I feel like I'm always saying...

thank you.

But just in case I haven't said it enough this week... thank you.

porter's call

To everyone who bid on Dallas Diva Day or any other item in the Porter's Call artist auction fundraiser! Dallas Diva Day went for $620! Tennessee Christmas with Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith went for $6,250! (And no, I did not win the auction. And yes, I am currently praying that I will not have anger or bitterness towards whoever it is that will be sitting fireside with little Michael singing Christmas songs around the fireplace with his very own parents. While they are sitting there enjoying "fellowship" I will be holding my own evening of Smitty's greatest hits reenactment dances in my living room. I'll charge $10 a head to come watch and that way, next time my dreams are up for sale... I will have the money to pay for them).

Most importantly, the auction raised $31,189.90 to help our dear friends at Porter's Call as they minister to the artist community. This blows my mind. Thank you to fans all across the country for placing such incredibly generous bids!

To MacKenzie who decided to help me start off my soul vacation by sending me a half dozen Gigi's Cupcakes!!! Girl, that one totally caught me off guard. Thank you so much! Can you believe I met you when you were just a little squeaker in 10th grade? Wow. Watching you grow up has been a complete joy. Thank you for being so thoughtful. Hopefully I can share these cupcakes with you over a good cup of coffee.

And finally to Kayla Vance! Whoever you are! Wherever you are! Kayla left a bag of goodies on our bus at a recent show in Jefferson City, Missouri. Pond's face wipes (after reading that my butt was bigger than the sink on this bus and how I can't possibly wash my face in that), the cutest scarf ever (girl- I wore it at the Oklahoma State Fair in front of 5,000 people and it was a HUGE hit! So cute!). I mean, a three page sweet letter, best eyeshadow mascara combo I've ever used, cookies, the list goes on and on. Thank you Kayla.

I wanted to meet you so badly so Lauren and I (our nanny extraordinaire) made signs and taped them on the bus window to try and find you! As people left, I sat up front with my PJ's on and I cannot tell you how many people stopped to read our signs :) It made me smile to see how many fake Kayla Vance's there were. Alas, we never met you. But I thought you should know that we tried. And that the guys loved your cookies. And that the gold and charcoal eyeshadow is the greatest ever and if I ever inherit some sort of endowment I will send every girl I know that exact eyeshadow and the Burt's bees lip gloss you sent. Wowie.

Overwhelmed

I am often overwhelmed with people's kindness to Ryan, Annie, and I.

I start thinking, "Who am I to be loved so well? To be blessed so richly? To be taken care of so beautifully?"

I tinker with guilt. I tinker with shame. I tinker with the thought that everyone in the world must feel sorry for me or worry about me. I sometimes allow myself to believe that I have become a burden. Or that I am a perpetual beggar. Ugh. That's the last thing I want to be known as.

It amazes me how hard it is to simply fall into the kindness of another.

It amazes me how quickly I take a pure gift and taint it with my own guilt or shame or worry.

It amazes me that someone can say, "Here are six cupcakes because I love you," and I start to wonder, "Does she think I'm cracking up? Do people think I'm crazy? They think I need to go to the looney bin don't they? Soul vacation' equals 'we all know she needs to be in a mental institute on a private island somewhere'!!!!!

Argh. My mind runs rampant.

I am given gifts out of love yet somehow I find a way to distort them in my mind. My tendency is to make it an act of sympathy. A hand out. Blood money.

Dirty cupcakes.

It's hard to accept something just because, isn't it? To say thank you? To gladly receive a gift? To believe that I have blessed another person and now they are blessing me and the circle just continues?

Nope. It's much easier to believe you have all started a facebook group together called, "Save Jenny" and have connived to bake cookies and send cupcakes.

What warped thinking.

Blessings are undeserved, to be sure. Gifts are acts of kindness. Most of them are given out of love. The rest of them are bought the day before Christmas from Walgreens. But as we cultivate a life that seeks to give to others, odds are, we are going to be blessed in return. Sometimes cupcakes. Sometimes eye shadow. Sometimes a hug. A letter. Or just a feeling inside of us that what we did that day mattered to someone else.

Al Andrews, our porter at Porter's Call, included this at the end of his "thank you" email yesterday. He says it best I think.

"When thinking of you, I'm reminded of the writings of St. Benedict, from whom we got the name for Porter's Call. When writing about the call of the porter (the welcome he gave to the sojourners at the monastery door), he says that the porter issued two "calls." The first was "Thanks be to God," with gratitude to the God who brought about their meeting. The second call was "Your blessing please" which was the acknowledgement that blessings are always mutual. "If we bless you" says the porter, "you will surely bless us too."

Al has a healthy understanding of the fact that he has used the gifts he's been given to bless us and to pour into our lives. In return, he is now experiencing our blessings. And he acknowledges that that circle will continue.

Blessings are mutual.

Today I am grateful for mutual blessings and I pray that God would protect me from ever warping one by thinking of it as "guilty charity."

May you experience the beauty of blessing others and being blessed in return today.

I am grateful

~ That I honest to God had never seen Justin Bieber perform until tonight. I would've quit doing music and maybe withdrawn from society during the darker days of my summer had I of known there was a pre-pubescent Mickey Mouse Club boy romping around the stages of America making girls pass out with their pre-pubescent cell phones and teeny bop outfits on. I mean, I'm sure the kid is sweet and his smile is worth a million bucks. But I'm sitting here watching the MTV VMA's and these poor girls (OK and lots of boys too) are loosing oxygen and I am wondering...HOW HAS THIS HAPPENED? There is no hope for an artist like me.

~ For a friend and nanny extraordinaire who suggested that I immediately sign up for Etsy.Com and The Zoe Report's daily emails as a vital part of my soul vacation. These are the kinds of completely glamorous, frivolous things that I am endeavoring to fill my head space with right now. Thank you Lauren for ensuring that during this soul vacation I spend as much money as possible. If not money...at least I will lust and daydream after lots and lots of super cute things!

~ For the five year old little girl who came to our Clarksville, TN show on Friday night and said,

"Next time you're here I really want you to come to my house and play with me."

"I'd really like that!" I said.

"OK good. My address is 1149 B Lowell Street, Ft. Campbell. I'll invite some of my friends over too!"

~ For my mom who has decided that every time I come home she will have a little gift basket waiting in my room with fun things like loofahs and girl magazines. I think this is cute and thoughtful and it makes me smile to walk in and see what she has waiting. I am especially glad for all the Pond's make-up removal clothes. It's hard to wash your face on a bus with a sink that is smaller than the diameter and circumference of my butt. Really. If your butt is bigger than the sink, odds are, your face isn't gonna fit in it either. So thanks Mom, for those little face wipe thingies.

~ For Vonda, a friend who offers to watch my daughter when I am in her town and has made it her personal mission to buy cute "stage clothes" for me. I flew home Wednesday afternoon with only five hours to wash clothes and re-pack Annie and I for the next month or so. I was completely stressed to walk in my closet and realize I didn't have anything "cool" to wear on the fall tour and no time (OK, or money) to buy anything. As if by divine clockwork, Ryan walks in to the closet with a package from Vonda. It includes a note from her that reminds me how lucky I am to have friends. And most importantly it includes stage bling! The chunkiest, coolest necklace I've ever owned. Sparkly earrings. A silver jacket with big buttons. And a shirt to go underneath. I was so excited I modeled the entire outfit right there on the spot and wore it the rest of the night as I cleaned and packed.

"You know you don't really need to wear that right now Jen. Nobody can see it."

"Well yeah, but I can, and I feel freaking awesome in it, so I'm gonna wear it all night!"

And I did. Doing laundry. Taking out the trash and vacuuming. I wore my new cute outfit.

~ For a lady named Norma who accidentally got a job promotion last year when her superior quit a week before their big annual event. She ended up running the Navajo Nation fair, a 60 plus year tradition for the Navajo Nation in Arizona, all by herself. She did such a good job they asked her to stay on and run it again this year. This was not the job she planned on having but when her bosses asked her what new thing she wanted to see at the fair, she realized God had put her in a unique position.

"I want to see a Christian concert," she said.

In the 64 year history of a fair that has never welcomed in a Christian group, in a people group who are known for an absence of God's hope and light, in a work environment where no one cared, everyone doubted, and she was challenged to raise all the money and support by herself... Norma realized her opportunity and planned the first ever Christian concert for the Navajo Nation fair.

"From day one, I faced opposition. Challenge after challenge. It was like everything was trying to stop me. Everything." Norma, a short, kind, intense woman spoke these words to me as we stood in a puddle of water, an hour after the show was supposed to start, with rain coming down everywhere.

I had my girlfriends, and many of you around the country praying for the rain to stop this past Thursday in Window Rock, Arizona. A lot of people were praying for the rain to stop. Not so that Mercy Me and Addison Road could go through with our concerts (muddy rain shows are not my favorite and the way I figure it, our band is accident prone... so we would probably function as lightening rods). But we wanted the rain to stop because, as Norma had already experienced, there was a battle going on. The rain was just another attempt at a distraction. A diversion.

The rain continued, but all the while, people kept filing in. Waiting in the rain. They sang along to the worship music quietly playing on the empty stage. Their voices raised, hands in the air, calling out the name of Jesus...

While so many from their community watched in curiosity.

While Norma's bosses stood in amazement at the amount of people coming out, in the heavy rain, huddling under umbrellas, waiting for the show to begin.

While Norma stood in tears as, an hour after the show was supposed to begin, we took the stage.

I am grateful for a normal woman who inherited big shoes and didn't shy away from a big dream to bring God glory. A woman who took on an insurmountable task... sticking with it even when it got hard and she faced opposition. She fearlessly took a nation to a place they had never gone before and blessed the lives of thousands, and hopefully, started a tradition for years to come that will continue to bless others for generations to come. I am grateful for her inspiration.

~ Finally, for 10 bids on my Dallas Diva Day auction!!! Remember, you have all week to place your bid to spend the day with me in Dallas doing my most favorite things in the city (to benefit Porters Call). Click here to check out the LIVE EBAY LINK now!

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.