I remember a time when my heart was broken.

I sat down and my computer and I typed away like my next breath depended on it- it literally felt like I was underwater and the only way to kick to the surface was to let the words out. Pages and pages and pages flew as the tears poured and when I was done, I had somehow run a marathon emotionally as well as felt my heart be gently wrapped in a bandage that I could not see, but felt the coolness of it.

The hurt didn’t go away, but there is some sort of healing for writers when we write.

My family and I went to the Ryman last night for Andrew Peterson’s Behold The Lamb of God show. It is truly a life-giving and life-changing experience every.single.time. One of the musicians, before beginning a song, said, “I wrote this for a friend, but in the last few days, it has helped me a ton.”

Songwriters do it, too. They write to help heal others and themselves.

But more than healing, there is a responsibility writers have, especially writers who talk openly about faith. It is this call to tell readers a story, truthfully, laced with the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, that moves them think about Jesus and maybe choose to be more like Him.

I feel that weight after Friday’s tragedy in Connecticut.

But after days of thinking about it and praying about what to say, I’m going to  limit my words. One sentence, and one sentence alone, kept pouring from my lips on Friday, through tears and shock and deep sadness.

“Please, Jesus, come back.”

Because He is our only hope. Jesus is our only hope, y’all.

As you peruse the internet and read people’s writings, I pray you will do so with grace and understanding that writers are just doing what they do – writing to heal, to share hope, and to somehow bring some cosmos to the chaos, as Madeleine L’Engle teaches.

Melanie and Ann have both done it beautifully, so I will send you there, with hopes that if you are looking for peace, God ministers that to you somehow through their words.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

I was riding the bus on Saturday, listening to a Circuit Riders podcast, and thinking about my impact in the world. [That sounds snobby and prideful... I don't mean it that way. We all impact. Anyways. Read on, reader.]

I began to think about the fact I’m here in Edinburgh doing ministry to university students. I thought, “I wonder if it would be more effective to be here longterm and doing this or to be in Nashville longterm doing this.”

And then, before I could even stop my brain, I thought, “Eh, Nash is in the Bible Belt. I should be here.”

I almost laughed as I reminded myself, “uh, Annie, YOU are a product of a college ministry in the Bible Belt.”

I can promise you that the ONLY reason I am even here is because of what God did in me while I was involved with the Wesley Foundation at the University of Georgia [smack in the Bible Belt].

For starters, the first opportunity I was given to come to Edinburgh was in May of 2000 on a mission trip with Wesley. So in it’s purest form, it is thanks to Wesley that my heart beats to a Scottish rhythm.

But I mean it deeper than that.

In my five years at Wesley [four years as a student, one year as an intern], I grew spiritually in ways that words can’t express… but let me try. My love for Christ has deeper roots and greater branches because of the investment made in me there. I learned to pray. I learned to fast. I learned to sacrifice. I learned to worship. I learned to endure. I learned to lead, in the easy days and in the hard. I learned to press into God for all He has for me. I learned so many things.

And for years and years before I even got to UGA, there were students and leaders who prayed for me. No, not by name, but they prayed for the students coming to that campus. They prayed that God would pour out His Spirit. They prayed that God would change the world through those who pass through Wesley.

So I just need to say thanks to them. To the ones who fasted for days on end. To the ones who discipled me and led me and taught me. To the ones who never knew me but prayed wholeheartedly for UGA students. To the ones who went faithfully to Wesley when it had 10 students and prayed for more. Then there were 100 and they prayed for more. Then hundreds came, and now over a thousand students are involved in some capacity EVERY WEEK.

As for me, I’m not at Wesley anymore [obvi... I'm 31 ] but I am living to show Jesus to the world. Maybe that means just my little sphere of influence or maybe God will make a way for me to show the great big world what Jesus has done for me.

And I know A LOT of people who have passed through Wesley that would say the exact same thing.

It is all thanks to those who went before us. And I can’t thank them enough.

To think that students in the Bible Belt don’t need to be ministered to is ludacrous. I was a student in the Bible Belt and I needed some major work on my heart, y’all. I was ministered to by people who understood that EVERY university student has the potential to make a lasting mark on this planet.

I had a picture in my head in 2002 that I’ve never been able to shake. I saw a river rushing down the UGA campus and spilling with force into the stadium and through the Tate Student Center. So I still pray that for the campus and the need for Christ there still brings tears to my eyes. No, I don’t know many students there anymore and I’m not ministering daily at the Wesley Foundation. But there are students, waiting to be washed clean by the blood of Christ, ready to swim in that river, and they are going to change the world. And I’m going to pray for them.

Because I know what God does when people pray for the students who pass through the Wesley Foundation.

I know, because I am one.

. . . . .

Who do you need to thank for their investment in your life?

I woke up this morning and as the rain beat my window and my iCal was clear, I decided to play the “I love being single and not having anyone need me right now so I am going to stay in my bed” card.

And I played it well, my friends.

I love music, but I wanted to read my Bible [remember I'm reading the whole thing this year using THIS PLAN] and sometimes I need music without words to be able to really digest passages like 1 Chronicles 6. [Yes, I'm a little behind.]

So I chose an album called Soaking In His Presence that my sweet friend Jessica gave me in 2002. I love these instrumental songs. In fact, when I used to teach school, this was the CD I would play while my kids were working quietly.

And this morning, as the music played, my mind was rushed back to that place. I could almost feel the cold hard tiles under my feet. I could see the kids, hunkered down over some test or important assignment, and I could feel that thing in my heart that I feel for the kids I teach.

I think it’s called love.

It felt like I was there again- like I had papers to grade, emails to respond to, and a schedule to keep to make sure my little people didn’t miss their lunch.

Isn’t is amazing how music can do that? Can take you from a rainy morning in Edinburgh to a sunny winter day in Woodstock, Georgia? I think it is fascinating.

A similar thing happened Sunday morning, as we sang “You’re Beautiful” by Phil Wickham at church. I was reminded of how I used to blast that CD throughout my house in Kennesaw, Georgia, before Nashville was even a thought in my mind and certainly before Edinburgh was a reality.

The song is like a thread that is woven through so many different seasons of my life. The Annie that played that record in 2007 never would have known to picture the day in 2011 when I would stand in a Scottish sanctuary with my hands raised and sing, “I see Your face, You’re beautiful, You’re beautiful, You’re beautiful….”

Music has that power. The power to remind, to recall, to take us back. And in these cases, music has brought back to my mind the faithfulness of God.

And I’m grateful.

. . . . .

Have you experienced this before? Do you have any songs that take your mind back to a different time? 

These are my kids. [We didn't always dress like this- it was 50s day.]

I’ve written about this before, but today, if ever, it deserves to be written about again.

I used to teach elementary school. Did you know that about me? In my pre-author life, I was actually in charge of molding and educating future citizens of America.

[I know. Weird.]

My whole life I wanted to be a teacher. Even as a kid myself, I made up tests and quizzes for my sisters. I attended the University of Georgia, studied early childhood education, then I jumped in… to a 5th grade classroom.

I remember the first day I was allowed into my class- it was still summer, but I was itching to get started. Nothing on the walls, all the desks shoved to the middle of the room, and I just sat on the teacher’s desk and wondered how in the WORLD I was actually going to do this.

And a few weeks later, 28 kids came into my life… and have never left.

There’s just something about that first class. [Any other teachers out there? Am I right about that first crew?]

I worked really hard every day, but I’m pretty sure they taught me as much as I taught them, if not more.

That first year,

I learned how to laugh through stress

I learned how to love more deeply than I’d ever known

I learned that a joke a day keeps the frowny faces at bay

I learned that when you love a kid, the parent loves you back

I learned the beauty of boundaries and how kids really flourish when there are some rules

I learned how to mourn with kids who lose parents

I learned that saying I Love You at the end of a hard day is more important that saying it at the end of a normal day [I also learned that meaning it on a hard day is way more challenging than meaning on a normal day]

I learned that I have the same sense of humor as most 10 year olds

I learned how to discipline with a happy heart

I learned that small towns make for sweet communities

and

I learned that love changes people.

I’m telling y’all. I’m sitting here boo-hooing just writing about these kids. I could tell you story after story of that first year. I was NOT a perfect teacher and those kids were NOT perfect every day. But they were mine. God picked them for me. I know He did.

Tonight, those hand-picked wonders graduate from high school.

And I’ll be there, taking too many pictures and hugging necks and maybe crying. [There will be no photo proof of that, so you'll never know.]

There is no where else I’d rather be.

Congrats, my friends. I was proud of you when you graduated the 5th grade. I’m proud of you today.

Much love.

. . . . . . . . . .

Anybody else attending graduation ceremonies this weekend?

I’m emotional just typing this post.

That does not bode well for my speaking engagement this weekend. My eyes are probably going to puddle for my entire 40 minute slot.

Let me back up a bit.

From 2003-2005, I taught 5th grade in Jackson County. I have never loved sixty small people as much as I loved those kids. I prayed for them every day. I hugged them, cried with them, and let them get away with way more than I should have because gosh darn it, they were the cutest.

But I never openly shared the Gospel with those kids. [I hope I shared the Gospel every day with my life, but you know what I mean.]  I taught in a public school and I believe in respecting the laws of separating church and state.

Over the last seven years, I have returned to Jackson County once or twice a year for sports events or graduations or just because I miss my friends. I love that place.

In January, I got an email from a girl in Jackson County who works at the Static Student Mall, an outreach to teenagers in that county. She had seen my book and wanted to know if I would come speak at an event.

To summarize: I am speaking Saturday, about Jesus, to high school girls in Jackson County.

Look at the math. My 5th graders? They are now 11th and 12th graders.

THE SAME GIRLS THAT WERE 5TH GRADERS IN MY CLASSROOM WILL BE HIGH SCHOOLERS IN THE AUDIENCE.

If you are a teacher or have ever been a teacher, I bet you can imagine the multiple heart explosions I’ve had thinking about the opportunity I have been given on Saturday. Even explaining it to my co-workers at Mocha Club yesterday made me tear up.

In fact, I can’t hardly think about it without crying and whispering to God, “You have exceeded my dreams… You are always good to me… You saw this all along… You. Are. The. Best… Thank You…” Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, until I can no longer form sounds due to the tears.

In my little heart and in my short little life, this is one of the biggest deals ever.

THIS is a dream come true.

• Will you pray for me? Will you pray that the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart will be pleasing to God?
• Will you pray for the girls in the crowd?
• Will you pray for my students who I have invited and hope to see?
• Will you pray for my teacher friends who will be in the audience as well?

I speak at 1pm EST on Saturday. If you would just set an alarm to pray for even one minute, it would mean so much to me.

This may be the most important speaking opportunity I will ever have.

May God be glorified.

That’s what I’ve been living.

Also, “le whirlwind” is French for “crazy travels.” I think.

Let me tell you about the last ten days or so…..

Thursday 9/30 :: Drive to Atlanta. Attend a baby shower in Woodstock, where I used to teach school.

Friday 10/1 :: Drive to Jackson County, GA, home of my first teaching gig, where the 5th graders that used to hug me every day are now seniors. SENIORS.

Proof? Here ya go.

It was one of the sweetest nights. I’ll blog more about it soon. I love these kids so much it still makes me cry and I don’t want to cry right now. So now we’ll move on….

Saturday 10/2 – Sunday 10/3 :: Hung out in Athens, GA, where I attended to University of Georgia. I played with some of my buddies, ate delicious memory-filled food, and rested a bit.

[Some would label this weekend "Annie's Life : 1998-2005"- UGA, Jackson Co, Woodstock. It was kinda weird to see those years summed up in a four day road trip, but it happened. And I absolutely loved it.]

Monday 10/4 – Tuesday 10/5 :: Finished editing my book [squeeal!] and work from home at my parents’ house in Marietta.

Wednesday 10/6 :: Catalyst Lab day

Thursday 10/7 :: Catalyst

Friday 10/8 :: Seth Godin’s conference in Atlanta. So so fun. Loved getting amped up again, feeling connected to the part of my brain that thrives on good quality marketing, and spending time with some great folks.

Friday night :: drive back to Nashville

Saturday 10/9 :: Fly to Kansas City for a Nashville wedding.

Saturday night :: wedding. dancing. dancing. then dancing.

Sunday 10/10 :: Go to church in Kansas City with my friends Jules + Bethany, then sit on their couch and watch the Braves.

Monday 10/11 :: Fly back to Nashville at 6am.

Y.O.W.S.A.

It has been a really really crazy month so far. Of the eleven nights, I’ve slept in my bed once and shared a bed seven of the nights. I’ve done 2 loads of laundry and traveled approximately 1,822 miles.

And at the ripe old age of 30, I’m feeling that 1,822 miles in my bones. For sure. [Mainly in my left shoulder, giving me intense shooting pains that take my breath away. In the not-awesome way.]

I’m also feeling those miles in my heart. It’s been awesome. Sweet. Full of laughs and friends I adore. I don’t regret it one bit.

I’m back in Nashville and looking forward to an insanely intense week. Big BIG week at Mocha Club as well as turning in the book on Friday.

But dear bloggite, I will not forget you. In fact, it shall be a fun week at AnnieBlogs. Including, on Friday, because I love you and want you to be the FIRST to know things, a sneak peek at the cover art for my book! [hint: it is totes gorgie-poo.]

Phew. That’s all I have to say about that.

Now. To the important stuff. How was YOUR weekend?

I had to swing by the bank yesterday. I haven’t used this particular branch before, so I missed the turn.

[please try to contain your shock]

And so I had to circle around a Taco Bell [no, I didn't purchase anything though I would SWEAR I heard the cinnamon twists calling my name, but I can't be sure]. As I did, I saw an African American dude walk out of the restaurant. He looked dirty, he looked homeless, and he looked tired.

I watched as he crossed in front of me. He opened a plastic cup of sliced oranges and poured it into his mouth. Then as he walked by, he looked right at me. He stared at my eyes and I couldn’t help but begin to wonder about his life. How did he get here? Where was his mama? Where will he sleep? When will he eat again?

And who was his 3rd grade teacher?

A weird question, I know. But I looked at him and I saw his little self. I looked in his face and saw what he looked like when he sat in a desk, turned in his spelling test, and ran around on the playground.

It brought me to tears. Because I taught over 150 students in five years. And I remember all of their names [I'm kinda a freak like that]. And I bet they remember mine, cause kids always remember their teachers.

My 3rd grade teacher was Mrs. Albers. She knows how I turned out- I had lunch with her about 2 years ago. But I wonder if somewhere, that young man’s teacher sits at home tonight and is curious about him. I wonder if she pulls out that class picture and looks at each face, remembers handwritten notes and Christmas gifts, and daydreams about who her students became as adults.

Because kids don’t forget their teachers. And teachers don’t forget their kids.

I prayed for that guy there in the Taco Bell parking lot. I also prayed for my students. I prayed that they would use their minds [in which I poured knowledge, and a few jokes] to keep getting an education. That at every turn they would look to make the wise choice. That somehow they would remember my name and in some weird mindmap connection, that would remind them that they can be anything they want to be.

I hope my kids are okay. I wonder about them.

Your teachers probably wonder about you too, you know.

Who was your favorite teacher?

[And if you can, maybe now is a good time to contact that teacher and say thanks. Send a picture. Teachers love sentimental junk like that.]

Have a great weekend.

Saturday night, I attended my third Thanksgiving dinner in Nashville.

Good. Gravy.

Literally.

[I'm sorry. But that's funny.]

Nashville Thanksgiving 2009 was super wonderful. But more on that later this week.

As I stood in the kitchen and talked with a friend, he asked a question, and within my answer I said, “did you know I used to teach school?” Then I moved on with the conversation, using the teaching thing as just a point on the map to better locate another place.

Teacher Art Show piece. 2007.

Like “I used to teach school” isn’t a big deal. Like it was just a job, just a season of life that used to be.

It was NEVER just a job.

Teaching elementary school was all I ever wanted to do. The first day in my first classroom, I cried. Because my childhood dream was reality. I cried a lot of days after that [insert shock here]- 3/4 of the crying days were out of pure exhaustion or frustration, but 1/4 was joy, happiness, and just what love from kids does to me.

Here’s what I wish I would have said:

“I used to teach school. I taught 5th grade for 2 years and 4th grade for 3 years. I loved 180+ kids over a five year span and I can tell you every one of their names. I still pray for those jokers, and I plan to love them forever. Crafts were my joy and I sang stupid made-up songs every day. My favorite subject was Social Studies and I actually liked grading papers. I wrote a joke on the board every Friday and speaking of boards, I can write in a perfectly straight line on a white board. We laughed everyday. A lot. And I read out loud every afternoon. My classroom was an extension of my home (and me) – messy, but pretty sweet. I used to teach school. And there are days, like today, when I totally miss it.”

That should have been my answer.

I am thankful [Thanksgiving tie-in? You betcha.] that God took my career dreams, birthed when I was in Mrs. Albers’ 3rd grade class in 1989, and gave them to me. And someday, when I get tired of being a starving artist with a zillion part time jobs, maybe I’ll go back.

Cause a spiritual gift like my white board skillz is a terrible thing to waste.

If you aren’t in the teaching profession, enjoy this nugget from today.

I pick my kids up from lunch, and I have to immediately stop the line to say this:
“Susie, quit flossing your teeth with your hair. That’s gross.”

As if that wasn’t enough to make you squeamish, the girl behind her leans up, taps her on the shoulder, and says:
“Hey, you do that too? Cool.”

Yes, it was the first time I threw up in front of my students.

(only kidding. But just about the throw up part. The rest is disturbingly true.)

My dear friend at school asked me to blog about this. For her sake, I’ll give her a fake name- Jenn.

Jenn and I are eating lunch. Let me preface by saying that I am, in general, a polite person. I ate my grilled cheese that came in a plastic sealed bag, like the kind around zebra cakes. Don’t ask me how they grill them in those things. And don’t ask me why I couldn’t think of a better comparison than zebra cake wrappers. I also had some veggie soup/chili. Not sure which is was supposed to be. I ask Jenn a question (“Why doesn’t the blue group have homework?”), and as I’m listening to her, all the sudden she stops and stares at me. That’s the moment that I realize that I have just burped on accident. And one of those short, low, kinda sick-sounding burps.

I HATE burping. I think it ranks as one of the top rudest things a person can do, in public or in private. I don’t like it. Those people who can burp the alphabet are not talented- they are sick individuals. There is no pride in that. To call it a skill is giving it too much credit. It’s gross.

Let the one who has not burped cast the first stone. Alas, for all my judging and inner-ridiculization (is that a word?) of burpers, I now have become one.

I’m ashamed of myself.

On another note, I got a new student today (remember I teach 4th grade) who is at least 2 inches taller than me, has a full blown mustache, and has a deep man voice. To say I was shocked when he walked in is an understatement- more like terrified. I think he has his own parking space, I’m not sure. But he looks old. We may have been in preschool together, who knows.

And I got real excited today when I thought the blocker on the school internet had been taken off my computer. But unfortunately not. Probably better- can you imagine what life would be like if I had access to this blog all day? Not good, my friends, not good.

So those are the highlights of a day in my teaching life. Probably a bit disappointing. I’m sorry.