I can't sleep. It's 12:11 am and I can't pull myself away from the computer to go to bed. I was tired two hours ago. 14 hours after I woke up. That's pretty normative for me. But now I'm on 16 hours of opened eyes, and now I can't sleep.

So I check myspace and get paranoid that my friends talk to my sister more than they talk to me. I'm such a narcissistic idiot.

And I check email but lack the energy to respond.

And I check for comments on my blogs and find that I haven't been that motivational lately and I sure as hell haven't been anectdotally funny. We're going on months since the last "my cat ate my fish" story. Of course, my cat died, so that might be the problem there.

Sorry. That was pessimisstic and a low blow. I didn't mean it that way. I'm just generally lethargic right now. I think cause I'm tired, but I can't sleep. There's so much to make me happy and so much to make me worry (I blame most of that on Bush, selfish consumerism and communal ambiguity); I try and balance work with play, but I don't always succeed.

What a lame blog. I'm deleting it now.

Except that means I have to get off the computer.

So the blog stays on. And so do I...

Margaret Ann, Mom and her cousin Sue

Jim and Bonnie (my second cousin and wife)

The shy flower girl...

I'm in Orlando having just driven in for my second cousin once removed's wedding. (Figure that one out). It was a beautiful wedding with a very festive reception afterwards. Wine, soup, salad, sorbet, cordon bleu, filet mignon and lots of country dancing. It was quite entertaining. But mom and I drove in from Atlanta at 5am yesterday morning, so by the time the dancing started, I only had three in me. Then I drove Aunt Louise (my second cousin in law's aunt) and Margaret Ann (my first cousin once removed in law's sister) home at 11 and crashed. Now I'm taking a break from the pool to blog about my latest travels. Tonight I fly home to Austin where I will stay for at least three weeks, thank God. It's been fabulous going to Colorado, SWBYC, Atlanta and Orlando, but I'm ready to be home. See you soon Austin!

AIDS Summit today.

I remember learning about AIDS in school. About how you can't contract it. About how you can.

I remember growing up in the theatre.

I remember being in Minnesota and seeing Godspell and feeling the awe and joy of taking in an amazing and creative production. I remember remembering watching Godspell in Missouri. I remember Heidi with the long blond hair and the guy who played Jesus and David. I remember mom causually telling me in the car that he had passed away. That he'd died of AIDS. Several months earlier.

I remember feeling crushed. Feeling betrayed that my parents hadn't told me earlier. That I didn't get to go to the funeral. I was the littlest orphan, Molly, when RRT did Annie and he played Rooster. He always kissed me on the head and teased me. I remember idolizing him and the others during Godspell for their animation and talent. Wasn't I as important to them as they were to me?

And my parents didn't tell me this man I looked up to died? I was young and narcissistic.

I remember asking dad about it when we returned from Minnesota. I remember him telling me a story about the last time he'd seen him. He was in a wheel chair and dad didn't say anything to him cause he didn't know what to say. He felt so sad about that. I remember feeling my dad's shame.

The speakers asked us how our churches would respond if we went home asking them to embrace the otherness still appropriated to people with HIV. Honestly, I thought my church would handle it just fine. Our problem would be that our volunteers are stretched so thin and there are so many other causes to take up...

But as I discussed this with a friend of mine from a less progressive city in Texas, she said, "My church still thinks of AIDS as the 'gay disease.' They don't even think there are gay people in the city let alone in our church."

How times have and haven't changed.

AIDS is an issue in Africa, but it is also an issue here. Wake up America. Stop asking members of your congregations to check their sexuality and their shame at the door by never talking about these issues. We only perpetuate the otherness and allow the estrangement to continue! One man told a story of a clergy member who told her church her brother died of cancer because she didn't feel comfortable telling them he actually died of AIDS.

It's time to come out of the closet, not with our sexual orientation, but with our ability to share ourselves and our lives and our brokenness and God's healing and acceptance of all people, all diseased ones, all God's children.

For we are all estranged, all diseased, all broken. All in need of redemption, acceptance and grace.

We all need to know that we are loved by God.

And fortunately, that's just was God wants to give us.

Now I'm only melting because of the heat.

I'm in Hotlanta.

The Cooperative Baptist Fellowship Convention is this week and via my job description and paycheck, I'm required to attend. It should be good though. Lots of interesting things on the agenda. Plus my mater is flying in since she's on staff at a church that is seguing into CBF life and I have several friends who are attending.

Although it sucks that I left my house in disarray with a thankful and apologetic look to my roommate who has suffered through the last three days of heat with me in our unairconditioned abode, it's good to be at a place where renewal perches on the horizon.

And Lauren reported that the AC guy did in fact show up today while I was in flight and fixed the problem. The pipes were clogged. Now for the carpet...the business manager at my church is on top of it. He showed up today at my house to help Lauren deal with the AC inspection. Yet another reason why I love my church.

More to come.

She's melting.

Not because she's a witch. Because she's emotionally cracking. Losing it. Having a meltdown. Whatever your metaphor, it happened tonight.

I'm sure tomorrow or next week tonight's events will be amusing. Like the day I put regular dishwashing soap in the dishwasher and it overflowed suds and soap for an hour. Or the time I was in a hit-and-run car accident because I thought a little girl needed help. Or the time I set my hair on fire lighting candles at UBC. Or...

But not tonight. Tonight my eyes are still stinging and puffy, and mascara is smeared into the pores across my face. Tonight I'm exhausted and emotionally on edge and sleeping in my underwear with a fan on me to keep me cool cause the air conditioner's turned off cause the unit leaked water so badly into my hall and bathroom that I can't even begin to soak up all the water with or without four towels and two full bedsheets, which of course I can't wash because I bought a broken washer and dryer unit that no one will return my money on.

Did I mention my ex-boyfriend's getting married?

She's melting. She's cracking. She's writing in third person.

2 days. My parents were gone two days before I managed to kill 4 plants.

What else is new?

As my mother so politely and poignantly informed my neighbor, Tommie, "Ann's not very good with the yard." That kind of made me mad. But with that sort of preface to yard maintenance, I don't feel too bad.

Plus the plants only cost a dollar each.

Still, 2 days, 4 plants.

On the brighter side, let's count what I haven't managed to kill yet.

The three cacti. (I know, they don't require watering). Half a tree that we planted isn't dead yet. Yet. Umm. The hibiscus that the Nethercuts gave me isn't dead yet. It has no more flowers, but it is still green. All the plants Michelle planted around my front door are still alive(thanks to roomies who watered them while I was gone). And there's the two tomato plants in the back yard that were housewarming gifts that are still growing and also the fig tree (which I admit, isn't exactly doing well, but Michelle's isn't either so that makes me feel a little better).

My thumb has yet to turn green, but it is yellowing.

Either that or i'm chickening out of yardwork. Perhaps it really isn't for me. Perhaps it's the soil. Perhaps it's the weather. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps if I were in town more than two days a week, I could ascertain what color my thumb is turning.

I'm not bitter, just busy. And the plants are, well... blooming... mostly.

Except the four dead ones, of course.

I'm off again.

Outbound in Colorado.
Wedding in the Hill Country.
Parents in my house.
Now SWBYC in Sherman, TX.

I can count the days i've been home on my own two hands. It's not a lot, but it'll do.

Summers are hectic, so if I haven't blogged about my dad's obsession with splenda or my mom setting off my alarm upon arrival at my new house, you'll have to forgive me. I'm terribly busy.

Plus I got food poisoning this weekend.
Plus the alarm went off in the middle of the night last night (as if I didn't have to wake up early enough this morning).

Plus, plus, plus.

I'm counting on a surplus of surprise this week. Not surprise, the sound system doesn't work, or surprise, the powerpoints got lost, but surprise, this is a beautiful blessing raining down on you from above. Be quiet, be comforted. Be available to students, but be renewed too.

Surplus.

I'm hoping.

$4000 in 7 days. My sister knows how to shop. No wonder my mom said, "Don't buy anything for your new house until Amy gets there!" But she's gone and I still can't believe it. This week has gone by so fast. She was here, we shopped, bought a couch and love seat, bought an ecologically-friendly washer/dryer unit, painted my bedroom and living room, picked out a duvet and shams, ate out every time we had the chance and then she was gone. It was so fun having my sister with me in my new house, sleeping in the same bed with me just like we did when we were kids. She loved my friends, she loved my ex, she loved Austin. And I loved having her here. But then she was gone, as fast as she came.

And then I was gone. Amy left Saturday and I left Sunday. I went from ultimate American consumer to pee in an outhouse wilderness adventurer. Monday: white water rafting. It was amazing, challenging and beautiful. My head got sunburned and my body got hypothermia. Figures. I'll save you the details. Tuesday: rock climbing and repelling off a cliff. My favorite day. In high school, our church youth group planned a trip repelling. We practiced repelling off the roof of the one-story ministries building. But that's as far as I ever got. It rained at our destination and only the juniors and seniors got to repel. As an eighth grader, I got to play in a creek. But all that changed on Tuesday and with complete confidence that I could not begin to tell where it came from, I bounced off the cliff, flying down to the ground and climbed a rocky cliffside that would put fear in Ann Catherine any other day of her life. But it was amazing. I slipped back into bouldering mode when Jessy used to coach me in good bouldering technique and I shimmied right up that 50 foot rock. Wednesday we hiked. On top of a mountain hiked. Through snow and over rocky hills. Van Trapp family hiked. 5 miles at 10,000 feet will not take you an hour and a half like it would in St. Joe or Austin. It'll take half a day. You just can't breathe in enough air. I'd love to say that you can't breathe in all the beauty of the mountain view all around you or something poetic like that, but literally, you can't freakin' breathe up there. Nature. Weather. Altitude. God was creative.

And then we came home. 30 people learned about leadership and life and their limits and themselves and I came home knowing that I could make it through the rest of the week.

If I can repel off a cliff then I can say good-bye to my sister, and officiate my first wedding all in one week. Not to mention welcome my parents into my new home, plan worship for a Youth camp and perform all my normal weekly duties. I will not freak out. I hiked a mountain and didn't die.

Mom and dad drive in Saturday while I'm in the hill country marrying my first couple. For the first time in my life I can say no longer say "Always the wedding singer, never the bride" because now I'm performing the ceremony.

Rad.

I am their friend and I am their pastor.

Then I drive home and my parents will welcome me in my new home. They arrive here Saturday, I get home Sunday. We'll meet at church and celebrate my dad's birthday and hopefully the new house. Today (yesterday as of three minutes ago) is my dad's birthday. Although I talked to my mom twice today and my grandma once, I never talked to my dad. I'm not sure how that happened. But that's his picture at the top of this blog. He and Potter at Christmas. Potter is much older now and so is my dad I guess.

So good-bye Pittsy, "Sanders" misses you; good-bye mountains, thanks for the encouragement; hello weekend wedding, I promise not to screw up; and hello mom and dad, I'm sorry I didn't call the day of your Birthday.

But I love you dad, so this long post is dedicated to you. You gave me life, you gave me Amy, you gave me the strength to move away, you taught me to use my gifts, and now you visit me - not only your daughter, but a fully grown adult.

Amazing huh?

I think so too.

School’s out. It is finished. For those of you who graduated, congrats, you don’t have to go back unless you want to. Take your relief and run with it. To those of you who are not finished but are on summer break, take your relief and run with it until August rolls around. And for those of you, those of us, not in school, not in a nine-month rotation, we remember those days and what it felt to say, I’m done. Last class today. Last final. This semester’s over.

Relief.

We don’t get that kind of relief anymore. The fun summer vacation time, so we seek it elsewhere. Instead of “last class” we get to finish one project or sermon or business transaction before we start the next. Instead of “last final,” we finally get stable financially and can start paying off the credit card. Instead of “the semester’s over,” we at least get Monday off for Memorial day.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, it’s still the same. If it isn’t school, it’s work. If it isn’t boy problems, it’s a dysfunctional family. If it isn’t money, then it’s stress. If it isn’t spiritual lethargy, it’s emotional distance.

And we crave relief. All of us.

Those in Africa dying of AIDS crave relief. Those in Mexico without enough food crave relief. Those on the gulf who haven’t yet fixed their house after the hurricanes last year and who worry about what worse ones lie ahead this year crave relief. The young woman who hates the way she looks craves relief. The young man who just wants to find love craves relief. The business associate who wants to feel fulfilled in her job craves relief. The man who can’t get a job craves relief.

And anyone homeless and out in the heat today craves relief.

The needs are great and come arise in varied forms, but so does the relief.

When creation groans, so does the heavens and for once, we are all on level ground.

God lamented.
Jesus wept.
And so do we.

So do we.

So do we crave relief.

The good news is, relief is come. Relief has come through Jesus Christ and relief will continue with us.

The spirit of God who was present at creation and moved upon both Israelites and foreigners in the Hebrew scriptures came alive in Christ and now works through us.

Relief does not mean absence of pain, relief does not mean absence from hurt. It does not promise food on every table, a roof over every head and a heart never broken in any person’s life.

Relief means a God who moves with us and amongst us and who understands.

Relief means finding ourselves enabled and commissioned to bring relief to the world around us.

The presence of God who is in us will move through us as we minister to one another and to our world at large. Minister through kind words, reconciling actions, by feeding the hungry, loving the sick, housing the homeless, enabling the broken, visiting the imprisoned.

As Maurice Hulst said, we all need assistance, we all need to be sustained. Husband and wife, brother and sister, businessmen, homeless women, huge Catholic families, one parent families, all of us seek the rejuvenation that comes in relief.

And so find it, take it, claim it. Whether it is emotional health, a vacation from work, caring for your family, providing for those around you, standing confident that God is with you even when the world around you seems to be falling apart.

Find it. It is there. Relief is come. I am is I am and ever will be.

And so must we be for others.

Amen.

Amy leaves tomorrow morning. I can't believe it. We've had the best week together though. Today at lunch we reminisced about everything we did this week from lunches to housework to funny one-liners. What a great week. I'm sure I'll give you more tomorrow when I'm sad and she's gone.

But no time for that cause tomorrow I pack for Outbound, a trip with the youth at church to Colorado... rafting rivers, climbing mountains and repelling off cliffs. Then I'm back for a day and a half and then am off to the hill country to perform my first wedding ever. I'm not the wedding singer, I'm not the bridesmaid, I'm the minister. Whoa.

And then my parents arrive and will be here for a week. So no time for tears, only time for hope for the next time.

For 35 more minutes it will be the first day of my 28th year.

And it's been a great day.

A strange year, but a great day.

I failed to email you updates about how many days until my birthday (i try to start in February or March with the countdown). I also failed (as my father still wondered at today) to send out my birthday list which i try to publish by at least March (April if i'm really behind).

But none of that happened this year. Between the job and the house and the choas of "truly adult, non-student life), I lost interest in that. (That being "myself.")

But listen to what did catch my interest.

Marcus Borg, Joan Chittister and John Dominic Crossan.

And I spent I my 28th birthday listening to them lecture and fraternizing with them at dinner. (Yep, they know my name). My friends think I'm kind of a nerd, but I think it makes for a great birthday to spend it with world-renowned scholars. Always have.

My mother I hear isn't taking my birthday quite as well.

My dad came home to find her laying on the bed.

"What are you doing?"
"I'm tired."
"What's wrong?"
"I had a baby 28 years ago."

Classic Crazy Carol.

And a classis birthday. One I'll always remember, even if mom's pre-occupied with the first.

In my job, I've met and heard the Rev. Jesse Jackson preach (no comment on his personal life, but his preaching is fabulous), I've almost met Bill Clinton, I prayed before the Texas state senate, and now I'm going to get to meet and hear speak Marcus Borg, Joan Chittister and John Dominic Crossan.

And another heart attack is in order.

I'm blogging because I'm at work, trying to write what I'm going to say at Midweek Moorings tonight, but honestly I'm unable to focus what with all the hustle, bustle and excitement around the office.

There are volunteers everywhere, stuffing packets, setting up the bookstore, picking up world renowned scholars...

I can't focus.

I was doing really well and then it hit me.

So I'm blogging to take my mind off my work...

um...

or rather to get my mind back on work.

Yeah, that's what I'm doing. I'm getting my mind back on work by blurting out all my excitement to you, my blogworld friends.

We will receive a lot of criticism for hosting this (we already have), but this is so exciting. We are a cathedral church in that we allow all the colors in and allow them to shine and fade blend and transform us.

We don't have to agree to get along. We don't have to agree to do church together. And we certainly don't have to agree if all we need to do is join hands and extend them together.

Individual thought amidst living community.

It's a paradox.

And I'm excited about it.

So I’m laying on my bed yesterday afternoon traumatized because I can’t get a straight answer from my phone company about whether or not they sent a technician out to my house on Monday who may or may not have intentionally unplugged my security system, and my computer says it can’t find the modem for my wireless internet even though everything is hooked up properly and flashing their “on” lights, and of course, I’m completely unable to do anything to fix any of these issues myself. I had a male friend stay the night at my house Tuesday night to ensure that the potentially sketchy SBC guy didn’t come back to rape and pillage me in the middle of the night (not that there’s much to pillage since I have no furniture - i digress), and on Wednesday I had another male friend come over who works with internet companies on a regular basis to figure out why my modem and wifi wouldn’t configure. And I had this sort of “Sex in the City” moment.

Remember that episode when Charlotte tells the other girls that the problem with all of them was that all they really wanted out of men was “to be rescued”?

That’s how I felt laying in bed in the middle of the afternoon.

Two days in a row I had to be rescued by men.

And that makes me cranky.

And it makes me feel incompetent.

But then I started thinking.

This past weekend I went “home” to Waco to stay with my Texas family and Holly, the mom of the family, made me dinner and put clean sheets on my bed and sat and drank with me outside, talking about men and life. And in that way, she rescued me.

And then there’s Julie, an old friend whom I met up with for dinner, who listened to me verbally assault her with all that’s been on my mind and heart because she gets me and knows me, and I can share those things that I keep bottled up inside with her. Julie rescued me.

So I’m not just being rescued by men. I’m being rescued by women too.

Young and old, male and female, rich and poor, people rescue me every day.

And I realized that perhaps, just perhaps, I rescue them too.

I can’t beat up or even scare an intruder in my home, but I can sing a song that soothes the soul.
I can’t find a number to configure my internet, but I can preach a sermon that may inspire hope.
I can’t be family to myself by myself, but I can open my home to anyone who needs to come play Nintendo to get away.
I can’t solve my own issues by talking to myself about them, but I can listen to others tell me their stories.

I can do a lot of things that other people can’t do.

And other people can do a lot of things that I can’t do. And so we do these things for each other.

But more importantly, we BE these things for each other.

Where I offer compassion, I receive grace. Where he gives affirmation, I show faithfulness. Where she bestows hope, I display honesty. And we are Christ to one another.

And the pendulum swings as we need and receive, and are called upon and give.

And that is community.

None of us is whole or self-sufficient or completely autonomous. Thank God. Or we’d be a cold world without a need for each other or God.

Rather God has made us dependant on each other and on God.

And so I guess Charlotte was right... we all do need to be rescued.

This is how I feel about being on the phone and talking to machine people who try to interpret what I say instead of letting me talk to real people who can hear my real issues. When I have a question regarding my phone service, DSL service and security system, could I please not talk to a machine - especially one disguised as a person who can hear and converse with you? And when I finally do speak to a person, could they please answer my questions? Augh! I'm sic-ing this cat on you all!

I'm in Waco. I know that I should be enjoying my new house in Austin, but via the doctor's request, I'm taking some time off and am officially on vacation for two days.

In Waco.

Not where most people would choose to go, but this is the closest I can get to family in Texas, so I'm in Waco with the Eades.

Dinner with Julie tonight at Buzzard Billy's.
Conversation with Wes who stayed up way past his bedtime.
And church tomorrow...

Well, the suggestion was 3-4 days of vacation and one of those needs to be a Sunday. But I guess if I'm not the one working...

"Will you be coming to UBC?" Jeremy asked.
"I hadn't actually thought about that," I replied after telling him I have his Christmas present in my car if he wants it. And I hadn't thought about it. I'd thought, "Dayspring with the Eades: good preaching, no pressure, close friends and family." Or I'd been thinking, "No church, sleep in, read."

I hadn't honestly thought UBC until the words came out of his mouth.

UBC means remembering Kyle. It probably means tears and trauma. The UBC community gets to mourn and grow and move on every week a little bit more (at least that's how they describe it). For those of us who live far away, we don't have that luxery. So we put our friend's death in the back of our minds and try to move on. Do they call that denial? Downplaying? Helpful? But there's others things about UBC too. It means reliving what once was, and nevermore will be, and pretending that feels okay. It means old friends and explainations and fatigue and probaby more tears. "I wish you'd preach here again!" Me too. "It's so good to see you!" You too. "We should keep in better touch!" We won't.

At Dayspring I can sit quietly in the back and just observe. I can say hi to fewer friends who I do love (but also don't keep in good contact with), and who know me well enough to know that right now I'm on vacation and I need renewal. I can think and cry and love and not be noticed. I probably wouldn't be much noticed at UBC anymore either but at least I'd cry less at Dayspring.

I have so much to be thankful for, but driving into Waco brought back such a rush of emotion as well.

I wish this post was more positive. Grandma will probably say I should count my blessings, and I do! I really love my life right now, but that doesn't mean it isn't hard to process at times too.

I saw a grown man cry tonight over his teenager daughter. He's just two years older than the last man I went out on a date with, who I never saw cry but I did see mourn. And on the drive up, I thought of another man, much younger than myself who mourns for his children in Uganda who will be displaced orphans again when he returns to America. Over dinner, I was confronted by a friend who wonders about my need to be heard and whether that stems from my upbringing. And I took the back roads when driving into town tonight to avoid seeing the church that another friend and influence in my life was killed in.

So that's what I've got on the brain and that's what I'm blogging about.

Tomorrow, when it's Sunday and beautiful and not 1:28am, I will blog again about my cute new house and the artsy doormats I bought for my side and back door. And I will tell you about installing the mailbox that is a tasteful cedar and black metal, crookedly poking out over my curb. I will tell you about the $130 I spent having the last of my theatre posters framed to hang on my walls in the living room that has no chairs or couches but by god, houses beautiful art.

Finally. I always thought I needed a man and a marriage to get me a house to hang my posters in. I was wrong. I just needed a job.

But I'll write about all those exciting things tomorrow.

Tonight, I mourn quietly in a 9 year old's bed, and I praise God for being alive and for feeling and for caring so much about people and life and beauty and evil that it hurts deep, deep down inside.

And I'll say a prayer for Kyle and Paul and Radley and Lily and remind them to laugh and dance and snuggle and run and to wait for me until I see them again...

Amen.

So, the new house.

I didn't get to work til 2:30pm today because it took the security guy over SIX hours to install my new home security system.

And guess who already set it off...

"Yes, is this Ann Pittman?"
"It is."
"This is Brinks Home Security System and your alarm is going off at your home."
"That figures."

The first day it's installed, the boogerheads trip it off.

There's a motion detector see, and well, you know how Potter behaves.

"Would you like us to send the police?"
"No thank you, I'm pretty sure it's my cats."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, besides, I have two retired neighbors on either side of my house who will go check it out. If someone's broken in, they'll call 911."

And they will. Especially Clarence. He lives to the west of me and is fabulous. Today when I saw him, I told him about the new security system and he said he'd install a motion detector in my back yard to ensure my safety.

He's great.

"Are you off to school?" he asked.
"No sir, I work. I'm a pastor."
He looked puzzled.
"An associate pastor... a college minister."
"Oooh," he said after the shock set in, and proceeded to tell me where everyone in the neighborhood attends church.

He seemed pleased about my occupation, and I asked him to mail a letter for me since I have no mailbox.

That's right. No mailbox. One more thing on the list of things to buy for the new house.

Refrigerator? Check.
Mailbox? Tomorrow.

What else is missing you ask?

Telephone jacks.

That's right. The house is great. I did a really stellar job of picking it out. But of course it would have one or two oddities to it, I mean, come on. And this house has no phone jacks.

Those I discovered will cost as much as my fridge so Michelle's dad has graciously agreed to put some in on Sunday just for the cost of gas.

All in all though, I've no complaints.

I've only been scared once at night. And I didn't call anyone, I just sucked it up and went to bed.
I've managed to not break anything yet. And neither have the cats.
I couldn't figure out how the dishwasher worked, but Sam fixed that little bit of ignorance.
Zorba cried all night the first night and then refused to come out from under the bed, but now seems pretty content.
And I've even done some weeding in my front yard.

Now the back yard? (or should I say back jungle?)

That's a story for another post...

Say hello to Radley for me Lily.

We'll miss you.

I promise to take care of your mommy.

Love,

Aunt Ann