It’s a good thing I spent time with God yesterday morning. Cause Nanny McAnnie got tested to the extreme.

When I arrived at the house, the kitchen was a bit of a mess. [Not a problem, part of the deal, Mom and Dad are both working their tailfeathers off.] So while I was waiting on Sister to wake up and Brother was happily watching Nick Jr., I got started cleaning up. Sister wakes up, now both are on the couch and it is literally a ticking time bomb to breakfast. Can I get the dishwasher started before someone cries for Cheerios? I’m loading as quickly as one hand can pass to the other. I showed those dishes who was boss and emerged victorious.

Dear Super WHY!, I appreciate you and your full 30 minutes of entertainment.

Breakfast comes and goes. We do the diaper dance [both are still in them] and get dressed for the day. We are walking out the door to play and Sister does this to her pants. [If you have a strong gag reflex, scroll over this quickly.]

We do the diaper dance again, twice in 5 minutes- which you know means more than just a diaper change. It means bringing everyone inside, turning the TV back on for Brother, helping him crawl on the couch, going upstairs and changing said diaper, finding new pants, and then stain spraying the pants because Eeew.

So I guess you could call it a process.

We finally get outside and I’m exhausted, wondering if it’s almost lunch [NAP!] time. It’s 10:22am. Yikes.

Brother gets leveled when the wind blows over the plastic basketball goal while Sister is happily in her walker. I’m checking on Brother when I hear her little wheels pick up speed. Ole Nanny McAnnie has to SPRINT down the driveway’s steep hill to save Sister from rolling straight into the road. Yes, it was one of my finer moments and not exactly the introduction I expected with the neighbors.

I found this to be the correct time to end outside play. Because I couldn’t breathe.

Lunchtime was upon us and the dishwasher needed to be emptied and reloaded and Sister was starving but Brother wasn’t hungry yet. And I? I still couldn’t breathe.

Lightning McQueen Spaghettios for lunch. Brother uses his fork. Sister doesn’t.

Annndd….. that got some stain spray as well.

The highlight of the day was nap time. [Duh.] Sister didn’t want to sleep [Sister needed to sleep], so I rocked with her for a minute. The snuggly warm little 18 month old body draped across my torso, our breathing in sync, her heartbeat slowing down to snoozle zone- I’m pretty sure my uterus applauded. The whole thing was that sweet.

Then, from the next room, Brother says, “Annie, are you going to be here when I wake up?”

“Yeah, dude. I will.”

“Good. I always want Annie here when I wake up.”

No amount of diapers or dishwashers or spaghettios can ruin moments like those.

I respect you Mommies. I truly don’t know how you do it day in and day out.

But I think I know why you do.

I love Lent. I always have. On Twitter earlier this week, I said regarding Lent, “You can take the girl out of the Methodist church, but you can’t take the UMC traditions out of the girl.”

Cause growing up at FUMC Marietta, Lent was something everyone did, even when I was in middle school. The tradition of giving up something for the 40 days of Lent has just stuck with me through the years. I’m a bit of a Presbyterian now apparently [based on my church choice], and I don’t even know how they feel about Lent. But I’m in it to win it. [There's no prize. That's just a saying.]

By nature, I’m what you might call “lacking in self-control” and maybe “lazy”. So having 40 days of dedicated sacrifice [and knowing there is an end in sight] has always been really motivating to me and it encourages me that maybe someday I will actually be full of discipline.

This year, I have a small collection of Lent give-ups, but the biggest one isn’t a give-up.  It’s a must-do.

I was talking with some friends the other night about the fact that I am struggling seriously with insecurities and lies in my head. And it’s no one’s fault but my own. Because I’m not going to God each day and spending time with Him, my well of Truth has run dry and I’m getting beat up in my mind. My reservoirs of Truth are empty. Time to head back to the well. EVERY DAY.

So for Lent 09, I’m spending time every day with God. No matter what. Yeah, I know that’s lame and it was probably my Lent commitment in 1993 as well, but I’m bringing it back in 09. And my awesome Nash family friends are helping me out- we send emails every morning of Lent sharing something we learned in our time with God.

There ain’t no better accountability for me than email accountability. What can I say? I love the internet.

Every day I’m listening to THIS PODCAST and using it to springboard the time I’m spending reading the Bible, praying, and writing in my journal.

What’s my goal? To set a pattern, to create a habit, to grow in spiritual disciplines as a RESPONSE to what Jesus did for me on the cross. And to hear God.

What about you? Are you a Lent-er? Are you giving anything up? I’d love to pray for you in your sacrifice this season, so leave it in the comments and we’ll all pray for each other. [That'll be real cute and totally community-ish of us.]

For most of my adult life, I’ve had a knot right on the front center of my shin. Sometimes it is colorless, but I always know it is there because it is really tender to the touch. Other times, it is black and blue, obviously the victim of a recent collision with some sort of something shin-level.

It never goes away. As much as I try [and listen. I try.], I always run into some object that has the exact point of impact as every other object. Right leg. Front. Middle of shin.

It’s kinda ridiculous.

Coffee table. Car door. Knob on dresser. Stool leg. [And that was just TODAY.] I never intentionally do it, but the moment it happens, I slap my head and say in frustration, “I CAN NOT BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT AGAIN!” Then I begin to gently touch the spot, rubbing the hurt out like Mama taught me to, and then look to see how deep the bruising is going to go.

So I think I’m going to be that girl who, for eternity, has a shin injury. It seems that no matter what I do, I keep re-injuring the exact same place. And I don’t know what’s worse- the injury or the frustration. Because it’s not just that it hurts, it’s that there is a scar there already and why in the world do I keep smacking into that same exact place?

You would think, at some point, I would learn the lessons that would protect me. Proceed with caution. Slow down. Pay attention. Watch out.

Every time it happens, I say, “Annie, stop doing that. Gracious, child, don’t you remember how much this hurts?”

I should be more careful with where I place my shin.

And my heart.

1. Annie, have you always loved being the center of attention?

2. Annie, do you believe that you have something important to say?

3. Annie, do you wear jeans that are a bit too baggy in the front?

[Photo circa early 80s. I'm thinking '83.]

My favorite book of all time is Christy by Catherine Marshall.  If you’ve never read it, let me give you a quick recap- a school teacher in the 1920s moves to rural Appalachia to educate a holler full of children. It is, in a word, magnificent.

I’ve read it, front to back, probably 50 times.  That is not an exaggeration.  That is a dorky fact.

My 8th grade spring break was to Cade’s Cove, TN to see where the television show was filmed. Also a dorky fact.

[Insert embarrassing story here: When I was about 23, I met Catherine Marshall's grandson, who was dating a friend of mine.  He was maybe 19.  I shook his hand and BURST INTO TEARS. Not surprisingly, we aren't friends on facebook and I've never seen him again.]

That book made me want to be a teacher.  And gave me some deep unexplainable love for the people that have tucked themselves, and their trailers and pickups and dirty clothes, in the nooks and crannies of the Appalachian mountains.

Another such book is The Last Sin Eater by Francine Rivers.  Oh man… that’s a good one too.  This one revolves around an old tradition of a Sin Eater, brought to the mountains by immigrants from Scotland.

I’ve been on two mission trips to the area.  In fact, one of the trips was so moving to me that I used a story from the trip in the book I just finished writing-

We went to one house where it was a mom with seven children. None of them knew how to read (including the mom). They drank water, and made us lemonade, from a puddle where the dog was standing. The slept on chairs in a house with no doors or windows. They couldn’t go to school because the bus is unable to drive up the hill and the car doesn’t ever have any gas. It was absolutely unbelievable. And what did we do? Not much- played with the kids, cleared some trash out of her yard, and repaired her porch. But the sight of that woman crying as we left, thanking us so much for even coming over to see her, forever changed me. And it’s not like this happened in India or Africa or somewhere desolate and foreign. This happened here. In our country.

The chapter itself encourages folks to use their feet to go to places where there is great need.  Sometimes that is over the ocean, sometimes that is over the Great Smoky Mountains.

So a couple of weeks ago when 20/20 did a feature called “Children of the Mountains“, you have no idea how many people emailed or called me- friends, knowing my heart for this region, making sure I saw the show. And I hadn’t.  But oh modern day technology, with you and your TV on the internet, I finally was able to see the show this weekend thanks to abc.com.

Did anyone else see it?  How can I even begin to describe what the story did to me?  To my heart?  It made me want to pack up and drive there.  I don’t know where- to the first trailer park I see once I’ve driven into the mountains.  To the first mission organization that is passing out clothing and food and hope to these neighbors.  NEIGHBORS.  People who, if they are able to get a driver’s license, have the same one that I do.  Same state.  Same radio stations.  Very VERY different lives.

[Hello my name is Annie. I am spoiled rotten and complain when I can't afford sushi. Don't be like me.]

I don’t know what to do about what I feel. Moving to the rural backwoods of Tennessee doesn’t really seem to be the plan that God has for me today.  So I’m not really writing this to say anything profound or make any announcement about some ministry I’m joining. I’m just sad that such poverty lives mere hours from me and I do nothing about it.  That a people group that I am truly passionate about is closer to my home than ever before and I had forgotten they existed.

Step 1 is admitting it, right?  Step 2 is doing something about it.  So maybe I will.

First of all, my best friend Haley called last night and asked about this Valentine’s gift I keep alluding to here on ye old blog. Dear real-life friends, as soon as a dude starts giving me gifts, if I have your cell phone number, I WILL BE CALLING.  You need not worry about that.  Dear bloggy-life friends, I’ll tell you, at some point, when a dude makes his moves.

So the week of Valentine’s Day, I had four [count them: four!] gifts come to my house.  I know- my well loved cup overfloweth.

First, my friend/Canadian broseph Brad sent something to help me with the writer’s conference we are all headed to in about a month.

Then, my dear friend and soon-to-be-bride Katie B sent me a little summin-summin.  She would.  She’s just like that.

My friend Kathleen and her daughter Anne sent me this lovely care package.  Kathleen SWEARS she sent it before I blogged about her, but I find that a little fishy.  I’m pretty sure she’s buttering me up to blog about her again.  And let me tell you the way to a buttered-up-Annie:  HOMEMADE CARAMEL CORN.  Booyah.

Sure, there was a time when that blue container was full of caramel corn but I’m concerned because I ate it all it disappeared.  And if you think it is cool that I now own a Dwight mousepad, I totally agree with you minus the fact that I don’t own a mouse.  Whatevs.

And finally, sweet and wonderful Patty over at the Siesta Fiesta blog had all us single ladies send in our info.  Then she partnered each of us with a married siesta and that married siesta sent a Valentine’s gift.  How absolutely lovely is that?!  Patty outdoes herself about once a week.  She rulez.

So let me introduce you to my sweet married siesta Valerie from Oklahoma.  She sent me the cutest package and it had some good lookin’ chocolate in it.  The only problem is that the mailman stuck it between the glass door and the wood door, virtually making an oven.  So the chocolates?  They were liquid.  But the rest of the amazing stuff- Oklahoma Christmas ornament included!- was awesome.

So, real-life friends and bloggy-life friends, there you have it.  The awesomeness that came through the USPS to me.  Sorry that it wasn’t from a dude.  Trust me, I’m way more sorry than you are. 

Here’s the good news- my most awesome web hostess Lauren has fixed the tabs across the top of my blog so that now the blogroll has its own special place.  Spectacular.

The bad news that created new news- I am poor.  Not like “lose my home” poor, but more like “Dear God, I need Your help” poor.  And He’s been answering in weird and nice ways.  Including, but not limited to, getting the opportunity to join the BlogHer network as evidenced by the ad to the right (the new news).  I love BlogHer and I appreciate what they do- I’m excited to be a part of this.

If you and I have talked in person about ads on blogs, you know how I feel.  But I’m treating this as a portion of God’s provision for me.  Does it affect you at all?  I hope not.  Does it affect this blog?  What I write?  Who I am?  NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT.

I could have just added it and let it be, but that feels dishonest and its not how I roll.  We’re friends, you and I, at least I think so.  So I’m telling you when things change up in here just like I’d tell a friend.  I honestly don’t even think you’ll notice, especially you google reader readers out there.

I feel weird about this whole thing but that’s because I have deep issues involving blogging and money and friends [and ice cream and cheese, just FYI]. I’m just trying to keep my financial head above water and seriously if we talk much more about it I will ugly cry.  [Because dear money, you make me feel safe. Amen.] I’m CHOOSING to trust God and I KNOW that He has called me to this life and He is faithful. And He is opening doors to meet my financial needs. [Dear God, you are my safety. Amen.]

And now the good news.  Again.  Look how cute this picture is of Robin, me, Shannon, and Amber.  It’s from Blissdom Conference a few weeks ago. I love these women. (Thanks, Robin!)

And gracious.  I still haven’t even told you about my Valentine’s gift!  Augh!  Tomorrow- that’s a perfect Friday blog.

And I can’t stop reading Bachelor spoilers. But that has nothing to do with anything, now does it?

Much love, bloggites and blogmies.

It’s 1:23am.

That’s stupid.  Why am I up, you ask?

Because I, actually, am stupid.

I said, “hey, it’ll be fun to make some cookies for my friends.”

And that, actually, is fun.

Then I said, “Oh, I’ll have to take them to my friends at 8am because I have somewhere to be.”

And that too, actually, is fun.

Remembering at 11:45pm that you haven’t exactly MADE those cookies yet?

Not so fun.

See Annie bake.

At 1:22am.

And though I am probably considered a Real Actress now, this is not an act.  In fact, it is genuinely the state that my face has been in for the last hour.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, now I know you are judging me for having an AT&T phone that isn’t an iPhone.  Can’t a girl have a heart for the flip phone without being looked down upon?

Here’s the reality of the situation.  I’ve typed about 200 words and I’ve got about 2,451 left of COMPLETE NONSENSE that I could type out real fast and then you would have to email me and say, “Thank you, AnnieBlogs, for wasting those 5 minutes of my life.”  In which case I’d feel really bad.  And I try to avoid guilt.  But these are the thoughts that pass through my head after midnight.

Which is why SLEEPING at this hour is a wise use of my time.

Oookkkaayyy.  We’ve reached our limits here.  [Because I just started brainstorming a list of other wise things to do at 1:23am.  And I'm pretty sure they are all dumb to you, while hilarious right now to me.]

Tomorrow I’ll write some sort of inspiring / hilarious / worth your time post and I will pull down this ridiculous post [to which I am bizarrely already emotionally attached] and have it disappear into the land of embarrassing late night blogging.

So for you insomniacs, and West Coasters, congrats on getting to see this post.

Or I’m sorry.

Whichever.

I’ve eaten too much cookie dough.

Amen.

All I’m saying is that I had NO IDEA that you people would feel so strongly about bathroom tile.  Up next, the laundry room!!   But for realz.  Thanks for all the sweet comments.  God is so good to us, isn’t He?

Speaking of that, I had a mini-dream come true this weekend.  This is taken on my lame camera phone, so sorry for the quality.  I absolutely LUH-HUV having my house filled with laughing people- it’s like heaven for my extroverted-hospitality driven soul.  I’m growing to deeply love these friends, and I’m not afraid to say it.

This is a bunch of my buds after a delicious dinner [made 100% by the dudes] and after we have all eaten too many cookies.  [A state of being that we like to call "cookie drunk" that has NOTHING to do with alcohol and EVERYTHING to do with filling our bodies with cookies and sugar to such a level that it makes us attempt crazy things.  Like this.]

Yep.  That’s Jason.  Cookie drunk and flying through the air.

Also last week, Marisa and I got the chance to do something AWESOME.  So of course, we thought we should make a video.  Duh.

[If you are reading in a feed reader, well.  Head on over, buckaroo, cause there's a video here for your viewing pleasure.]

Tomorrow… new friends come to town and my first friend moves away.  Oh yeah, and it was Valentine’s Day.  And someone gave me a present. Patient, grasshopper.  You shall know all things on Tuesday.

In January of 2007 I saw a beautiful shower curtain and shower curtain hooks at Target. I remember clearly that they were on the end of the aisle, deeply on sale. I’m talking a red sticker with another red sticker on top. If I remember correctly [and let's be honest, when it comes to sales, I do remember correctly] the curtain costs $5 and the hooks cost $4. I know. That’s beauticulous.

How cute is that? I didn’t have a bathroom that needed a new curtain. But I loved it, and for that price? Why not. So I bought it and stored it away. [Some might call that "hording". I disagree.]

I didn’t pray about the purchase. I didn’t ask God if it would ever be useful. I just liked it.

Then I move to Nashville in August, then I move to this new home on February 1. And I get my own bathroom that has, literally, the ugliest tile in the world.

Pink and gray? Are you for real? Who picks that? Colorblind Charlie, apparently.

But then I remember, in the recesses of my mind, that cute shower curtain I bought two years ago. Would it match? I kinda could see the color scheme in my head but I thought, “no way will it work.”

ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME. Could it match any closer?

Y’all. How beautiful is this bathroom? I’m going to get some brown picture frames for the walls, to kinda bring in that color as well (to match the bath mat).

I know. This is the girliest post I have ever written.

But let me tell you why I’m taking time to show you pictures of my two year old shower curtain perfectly matching my two week old bathroom.

Because I think that sometimes we all could just use a little reminder that God knows everything. He knew I’d move to Nashville, He knew I’d have this bathroom, and He knew I wouldn’t be able to find a matching curtain for that tile. So He just took care of it for me with a Target sale in 2007. I guess it just makes me feel reassured that Nashville has been on His radar all along. And I’m hoping this reminds you that nothing [even coordinating bathrooms] is too tiny for His caring eye.

It’s the little things that make me love God so much that I want to give Him my life.

He knows how to perfectly speak love to my heart. That day that I bought the shower curtain, just because it was on sale, God knew it would be a future testimony of His love for me.

I guess you could say that my bathroom is a love letter. Written in pink and gray.