I moved to Nashville 3.5 years ago.

And would you believe, no kidding, that this is the SIXTH house I have occupied in this town?

So, mathematically speaking, that’s like moving every 7 months or so. Barf.

[I know your next question and no, I am not in the witness protection program. And even if I was, could I tell you?]

[Do you think they let people in the WPP have blogs? Maybe.]

Here’s what else is super weird about how much I have moved. Prior to going to college, do you know how many houses I lived in? ONE. My parents still live in the house they built the months before I was born.

Since going to college? ELEVEN.

I feel like there should be some good 70s lyric to insert here about me being a nomad, a wanderer, a free-spirited woman without a consistent place to lay her head…. something something flowers in my hair something something flowy skirt.

This new house in Nashville is so darlin’ and great and will be a real joy when it is not full. of. the. cardboard. boxes.

I may be a hippy wanderer, but I gotz lotz of junk.

There are a few different ways to tackle unpacking, and I’ve tried them all.

1. One box a day keeps the stress away … You can just be disciplined and unpack one single box each day. Sure, it’ll take you up to two months to unpack, but you won’t feel exhausted.

2. Today’s the day … Just do it. Every box. Everything in its place. Miserably tiring but effective.

3. I’ll figure that out later … unpack what you can, avoid the things you don’t know what to do with. [This is my preferred method of dealing with emotional pain as well, just FYI.]

4. Boxes are like storage pieces … don’t unpack. Just use the boxes. Not recommended.

5. I’ll buy the pizza … invite your friends over, let them help you unpack, and you feed them as payment.

This time, I’m doing a combo of #3 and #5, with a splash of #4 … just until I get a desk up here from Atlanta.

And being that it has been seven months since I had all my material possessions in one building, I’m excited to announce that I have only lost two things in these 217(ish) days:

1. my checkbook
2. the knobs that go on top of my four-poster bed

I do not know where they are.

But there are a few boxes left to unpack, so I’m not without hope that they will be found.

As soon as the house is done, I will give you a proper tour. I’ve done it before, for Annie Parsons. And I shall do it again.

. . . . .

Question time!

What’s your method of unpacking?

And where do you think my checkbook is?

I can’t even begin to tell y’all how much I LOVE my church, Cross Point. There are a lot of backstories that led to this place, which we don’t have time for, but just trust that it has taken me 3.5 years in Nashville to find a church like this.

[Sure. We could have a twelve hour debate about church picking and the theology behind that and what-have-you, but please can we not? Thanks.]

While I was still in Scotland, I emailed Wes, the college campus pastor at Cross Point, and I said, “Wes. Please. Let me volunteer for you. Puh-LEEEEZZZEE!!”

We had never met. So he said, “Rein it in, sister. Let’s have coffee first.”

So we did and I passed the test. And now I get to hang out every week at the college service and meet cool students [big waves to Hannah and the other girls!] and disciple girls and lead a small group and plan parties and all of it.

I also got to write nametags for people as they walked in last week. Meaning, I got to speak to almost EVERY.SINGLE.STUDENT. As you can imagine, I was practically drunk on excitement after that. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, people.

I learned something important about Annie while I was in Scotland. [Mixing first person and third person? You're welcome. I'm a professional.] I feel the most alive when I’m doing ministry. I just do. I wish I could just write and speak and talk with college girls about God and life and the et ceteras that come along with this phase of life.

That is my sweet spot. 

But. I still have to help set up chairs and clean up the green room and sweep. [I'm guessing... haven't done that yet, but I bet I will.] And I really try to do it with a happy heart because I don’t want to be a nightmare volunteer.

But that is not my sweet spot. Not even a little bit. I call that my “sweep spot” – doing the thing you don’t want to do but needs to get done. And even though I find so much joy in college ministry, I don’t love the parts of ministry that aren’t fun.

[Hi. I'm Annie. I'm super mature.]

When it comes to church service, what is the right thing to do?

Do you pursue and seek out your sweet spot? Or do you just look at what needs to be done and step into that sweep spot?

We all have limited hours to serve… so how do you pick?

I’ve been thinking about this so much lately. I watch some of my friends serve constantly throughout their church, doing the yucky stuff. And while it is impressive, I also wonder if they are tapping into that firey spot in your knower that says, “I WAS MADE TO BE RIGHT HERE.”

But I know that some people really do feel like their sweet spot is the sweep spot. Which I find amazing.

And there are others [not me of course... ahem.] who tend to lean towards the idea that if that fire isn’t raging and I’m not passionate about it, I don’t want to do it.

And by the way, isn’t our human nature SO annoying that we get tired of serving at all? I think that is super annoying. I wish my flesh didn’t scream for relief every time I’m doing something I don’t love. Sheesh, for that matter, even when it is stuff I love there are times when my flesh screams “GO LAY ON THE COUCH AND WATCH THE BACHELOR!”

[We have GOT to talk about Ben. Soon and very soon.]

So I’m putting the question out there to you.

When you are serving at church, do you look for your sweet spot or do you look for a sweep spot?

Is your sweet spot the sweep spot?

Do you pursue serving in your strengths or do you find that serving anywhere better reveals your strengths?

Have you found your sweet spot? What is it?

Tell me how you serve.

I got back from Scotland approximately eight weeks and two days ago.

I only know because one of my besties in Nashville birthed a baby the same day I got on a plane. So yesterday, when she tells me, “Yep, he’s eight weeks old exactly,” my brain immediately thinks, “Man, I’ve been home for eight weeks and a day.”

Which means, God bless ‘em, I’ve been living with a married couple for eight weeks while I’ve been trying to find my next home. Sure, I didn’t think it would last eight weeks, but alas. It has.

We’re gonna call them The Givers. That is not their real name.

No reason to expose their real identity because….

• they never signed up to be blog fodder
• they live a bit more quietly than I do
• when you hear how great my life has been, you’re gonna want to move in with them too and they aren’t into running a bed and breakfast.

It has been a blast. I can’t even tell y’all. They are some of the most generous and wonderful people I’ve ever known. And something I’m growing to learn about myself is that I totally love co-habitating.

[Probably the more appropriate term is "community living" but co-habitation is just way funnier. But you know what I mean.]

Here’s why co-habitation with The Givers has been awesome.

1. They buy the kind of popcorn that just say “BUTTER” and it is delicious.

2. When I sign up to make approximately 150 cake balls for a wedding, there are people to work in that factory.

3. We all love the same TV shows. So when the three of us settle into the house at night, there is no awkward “who gets to watch what they like” moments. We just start the DVR and all are pleased.

[Caveat: They don't DVR The Waltons. But I don't mind.]

4. Living with a boy who is married to one of my dearest friends is awesome. I can ask him guy questions. “When that boy texted that, what did he mean?” and the like. So pretty much, the conversations my other guy friends avoid, Mr. Giver can’t avoid. Because he lives with me. Boom.

5. There are a few pair of eyes that can work on the puzzle.

6. Mrs. Giver is a counselor. AnnieBlogs is an over-emoter. These things work well together. [More for me than for her.]

7. I’ve learned so much from living with them. For example, Mr. Giver is a big believer in pro-active conversations so that we don’t have reactive conversations.

Example.

Mr. Giver: “Annie, we love you being here. Have you found a place to live? We’re not tired of you yet.”

Annie: “Mr. Giver, thank you for your kindness. I’m still actively looking. Hopefully soon. But I love living here.”

And scene.

No emotions. No freak outs. No kick outs. Just a proactive convo. Love it.

8. There is almost always someone to talk to…. proving once again, I have issues.

. . . . .

These last eight weeks have taught me a lot about how I want to live. I want to be generous and giving even beyond what is normal. [Yikes... I should have been out of there WEEKS ago. Bless them.]

I move out Friday into my own place. And the miracle of it all? We are all sad.

My tip to you, person who thinks it would be cool to stay with some friends for a while? Leave before you want to and leave before they want you to leave.

Also. Restock their popcorn.