Begging Mr. Jeff Mosley, radio DJ's, and other superiors.

Dear People With Money, I don't like to beg, but...

Can I please, please, please have $5,000 for a really good cause? Please?

You know the auction I'm a part of this week supporting Porter's Call? Well, a new item has been added to the auction and to say that I've been able to divert my heart and soul from thinking about it day and night since I found out about it yesterday would be a complete lie.

I haven't! I have thought of nothing else! Day and night! I cannot eat! I am tormented! I want nothing more in this world! I'm in anguish! Please! I need $5,000! Please!

OK, whew, I'm through with the most dramatic parts of the begging.

Michael W. Smith has put an auction item up for bid.

It's called "A Tennessee Christmas."

It includes lots of things like spending three nights at the Gaylord Opry hotel, eating meals at some of my favorite places in Franklin and Nashville, even meeting Amy Grant and Vince Gill backstage at their Christmas concert. Could the package get any better?

Yes. Yes my friends it could... because right in the middle of all that you get to GO TO Michael W. Smith's farmhouse and his parents, Paul and Barbara, are going to cook dinner (for me) and THEN Michael comes home from his Christmas tour and he starts the fire and we (I am already speaking myself into this dream come true) sing Christmas songs around the stinking FIRE place and have "FELLOWSHIP!!!!!!!!" ("fellowship" is a direct quote from the auction description).

People. Look. I'm not sure what the rest of you did in seventh and eighth grade, but I'm here to tell you that I spent those wonder years reenacting the song Secret Ambition with my sisters in our bedroom.

Melissa was Jesus.

We crucified her on the bedroom wall.

Sarah was one of the Roman guards running around trying to kill Jesus in a loin clothe.

And me? I was dressed up like a rock star.

I was Michael. W Smith singing into my karaoke microphone,

"Nobody knew his secret ambition, nobody knew his claim to fame... he tore the holy veil awaaaaaaaaay."

We would quickly do a set change and go straight into an interpretive dance on roller skates that we made up to our favorite song off his very first album, "Could He be the Messiah."

"Could he be the messiah, miracle man, part of the plan? IT IS HE!!! The MESSIAH!!!"

Melissa and Sarah were angels. I was Michael. We were all pointing at something in the corner of the garage that we'd covered in white sheets to look like a ghostly Jesus blob, and of course, it was He, the Messiah.

We would move through the albums like we were replaying the most brilliant moments in all of musical history. I mean, have you seen the cover of Michael's second album?

It stayed on my bedroom wall for years. And the songs "I am Sure" and "Hosanna" from the ablum- I mean, these are life songs people. LIFE. SONGS.

I 2 Eye? Christmas Album (the best ever written)? Go West Young Man? Change your World? Wonder Years? The First Decade? I mean, I don't want to embarrass Michael so I'm going to stop there because that only gets me to seventh grade...let's just say he's still making hits and I, my friends, have been his biggest, most devoted, loyal fan.

I spent one too many afternoons writing the Mickey Mouse Club asking to spend the day with Michael as part of Wednesday Career Days. They sent a girl to Amy Grant's farmhouse for the day to see what it was like to be a pop singer. And I knew, I just knew they'd send somebody to Michael's place next. So I wrote letter after letter explaining why this would be a perfect career day for me.

Awe- childhood dreams that have been squished. Devastated I tell you. Devastated.

But now Ebay tells me that I can win a trip to sit around the fire place and listen to him sing Christmas carols and his mom and dad will show me baby pictures and cook me homemade food and we shall sip cocoa together?!?

My soul is in a tizzy. An absolute tizzy.

You think Kentucky Rose could be considered a Christmas carol? Rocketown, Place in this World, or I will Be Here for You? I'm sure these could be Christmas carols.

I simply must find $5,000.

End of conversation. I've never needed to win something so badly in my whole entire life.

Do I need a new car or a college fund for Annie? Yes. So, I'm not asking for just any ole' $5,000.

Nope, this goes straight to Porter's Call (remember, the amazing ministry that helps artists and their families deal with our souls? Dallas Diva Day?). I more or less need a beneficiary who already wants to donate to this ministry and at the same time give me the dream vacation of a lifetime!!!

Hot cocoa with Michael W. Smith.

Awe. Bliss.

I'm shamelessly asking all radio DJ's who read this blog to:

1. Mention the Porter's Call auction that is ending this Saturday, September 18Th! With artists like Mercy Me, Natalie Grant, Fireflight, Jars of Clay, Addison Road and many other artists offering up exclusive artist experiences or memorabilia, this auction is sure to get every music fan excited. For more information, people can go to Porterscall.com to see all the auctions they can bid on.

2. Mention Dallas Diva Day! I want my auction to at least double! I'd love for it to triple!

3. And finally, most importantly, just let the world know I need $5,000.

Who doesn't, I know...

But seriously this is important to solving some unresolved childhood issues... like never having my dreams come true on the Mickey Mouse Club and working through the fact that I crucified my sister to the bedroom wall while singing Secret Ambition with slicked back hair...

Mr. Dave Ramsey? Big corporation? Bueller? Mosley?

Mosley

You know you want your favorite INO artist to have cocoa with Smitty?!

INO could place the bid... Lord knows our label uses Porter's Call more than the other label's artists...

I'll even let you come and be a part of the family pictures if you want...

Well, if you wear a toboggan...

Just think about it!!!

Oh! Or take it out of the album budget for next time... so many options Mr. Mosley!!!

I'm done begging world.

Just think about it.

All I'm saying.

I Hugged Meggan Schwirtz.

shared with written and verbal consent from author...

Sunday July 11, 2010

Dear Jenny Simmons -

I struggled a lot with how to start this email. The top three starting choices were: 1. I don't know if you realize this, but we are the very best of friends. 2. I am without a doubt your biggest fan. OR 3. Crazy people do exist. However, I promise I am not one of them.

I just couldn't decide so I thought I would share all 3.

I am a 25 year old youth pastor's wife living in Pine River, Minnesota where pine trees & lakes can be found abundantly! My husband Trevor & I have been serving the Lord in full-time ministry for four years now. We have a passion to see our youth come to know the Lord early on in life & make a difference in the community around them. And this week, on Thursday July 15, 2010 Trevor & I are packing up our awesome group to come to Sonshine Music Festival in Wilmar, Minnesota to see our favorite band, Addison Road.

I first became a fan of your music when the song "Hope Now" was released back in 2008. I was enduring the storms of life at that time, since my little sister Bridgett, at the young age of 19, lost her life in a head-on car accident. To say I was devastated would be putting it mildly. My sister knew the Lord & seeked to serve Him as a young child. She had a beautiful, compassionate heart to love on the kids in her high school who others made fun of. The Lord used her in many ways to help teens with eating disorders, cutting, suicidal thoughts, and depression come to know the freedom & joy that belongs to those who have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Bridgett left for college with a full academic scholarship to become a pediatrician, when she was killed in the car accident.

For the longest time, I wrestled with my doubts towards God. Why her? It just didn't seem to make any sense. She had so much to give this world. During that painful time, I not only heard the lyrics of your song, I felt them with my own hands. "I've been carried by You, All my life.....When my life is like a storm, Rising waters all I want is the shore. You say I'll be ok and Make it through the rain, You are my shelter from the storm. And everything rides on hope now...."

Your song became my battle cry. The song I listened to when little made sense. When I ached for healing. Knowing that I was being held. That the Lord was my shelter. And that I would make it through this storm. It somehow made me understand that our suffering was not in vain. That God had plans to use Bridgett's death for more than I ever could have imagined.

Her funeral was attended by thousands, some waiting in line for hours just to pay their respects to Bridgett & tell our family of how she had personally impacted their life. During the ceremony, dozens gave their hearts to Jesus for the first time, including our own Dad. We are also now miraculously meeting Bridgett's organ donors, witnessing the precious gift of life first hand, and seeing them one by one come to know of the True Love offered by Bridgett's Lord & Savior.

To see so much good come from something so tragic, helps me know that the Lord uses all things for His purpose & glory.

After hearing your song on the radio, I went to your website to order the cd. This is when I stumbled upon your blog & realized that we were of course long lost best friends. I have been reading your thoughts & hilarious musings for years now, always thankful for the "word vomit" that God gives you to reach us, your loyal followers. I think of your blog posts almost like a new episode of a favorite television show. The kind of show you break out a big buttered bowl of popcorn for & must have absolute silence to watch what will happen next. My husband used to hate the constant "Shush!" 'ing that occured as I was reading about your latest adventures, until I got him hooked on your blog as well :) To read of all the battles Addison Road has faced this past year with the RV fire, stolen vehicles, and weather storms has just affirmed to me that God uses the toughest of times to make our faith grow in ways we never thought possible.

I also wanted to tell you for the record that the single "Fight Another Day" was released at God's most perfect timing! I was 2 weeks overdue with my first baby when the lyrics came out to remind me to press through the swollen fingers, back aches, weird cravings, and mood swings until I could finally meet my beautiful daughter, Addison Bridgett Schwirtz.

So I guess Jenny, I mostly just wanted to say thank you. For your example. For your beautiful words. For being willing. And for actually reading my email. You have blessed my life. And if I never get to meet you, please know that I thank the Lord for you. And that He's using you, in big ways & small, to restore hope to many who have somehow lost it.

I am hoping we will meet this week at Sonshine & that I might be able to say thank you in person. And give you a hug.

Keep Writing. Keep Singing. Keep Loving. Keep Going.

We love you Jenny!!

Lots of Love & Thanks - Meggan Schwirtz

This email blessed me immensely and I wanted to share Meggan's story with you. Meggan, thanks for letting me share a small part of your story here.

You can leave her a comment on the blog if you'd like.

I got to hug Meggan Schwirtz.

We spent a whole hour together.

And it was truly my honor...

Dear Dadsky...

I already feel like a nine year old on the playground with this blog.

"Noooo, my daddy is better."

I mean, how do you write about someone you love on a lame, commercially lucrative holiday? For that matter, how do you buy them an appropriate gift?

"I love you dad" and "power-saw" don't really compute in my mind. Even a Starbucks gift card so my dad can devour his venti non-fat, extra hot, White Chocolate Mocha's don't really seem to do the trick. And don't get me started on Hallmark cards. I don't come from a card giving family. In my mind, if you need to write someone a card, you make it yourself. Some signature artwork on the front, markers, a glue stick, some old family pictures or magazine clippings, and a heartfelt letter inside, voila! Hallmark has nothing on that business!

Still, here I am wide-awake and keenly aware that I'm not with my dad on Father's Day and I didn't even make him a homemade card this year. And even though I know that he and I both know that a shirt from Sear's or a gadget from Home Depot would not really mean all that much to him, I want to give him something... and all I can come up with are words.

My dad's the best dad in the world.

He wasn't always. And he'd be the first to tell you how far he's come. He'd be the first to tell you his flaws and shortcomings; his regrets from when my sisters and I were little girls. Unfortunately, some days we'd be in line to add to that list.

But mostly, the boy who raised us as little girls is not the man we have now as our father.

We have grown up in his arms and he has grown up in ours.

So if you ask my sisters and I to tell you about our dad, we will tell you about a man who loves us fiercely. We will tell you about a man who cries with us. Who hugs us. Who writes us emails of encouragement. And stands by our side while we defy him, logic, and other guiding lights and make tragic mistakes... still, he stands right beside us. We will tell you about a dad who uprooted his family to follow a dream, only, that dream led to unemployment. For years on end. We will tell you about how that man went and worked at demeaning jobs to pay the bills but never grew so bitter that he quit. In fact, he just seemed to trust God's prompting in his life; he just seemed to get wiser and more kind. Grace. That's it. We'd tell you about a man who has learned a lot about grace. And patience.

But mostly, we'd just tell you about our dad who woke us up by blaring music through the house and singing at the top of his lungs. A man who bought a tiny gun, the size of a toy car, that lit up and made police siren noises, just so he could stick it in our ears to wake us up in the most torturous way possible as teenagers. A man who then got his feelings legitimately hurt when we yelled at him for doing such. The guy who found me in the living room and rocked me the night before I left for college and then, held me again after my first college boyfriend, who I was sure I would spend my whole life with, broke up with me in the car outside of the house. The man who made us all sit on the living room couch and talk through our fights before we could leave the house for the day. Who always sang songs in an atrocious country accent and made jokes that were not funny at all, but made us laugh all the time.

A lot of people don't have good dads and they turn out just fine. A lot of people have amazing dads and they end up mean and crazy anyways. So I get it, a dad or mom or home life doesn't necessarily make or break you. Still, I attribute what I do with my life to my dad (and mom)... who loved me so well that I had the courage to do it in the first place.

I have a treasure trove of beautiful letters from my dad. My mom. My sisters. My friends. I pull them out on days that I am sad and don't want to get out of bed. On days where I am weary and wondering if I am crazy for leading this abnormal, sometimes road weary, homesick life. I pull them out when I need to be reminded that I am not alone. That I am loved. And most of me wants to keep them all private, tucked away just for me.

But the thing about my dad is, he would want you to feel those things to. He would want you to know the love of a father. And while he wouldn't voluntarily share his words with the world, he would understand that when I do it, I give a little bit of him a way. The part of him that every little girl and boy needs. An advocate. A cheerleader. A fan. A coach. A friend. A safe house. A daddy.

With that, here are a few words from a dad who has always loved me well:

"My favorite author, M. Craig Barnes, says that the Christian life is a process of giving up the dreams we have for ourselves in order to receive the dreams God has for us. I pray that God's dreams for you will bring you more joy than you could have ever imagined. I LOVE YOU, MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW, AND I COULDN'T BE MORE PROUD OF YOU....not because of what you do but because of who you are. Love ya, me"

"Jenny, your honesty and transparency, while sometimes raising people's ire, is what sets you apart from so many others. This is a ministry that only a few are willing to embrace. You know, I am your biggest fan, but only because you like what you're doing, not because I need you to be a rock star or a great minister. I just need you to be happy and safe in the arms of a loving God....everything else is just life. Love ya, me"

"J, hey, have I mentioned lately how much I love you and how happy I am that you're getting to do your music?"

"J, how cool is it that you had a chance to meet astronauts, and especially one that just came back last week! I think it is wonderful, and, looking at your other email, I think its great that you allowed God to use you to touch another soul. I know you at times don't like to think about it, but Jenny, you are a gifted minister....not a minister like church staff work, but you are someone who can connect people with God, and that is a rare person indeed.

And the Funny Stuff:

A letter I wrote to my dad after he spent too much money on me:

We, jenny's beloved parents do hereby promise to celebrate her 28th birthday with her at her home on the evening of November 18th. We formally by law agree to her terms mentioned hereafter. No presents. No gift cards. No money. No large items. And no shopping trips. Only small strange items that have already been purchased by strange mother will be allowed (and trust me you know she’s already picked them out). Nothing else will be given. We agree to this joyfully since we have already spent several hundred dollars in cute pregnancy outfits on our daughter since September. We have already paid a thousand dollars for her unborn child. And we plan on giving her a car (which is still under consideration). We just sent her to get an amazing full body massage. And have fed her Mexican food frequently over the past two years. We agree that in light of these expressions of love and abundance we will simply celebrate her birthday by providing a dessert and letting her cook dinner for us. And nothing else! Just our love and company. Here ye, here ye,amen, allalujah. AGREED????

My Dad’s Response:

Oh thouest of jennyith, verily I sayeth unto theeth, we must humbly beseath the divine intervention and guidance of the great god of gifts, for verily I sayeth unto theeit that what thou has proposed goeth against all precepts of parenthood and birthday celebrations both past and present, and yea verily furturieth I dare say.

So lettuce all most humbly implore the lord of gifts, known by the code name of pappy, to see if such a thing has ever been done without the heavens becoming unaligned. Then we'll have our people get wit your people....

My dad has constantly spoken words over me that have given me love, safety, courage, and bravery. Obviously he thinks more highly of me than he should. He loves me more than he should. He dotes on me way more than he should. But isn't that what grace is? Undeserved love that gushes and gushes and gushes? That's what he has given me. A love I have never earned or deserved. One day I want to buy him a boat and a big house and a new car. I want to give him every single thing he has ever wanted! But those are just far off dreams. In reality, I can only give him my adoration. For showing me the love of God by truly being, in my humble opinion, the best dad any girl could ever ask for.

Happy Father's Day... I love you.

Thank You

My dad, mom, and sisters at dad's promotion ceremony in March.

My sister Melissa and husband Tim

It's ironic to me that we celebrate Memorial Day with a day off.

We're eatin' our hamburgers (in Texas they end up tasting a little extra salty as the wrath of God bores into us with the heat of hell and our sweat taints the taste of every good thing), drinking our lemonade, and enjoying a day by the pool as if this is a huge tribute to men and women, past and present, who have sacrificed for our country.

This Buds fer you Dad!

Tim, I'm sending a hot dog of remembrance your way! Erik, every memorial day shopping sale I take advantage of today is done so in your honor! Grandpa and Uncle Bill, thanks for Nam... cannonball!

It's like we're saying:

"Dear Military: Thank you for protecting our gift of freedom. We shall appreciate you by giving ourselves a day off! Congratulations us, we have just scored a four day weekend."

If it were up to me, my Aunt Lizzy, and Benjamin Franklin, everyone would be required to attend a memorial service today. Then we would all attend an American history lecture followed by a documentary on the beauty of freedom (I would then require everyone to feel grateful for freedom.) Then we'd all sing the Star Spangled Banner together with our hands over our hearts, tears in our eyes, and no funny business going on to the side. And finally, we'd end up babysitting for military wives so they could spend a day at the spa. Oh yeah... and the spa, of course, would be free.

In a perfect world.

Truth is, unless you have someone in your family who is in the military, today is probably just another Columbus Day.

Growing Up

I'm a little dorky when it comes to patriotism and the military.

I will always remember being in the eighth grade at the Texas State Fair and hearing the Army band begin to play the national anthem. In my little heart, time was standing still. But the people around me didn't even hear it. They didn't even stop. I was dumbfounded. What's wrong with these people? Aren't they American? Have they no respect? I was sure Benjamin Franklin was appalled and I secretly apologized to all military and true patriots, past in present, in my heart and got on the midway ride. I have prayed many prayers like that since then.

Dear George Washington and Franklin Roosevelt (and Teddy for that matter), OK, and General Norman Schwarzkopf and General Colin Powell, and Uncle Bill:

Forgive us for being ungrateful punks. And can I just say a special act of forgiveness on behalf of the people who can't sing the national anthem. I mean, what kindergarten did you people go to? We are sorry for all the times we have not voted, not sent letters to a soldier in Iraq, and not gone to a Memorial Day service. I am especially sorry that I did not give away my box of thin mint Girl Scout cookies this year to the kid collecting boxes for our troops. I'm still feeling really guilty about that one. And we really are sorry for all of our peers who can't sing the National Anthem... I mean that really gets me.

I grew up in a military family. My uncle Bill was a 'tunnel rat' in Vietnam. My grandpa served two stints over there and my mom says, after that, he never played the piano anymore. My dad is in the reserves serving as a chaplain. He was just promoted to Full Bird Colonel; he's been in my whole life. My uncles, on both sides of the family, all served active duty until they retired. One uncle was in charge of completely grounding all aircraft for a fourth of the country on 9/11... he's the tunnel rat uncle. Growing up, I had cousins living all over the world. Japan, Germany, Hawaii, and every place in between. Now, I have cousins in the military. And my sister married into the army; her husband just got deployment notices for April 2011. Afghanistan.

It will be his third deployment since he graduated from West Point seven years ago.

So I am not sure if the family history is what made me cry my eyes out when I first heard Lee Greenwood sing, "I'm Proud to Be an American" or what, but I was one choked up little fourth grade girl who couldn't understand why everyone at the laser light show on Stone Mountain that night wasn't bawling their eyes out. Were they not proud to be American? You'd think I was birthed on the steps of the Washington Monument the way my heart beats patriotism, but I wasn't. I was born in Albuquerque. That wasn't even a real state until 1912. I barely got in.

Ryan says I'm a dork about it all, but I can't help myself. I put my hand over my heart during the Star Spangled Banner and I sing with furry. I cry every time the end of the parade comes and Vets are all piled into the back of a flatbed waving their American flags. And, to this day, I thank men and women in uniform for their service- which Ryan says is really embarrassing- as only old people do this.

I admit. I am from a generation of people who don't quite get into "thanking men and women in uniform," but I am old school. I still think it deserves a thank you. And I still think it means a lot to a person in uniform.

America

I don't believe we are the best nation in the world; some last great hope for humanity.

I'm pretty sure there are positives and negatives to every nation (some far, far greater or worse than others). But I do believe our nation's story is uniquely built upon freedom. And even though the founding fathers were far from perfect in their attempts to implement this (slavery), and we have fallen short since then (Trail of Tears, child labor, women's suffrage, Arizona's new law [too soon?]) we are one of the few nations in all of history that has stood the test of time and progressively moved closer and closer to true freedom for all people.

That freedom- to write my own opinions in this blog, to choose a religion, a school, a job, a family, to choose peace or violence- my ability to be free comes down to the scores of men and women who decided a long time ago that individual freedom was worth defending and protecting.

And today I thank them.

Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

To those of you who take care of the kids, pay the bills, work two jobs, and have dreams at night about whether or not your husband is safe... thank you.

To those of you who have moved all over the world, learned new languages, and represented our country in the best possible way as you served in the military... thank you.

To the medics, like the one we met a few weekends ago at Sea World, who pick up the broken and care for them like they are your own kids, your own parents... thank you.

To the little boys and little girls who Skype with a parent, write them cards, and pray each day that your dad or mom comes back home safe and sound... thank you.

To all the families who have said good-bye to your husbands and wives, moms and dads, sons and daughters. For those of you who have mourned at the site of a folded flag. For those of you who carry the darkness and pain of war with you; you who long for the day when you will see your hero, when you will see your baby again... thank you.

To my brother-in-law Tim, who studied hard, got his doctorate, and wants to serve in the military until they kick him out... thank you. Your passion for public service is amazing. Your compassion for those you serve, whether American or Iraqi's, is beautiful. Your commitment to your calling is honorable.

To my sis, Melissa. God I want you home so bad it hurts. But you are such a strong like stinker and the way you love on the women at your base and the lifelong friends you are meeting is inspiring.

To all of you who serve: thank you.

War

In a perfect world, a twenty year old would not be given a gun and my cousin would never utter the words, "mom, they've turned us into a killing machine." In a perfect world there would be no threat of nuclear weapons (or nuclear stockpiles for that matter). Dialogue and compromise would cure all things. And civilians would never die because of a bomb gone wrong.

But our world is not perfect.

Until the day comes when peace reigns... I pray for peace. For the end of all wars and all violence.

But until that day comes... I am forever grateful for the men and women who choose to defend my safety, my freedom, my home.

So from one girl who still cries during the national anthem and thanks people in uniform...

for what it's worth...

thank you.