Steven Curtis Chapman’s five year old daughter was killed today in a tragic car accident. Read the story HERE.

Quote from an article: “One of contemporary Christian music star Steven Curtis Chapman’s six children was killed this afternoon when she was struck by a car said to be driven by her teenage brother in the driveway of the family’s Williamson County home.“

Heartbreaking.

The body of Christ was made for such a time as this. Pray, my friends. Pray.

Oh dear God,
Be near. Be so near. I pray the Chapman family would feel Your REAL and TANGIBLE presence tonight. I don’t know, God. I don’t know how to pray right for this. But I know Your heart hurts for them too. So whatever that thing is that You do when someone is really hurting and You step in and hold them, do that now. Speak gently, but loudly, to that teenage son- remind of Your everlasting love. Be louder than the voices of discouragement and death in his head. Be thou his vision. Comforter, do Your thing. Comfort. Hold. For a long time. Give us the right words to pray, God, as we seek You on behalf of this family. Be near.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.

So I saw this video on David Crowder’s blog. I watched it and I videotaped myself watching it, cause I kinda wanted it to be like we were watching it together. Share a moment, if you will. Weird, huh? Or cool? Or dumb? Not sure. Hence the title of this blog post.

If we really want to be just alike, you are going to need to get a triscuit, put some cheese on it, and chase that with a tall glass of orange juice.

Ok, actually. You are going to need to start the top video first, then wait 16 seconds and start the bottom video. Trust me. It’s much better if they are synced up. Sorry I’m a dork and didn’t do this correctly. Proof that this video was made in one take.

Did you feel like we watched that video together? Did you laugh? Or did you feel that I must be out of my mind?

This is an article I wrote to enter a Mother’s Day Contest. I lost. The theme was to write about how your mother reminded you of God’s love. So this was my losing attempt. No reward for me, but a mighty fine subject for a Positive Post Tuesday.

It is not easy being my mother. I think that’s why God gave me to a real champ- any other woman may not have found the challenge of raising me all that fun. I lied constantly as a child, I refused to be kind to any of my sisters, and I tended to take a nap on the couch after every soccer game I played. Without taking a shower to wash off the sweat. While I usually inhabit Selfish-ville, my mom has permanent residence in the land of Loving Others More.

Mama’s favorite holiday is Thanksgiving. Each year, by the end of October, she is already scouring the Internet and her cookbooks for a new recipe to debut. The kitchen begins to fill with grocery items that we are absolutely not allowed to touch under any circumstances. On Thanksgiving morning, she gets up early to prepare the food that will be consumed, mostly by my male cousins. Then, as we all lounge around and watch football, she loads the dishwasher and washes the pots and pans. Before the game is over, she has Tupperware containers packed with leftovers for the carloads to eat as they drive away. Mama gives her time for us because she gets her joy from seeing all of us gather together.

Just like God.

In September of 2007, as a 27-year-old independent adult, I had my tonsils removed. For the next two weeks, I was at the complete mercy of my mother. As a young woman living on my own for almost ten years, it was a strange phenomenon to be back under the constant wing of my mother’s care. And I loved it. I prepared no meals, measured no medications, paid no bills, washed no clothes. She even took my car and got the oil changed! Mama made sure that I had everything I needed, and then went above and beyond that.

Just like God.

A few nights ago, Mama and I had a serious conversation. I had made a few mistakes and she knew it. She didn’t hop off the couch and embrace me. She didn’t tell me that all would be well. “But Mama,” I said, “it will be fine. It always is.” She looked at me with a stern face and told me truth. “Annie, this is an issue between you and God this will NOT be fine until you decide to change. It doesn’t even have to do with the other people. Just you. And God.” I thought about this, a grimace on my face, and I wanted to blame the people who had hurt me. Yet I knew she was right. She continued, “You need to fix this. You need to let God fix this in you.” I asked her, “Are you mad at me, Mama?” She replied, “No, but I’m very concerned. I just don’t want anything to stand between you and the plans that God has for you.” She asked me to rise higher than my hurt and to stop sinning out of pain. Her wisdom was not full of anger, but full of hope. Mama forgave my mistakes and spoke truth into my future.

Just like God.

How does she do it? Why did she never roll my sweaty self off her expensive couch? Why doesn’t she assign someone else to do the dishes or load the Tupperware? Why does she forgive my repeated mistakes? Why in the world did she get my oil changed?

Because she wants to love me, love our family, just like God does.

There is no one I know that has a heart for God like Mama. She wakes up early every morning to seek Him, to pray for us, to be nearer to Him. She depends on Him for everything. She does none of this out of her own strength. That would have run out long before the delicious Thanksgiving leftovers. Her strength comes from depending on His strength. Her love comes from knowing His love. She lives out of the life of God in her.

I have watched my mother through the years. As the oldest child in the family, I am blessed to have no other role model but her. So I watched, and I decided not only what I wanted to be, but who I wanted to be. She is a woman who has filled many roles – successful lawyer, classroom mom, Bible study teacher, brave small business owner, family genealogist, PTA president and many more. But there are no roles as respectable and honorable as her role as a God-seeking mother. My God-seeking mother.

I look forward to having my own kids. I will try to love them the way that God does. I will serve them so they will learn to serve others. I will support their dreams and drive them around town. I will cheer loudly and hug tightly. I will seek God first, knowing that only in Him will I find strength to be His hands, His feet, and His heart to my family.

Just like Mama.

See other positive posts HERE on Brody’s blog. Bonus points for the person who finds the most out-of-place-are-you-kidding-me-what-an-honor post.

I bet you don’t. I bet you are a pretty sweater. And that makes me jealous of you.

I see ladies all the time in grocery stores or Wal-Mart or eating lunch with their kids who have obviously just come from the gym. The spandex outfits are perfectly matched and they carry themselves with an air of spunk. Like, “While you were teaching my child how to read, I was on the elliptical. And I am exhausted!”

Don’t get me started.

They are the women who go to exercise during their lunch break and somehow lose 6 pounds but only show a wee bit of sweat around their collar bone. It’s really more of a sheen, not a sweat.

They are the women like the high schooler today in the gym- I call her “Sassy 17″. She worked out for a solid hour with JEWELRY ON and HER HAIR DOWN. She’s doing the row boat machine thingy with her hair blowing in the breeze. Then Sassy 17 grabs her phone and starts talking like she’s been sitting around. No huffing or puffing. Just checkin’ in with her galpals. Back to rowing. But no ponytail necessary.

Then…. there is me.

I am an ugly sweater.

My face? It turns a violent shade of red. My hair? It’s like I have my own irrigation system up there. Soaked. In minutes. My shirt? It looks like someone strategically tie died it… in the most unflattering places. Jewelry? Please. My ring would squeeze my finger like an anaconda. No thanks.

And so there I am. Between Sassy 17 and Ninja Vlad, my trainer. [That's really his name. The Vlad part. The Ninja part is just because.] And I look like I’ve been through the carwash.

It could be worse. At least I’m not a disgusting sweater. We all know that guy at the gym. And let me say, Disgusting Sweater, that I had sympathy for you until you LAID YOUR NASTY SELF DOWN ON MY MAT TO STRETCH YOUR BACK.

I just threw up a little in my mouth remembering it.

The upside? At least I’m exercising.

The downside? I sweat like a man but lift weights like a school girl.

Pride hath no home on a blog.

[If you are a single gentleman that is considering or has ever considered dating me, please disregard this blog post. It is all completely false... ish... ahem....and for the pure enjoyment of my readership. Sorta. In reality, I resemble Sassy 17. Call me "Sassy 27". Uhhh... let's just not go on a jog, okay?]

Kinda like humorists? Get it? Play on words?…. Hello?…. Is this thing on?

Okay….

One night this week, a few girls and I went out to eat. We had a blast. Seriously, Chili’s hasn’t held that much genuine laughter in a long time. At one point, Steph made a stellar joke. The timing was perfect, the inflection in her voice was spot on, the post joke comedic pause set her on a pedestal in my mind from which she will not soon be removed.

Since dinner, I have been thinking about people that I think are really funny. Not necessarily people that I know because really, it would be unwise to prove to you that I am not the funniest person we know. I gotta keep you coming back for the jokes.

But I surely don’t mind pushing you in the direction of famous funny people.

So here is my list of top funny famous people that I do not know but desperately want to be friends with at some point in my life:

5. Dave Barnes. Duh. You saw that coming a million miles away. [If you didn't, Hi. My name is Annie. Welcome to the blog. We like Dave Barnes here.]

4. Steve Carell. Whether it’s Anchorman or The Office, this man is a comedic genius. Truthfully, he is just an all around amazing actor, and that makes him funnier. Drawback- I bet he’s the kind of comedian that is stoic in real life. I have negative amounts of proof of this, which is further reason that I need to be real friends with him- so I can dispel all the rumors that I have made up.

3. Vince Vaughn. Y’all. I just got done watching Dodgeball (on TV, so it’s mostly appropriate), and I laughed my tail feathers off. Mainly because of Vince. He is dry and quick witted and I wonder how much of the humor he does in movies is ad lib, because I think he is that smart. Drawback- many of his movies aren’t what you might call “family friendly” or “a film you can rent at the Blockbuster in Heaven”. But if you can catch them on TV, you may not feel like a bad person after you laugh at the jokes.

2. Chris Farley. Though I’m not one to judge a man’s heart, I don’t know that this is going to happen since he died a few years ago. But when he sings “Fat guy in a little coat” in Tommy Boy, I laugh every time like it’s new. It’s that funny. I could watch Tommy Boy and Black Sheep (the underrated and under appreciated stepbrother of Tommy Boy) once a week and laugh outloud every time. Drawback- umm… not a resident of Earth.

1. Will Ferrell. There are no words. To sit at a table with him would be too much. Just go on YouTube and search him- you will crack up. [Again, not all things are appropriate, so I do not endorse him as a wholesome role model. But he's funny y'all.] I also think his mind is constantly reworking jokes and accents and hilarity. He is naturally funny AND he works at it. Bravo.

If you have the ability to make me friends with any of these people sometime before I die, I’ll give you a rousing round of applause and a small token of my appreciation, probably a baked good or Happy Meal toy.

Watch SNL tonight- Steve Carell is the host. You will laugh so hard that you pee your pants a little. And when you do, remember I called it. And then go change.

I asked for a new Bible as a Christmas gift in 1995. Because Molly had one. I wanted to be like her. Still do. I got a Quest Study Bible and I love it. 13 years later, I still use that same one.

Oh, and that Bible has been through it. I’m not what you might call “careful with my possessions” and I believe that something well loved is well worn in. So this Bible has been slung through about ten different countries, numerous road trips, lived at six different addresses, and attended multiple Summer Camps. [Insert super-Christian joke here.] But seriously, it’s the perfect size, I love the side notes and the version. The only downside is this- the longer I used it, the more the bonded leather peeled off the cover.

And so in 2002, when I was an intern at the Wesley Foundation, Jake and I had the brilliant idea to duct tape my entire Bible. It worked like a charm. No more peeling. No more issues.

Until. 2008. Said duct tape begins to peel and now everywhere I take my Bible, I get sticky mess all over my hands and clothing. Enough is enough.

Solution? I got it recovered. Maybe a more “financially savvy” person would have purchased a new one. But not me. I sent it off via Sweet Spirit to the Bible Hospital [I made that up, I don't really know where it went] and they fixed it and shipped it back.

To have it back was like reuniting an old friend. I could flip immediately to passages that had spoken life to me throughout my teen years. I saw notes of prayer requests for friends that to this day still need Jesus. I was flipping through this Bible feeling like I had somehow found my way back home.

I think there is something to be said for the freshness of a new Bible- the unfamiliarity breeds some type of renewed conviction to read for understanding. But. For me. There is a connection to God when I feel the connection to 1995 Annie, who asked for a Bible for Christmas because it was the cool thing to do. She had no idea the LIFE held within these words. She had no idea the TEARS to be spilled on these pages. She had no idea the MANY YEARS that would be invested into this copy.

And she did not know that 2008 Annie would cling to these words and phrases more tightly than anything else in her world.

Because the Author is her everything.

*No, this is not was I was looking for HERE.*

But how?

Y’all. He’s just not right.

My heart is so full tonight. We just met together as a Scotland mission team and let me tell you this. GOD IS MOVING. And we are honored and pumped to be a part of it. (More info for you on that soon.)

So I’m busy journaling and praying and emailing the folks in Scotland. I pray the excitement that we are feeling will spill into your life. Read Psalm 24. He IS the King of Glory.

While I keep doing Scotland-y stuff, why don’t you watch Dave Barnes again? Cause that man is hilarious. (Remember how we voted for him last week on MTVU? Yeah, he won. Duh.)

In which I thank a group of people who do not read my blog.

At every turn, every chance I get, I thank my Nashville friends. I try not to be creepy, or thank them so profusely that they think I:
A. have a crush on them or
B. am obviously friendless and now they know why or
C. am a kiss up.

But, see, they don’t know. They don’t know what I know. They don’t know that they are representing Jesus to me. And doing it well. They don’t know that their kind text messages (or hugs or emails or dessert sharing) breathe life into a dream that tries to choke on fear and die every single day.

And most of them don’t know I have a blog, so this is not for their benefit. [Just FYI- I'm not a kiss up.] I’m telling you, as sure as I am sitting here [and I am], God has handed me friends that make me feel like Nashville isn’t the big bully who sits in the last row on the bus, snarling in my direction, just waiting on me to be the last kid left. To devour me. Alone.

Instead, it’s a place where I kinda have a couple of friends.

There was a night in February where tears had been plentiful and these exact words had come out of my mouth- “God, I’m never going to have any friends in Nashville.”

[To say I'm dramatic may be a wee bit of an understatement. At least I do life with flair.]

On that night, I got an email. It said, “Sammy Nashville [not his real name] says you are one of his friends. Me too!” Moments before, I had cried huge Georgia shaped tears and here someone from Nashville had called me his “friend”. It was a gift.

Another friend picked me up on Friday night and drove me around Nashville just to see the area. She is a gift.

Another friend texted just to see how Saturday house hunting was going. She is a gift.

Another friend is spending his time this week trying to find me a condo. He is a gift.

Another friend spent his Sunday afternoon showing my Dad that the area around a certain house is safe. He is a gift.

I think I just needed an outlet to thank them. To thank Him. Because I am not unaware of the gifts or the Giver. When I write a book about God moving me to a new city and providing everything I need, I will include them. And I will get permission and use their names. Or you will read a lot about “Sammy Nashville” and “Cindy New City”.

They have played a part in one life, my life, being lived better for God.

So thank you.

Go to Brody’s blog to read more positive posts about people who make a difference.

I do have parents. See?

Do with the following information what you will. The internet doesn’t lie, people. We are obviously related. As if the quality mustaches and award winning senses of humor didn’t give that away already.

I think this whole thing is rather creepy. But let me know if you try it.

Amen.

After a FAR less than successful house hunt day in Nashville, there was no better therapy than being surrounded by thousands of the highest quality rednecks, including my family, at the Grand Ole Opry.

Did you know the Grand Ole Opry held this many people? Neither did I. Did you know this many people WANTED to be at the Grand Ole Opry at the same time? Neither did I.

We saw some great performances, and some awesome fashion statements. Let’s start with the great performances.

Dierks Bentley. He was good. Real good.

And my sister Tatum? We are as genetically polar at two siblings can be, but there is this one area that we are quite similar…..

The truth of this video is that Tatum was doing that for 1-2 minutes BEFORE I stopped laughing enough to pull my camera out and video. She’s just a dancer. And a big fan of Dierks Bentley. And is always wanting to be a star on this here blog.

The highlight of the night was seeing cute Carrie Underwood get inducted into the Grand Ole Opry. She was humble and sweet and sang her little heart out. Here she is watching her highlight video that they showed before inducting her.

Then Garth Brooks came out and gave her the trophy. Which was cool as crap.

Vince Gill was absolutely blue grass spectacular. And I never expected to create that term.
Now….. drum roll please….. let us take a few moments on this Mother’s Day to celebrate Country Music fashion at it’s finest.

Marty Stuart. Country flavored ascot? Dreams do come true, people. Let this be your proof.

Mustaches as thick as a chocolate Chick-fil-A milkshake? Same shade but more beautifully groomed? Aaron Tippin, you had me at hairy lip.And the pinnacle, dare I say the most fashion forward experience of my night…..

Turquoise boots. Or as Corporate H says, TURQWUAZE. Or as I say, THE HEAVENLY SHADE OF SHOE.

Yes, these shoes made me want to live in this city MORE. Not less.

If only I could find a house to live in. Hey Grand Ole Opry, do you rent seats out by the month?