I have had one of those weeks.  Where I get hurt.  A lot.

#1- FACE INJURY.  So my bedroom door that leads to the bathroom opens into my room.  It swings towards the wall.  My hair dryer fell off my desk and landed on the floor, in the exact location that it would block the door from opening all the way.

I wish I would have seen that hair dryer.

Because when I woke up first thing and threw the door back [as I do every morning], I proceeded to walk swiftly through the doorway.  Problem being that the door wouldn’t open all the way because of said hair dryer doubling as a door stop.  Someone should have told my face that.  Because my right cheek smacked directly into the corner of the door.  And it hurts.  That kinda hurt that makes you want to touch it all the time even though it is super painful?  Yeah, that kind. It’s gonna bruise.  Deep bruise.  Colors of the rainbow bruise.  You know the one.

The up side is that I can PERFECTLY do that scene from Tommy Boy where he says, “Not so much here or here, but rrriiiiggghhttt here.”

#2- LEG INJURY.  I was getting out of the car, holding my gym bag, water bottle, keys, and phone.  As I do about twelve times a day, I went to close the car door.

I wish I would have taken one more step away.

Because as I went to slam the door shut, my right leg was still between the door and the car and instead of closing directly into the car, it accelerated towards my calf and now I have what I consider a possibly serious injury on my shin.

[Have I ever mentioned that I am a bit of an exaggerator when it comes to pain? I have what professionals call a "low pain tolerance".]

I thought I might die from the pure hurt of it all.

#3- HEAD/PRIDE INJURY.  Oh, the piece de resistance.  I was at Frothy Monkey, and they have this jacked up situation where you sit on a long church pew with the table in front of you.  All these small tables, I don’t know- 2 ft. by 2 ft., are lined up next to each other with a little space in between each one.  About 8 tables total.  Can you see it?  Anyways, under the pew, in the wall, is the electrical socket.  UNDER THE PEW.  Not easy to get to.  So I delicately kneel down, like a flower I’m sure, to plug my computer in.  Once I get it it plugged in, I start to stand up.

I wish I would have been about 15 inches to the left.

Because as I stood up, I SLAMMED my head into the table next to mine, causing all the dishes and cups to spill over and rattle and distract the entire establishment.  I smiled, did a little “yeah that was me” wave, and then I evaporated.  Not officially, but I wanted to.  Real bad.

And you wonder why I’m not a risk taker?

1) My parents are in town until Sunday, so my usual “I’m at my computer all day and responding to comments is way awesomer than actually working” plan will not be in motion.  So forgive my slow responses this weekend.  Because I’m hanging with my peeps.

2) My friend Lysa came in town last week and a few of us had dinner.  She wrote an AWESOME POST this week about one of our conversations.  You may be interested to read it simply because I refuse to blog about my singleness here, so what she wrote is probably all you are getting.  And the comments.  OH HEAVENS THE COMMENTS.  I don’t care if you are married or single, there are baskets worth of knowledge and wisdom in those comments.

I get a little teary reading them.  They are so sincere.  So heartfelt.  So loving. So “please be wise for your own sake”, that I wish I could hug it out with all of these women.  I will in July at the SheSpeaks Conference.  I will stalk them, find them, and hug them.  Dare me?

Apparently by “a few” points, I meant two.  Two points.  That is all.

I do love soup.  And I do love a crock pot.  And I do love Sophie.  Put those together and what have you got?  A LOT OF LETTERS ON A BUTTON!

Here at AnnieBlogs, you’re getting 2 soups for the price of one- I put that PITCHER O SOUP recipe up here a few weeks ago.  But just for Sophie, and all of you lovelies, I’m bustin’ out an oldie but a goodie for this.

This is my godmother Earlene’s recipe for Hoppin’ John Soup. And when I opened the Word document to get the recipe it said “AKA ELTON JOHN SOUP“.  Pray tell, Annie of 2006, why did you type that?  Because that is HILARIOUS.

And so it shall be.

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ELTON JOHN SOUP

1 medium onion, chopped
1 TBS. garlic, chopped
4-6 oz. Black Forest (or other deli) ham, chopped (about 1/3 pound)
2 TBS. flour
1 can Rotel tomatoes (original or mild) [I use mild because I am a wimp.]
2 cans black-eyed peas (Bush’s)
1 can chicken broth

Saute onion and garlic in olive oil.  Stir in flour when sautéed.  Coat onion and garlic with the flour.
Add Rotel tomatoes and about ½ can of chicken broth.
Add ham.  Stir and reduce heat.
Process one can of peas in blender or food processor until creamy.  Add to mixture.
Add remaining can of whole peas.
Stir and simmer about 20 minutes.  Add remaining chicken broth as needed for desired soup thickness.
Serve over a scoop of cooked rice.  Garnish with a dollop of sour cream and chopped green onions.  Serve with corn bread.

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Y’all.  This stuff is so good.  It kinda breaks my heart because have I told you I can’t eat pork anymore?  [That sound you hear are the pigs of the world celebrating.]  But alas, pork is one of my migraine triggers.  So I have to make my favorite soup with… deep sigh… turkey.

Oh yes.  Annie and Annie are back.  And WalMart will never fully recover from our antics.

And please.  Do not judge my hairdo.

Handy Graham is our friend who is also officially the best Handy Man in Nashville.  Literally. Voted on and victorious.  The very best in 08.

I was seriously thrilled when Annie found the picture of Sarah Markley and her super cute daughter Hope.  That was bloggily awesome.

The THRILLOGY of videos continues…. we already have our next event scouted out.  All I’m going to say is that 6am is involved.  That makes for some beautiful video blogging.

Joy Williams, whom I love mucho, is releasing a new 4-song EP soon, but for now you can download one of the songs for free.  Oh yeah, you heard me.  FREE.  Meaning NO MONEY IS NECESSARY TO OWN THIS AND YES YOU ARE WELCOME.

CLICK HERE to get the free song “Lose Myself”.  Let’s just say that for me personally it was a timely find, to say the least.  Read the lyrics.  For realz.

Joy is an amazing artist and she’s a Nashville girl, so we obviously have so very much in common.  Maybe that’s why I like her.  Maybe we’ll be Nash-friends one day- she probably dresses really trendy and I, um.  I’m working on that.

Sorry to interrupt Haley’s birthday, but free music is, well, free.  Haley loves free stuff.  Uh, Haley.  I got you a song for your birthday.  CLICK HERE. 

There was this one time that I had to answer this question-

Other than your parents, who has been the most influential person in your life and why?

My answer was this-

One of my best friends, Haley.  She is like an older sister to me- gives me great advice, laughs at my jokes , listens to me, experiences things before me and tells me all about them, shows me how to love the Lord better and how to receive His love more fully.

[L to R- Molly, Haley, Annie]

You know Haley, bloggites.  She has two awesome kids, Jarrett and Carys, and an awesome husband, Jeff.  What you may not know is she plucked my eyebrows for the first time, went shopping with me for my first homecoming dress, made me buy colored underwear, cooked me breakfast my first day of college, asked me to be a bridesmaid, and shares my love for all things Top Chef.  [This is the shortest list I could possibly make- there are about 10,194 other things I could mention here.  Consider yourself spared.]

Today is Haley’s birthday, and since I could not make a video like I did for my sister, I decided on a more traditional celebration.  Ye old church signage.

[Ha.  Just kidding.  You are not old.  When we are neighbors in a nursing home and they wheel us in to each lunch beside each other and Molly across from us, then we'll be old.]

Haley, I love you and miss you every single day.  If I was home today, I would meet you and Molly at the mountain, walk around for a while, talk about all your birthdays past, then go to Mexican for dinner.  You and I would have ritas, Molly in her pregnant way would have a diet coke cause it is the only appropriate splurge.  You would then open up hilarious cards from Molly and I, which amazingly end up being the same hilarious card- because sometimes the three of us literally share a brain.  And we would scan the list of classes offered at Cooks Warehouse until we found one that made our mouths water.  I would run home and schedule it.

Instead, I cry writing a blog post to a best friend 3 1/2 hours away.  And I know what you are saying- that everything is fine and Nashville is not that far away.  And that distance isn’t a deciding factor in our friendship.  I can hear you from here. And you are right.

I’m going to call you today, and we’ll talk for a while.  You’ll finish your story that got interrupted this weekend, and I will continue to be dumbstruck by it.  I will tell you that maybe I have a crush, or maybe I’m making myself have a crush just cause I’m bored and seriously, I’ve only seen him once ever.  I’ll ask you to make Jarrett say my name and I’ll love it.  And then we will hang up and I’ll cry and remind God that someday I want to live in your city again.

I thank God over and over again for you and our friendship.  You will never ever know the depth of appreciation I have for you. Happy birthday, sweet friend.  I love you.

Check out other sugary sweet posts at Brody’s Positive Post Tuesday.  Convenient how this worked out 2 weeks in a row. 

Not real mad.  Just that frustrating mad.

Yesterday at church the pastor talked about being risk-takers or risk-managers. I AM A MANAGER. I might possibly be the president of the Risk Management Society, though we would never actually meet because all traveling to the same place at the same time might be, well, risky.

I like to do things right. I’m not going to argue with someone in order to “BE RIGHT”. It’s not that I demand to be correct, it’s that I desperately don’t want to be wrong. To make the wrong choice. To risk and lose.

[Which many of you are saying, "Do you remember that you just MOVED TO A FOREIGN CITY?" And to you, I say "yeah, I know...."]

I work on it. A lot. But somehow even “working on it” feeds that same place- that place of not wanting to make the wrong choice or the wrong move or say the wrong thing or go the wrong way. You know, your normal psychotic stuff.

It’s inherently part of my makeup. Trust me. Ask my dad who doesn’t sleep for an entire night. Ever. But I know- I KNOW- there is freedom from fear of mistakes. Freedom to risk AND be wrong. Freedom to let go. And I want it real bad.

I blame Brad for stirring all this up. I read 3/4 of his book yesterday, got mad, then finished it this morning, and my insides are asking more questions than my brain can answer. I want to understand more of God. More of my role in our relationship. More of my place and the right way. [And there it is again. "Right" way. I've got to quit that.] I know the Bible says that the road is narrow, but sometimes I treat it like a tightrope.  It’s not. But I’ve got my safety harness on just in case.

Brad’s characters go from this world of rules and regulations to complete freedom. Freedom to be with God, in God, around God, near to God. He uses the ole Jesus method and tells a parable, which always helps me understand things better. [And makes me more uncomfortable because it makes sense and I can see how to apply it to my life.] In the story, Ivan, the main character, is discussing balance with the King, wondering how to do this new life correctly.

The King says,

“I never asked you to be balanced…. I asked you to be passionate.  To be wholly mine, to love me.  And passion is one of the most unbalanced forces in the universe. That’s why I love it.  Many things just can’t get done within the prison of balance…. When balance and routine become too important, you begin to serve them instead of me.  Without being rescued by passion, your love will eventually wither under the embalming staleness of duty.”

Well. Brad. Fine.

Honestly, I still don’t know how to do this correctly. But I know that my focus has to shift. I’m really glad I read it, even though it’s messed with my junk. His beautifully written book has opened my eyes and made me want to figure this out anew. And I’m gonna try. I don’t know how people who HATE risk are supposed to embrace it like it’s a good ole time, but I’m gonna try.

So no more tight rope for me. I’m actively seeking freedom to risk. I just want to love Him. And be loved by Him. And live.

Want your own copy of Finding Home? Order it here. It’s stupidly cheap. Brad. Seriously? It’s an awesome read- though be warned- I think I’m ruined.

Yeah for the Canadian Pastor publishing his book Finding Home!!  I’m reading it today and I’ll let you know my thoughts this week.  Who knows?  You may need a copy of your own.

Also, my friend Aaron is talking about Christmas over here.  If you’re ready for that sort of thing [and I am], check it out.

Hanging with my hometown bfry Katie B.  Working at the Frothy Monkey.  Her on wedding hoopla like registry and gowns.  Me on a manuscript.  Drinking Chai Cider.  Being normal.  It’s glorious.

But….. here’s a better representation of what we’ll be doing all weekend.  Some would say we are “actin’ a fool”.  And to them I would say, “yes and amen”.

What about you?  Big weekend plans?

Andrew Peterson and his wife hold a special place in my heart, whether they know it or not.

See, a few weeks ago, I told them a major secret.  Standing in line at the Third Day show, I told them the deepest secret I was currently housing.  After discussing his AMAZING book and my slowly appearing book, I said quietly and almost in a whisper, “Andrew, Jamie, I hate my book.”

I was scared to think it, much less say it.  It’s my first time around this block, after all.  This book is supposed to be my bread and butter.  And I hated it.

I’ve only had three or four conversations with them since I moved here- but in those conversations, they hugged that little writer that lives in me, asking about my work, listening intently and responding to my ideas.  So in that moment, Andrew felt like a safe ear.  And he was.

I try not to be overdramatic, but I will say this- Andrew telling me that it is okay to hate my book, to set it aside and ask God for something else to work on for a while, may have saved my writing career.

And I will be forever grateful.

On Sunday night I got to go to Andrew’s CD release party at 12th & Porter.  And these are the nights when I smile because I live in the same city as these people.

It was an awesome show.  It was beauticulous.  Beautiful melodies.  Ridiculously talented musicians.  All together off the chain.  [And that's a good thing, Mom.  Just so you are up with the lingo.]

I have never had this experience at a show before, but as I listened, I felt like crying.  Really deep, safe, empty your soul kind of crying.  And at the same time, it felt hopeful.  The music itself FELT hopeful.  How does he DO that?

It’s just the way he writes.  It’s the way he thinks.  It’s the way he composes these phrases that attach themselves to my heart as if they have been there all along.

His lyrics ruin me in a way that makes my soul ask for more.

I’m a sucker for good songwriters.  I know.  I just really love hearing someone retell the story of the gospel-in song or book or conversation.

I came home and wished with all my might that I could go back and buy everything he has ever written and sit up all night and listen to the words over and over again and maybe write them down because.  Well.  Just because.

And for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT I have been listening to his music.

The CD came on out Tuesday, but being that it was Tatum’s birthday, my sister trumped the CD.

But y’all.  You need this CD.  Please go buy this CD.  And then back up and buy anything else of his that your budget allows.  [Especially his book, because there are sequels to come and you are going to want to be ready.]

Thanks, Andrew.  For your words in the book.  For your words on your CD.  For your words that day when you made me feel like a real writer.