So, like a good sanitary citizen, I was washing my face yesterday. Some sort of Dove Exfoliating Facewash with blue beads that Sally probably bought in 2003 and never used up, so it’s in our bathroom. I scrubbed that beautiful face o’ mine and then began to splash water on it to rinse. You know the drill. I hope.

I knew in one fateful moment that I had a serious problem on my hands. As my fingers ran over my eyelids, I realized that I had drug soap into my eyes. At that point, I began to rapidly splash water into my eyes because they were BURNING LIKE FIRE.

Thinking nothing was wrong, except that my IQ level drops daily, I headed off to school. By evening, this appeared.
A bloodshot left eye with one good solid red streak down the middle. Need another close up view of said eye?
Yeah, that’s not good. It’s itchy and sore and leaky. And awkward feeling. But what is worse is when, at 5am, you wake up to your eye being COMPLETELY sealed shut by gunk. I mean, “Oh my gosh if I try to pry this puppy open I will lose all my eyelashes” sealed. G-ross. Luckily, I had taken out my contacts and am happily in my sassy glasses. That would have been wicked sick to deal with that gunk plus a foggy contact lens this morning.

[Not to be super-Christian here, but isn't it a little amazing that our bodies know how to repair themselves like that? Seal an eye shut to heal? That's divine.]

Because I don’t like paying to go to a doctor, I went to the school nurse. Call it “Workplace Health Care”, if you will. She immediately assessed the situation- scratched eyeball. [You don't say.] It was one of those stupid exfoliating beads. Nice work, bead. And she said if it still is gunky tonight and hurting tomorrow, she will make me wear a PATCH.

Now I have one of two options, that have nothing to do with how my eye truly feels:

A. Pretend it doesn’t hurt so I don’t have to wear a patch.

B. Pretend it does hurt so I get to wear a patch.

I’ll let you know what this little pirate decides tomorrow. Time to let the ole peepers have a rest.

Dear Time,

You are moving too fast for me. I don’t really understand you. I guess I don’t really understand us. I beg you to rush by and then I blink and you have. Don’t you know I never really mean it? Haven’t you learned by now? You’ve been counting my every move for upwards of 26 million minutes. You should know me fairly well.

You do this to me every school year. You realize that, right? You are like jogging through jello in October and at next check, I am one month from summer. And you know what, Time? This year, I’m one month from ending my career. [For now.] And so I assumed you would be sensitive about that. But our constant companionship has not revealed your character to me as I would have liked. You went quicker, Time, quicker by far than I wanted.

And Time, did I mention that I have an entire week of Beth Moore Bible Study to finish before tomorrow night? I believe it was just last Tuesday that you persuaded me to watch American Idol because you said you would be everywhere in mass quantity this week. You haven’t been. You’ve been hiding under piles of mail I had to sift through. You have been mysteriously absent in parent conferences. You have been bagged up with yard sale items. You have been between pages of books and magazines, but you haven’t been where you said you would be. Everywhere. In plentiful amounts.

Can I mention, Time, that I’m almost 28. That’s weird. Not bad, just weird. How did you pull that off? Remember yesterday when I turned 16? You don’t? Oh, that wasn’t yesterday? Well, I blame you for my poor memory as well.

It’s not that you are all bad, Time. It does seem that the more of you that goes past, the better my life gets. And I do appreciate that. But Time, it’s a speed problem. I’m not even having enough of you to enjoy how good my life is.

By the way, I don’t know if you know this, Time. So let me inform you. You are prey. You are hunted every day by a predator called the internet. And it eats you. By the hour, in one big bite. Seriously, you need to start protecting yourself because when you get eaten, I suffer. It’s a sad reality.

Hey Time, one last thing. I’m tired of wasting you, the little pieces that I do get. When I use you wisely, I’m a better writer, better reader, better teacher, better friend. So Time, let’s make a deal. You go a smidge slower, give me just a bit more, and I’ll use you better. Fair?

Write back whenever you get a chance. No rush. Seriously.

LYLAS,
Annie

Y’all love you some blog videos. Gee whiz. It’s so weird. You know I’m just a dork with a camera, right? You could do it too.

On to the real post…..

I have been doing a little fast. Details aren’t important. If you want details- go with these. I haven’t eaten anything solid in 49 days and I’ve only been drinking 6 oz. of water a day. These details are no where near true, but if you want “details”, there they are.

The fast was more medical than spiritual, but if you think I’m going to waste a fast and not pray it up, you don’t know me too well. So I killed 2 birds with one hungry stone.

On the first night, I was in the car driving back from Beth Moore Bible Study. I was saying to the Lord all the things I wanted out of the fast. I want to have this, and have this, and have this work out, have this start, have this stop, have have have have.

Which is usually fine for a fast, honestly. That is what you are doing in a fast- asking God in desperate measure to meet a need.

I stopped. A sermon I had heard at Buckhead Church flashed back to my mind. The pastor said, “Don’t ask ‘what do I want to have?‘, ask ‘who do I want to be?‘”. (You can hear it HERE- it’s called “The One Thing”.)

Who do I want to be?

And for the rest of the fast, my prayers changed. Because I knew this fast had instantly changed from me receiving to me becoming.

My circumstances weren’t in need of repair. He has those well taken care of.

I am what needed to be repaired. This fast was about ME and who I want to be. And who God wants me to be.

I want to be a great leader for our Scotland team- the kind who seeks God, is brave, and draws my team members closer to Him.

I want to be a healthy person who honors God with my body and my eating.

I want to be a good writer. One who influences people in a way that leads them to God. That calls them deeper in relationship.

I want to be a solid friend.

I want to be a good daughter. Good sister. Good family member in general.

So this was not about fasting so that God will GIVE me.

It’s fasting so that God will CHANGE me, MAKE me, TRANSFORM me.

It’s not what I want to have, it’s who I want to be.

I feel like I’ve been given a chance to be me- a new, improved me. A deeper walk with God me.

And even yesterday, I was given the chance to display who I had become, thanks to the fast. It felt good. Real good. And strong. A strength that doesn’t come for a #4 combo from Chick-fil-A with a large Diet Dr. Pepper. A strength that comes from the core. From the center of who I am.

I think this is the start of something really beautiful between me and the Lord. Because it’s no longer going to be about what God will give me- He’s a giver, that’s what He does. He will always give according to His will- so I can quit worrying about that.

Instead, my new focus is what I do with what He’s given. And who I am before, during, and after.

You know what you want to have.

Let me say a couple of things about this video:
1) I am really like this. Funny and not funny. Wrapped up in one.
2) I had no idea I had a lisp when I speak quietly. I’m going to be ridiculously aware of my whisper-lisp from now on.
3) I say this a lot – “so…” , “well….” , “ok.”
4) I totally was going to tell you what went missing if I found it. But since I didn’t, the mystery remains.
5) If you have no idea what this video is about, read this.

I’m no Dave Barnes, but I had a real nice time.

Bad migraine = no video editing attempt = no hilarious video blog on Thursday.

I’ll get it done today after school. Or…. I won’t be smart enough to figure it out and I’ll cry technology-challenged tears all over my MacBook.

Either way, something worth your click will be here later today.

My apologies.

For my first gray hair.

Let me tell you some background- one time, a few years ago, my mom passed out in the middle of the night and was lying on the bathroom floor like she was dead. It totally freaked ALL of us out.

Yesterday, I was up in my room after school. I started hearing the sound like someone was choking. That sound, you know? The one that makes you think there is a Cadbury Egg lodged in someone’s throat? And they are struggling to get it out? Yeah, that sound.

Mom and I were the only ones at home. So I yelled down the stairs to her, “Mama?”

Nothing. But a deeper choking sound. Twice.

So I hollered louder- “MAMA?!? ARE YOU OKAY?!?”

Three quick choking sounds.

In my mind, I was certain that my mother was having some sort of seizure or trying to give herself the heimlich maneuver.

My adrenalin kicked in, I jumped out of bed [sue me, I love to nap] and ran down the stairs.

And there was Mama.

Sitting at the kitchen table.

Practicing her Chinese pronunciation.

Yes, my mother is learning Chinese. And apparently “Good morning, professor” in Chinese sounds a lot like “Please call 911. I am having a grand mal seizure!” in English.

It took a good 7-8 minutes before my hands stopped shaking, I was so worked up.

And it took the same amount of time for my mom to stop laughing.

A little piece of me will never recover from that panic. I think I aged 6 years in that one moment. I literally felt a gray hair grow out of my scalp directly above the “panic” area of my brain.

But it was sure blog-worthy. I hope you enjoyed it.

(Missing update: So, unlike Jesus…. I’m forgetful. And I left yesterday afternoon without the key to my UHAUL storage unit. So I still haven’t checked for my treasure. I’ll let you know how it goes.)

SONG #1- I went to dinner with my grad school friends and afterwards, I used the restroom. I was the only one in there, so I could hear the music really well. And there was this song I had never heard before playing on the speakers. I stood there, in the stall, and listened to every word because it was absolutely beautiful. As it ended I snapped back to reality and I had been in the bathroom for around 5 minutes. Not as easy story to explain. “Uh… I was standing alone in the bathroom listening to the lyrics of this song.” I would never believe someone who told me that.

The song is “Realize” by Colbie Caillat. But I give her a big strike [or her record label] because they won’t let me put the video on here. So, here is the link to the video though life would be cooler if I could just post the video.

SONG #2- On Fridays, my students get a special treat- if we are testing or doing some sort of desk work, we get to listen to the “SHREK” soundtrack. And let me tell you. Nothing will get a group of kids wishing for a test like the hope for hearing “All-Star”. It always warms the heart to watch 30 kids do long division and sing to themselves, “Hey now, you’re a rock star, get the show on, get paid…”

Anyways, if you’ve never actually heard the Shrek soundtrack, it’s good. Real good. A lot of interesting songs.

And my dear BFF [whoIdon'treallyknow] Phil Wickham did a cover yesterday of one of my favorite songs from the soundtrack. Obviously, I think it’s better than the original. Then again, we are fake best friends, so of course I’m going to be loyal to him. And he will let me post the video. Which I appreciate.

Happy Wednesday. Hope you are 2 songs happier than when you got here.

I don’t have a lot of treasured possessions. I just wasn’t built that way. It comes in really handy as a teacher, being that there is NOT A ONE THING that the students feel is off limits to touch and then drop on the floor and break into eleventy billion pieces. Sorry about that, book ends shaped like a desktop computer.

But I do have a few treasures.

And probably the top one, the most precious thing I own, is missing. I didn’t notice the first few days I moved. But as the days have pulled along, bags have been emptied and things have finally found a resting place, it is no where. No where.

I remember the last time I saw it. I was packing my bedroom and I remember pulling it out of the bedside table drawer. Where it has been for the last seven years. I held it in my hands, as I’ve done so many times, and I remember asking myself, “Do you really think you will need this before August?”

Unfortunately, I don’t remember my answer.

My rational mind says, “You probably packed it in the box, and it’s quietly resting in a UHAUL storage unit.”

My emotional mind says, “OH MY DEAR LORD WHERE COULD IT BE?!?! HOW IN THE WORLD DID I LOSE SOMETHING THAT IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME YET KNOW THE EXACT LOCATION OF MY CHRISTMAS SOCKS?!?!”

I have bags packed for a yard sale- did I accidentally bag it?

Did I, God forbid, trash it?

Oh, that just makes me feel sick. I can’t think about that again.

It’s not just an item. It’s an investment. It’s a piece of me. It’s a big piece of my story- it’s a deep part of me.

I have no idea where it is. And I desperately want to find it. I don’t need it, per say. I just want to know that it is near me. I just want it.

So, foolishly, tomorrow afternoon I will head to the UHAUL storage unit, unpack every piece of furniture to find the small box that could possibly hold my missing item. Because I’m willing to waste my afternoon and my energy to see if there is just a chance that it is there. I am willing to do anything at this point to try to find it. To have it again.

Maybe this is the smallest smallest infinitely tiniest taste of how Jesus felt before He found me.

I’m feeling a little homesick for Europe tonight- thanks to a live Premier League soccer game on Fox Soccer, three British themed movies, and drinking tea. So instead of writing a blog that is mediocre at best [trust me, I tried], I played on Picnik.

[By the way, when I say "homesick", I mean "I pretend to live there when I visit". Just FYI.]

So Thursday after school I was tutoring a student in Algebra. We’ll call him Slater [cause it's funny and I don't use real kid names. It's not internet-cool. I always try to be internet-cool]. His mom and siblings weren’t far away, but Dad was. He works overseas a lot. And Slater had actually just finished telling me that his dad has been to this city, that city, was now in Sweden, and would be going to Paris. And then France.

Bless him.

He argued with me for a few minutes, not ready to embrace the idea that Paris IS France. Until I gave in, not because I was wrong [I wasn't], but because sometimes I let students win fights with me until they learn, on their own, these important facts:

1. I know everything in the world.
2. I am always right.

So post-argument, we returned to the quadratic formula, simplest radical form, and other things that I rarely admit to enjoying so completely.

The phone rings. It’s Dad. He clears up the ole Paris vs. France thing pretty quickly. I hear him mumble, then I hear Slater say, “Yeah, Dad, I want to see it. But Annie is here, so she’ll come see it, too.”

My thoughts: Yikes, I hope this doesn’t get really awkward really quick and then straight into This is the sweetest kid in the world to include me.

Because he knows I like being right smack in the middle of everybody’s biz-nass.

So Slater motions for me to follow him to the computer room while he gets instruction from Dad.

A few clicks of a mouse and bada-bing: We’re looking at Dad on the computer screen while he is in Stockholm, Sweden (where it is 11pm).

Because that totally fits in with what normal tutors do.

Though it is freezing right now in Stockholm, Dad opens the window and turns to computer outside and pans the view so that we can see the lights of the city. He also shows us his SWEET suite- it seriously looked like Ikea threw up all over that place.

I mean, seriously. 2 people in Georgia in the middle of the afternoon can see a live shot of the lights of Stockholm? Does that still amaze anyone else besides me, a dorky 4th grade teacher who still teaches about the European explorers who found America??

I remember being younger and watching The Jetsons on television. I always hoped life would be like that. Looks like we are getting there.

Personally, I hope the next Jetson-to-real-life item is the closet that dresses you each morning. I think if I had one, I wouldn’t be such a prime candidate for What Not To Wear.

And if I had Rosie the robot housekeeper, I wouldn’t have to spend my Saturday afternoon cleaning my room. Sheesh.