a plant church with a heart for the city of Nashville. According to the Mann almanac, there are more churches per capita in Nashville than any other city in the USA. [Don't quote me on that- it's just what Kevin says. Though he is a fairly trustworthy character.] So I wasn’t totally dependent on THIS ONE CHURCH to make all the difference.

Because on any given Sunday, God can show up in big ways in any building where people are gathered to worship Him. But I wanted to see Him there.

The people were so great- so welcoming and kind. Every person I was introduced to was genuine, which I’ll honestly say surprised me. The church is made up of mostly young adults- post college to mid thirties. I’ve been to a church like this here and “genuine” is NOT one the words that I used afterwards. The only downside to Midtown is that there is a lack of generational bud-dom, as I have here, but I really liked the people that I met and the atmosphere of the church in general.

The worship was beautifully reverent. Almost subtle. I don’t know if those words make sense to you, but if you could feel “subtle worship” in your heart, I think it would feel like tubing down a cool river in late June. I liked it.

And the preacher was great. A little long, but I have no room to complain- I could win an Olympic talking competition. You can actually listen to his sermon here- and I encourage you to do that. You can also watch the video on the website. It was all about Biblical hope.

Yeah, okay God, I hear ya. And don’t worry, the pastor prayed this scripture:

Isaiah 41:10
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Wow.

So we went back to the Mann’s house and they invited a friend, Michelle, over for lunch. A single girl, funny as any person I’ve met, obviously someone Kevin and Mandy respect, and she had wise advice. In the 3 hours we hung out I deduced all this, of course. She is someone that I think I would like to be friends with. We ate manicotti, talked about God, described plant costumes, and played funny music.

And around 4pm, I packed up my car with all my gear. I felt weird. This weekend that I’ve been anticipating since November was over quickly. It was time to head home. But the idea of leaving felt funny to me. Not ha-ha funny, like I usually am , but funny like odd. It didn’t feel right to leave. Because being in this city called out something deep and new in me.

I wondered, as I drove down the ramp to I-24, what it would be like to live in Nashville.

I have nicknamed my camera “crapera”. So that’s that.

Here are some [read: lots of] pictures from the weekend in Nashville. I got to stay with my friends Kevin and Mandy and their cool kid Bennett. They were SO generous with their home, their time, and their gasoline. We had a blast.

On Friday night, we ate dinner at Mellow Mushroom with a very famous band named 4th Man. Ok, “very famous” may be pushing it for now. But give them time. They were in Nashville to record an album. You can read about it here on Justin’s blog.

At dinner, Mandy got a little violent and launched a tomato wedge at Justin. Result seen here. I don’t know what the issue was, something about background vocals and a cowbell. Who knows.

Saturday morning we ate at this super cute restaurant Marche. Broccoli, turkey, and cheddar omelet? Don’t mind if I do.

There was a really famous guy there- black sweatshirt, frizzy salt and pepper hat poking out from every side of a black hat, and dark sunglasses. I don’t know who he was, but Kevin and I are SURE he’s famous. Or wants to be. And I couldn’t take his picture- it would only feed his indoor sunglasses ego.

Bennett started this new thing while we were hanging out. Bending at the waist, like one of those ski jumpers when they are going down the steep jump. It’s funny. It’s MORE funny to watch him bend than it is to feel the warm throw up on your leg afterwards. I mean, it’s kinda funny that he pukes ….

We spent Saturday driving throughout Nashville seeing all sorts of cool places. Yet the thing that I was dying to catch on film is this. How often do you see a heart shaped bald spot? Not enough to be satisfied, that’s for sure. Consider it my early Valentine’s gift to you.

We went to a recording studio [to remain nameless due to the nature of some of these photos and how they could maybe get us in trouble] to watch 4th Man recording. This is them in the studio.
So… we watched that for a few minutes and when Bennett had enough, we peaced out. But instead of immediately leaving the premises [reason for nameless studio], we decided that a Saturday afternoon is the prime time to see all aspects of a recording studio. Even, maybe the conference room?

I tell you what, she’s talented, and she can not resist belting out an anthem when around an instrument of any kind.
I, on the other hand, am a multi-tasker. Here, you see me handing a security phone call ["No sir, I don't see any random people trying to open every door throughout the building. But I'll let you know if I do."], composing a song, and playing it for the security guard on the phone.
Then Bennett decided that it was important for us to have a serious meeting. He had some recording deals to talk over and a budget to be approved, line by line. Not to mention a time crunch- the man eats every 2 1/2 hours, so we had to get hoppin’. When someone this powerful and influential tells me to jump, I say “What did you say? I couldn’t understand you because of that pacifier.”
There’s no way folks will even know we were ever there…. except for the baby prints on the glass table. Whoopsie. But we left them- it just gives everyone there a little something to think about next time they sit down for a meeting. A mystery, if you will. [And I know you will.]
Yes. These are statues of naked people. Yes. I did do some strategic blurring. Yes. Kevin did keep his clothes on. Yes. This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Ever.
This is in the Mann’s house. I know it’s dark, but I really loved seeing the porch lights glowing through the window shade. They have an awesome house- very cute.
Saturday night we ate at J. Christopher’s (thank you, Tom Downs). It was COLD so we didn’t do a lot of walking around, but Nashville is beautiful through a car window.

Tomorrow I will tell you all about Sunday in Nashville. Really the crux of the whole experience was Sunday. I postpone the continuation of this weekend recap not because I like leaving you hanging, but because I feel like I have given you a full load for today. And honestly, I don’t know how to write it all out yet. But I will. Don’t you worry about that.

I’m a team player.

Soccer was my sport of choice. Not tennis.

I played the french horn, a companion instrument if ever there was one.

I like to carpool, I will “co-lead” just about anything you need “co-led”, I like any restaurant you pick, and I like singing in choirs. [And trust me, you LIKE that I choose choirs.]

Now, before you reach through the computer to pat me on the back because you think I’m such a giver and live a selfless life, let me tell you why I am this way.

Because if I fail, I don’t want to fail alone. And if I risk, I want someone with me. It’s just plain easier that way.

I never lost a soccer game and left with the weight of the world on my shoulders. Only 1/11 of the weight. But I guess the argument could be made that I only contributed to 1/11 of a victory. And that’s on a good day.

I never WON. Like Tiger Woods WINS or Serena Williams WINS. [Does that make sense?]

It’s not that I fear the limelight. Gracious, I love being the center of attention. It’s a character flaw to be certain. Just ask… well … anyone who has ever met me ever. It’s that I hate the idea of everyone watching me and then messing up. By myself.

I went to a piano concert tonight that was great. My friend Anne was awesome on Erie Canal. It took all the maturity I could muster to not sing along loudly. Of course, that’s after my friend Adam (a 10 year old) and I (a 27 year old) ran around the church trying to get lost and go through any unlocked door. But I digress…..

I watched these kids walk up to the piano, sit down, and begin to play, I realized that even the shyest of the shy is still braver than yours truly.

Because that kid is willing to walk up to the instrument and play without knowing how things will turn out. Sure, jr. pianist has practiced the piece until it is memorized, but there is risk in the moment. All eyes are on one person, playing one piano, and if that student messes up, everyone sees it. And knows it.

Yet they go anyways. Why?

I don’t know that answer. Maybe… because the music is beautiful. Because the applause is loud. Because the last note finally arrives. Because the student has worked so hard to get this far. Because they love the mix of fear and skill. Or because their name is next on the program.

And, for me, the better question is HOW? How do you do that? How do you take the risk with no guarantee? I watched a television show today where a band was performing (maybe The View?), and one guy played a guitar solo and this same question went through my mind. Is he not afraid of messing up?

I wish this was one of those posts that came to a neat and succinct closing. A real zinger. But it doesn’t. Because I don’t know.

In fact, I feel like I may have raised more questions than given answers:
Where does God fit?
What if you ARE doing it for the applause?
What if people don’t like the music?
What if you mess up?
Does being brave equal doing the brave thing even when scared? Or do brave people feel brave when they do the brave thing?
Does a lack of courage mean the decision is wrong? Always? Sometimes? Never?
Why did I play the french horn? [I know this one- because an 8th grader on the bus told me to.]

I go to Nashville tomorrow. My computer is remaining in Marietta [gasp], so no blog posts until Monday, and it is mildly unfair to leave you like this, I know. But maybe this has somehow raised questions in your mind about your life that you can take to God. And get some answers. There’s a tablespoon of redemption for you in every cup of my confusion, or so I hope.

I mean, who wants a holiday weekend full of questions with no promise of a clear cut answer?

Apparently I do. That’s why I’m going to Nashville.

1) Sleep late. [see previous post]

2) Eat breakfast on a PLATE at the table. [versus on a paper towel in my car]

3) Wear fleece pants. [just not appropriate for school]

4) Watch multiple episodes of Project Runway. [again, not appropriate at school]

5) Lose myself in the hollows of the internet. [blog stalking = good]

6) Wash clothes and pack for a weekend in Nashville. [step 3?]

7) Write write write write. [I may need to buy a computer WITHOUT the internet for my writing. Cold turkey is the only way to go.]

Shower. [eventually]

9) Create lots of lists. [I've got things to do, people. And it is a lot easier to make lists than actually DO them]

10) Make lunch. [I'm really glad Tatum goes to the grocery store.]

I love teaching in Cherokee County.

Because it contains Ballground, GA. Which gets icy.

And WE (South Cherokee) get out of school because of Ballground’s weather.

The perfect place to insert a BOOYAH!