Category: Uncategorized

  • I Lost My Dog, Soldier, Forever Ago. I Mean, 48 Days Ago.

    I Lost My Dog, Soldier, Forever Ago. I Mean, 48 Days Ago.

    day one without my dog was devastating. i had joked we were taking Soldier to the vet because he ate my nephew’s sock (been there done that twenty times) or just wanted to ride in my mom’s truck or just wanted some attention which is why he was getting some x-ray’s and an ultrasound. that night i was typing out the words “my best friend of 12 years. he saw me through it all since my junior year of high school. i love you Soldier. you’re a freaking butt and this wasn’t the plan today. i joked the whole car ride over to the vet that you were just faking being sick and wanted out of the house… that you maybe just “ate another one of hutch’s socks”. that you were getting an ultrasound and x-ray just because you wanted to make friends with other people. but you were really, really freaking sick and in pain. i’m gonna miss you Soldier. go chase all those deer and squirrels forever and ever and ever in your dreams. and go swim in the lake without permission. my best friend is gone. so sudden for us all today but he’s out of pain. soldier, you’re everyone’s fav. 🤍”

    now it’s been 48 days. it’s felt like a day and forever. it’s been 48 days without Soldier Joe. i miss him big and one thing i continue to think about that i am absolutely thankful (!!) for is that i was HOME. in north carolina. that wasn’t the plan after leaving mercy. him leaving us was completely unexpected and sudden and traumatic but i was home. with him. woohoooo thanks to treatment… then finishing up i was home and had “helped my mom bring the dog to the vet” that day. so thankful i did. so thankful for the last few months i was able to spend with that butt. we all know that my year in Sacramento had me away from him and then being in Redding … but treatment had me back in Raleigh and then back with the butt. and i’ll forever be grateful for that. so thankful for that extra time with him. i remember sitting on the ground that day with Soldier as the vet told us that there wasn’t good news and that we could take him home for one night. he had cancer and it spread to his lungs. he could barely breathe. we didn’t know. we knew something was wrong but he was hiding it from us so well. if we wanted to take him home for one night we could. i remember sitting with him on the ground. she met us there. the only words out of my mouth as tears streamed down my face in front of a stranger, “there’s nothing we can do?”…”i’m not going to treatment tomorrow”, “i don’t want to take him home. he’s in too much pain” …“call gracie”…who just so happened to be in town for the weekend too. not a coincidence. thank you Jesus. all of it worked out. but man that dog is a butt. and i miss him so.

    “just one more kiss”, i told Soldier before he left us. he had never had chocolate in his life but he ate half of that bowl full of chocolate kisses before he went to dog heaven. they say “no dog should go to heaven without tasting chocolate”… he got a taste alright.

    no appetite for days turned into one heck of an appetite that last hour as he saw chocolate, peanut butter and marshmallows… all for him. as much as he wanted. what a butt. my last words to him too. man. how has it been 48 days without him chasing squirrels and deer in that yard or running down that hill or walking on the land. missing him big. 

  • Reminders from Main Street in the Pearl of Africa

    Reminders from Main Street in the Pearl of Africa

    the day before i came back to the States, i was walking on Main Street in the middle of the Pearl of Africa. we stopped at one of the shops and began talking to the shop owner. after a few minutes of conversation, there was a break and pure silence. all but the hustle of life and boda boda’s buzzing around us. it was as if this stranger and i were no strangers at all in that moment. we made direct eye contact. my heart leaning away with hesitancy but filling up with an abundance of expectancy, i asked if she could give me a Ugandan name.

    without a second thought, she looked at me and with a gentle but piercing smile and soft laugh under her breath she said, “Mirembe… it means peace”. she then gave me a hug, i left that shop and began walking down the street again.

    although i will never see that lady again, i know for certain that i will never forget her. that moment with her was a powerful reminder. my identity is in Christ and who He says i am… not the labels that the enemy or this world attempts to hand me.

    my identity isn’t in what other people see. my identity isn’t based on what i struggle with or who i used to be. just like the lady saw and spoke “Mirembe” not knowing that i might have even had anxiety in that moment, my identity comes from my Father and what He says and speaks over me. in that moment, He was reminding me…”peace, Annie.”

    i can become acquainted with peace. it is possible with Emmanuel. as i come to know Truth, i can come to know peace. His peace. sweet, heavenly peace. “you keep Him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you because He trusts in you” (isaiah 26:3). my mind settles into that. as i come to know truth, i come to know His heartbeat and what His heart beats for. My heart beats to the rhythm of His. my heart settles. it comes to know rest and peace. His rest and peace. my body begins to live in it. to know His wrap-around presence. i am surrounded by a blanket of peace, not anxiety. it’s a greater reality. i begin to know this greater reality. a heavenly one. “Mirembe…it means peace”.

    what that lady didn’t know was that peace was something that was foreign and fought for, for way too long. for too many years, i let my peace be stolen. fear and anxiety controlled every decision i made and led every step i took. hindered every step i didn’t take. it ruined relationships, my future plans, and buried dreams. anxiety was a blanket i carried and wrapped around me. occasionally, my heart would experience a slight break for a breath of air but it was never for long. fear cornered me. fear paralyzed me. fear suffocated. i never knew peace. what i did know was panic. enough to be given a label. but peace is a promise from my Father.

    the lady on main street reminded me of this Truth. she had no idea who i was, where i came from, what my past looked like, or what i have struggled with. she had no idea of any diagnosis i had been given or what the battle was or still is in my mind.

    but God knew. God saw. God sees. El Roi, isn’t He? God’s desire was for me in that moment and every moment after that. to know peace. perfect, pure peace. in my mind. in my heart. in my body. i believe God was reminding me of the Truth through the lady on the street in the middle of the Pearl of Africa. the lady whose name i’ll never know. but God knows. and He knows and sees her battles too. oh, and won’t He remind her of the Truth, greater reality and promises that cover her battles too. that’s just who He is.

    i am thankful for that lady. although i don’t know her name, He used her as a vessel to remind me of this – when He sees me, He sees Mirembe. coming under that name. speaking it, declaring it, knowing it, becoming acquainted with it. it might be foreign and hard fought for, for me or even you right now, but it doesn’t always have to be. “Mirembe, it means peace”. the more we set our minds on things above, the more we will settle into this greater reality. the promises He speaks. the promises He keeps. peace is one of those promises. may we come to know it more today than ever before. peace. perfect peace. perfect, heavenly, peace.