I opened my iCal [I think I have a bit of a crush blooming there, too] today to add some very important events [my birthday, for example] and got to counting.

22 days.

22 work days. Not counting weekends, though something tells me I’ll be counting weekends as work days very quickly.   Saturdays, at least.  Not Sundays.

22 days until my completed manuscript is due to a publishing house and an agent.

22 days to write/edit around 45,000 words. To give you an idea, one page, double spaced, holds about 270 words. So, that’s about 170 pages left to write. 7 pages a day for 22 days.

My stomach just turned.

Let’s all just take a deep breath.

I’m not here to complain. This is the life I’ve wanted for a long time. But I am here to say this whole five posts a week on the blog has been a real pleasure, but until October 1, I think that’s a thing of the past. I’ll probably only blog 2-3 times a week, if that.

It’s not that I don’t love you, blogmies and bloggites. I do. It’s just that sometimes a reality check [read: panic attack] can also serve as a swift kick in the hard drive. I really Really REALLY have to focus if I’m going to be who God has called me to be here in Nashville.

We’ll still have a RagamuffinTop update this weekend (I already made most of the video- we can’t let those golden nuggets of embarrassment go to waste) and an awesome giveaway next Friday. But that may be it for the week.

Unless someone calls me baby or I have a complete meltdown. Both seem to be the exact kind of blog posts that you sick puppies like. And that is why we will be friends for a long time.

Remember how I warned you that some days I would be short on blog words? Yeah, that’s today. I’ve written somewhere in the 2,000s today. That’s right. TWO THOUSAND WORDS. Not much for a “real author”, but a bit much for a noob like me.

1. BOOK CLUB. Was awesome. We read a book that I didn’t totally love (Eat, Pray, Love). It was new age themed and the author writes during a rather selfish phase of life. BUT. Her writing style is GENIUS and I hope she meets Jesus cause I think she would really like Him. The girls in book club are awesome. We sat outside on comfy rocking chairs and talked that book to death. I’m still digesting some of our topics that I’m sure are future blog post worthy. I’m really grateful for this new group of friends. Reading friends. Booyah. Our next book is Three Cups of Tea, which may break this former elementary teacher’s heart.

2. ELECTROCUTION. It’s true. I was unplugging my computer and for some could-I-be-more-dumb reason, I pulled it out a bit then proceeded to grab the METAL part of the plug. Dear Annie, did you think the rubber was there just for looks? Uh, no. So my hands both began to vibrate at high rates of speed and I could feel the electricity pass up my arms. Yeah, scary. I survived, but I think my middle finger on my right hand is damaged. It still feels all tingly 24 hours later.

3. BLUE BIRD. Annie Parsons and I are going to the Bluebird Cafe tonight to hear a singer/songwriter Lori McKenna. I could not be more pumped.

4. THIS IS ME. Taking a break after completing a chapter of my book!! BOOYAH!! Finally. Earrings? A b-day gift from Mama Debbie. Phone? Listening to a message from my friend Hillary that could lead to some possibly unprecedented awesome in my life. In the other ear? Evan Wickham.

The hair? I know. And the clip? Its as long as my finger. Its from Scotland and its so good. (This picture is for Laura because she has a deep love for the big Scottish clip. And Laura, I looked like a fool taking this. Just so you know.)

I don’t even know myself anymore. I used hairspray today. By choice. Good gracious what is this zip code doing to me?

[Yep. This is considered a "short" blog. Heaven help me. And you.]

I think I may make this a tradition. This whole “Smile, Wednesday” bit. Especially after the novella I wrote yesterday. You bloggites. You are committed if you read all the way through that thing.

I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed this to you, but I need to. I can’t keep it in anymore, and reading a blog today, it became too much. I really hate Comic Sans font. I can’t stand it. I know, its against elementary teacher code to dislike anything in the “cutesy” department, but it’s true. I hate it. I’m sorry, don’t take it personal.

Here is my new gym. My Nash-gym, if you will. Which probably will be featured in my video return to RAGAMUFFINTOP CHALLENGE this weekend!

It’s in a big building. A big business important person building. As in everyone on the elevator is in suits but I am in a spandex suit with a belt and leg warmers.

Ok. Not really spandex. Icky. But workout clothes. And I have to park in a garage. It makes me feel so Big City Girl.

Tonight was also BOOK CLUB! I will tell you more tomorrow (about book club and the fact I got electrocuted today). But for now, here is the cutest dog I have ever known. And I don’t dig dogs. Griffin is his name. As soon as he leaned into my shins, I was undone. This DOES NOT happen to me. I don’t even know you, Nashville Dog-Liker Annie. Yes, that is my hand touching the dog. I know. I was shocked too.

And the delicious, but less furry, part of Book Club. Brie and grapes. Listen, I know this is far classier than I am. But let’s just keep that little fact to ourselves, okay? Actually, maybe the same Annie that likes dogs is extremely classy and trendy and cosmopolitan-esque?

I don’t know her all that well, so I really can’t say.

My friend Jonathan doesn’t believe in luck. In fact, in college, when we led a cell group together, I remember wishing him luck for some reason. He responded with, “Not good luck. Good providence.” I quickly adopted the phrase, more in jest, or was it?

Providence. “The protective care of God”. Isn’t that beautiful?

I spent the weekend in San Antonio relaxed in the arms of providence.

I take very little in life seriously. As you can probably tell. [For Pete's sake, I raced myself last week.] But one thing on a short list of “this is super important and don’t you mess with it” is having mentors. I believe strongly that it is difficult, dare I say impossible, to do this life successfully if you don’t have anyone to model after. So I seek them out. I love me some mentors.

Which is one of the main reasons I went to San Antonio. As I’ve mentioned before, Melanie and Sophie have both, with their approval or not, stepped into that role for me. Not as bloggy-mentors, but life mentors. I didn’t see it coming. It just happened. So it was like home to spend the entire weekend with them, spill my beans and my heart, laugh about the nothings of life and Bravo Network, eat Mexican food on the hour every hour, and survive Mel’s driving. Just to be loved for being Annie. Something that is slow to come in Nashville (but coming, don’t you worry).

Last week God asked me to be really brave, really honest, and really vulnerable to my group of mentors. I sent an email, expressing deep things that I had decided were better to let die than speak out loud, and asking them to pray with me about these things.

You have NO IDEA how exposed I felt. Yes, these group of women (17 in all- I know, amazing, right?) were now officially as “in” as it gets with me. [Which is saying a lot being that I'm the human version of a billboard sign when it comes to my feelings and thoughts.] And that list included Mel and Sophie. Women who have discipled me for fifteen years received the same email as these friends from the start of summer.

These women, all of them, stood by me and said “Yes, we’ll pray. Yes, we believe God for you. Yes, your heart is safe with us.”

Since then, two other women have talked with me, Gulley being one of them, and ASKED me if they could pray for me. So not only am I loved by friends I met in June and friends I met in 1991, even Gulley embraces my crazy and we just met on Friday.

Tell me. How does God do that? How does He transcend time and years and allow us to connect? I don’t know the answer. But I’m the recipient of this great providence, and I’m appreciative.

Since I sent the email, peace has reigned supreme in my heart. It was never a place of fear, just a place of doubt. But that place doesn’t just belong to me anymore. I opened the door to that room in my heart, invited all my mentors in, and threw a party. And somehow, having everyone in there makes the place friendly. It used to be a dark room, an empty ballroom, with all the makings of a great party, but none of the light or life. Now. Oh now. The lights are on, the music is pumping, and I’m pretty sure that the celebration is just beginning.

Without these mentors [and you know who you are], I think I would have always walked into this room, sat criss-cross on the floor, in the dark, and despaired over the waste of such beauty. Such detail. There was a deep fear of misuse, of the empty. And unsettled quiet.

But now, with the love and prayers of these women, this place lives. God didn’t ask me to expose my crazy to the world, just to the ones who have already chosen to love me. These women agreed to attend this party, even if it starts too early, I play the wrong music, or forget to order the dessert.

[Ok. You're right. I'd never forget to order dessert.]

When I used to wonder if God knew this room existed, I now know the truth- it has always been under the protective care of God.

Providence.

This is a post for Brody Harper’s Positive Post Tuesday. Go here to read more.

Obviously, Mama is my Numero Uno Mentor, but I already blogged about that.

The way I got to San Antonio is hilarious. Here’s how it happened. I went to the SheSpeaks Conference in Charlotte. While shopping there with Melanie and Sophie, I decided to go to Deeper Still in Atlanta. Then while sharing blogger brownies outside the Georgia Dome, I decided to go to San Antonio.

I don’t exactly know why. Its not like I have a job with tons of extra cash floating around my life. But everyday I realize I am more and more like my sister than I thought- the girl will pack up and fly to Abu Dhabi to see people that she loves. And that was my motivation too, mostly. Melanie and Sophie have become dear friends and I just couldn’t miss the chance to hang with them again. [More on that tomorrow...]

So I flew there, met some other awesome blog-sistas for the first time (big ups to E-Dub, Robyn, Gayle, Amy Beth, and Cindy!) which was so fun. Another huge blessing was being with Missy again, a dear friend from SheSpeaks. And I am not lying when I say this- I totally teared up when I saw her the first time. I just love her. [I know you are shocked about the tears.]

The Fiesta was great. We took a group picture (one of ten or so), and I labeled it for you. Obviously. You need to know right where my people are.

And bless their hearts, the Lifeway people saved me a seat.

Huh? What’s that? That looks like MY handwriting towards the bottom? Um… I have no idea what you are talking about.

Seriously, I loved the whole conference. Worship was OFF THE CHAIN- in the words of Mel, Travis made me “ugly cry”. It was the most intense worship I have ever experienced at a Beth Moore event. So so good. And Beth’s talks. Good gracious. As you’ll recall, the whole idea of “God is my portion” is my theme right now, so to say I was stunned when that scripture crossed the screen is an understatement. I’m not kidding, y’all, when Beth started flipping us to scriptures on Saturday, I turned back in my journal about a week and had ALL THE SAME SCRIPTURES. It was creepy and cool. croolpy. Or creool? Either way, it ruled.

The Lord spoke deep to my heart. As you can imagine, with my new world and all here in Nashville, I’ve had some pretty-serious-face-down-why-am-I-here- and-what-are-You-doing talks with God. So it wasn’t that the entire concept of the weekend was new to me, though some of it surely was. Its that it was beautifully timed.

I really felt the Lord saying, “You know all that stuff that’s been floating in your head? You know those things you’ve prayed about and are continuing to pray about? You know how you wonder if its Me and if its true? IT IS.“

God flew me to San Antonio to remind me that He and I are in the middle of something big in Nashville.

I’ll use some fancy words (and maybe even paragraphs) tomorrow to describe the weekend.  Oh Psalm 16, you are so good.

Until then, here is your appetizer….

Made at wordle.net

It’s 7:07am, San Antonio time. I am sitting on the floor of my hotel room, all the lights off, while my roomie Amy Beth still snoozles. The sun is rising out our 16th story window and I can’t decide what to do- blog or watch, blog or watch. Ok, blotch.

I wanted to rush home from the Beth Moore talk last night and blog it out until Kingdom come. My mind was so full, my heart so full, that I was dying to get it out.

Instead we went to a Mexican restaurant with some bloggers and LifeWay folks and stayed until midnight.

[For those of you keeping track, that means I was actually awake for 21 straight hours. Eww.]

So needless to say, when I got home at 12:35am and had to be ready to go at 7:45am, blogging wasn’t how I chose to spend my few sleeping hours. But my heart was blogging, even if my fingers weren’t.

I’m going to have to make this short [who just said "GLORY!"?]. But let me tell you what Beth Moore talked about for over half her talk last night.

GOD IS MY PORTION.

I’m sorry- has she been reading my JOURNAL? Or is she a secret fan of ye old blog, because correct me if I’m wrong, but is that not the THEME OF MY LIFE right now?

Actually. It has very little to do with Beth attempting to teach directly to me, one of 10,000. It has far more to do with God speaking directly to me, one of 10,000. And directly to each woman here.

What is He saying?

“Love ya, girl.”

I need to go ahead and say that up front. Because at some point in this post you may say, “Annie sorta sounds like a … “, then you’ll pause, reread the title, and then say to yourself, “Well, actually, nope. She’s not a wimp. She told us that already.”

It’s called being on the offensive.

Anyways, today was my first experience in the Nashville airport. For a big city girl like me, used to the Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta International Could Have Its Own Zip Code Airport, you’d think that a tiny little airport like Nashville’s would be simple to figure out and fairly manageable.

Or so you’d think.

On Tuesday, though I was publicly mocked by my friend Jason, I made a practice run to the airport. We ALL know my tendencies to get lost and since I had to be at the airport at 5am [also known as the BUTT CRACK OF DAWN], I wanted to have it sorta figured out when it was light outside. Mission Accomplished.

Or so I thought.

This morning came early [thank you Tatum for the 3am wake-up text], I was ready to walk out the door at 4:45am. I turn on my Garmin and it can’t find a satellite! I begin to replay my conversation with Jason- did he say it was 65N or 65S? To I-40E, I think? If it was as easy to find as he, and everyone else in the 615 area code, says, surely I could pull this off.

Not to mention I had driven the EXACT ROUTE three days ago.

Garmin pulls through for me [no one is more grateful than Jason because a 5am wake up call may have ended the friendship], but as I get to the airport, I can’t find the parking. I loop the airport twice, then finally see the economy lot. It is a LONG WAY from the airport. Like, impossible to walk long way.

Jason didn’t mention that. Neither did Kevin or Mandy or the girls at supper club or any other human I have talked to. Apparently they didn’t get the memo that I prefer to be given EVERY SINGLE DETAIL. Listen, don’t get me wrong, I love adventure. But “adventure” of this type quickly moves to the “Nightmare” category in my mind when I don’t have a backup plan. I park my car [actually putting it in park- unlike yesterday] and then have 2 realizations:

1) I do not know how to get to the airport because walking is way out of the question

2) I do not see another human being to help me out

This is the moment when if I was a wimp, I would have cried. But not me. I’m one tough cookie. I mean, maybe I thought about crying, but I promise no tears dripped.

Luckily, I saw another car pull in to the lot, so being the stellar stalker that I am, I followed them, parked by them, and watched. Ahhh…. a bus/trolley thing of sorts. Perfect.

But all hope was lost. I was flustered, confused, disappointed in my own ability to enjoy such situations, and above all things- LONELY. It was probably the moment I have felt the most alone since I moved.

Not only was I traveling alone, ALL my friends that were in Nashville were sleeping, some of my Nash-buddies aren’t even in town, and my Marietta people can’t help me with this one.

I did not cry. I did not call my Mom, my friends I’m flying to in San Antonio, or any Nash-folks. I just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Ticket line. Security. Gate. Plane.

And now I sit in the Memphis airport waiting to connect to San Antonio. To go see my friends and listen to Beth Moore bring the Word. So to have a bit of “opposition” probably isn’t a surprise. But nor was it a joy.

I don’t really have some great lesson I got out of this or something super wise to share with you. No church sign or hero to the rescue. I think I just needed to say out loud that the trip to the airport was hard.

But it will be worth it.

P.S- You’re right. I’m kind of a wimp. Sorry. I don’t mean to be. I didn’t turn the car around and drive home though. THAT would have secured my residence in Wimp-ville.

I borrowed something from a friend of mine that lives approximately two minutes from my house and I needed to take it back to her tonight.

I’m also watching the movie “Under The Tuscan Sun” on Lifetime. [Yes, on purpose.]

So I decided I would race to see if I could return the item and be back at my house before the commercial break was over.

As soon as the commercial started, I jumped up and ran for the door.

Unfortunately, my keys were not hanging at their proper locale. Doh. So I find them on my bed and race out the house.

Driving goes fine [I didn't even speed, Daddy], and I arrive at the condos. I pull into a parking spot in front of her house. I take time to pause my iPod (which will end up being a bit of a ridiculous choice in a minute) before I get out of the car.

I hop out, leave the item at the door and as my back is turned, I hear a rather loud scraping sound. I whip around and see my driver’s side front door, which I had left ajar in order to save time, swing all the way open. Curious, I head back to my car.

[I actually worried for a minute that a cat was in my car.  I have no idea why.]

And as I sit down I realize that in all my hurry to exit the vehicle and get back in time to see the movie, I had left my car in DRIVE.

Thus causing it to drive itself into the curb.

Thus causing it to make a loud scraping sound.

Thus causing me to feel like a complete idiot.

Thus causing me to realize that I am officially too competitive.

At least I didn’t miss one beat of the song I was listening to. That would have been really unfortunate. My subconscious must have found that far more important than, oh I don’t know, PUTTING THE CAR IN PARK.

So it went like this.

I decided that to go to San Antonio for the Siesta Fiesta, I should have a manicure. Words that come to mind when I think of the type of women that will attend a Beth Moore Conference in Texas- Hairspray. Nails. Capri pants. [And Bible. Obviously.]

Besides the Bible, I will focus on pretty nails. But I think my roomie is bringing the capri pants.

Though I am one to love the fake nails, I have decided to go natural in Nashville. Why? Cause everybody else does. Duh. BUT. I have a bad habit of biting my nails. So I figured some cute pink nail polish may help me not chew them to death.

The official name of the color? OPI’s “Italian Love Affair”. Well. Don’t mind if I do.

And now to the incident.

So I have made a few of the jewelry holders for my friends that I’ll be seeing this weekend. Because I’m a giver. [To be honest, I can only sit at my computer and write things out of my head for so many hours. Believe it or not, I do run out of words.]

Long story short, I had to use white spray paint.

Longer story short, I’m an idiot.

Check the difference. The hand on the right of the picture (which is actually my left hand) politely says “Italian Love Affair”.

The other hand? It has that special touch of white that screams “Panama City Airbrush Crush”.

Tragic.

Maybe I should pack my capri pants.