You Cankled-Out yet?  Last one.  I promise.

Last Wednesday afternoon, after I got home from the ER, I tried to find an orthopedic doctor in town.  I called my church to see if the secretary knew of any doctors in our congregation.  No luck.  So I put it on facebook and twitter- “somebody help me find a doctor!” [Oh modern technology, I heart you.]

Robyn sent me an address and phone number for Vanderbilt’s sports medicine department, I called it and made an appointment.  I’ve already told you how much I Luh-huved! Dr. Awesome and how she is the greatest orthopedic doctor I’ve ever wanted to be bfries with in my whole life.

BUT.

The most amazing thing happened Sunday morning at church.  Because not only is Dr. Awesome my neighbor and fellow Frothy Monkey patron, she and her family GO TO MY CHURCH.

Let me tell you why that amazed me and almost made me cry at church.  Since Cankle 08 started, heck- since I moved to Nashville, the enemy has wanted me to feel alone and unloved and uncared for.  [P.S- he wants to do that to you, too.] But God, in His amazing ways, has instead overwhelmed me with care.  [P.S- He is always doing that for you, too.] Though there is nothing that replaces a Mama [my Mama, particularly], my friends have come pretty darn close with this Cankle thing- repeatedly offering to take me grocery shopping, bringing me popsicles, walking slow as Christmas with me so I don’t get left behind, calling to check in, you name it.  It’s been sweet.  Really sweet for my soul.

And then the icing on this cake is that Dr. Awesome goes to my church.  Because what are the chances that in a city FULL OF GREAT CHURCHES, we go to the same one?  Or in a building FULL OF PEOPLE (like 1,000), I would walk in right behind her?

It was a moment that God took to remind me that He doesn’t overlook details. And that what the enemy has planned to be my defeat, well, the Lord makes those His greatest victories.

Not just for me.  But for you, too.  Cankle or not.

I was talking to a pregnant friend of mine on the phone yesterday.  Let’s call her.. uh… Shmolly.

And as we talked, Shmolly said, “Hang on, let me place this order.”

I said, “Ok.” because it is not uncommon for one of us to need to put the other on hold in order to take care of some sort of life-changing biz-nass, such as a drive-thru lane or um… to use the restroom.

So as I listen, this is what Shmolly says, “Yeah, can I get eighteen apple pies? [pause] No, not eight.  Eighteen.  Like 1-8.”

Dang. If pregnant people get to eat eighteen apple pies, maybe I am more ready to be a mom than I thought.

Some friendships are built on honesty, trust, or common interests.  Not us.

Shmolly and I?  Our friendship is built on a mutual love of all things pastry.

It was a fun weekend- full of out of town friends and Mexican food and crutches and hobbling. [Is "hobbling" a word?  As in, "to hobble"?  I think so, but not certain.  If it is, consider me wise.  If it isn't, consider me witty.]

I have never had an injury like this- that really retards the rest of my life.  And I don’t use that word disrespectfully, I use it genuinely.  Having a bum leg really hinders pretty much all things attempted.

Sunday morning at church, Randy spoke on suffering.  And what it looks like and how to respond.  He actually gave the example of someone slamming their finger in a car door and THE DOOR LOCKING.  [I'm sorry, but I think I just heard a rousing round of dry heaving.  And one was mine.]  In that moment, I was grateful for this swelled up cankle.  Cause it could be a lot worse.

One thing that people keep asking me is, “What do you think God is trying to teach you in this?”

And I don’t know if I know that answer- maybe that being the tight-rope walker in the circus really isn’t my calling?  [blast.] Maybe I was supposed to be “there” and not “there”, a hundred times over?  Maybe I needed to face some new truths about my life and how I’m loved here?  Maybe I just needed to slow down.

That’s kind of a theme in my life.  SLOW DOWN.  DRAW BOUNDARIES.  DON’T FILL UP YOUR LIFE. Cause I tend to believe that if I’m awake, I should be doing or going.  Rarely is resting an option.  [But in my defense, I just love being with people- so I figure if someone is available to hang out, let's hang out. But enough with the excuses.]

And yesterday morning, Randy said that in the midst of our suffering, we need to be willing to listen.  Hurt people always want to talk-to have attention drawn to them. [I have no idea what he meant by that. Ahem.] But the real goal is to be a listener. Because God is speaking in your suffering.

So I’m choosing to listen. The Cankle is supposed to tell me something. Though this is by no means a serious suffering, comparatively, it’s still a good time to practice hearing God.

And who better to tell me what God is trying to say in this than God Himself.

Romans 5: 3-5

“…We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us”

Photo update [mainly for Mama, but the rest of you can look too]:

Well, I just got home from the doctor.

And my poor cankle has three torn ligaments- a Stage 3 sprain-

“A grade 3 injury is complete ligament rupture with marked swelling, hemorrhage, and tenderness. There is loss of function and marked abnormal joint motion and instability. Most commonly, this represents a complete disruption of both the anterior talofibular ligament and the calcaneofibular ligament laterally.”

Yeah, I don’t know what all that means either.  I just know it’s all tore up in there.

My doctor is AWESOME- she and I are totally going to be bfries when this is all over.  We live in the same neighborhood. She also frequents the Frothy Monkey, when she’s not saving lives of course, one cankle at a time.

And during the xrays, I laughed outloud 5-6 times thinking, “that’s what she said” [an homage to The Office, in case you don't know why that's funny].  Including, but not limited to, many directions from the xray tech involving my pants.

I feel SO MUCH BETTER having a diagnosis and a plan.  I go to physical therapy next week and follow up with Dr. Awesome next Friday (before I head to Bham to see REBA!).  And, just like my cousin Katie said in the comments, I have to draw the ABCs with my foot three times a day.

Good thing I’m a writer.  I guess you could say I’m kinda a professional when it comes to letters.

Hopefully I will have something else to blog about now.  Or maybe not.  If the swelling or bruising increase, you’ll be the first to know.  Because as I told Sophie yesterday, I take my job as a photo-journalist rather seriously.

The drugs?  I do not prefer them.  They make me feel like I’m on a roller coaster ride, and not the exhilarating kind.  The puke-your-brains-out kind.

I’m bizarrely running a fever and have been fighting a migraine all day.  So to say “Hey this is great, Annie can get a lot of work done” is true but has been unfortunately not true.

Let me show you some shots of the CANKLE ’08.  Consider yourself warned.  This is not my most attractive appendage.  [That would be my right wrist- it's really cute.]

I have an appointment at 7:30am on Friday.  I’m hoping for a great night tonight- unlike last night, when it took me approximately ten minutes to get to the kitchen at 3:30am.

The bright side:

- I have some SUPER SWEET friends here in town that have helped me anytime I needed it.

- I still have both legs.  I am really grateful for the days my legs do work right.  And the idea of them working right again.

The ways you can pray:

- I’m struggling with some sadness- the lack of family, the struggle to walk from one room to the next, the soft whisper in my ear that tells me I’m all alone in the world [I don't believe it, but I hear it], the disruption of my normal life

- The pain.  Not cool.  Especially when combined with a headache and nausea.

- I joke about the clumsiness, but honestly.  Let’s pray that whatever it is that is causing this new self-injury problem would go away.  Without freaking anyone out, I just want to remind you that our battle is not against flesh and blood and that our enemy is all about killing, stealing, and destroying.

I may be down, but I’m not out.  God is bigger than the boogie-man… and a sprained ankle.

And, may I also add, that according to my trainer, this is NO DAIRY NOVEMBER.  And nothing adds insult to injury like not being allowed to eat ice cream or yogurt or cheese.  Especially cheese.

I want a pizza.

Good night.

You thought I was clumsy before? I mean wow. Let me recap my Wednesday for you. Not because I’m completely self-absorbed, but because I am in so much pain that I can not think of anything except myself.

Wait…. aren’t those…. uh…. nevermind.

So yesterday I’m packing to head to Kentucky, because I had a fun-filled 48 hours planned up north with Marie and friends.  I load my arms up with things like bags, towels, pillows, these kind of sundry items. And I walk out my door. Like I do, oh I don’t know, five to six times a day.

And as I go down the steps, my left foot steps to the ground and ye old ankle rolls. I fall to the ground and litter my yard with road trip supplies. And as I’m falling, I think, “what’s the popping and ripping sound?” and the next thought was, well, some things I don’t say on the blog.

Because even God-fearin’ women don’t always handle pain appropriately.

Luckily (or unfortunately), the gas company guy saw the whole thing.  He walks over and says, “Ma’am, are you alright?”  I sit there, stunned.  He asks, “Can I call your family?”

To which I reply, in the highest pitch sob I have ever released from my mouth, “I DON’T HAVE ANY FAMILY I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!”

[Because maybe you are new around here, so hi.  My name is Annie.  I just moved to Nashville and I have no family here nor do I even know where an ER is. And it is nice to meet you.]

So in the shock of it all, I hobble around to gather all my things, thank the man for his kindness, and then head inside.  [Trust me, I know what you are thinking- I wish I would have videoed the whole thing too.]  I quasi-panic when I look and see this (taken with my cell phone) -

So then I realize a trip to the doctor may really be in order.  Luckily, my friend Hollie had the day off from work, so I call her and she pulls a citizen-ambulance moment and rushes me to the hospital.

Many tears, apologies to the doctor for being a wimp, and xrays later- it’s not broken. Just a “severe sprain”.

Which to any of you who have had a sprain before, and I have been unsympathetic because I thought sprains weren’t that bad, my sincerest apologies.  I’m paying for it.  In a serious way.

I’m headed to the Vanderbilt sports medicine doctor (thanks for the hookup, Robyn!) on Friday morning at 7:30am.  Cause nothing says HAPPY FRIDAY like the combo of early morning and crutches.

Not to mention that now I have to miss the opening of the first Trader Joe’s in Nashville and really, some tragedies are too deep to discuss.

So, as of right now, it look-a-like-a this-

Or more accurately, like-a this-

Sexy.  I know.

I took a break from writing yesterday to grab some lunch.

I try, usually, to eat lunch at home, but due to some circumstances that I couldn’t control, working ten or so hours has become the order of the day for the next few days.

So I went up to the counter, ordered a curry chicken salad on toasted multi-grain bread. With a side of fruit.

I headed back to my seat, absolutely mentally exhausted, and stuck my headphones in.  I kinda started staring off into the distance, at a beautiful piece of abstract art across the room from me, letting my poor brain rest. Being so out of it, I was mildly stunned when the worker bee brought my sandwich.

“Whoops, sorry.  Thanks dude,” I said, now back in reality, to the same shaggy-haired blonde guy who works here everyday.

I started to eat and oh my gracious it was delicious.  That kind of delicious that makes you inspect the sandwich, wondering if something special is in it or if there is some visible sign to indicate the added awesome.

My iTunes was on shuffle. One less thing I wanted to think about.  I’m eating my sandwich, and again staring off, not really putting my brain’s depleated power towards any one thing.

And then the song starts.

How deep the Father’s love for us. How vast beyond all measure. That He should give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss.  The Father turns His face away.  As wounds that mar the Chosen One, bring many sons to glory.

I am again jerked back to reality. By these truths, that I’ve known for years.  But isn’t it interesting that in certain moments, random blips on the screen of your life, something old becomes new again?

Behold the Man upon a cross.  My sin upon His shoulder.  Ashamed I hear my mocking voice, call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held Him there.  Until it was accomplished.  His dying breath has brought me life.  I know that it is finished.

Wait. What?  I had to stop eating.  The lyrics.  They were cutting me.  I did that?  I did that to Him?  MY sin?

I will not boast in anything, no gifts no power no wisdom.  But I will boast in Jesus Christ- His death and resurrection.  Why should I gain for His reward?  I can not give an answer.  But this I know with all my heart- His wounds have paid my ransom.

Because the blog I planned to write yesterday, well, it was severely different. I was ready to whine and complain and give you my very educated opinion of how my life SHOULD be going.

Instead. How deep the Father’s love for me.

Here I sit, in Nashville, at lunch time, in Frothy Monkey, being a full time writer.  A year ago?  This would have been a dream.  A dream that I wouldn’t even have the framework to construct.  And yet, how deep the Father’s love for me that this is my life now.

And that my sins, the nasty bunch they are, were upon His shoulder.  And I’m redeemed, forgiven, loved, connected, because of that.  I have a hope and a future that is [obviously] out of my control and bigger than I know how to contain.  Or prepare for.

Who can complain when these are the cards stacked in our favor?

I can’t get this loop out of my head.  For days before, and probably days after, I will be reminding myself of this.

Why should I gain for His reward?  I can not give an answer.  But this I know with all my heart- His wounds have paid my ransom.

That’s the kind of lunch date I’ve waited my whole life for.

Only because I am shameless, and sharing the joke always ranks higher to me than maintaining my pride, do I share this email.  I used Halloween shaped clip art to conveniently cover the information that is not important.

Welcome to the reason I don’t dress up for Halloween.  Dumb ladybug wings.

And it wasn’t just a spill.  It was like someone shot the bottle with a bullet.  It exploded.  Everywhere.  And I knew 10 of the 100+ people there.  Oh yes, it was humbling and horrible at the exact same moment.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever had to send an apology email after a Halloween party….. I didn’t think so.

You’re welcome for that.

Go vote, friends.  And please leave your ladybug wings at home.  The world will be a safer place.

I just have too much to do today to blog anything worth your time, so I will make a quick list-

– I had a meeting this morning with the youth dude at Midtown. Remember- I blogged about it HERE and then the dramatic conclusion is HERE.  [And I say "dramatic", because really, its just funnier that way.]

– There is some SUPER COOL stuff coming down the pipe from Mocha Club.  All I can say at this point is that I could not be more excited and I’m pretty sure that the little dorky-blogger flame in my soul has officially been sparked into a raging fire.  Seriously.  I can not WAIT to tell you everything.  Just hang on.  For 15 days.

– Oh yeah. I actually have a job I have to work on and a BIG FAT UGLY deadline next Tuesday.  Sometimes I just have to remind myself that 1. I am the new girl on the writing block and 2. Anything the Lord provides for me is a gift and 3. He has not given me something that is too hard for me.  Even when it feels like it.

– My parents and I had a BLAST last week.  Mom took all the pictures, so as soon as I get some, you’ll see them.

– Oh, and.  This weekend I dressed as a ladybug.  With wings.  The kind of wings that cause disasters.  More on that tomorrow.  But suffice it to say that the Lord is actively keeping me humble.  So whoever is praying that I would reek of humility, you can stop now- God got the message.

Best of luck to you on this Monday.