Cell Block D and Other Craziness

It has been quite a bizarre week.

The Slammer

On Saturday we played our first ever Sea World gig. There is something magical about playing across the street from Shamu and across the way from sea lions who can clap their hands and dial numbers on the telephone. To take a deep breath before you hold out a long note and swallow the stench of baby fish, Shamu's dinner, is just... special.

So one of my family member's came out to the show and we spent some time catching up. She told me her husband loves reading my blog. I was flattered. I love knowing that men read this thing. Cause seriously this isn't a mommy lovin'- cupcakey-girly-pedicure blog. This is serious business for all kinds of people. So, men unite, don't be ashamed that you read a blog called "Cupcakes, Sprinkles, and Other Happy Things."

"He's in prison."

"Did something really stupid and he's there till the end of the year. And I send him your blogs and he loves them. So do his cell mates. They crack up reading them. Then they showed them to some other guys in there. And now, the guard prints the blog and puts in on the community bulletin board for everyone to read."

OH MY GOSH if I had a dollar for every time I heard that I'd be a freaking millionaire :). Y'all, congratulations, this blog has real street cred' (credit) now! I'm so stinking excited to have real live prisoners reading the blog! Welcome!

So I asked her if I could give Kevin and the guys a shout out. And she said sure. So here it goes:

What's up "Cell Block D boys!" That's my name for you. My cell block D boys. Hi! What the heck are you doing in prison? Seriously? One life, that's all we've got. And you're spending it in matching outfits? That's what my grandma did to me and my sisters growing up and I know it's God awful. Matching outfits= social suicide.

You gotta get out of there and be a good dad to your little girls and little boys. Be a good man for your wife or your mom. Do something for yourself that inspires you and makes you happy. Something that makes the world more beautiful. And while you're waiting to do all that, be good to yourself now. Read a book. Go to chapel. Pray. Work hard. Don't fight. Seek peace. Eat your vegetables (Do they give you good veggies in the slammer or do I need to bring you some?). Don't give up on yourself. Keep trying. Don't make me come down there...

You don't need a sermon from me. I just want you to know I believe in you. I believe in who you can be and I believe in the goodness that is within you. I believe God knows you, loves you, forgives you, and wants good things for your life. Me and Him (I'm speaking for God now :)) we believe in you. And maybe you need to be reminded of that today.

I'd kill to be in prison for a few weeks. OK, I would not actually kill, so please don't actually kill, but you know what I mean. To have some down time. Time to think. Re-asses. Read. Pray. Write. Time to learn discipline and to figure myself out and to seek forgiveness for all the ways I've screwed up and to dream about my future, to remember what I love about myself and about the world. Sometimes I wish for a bit of a standstill so I can go there... that place you can only go when you are alone and have everything taken away that distracts you.

So in a way, whether you want it or not, you are there. In that place where dreams spring up and the past is laid to rest. You are there. Don't take your gift for granted.

Bonzo the Bird

So for years now I've gotten Christmas cards from Aunt Betty. They are always signed, "Love Aunt Betty, Uncle David, Bonzo the Bird, and Wally (the dog)."

Stop right there. If you know me, you know I detest pets. I just do. I know that makes me hated by PETA and by mostly everyone in my family who treasures their pets more than they do most of my cousins. But, I don't know, I just have never loved having a dog lick me or a cat leave hairballs on my bed. We had a cat growing up. We named her Kitty Baby. I gagged for an entire hour after having to clean her cat litter. And while I liked her little rough tongue licking my hand and her deep purr, those did not outweigh the animal hair, cat litter, and general upkeep that I detested so much about her. And dogs? Well, they just steal my thunder. They are way too smart and emotional and needy. I'm the girl... I get to be emotional and needy. Not them. But there they are licking and smelling like Shamu's dinner and getting their nasty dog drool all over me; and I swear there are people in my family who'd stop to question who to save first in a fire: me or the dog?

Anyways, I come from a family of pet lovers and I am quite sure God put me in this group of pet lovers to teach me a lesson about acceptance and patience and some other profound things that I haven't figured out yet.

So after we play for Shamu and his peeps we make our way to Mobile, Alabama for a show and after the show I spend a few days with my aunt, uncle, grandma, grandpa, and mom. And I should've figured it out by now. I mean, if Bonzo the bird makes the Christmas card, then he is a bonified member of the family, right? But how much of a pet can a bird really be?

Let me tell you people, a bird can be a very amazing pet. That thing flew all over the place like a little rabid monkey and I thought my mom and I might have a heart attack as he grazed the area where Annie was sitting. Bonzo drinks milk from the glass. He eats people food. He gets zurbers on his belly from my Aunt Betty. And he sits on my uncle David's shoulder as he works from home. He has nap time. And if you leave him in his room for too long, he gets mad, and starts jabbering away until you pay him some attention. He needs more attention than the dog.

And really, there is no point to this story except to say that I always assumed Bonzo was a poised, quiet, shy little bird who stayed in a cage in a corner looking quite exotic.

Nope.

That thing gets out. It FLYS across the living room. It cuddles. And drinks milk from the glass. And oh my Lord that bird scared me to death. I spent two days with a bird and a dog who are more human than animal. For a non-animal lover, that adds up to a bizarre week.

The flight home

The flight home for Annie and I was just a nightmare. I've become an American Airlines Platinum snob. I'm used to getting whatever seat I want and being bumped to first class. I'm not a diva about much in this world, but I have flying with a baby down to an art form (instead of a torture routine that tortures me and everyone else around me) and that all depends on getting the good seats in the front of the plane. But this time we were in a little prop plane and got moved to seat 16b. Two rows away from the bathroom at the back of the plane. I was disgusted and reveling in my airplane snobbery and true shock that people had to live this way at the back of the plane with the nasty smelling bathrooms, when Old Man River walked on the plane.

He looked like he was straight from the Appalachian Mountains. With denim overalls, a long sleeve button down flannel shirt, a straw hat, a silver beard so long and overgrown that there were probably birds nesting inside it; and with his oxygen tank in one hand and a cane in the other, he started hobbling our way. "Great, I'm gonna get stuck next to old man river back here," I thought to myself.

Note to self: when you are being a snobby diva you should never think those things because they always come true.

Annie was still running a fever from the day before (though the doc said she could not have gotten the fever from the bird, I had all sorts of theories about the safety of her sharing air space with the bird and now with old man river) and she was battling yet another ear infection. I was already dreading the flight.

Mountain man, who must've been 90 years old and flying to his own funeral, sits down directly in front of us and promptly turns on his oxygen machine. It beeps the entire flight. And I'm no "worst case scenario" type person, but there is something about a constant beeping on an airplane that makes a crash feel immanent. Like the beeping at the hospital. I don't care if your just there to have an appendix taken out, that little beeping that happens next to the bed stirs up all sorts of dread. When I had my tonsils out, I came to hearing that thing beeping fast, and I was sure something had gone terribly wrong and that I was in the process of dying. Turns out I was just about to throw up and rip the stitches in my throat all out... still, the beeping didn't help.

So old man river beeps through the whole flight and when the pilot announces 30 minutes till we land he starts getting restless. Nervous like. Twitching his fingers and rocking back and forth and I wanted to tell him, "Look buddy, this is not the proper way to handle your anxiety, you are making things way worse on yourself." But there was no time. He was already throwing up. And it was getting all in his poor little beard. And for the next thirty minutes he pukes and pukes and pukes until we touch down in Dallas.

Those poor birds.

Starbucks

I'm having quite a time trying to narrow down the bizarre stories from this week, but I think I will end with this.

As a former Starbucks employee I know that the companies goal is for Starbucks to be "Your third home" Family. Work. Starbucks. You are supposed to learn customer's names, memorize their drink orders, and welcome them like your little sister, big brother, or wise grandpa every time they walk through the door. This, Starbucks says, should feel like a place of warmth and community.

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And their always glad you came... you wanna go where everybody knows your name.

That kind of deal. Cheers for the masses.

The thing is, I've started going to a new Starbucks and the customers take that invitation a little too far for me and I am left wondering, "Do I commit or do I stay far away from you people?"

I ended up there two mornings ago at 6:00 as I found it impossible to sleep after feeding Annie that morning. So at 5:45 I made myself get out of bed, get dressed, and go to Starbucks. The first thirty minutes or so, I was all alone and the world was perfect. But then a man came in and plopped down next to me. Pet peeve. If there is a whole empty store or theatre or whatever, please don't come sit right next to me. But there he was, about 60 years old and 400 pounds, breathing very heavily, and right up in my space. Then 3 girls come in after a run. They are sweaty and way too giddy for 6:30 in the morning. The man next to me says hello to the girls by name. They get their drinks and pull up a table right next to him and start to chit-chat.

My perfect morning was slowly slipping away.

Then come in three young police officers. They don't even have to order their drinks. The barista has them ready and sitting on the counter. They pull up next to the girls and start asking about their 5K from the previous weekend. Now there are seven of them, completely opposite groups of people, huddled together like they're about to have church. Then a few business guys come in, and sit across from the group... but not without first saying hello to everyone by name and inquiring about whether the police officers are going to be doing their motorcycle training today. Then three old men come in and take over the last table. They say hey to everyone and start laughing so loud as they talk about movies with one another that I can't hear myself think.

I have officially been ousted out of my personal space and thrown into this hodge-podge group of people who apparently are related some how. I feel like I am at an early morning family reunion.

And all of a sudden I thought, "Oh my gosh. Starbucks won. This is home. They all know each other. This is really creepy. Their families are all at home, still getting ready for the day, and they are here, they are members of a neighborhood Starbucks fraternity."

Just then one of the cops turned around and said to me, "Hey! We don't know your name. And look, if you're gonna come in the mornings you're going to have to contribute a whole lot more to these conversations."

I sat there with my blurry eyes, bad hair, and coffee breath and laughed a very awkward laugh. "You guys are here every morning?"

They all laughed. Some sort of internal laugh that I was not privy to. And I wondered... do I want you to love me or do I want to run far away from you? Their faces were so sweet and the randomness of the group so unique... but I couldn't help but think that it felt like a creepy movie about a secret society who ends up stealing people's minds or something else crazy.

I'm writing from a different Starbucks today. As of now, I'm not sure what to do with those people. Part of me wants to be there... where everybody knows my name.

Part of me thinks it's a bit insane.

But what would a bizarre week be without a classic run-in with Starbuckians?

Tough Topic Tuesday- slightly late :)

I am at an amazing five star resort and spa outside Phoenix, Arizona ala my husband who insisted I take a break. I am surrounded by views of Camelback Mountain and from my private back yard I can watch the sun rise, the moon set, and read for hours in the chase lounge chair surrounded by my own personal exotic, rare bird choir. Oh, and the occasional lizard.

Who knew the desert attracted so many birds and critters? They are everywhere. And the flowers here are intoxicating. You can smell them before you even turn a corner and see them. And if you've never been to Arizona you might have a hard time imaging how a very tall pile of boulders sandwiched between brown deserts brimming with cactus could be beautiful, but trust me, its beauty rivals the ocean waves and snow covered mountains. There is something rugged and ancient here that puts the modern world to shame.

So I am here, taking it all in. Sleeping. Reading. And yes, thanks in part to you Rebecca and Keith and so many others, I am endeavoring to write a book. I've always wanted to. Always. And now is the time.

I've been doing a lot of people watching as I work here and I cannot help but overhear their conversations. They talk about mergers and marriage. Fortunes and family. Sales and sports. Business and babies. Risks and religion.

Yep, they talk about religion. Everyday people talk about religion, the church, and spirituality.

I hear it all the time so I should not have been surprised to hear two guys talking about it today at the pool or the three girls in the sauna who were talking about their religious upbringing. But I was. I forget that people are genuinely seeking direction and answers. Hoping to be overwhelmed with truth that sets them free.

I hear it in airplanes and airports. In restaurants and at Starbucks. I even hear it in churches. God comes up. Is he real? What about scripture? Can it be trusted? Is it accurate? What about the church and their mistakes? What about my own freedom, why would I give that to someone else? Why do Christians say Jesus is the only way? My Islamic friends love God too. The conversations echo around me ALL the time and I am more aware than ever that it is arrogant and ignorant to assume that because someone is not a Christian they are not concerned with spirituality. They are.

At the end of the day, everyone is seeking some form of spirituality because life and death are all around us, and we as humans long to make sense of that.

Heavy matters cover the earth like a blanket, and for the most part, human beings seek answers. Some people find the answer within themselves or Buddha or a tree or a volunteer activity or in Jesus Christ.

The search for something to put your faith in, my friends, is alive and active.

So then my question on Tough Topic Tuesday is this...

Are we doing a good job exposing people to our form of faith?

After watching Larry King Live this past Friday, my answer for this week is: no.

If you caught Larry King on Friday night, Pastor Bob Botsford exposed people to Christ by condemning fellow Christian, Jennifer Knapp, and other homosexuals for their same sex lifestyle. He ended with a plea that she come back to her senses and repent.

The blog world went crazy. Depending on whom you listen to, Botsford came off as a martyr for the faith and Jennifer Knapp came off as the prideful, parading lesbian who was blatantly forsaking her faith. Or, Botsford came off as an ignorant civil rights abuser who used his position as loving Pastor to exploit a hateful agenda while Jennifer Knapp bravely took a stand for those in the gay and lesbian community who find themselves in a loving relationship with their partners and with God.

(You can read JK's 'coming out' article on Christianity Today; Pastor Bob's blog regarding her admission; and the final culmination that happened on Larry King Live by clicking here.)

Comments began to pour in from both sides and they were not pretty. Before I knew it, I was hooked. It was like watching a bloody reality show. How will the church respond to the issue of homosexuality? As author Phyllis Tickle said in a recent seminar at my church, "Homosexuality is the last great moral battle the church will have to face."

If the battle had not already begun, I believe Jennifer gave it a good kick in the pants. A jump-start if you will. And now the armies are out, swords are drawn, and people are taking to the battlefield.

How was Christ exposed this week?

By making appearances on Larry King live, addressing millions of people from millions of different, complex lives, the voice representing Jesus said that to be gay is to be separated from Christ, end of discussion. And while the question "can you know and love God while being a practicing homosexual" remains on the table for God alone to answer, the issue that truly grieves my heart here is that a spiritual world is looking for the face of spirituality and instead of seeing Christ they see battles that we wage on behalf of Christ.

When did Jesus ever stop and tell the disciples, "Look. There are a lot of sins out there. But homosexuality is at the top of that list. So attack it. Attack those people. Take up arms for me. Start the battle. Wage a war for my sake."

I just never saw Jesus say that. Or anything similar to that. He never asked us to battle for Him, did he? And when his best friend Peter tried by taking his sword out and slicing a mans ear off, Jesus told Peter to stop and restored the mans ear.

I can't think of a time Jesus ever gave anyone the commission or authority or calling to go before the world and point out sins. Besides condemning the pastor's themselves for turning his sacred house into a den of thieves and money changers, Jesus typically confronted sin in private, not on a national platform and not aimed at one single person. I cannot say, with complete certainty what absolute truth is or is not regarding the issue of homosexuality, nor can I predict what Jesus himself would have done if presented the opportunity to go on Larry King, but I have a hard time imaging that Jesus would take on one person's soul in front of a viewing audience of millions.

What Do I Know of Holy?

At the end of the day, there is no human being who can know, understand, or fully speak for God. We can wage battles, have opinions, and recite scripture until we are blue in the face... still, Christ is a mystery and faith is ultimately unfathomable. It is simply faith.

I will say it and believe it until the day I die. What do I know of Holy?

Even those within the body of Christ who have the best intentions and truly believe scripture is clear on homosexuality and long to see people repent from this lifestyle… this is still, simply, a human interpretation of a sacred text that only God himself can one day shine ultimate understanding on.

Yes, scripture lists homosexuality as a sin. It does. I’ve read it with my own eyes. But there are many, many sins listed in scripture. (And I am not even going to go down the road of whether it is a sin or not, except to say again, that even among believers, Christ followers, and theologians the issue is not nearly as black and white as the mainline evangelical church would like for it to be).

Perhaps we have misunderstood sin though. The overarching theme of scripture is that sin is a condition, not necessarily an action. Jesus seems to speak directly into this concept when he addresses the faithful Jews at the beginning of Matthew, "You have heard it said do not murder... but I say do not have anger in your heart for another man." Essentially he spends an entire afternoon telling these people, "you have heard the law and followed it, but now listen to the heart of the law, it's a new command I give you. Love me. Love others. That is the point."

Sin is a condition that indicates our separation from God. Jesus focuses less on the sin action and more on the person and their separation from God. Sin is simply that. Our separation from God. Our less than holy nature. Our blemished existence. An incomplete way of being. That is sin.

Many of the endorsements and praise for Pastor Bob made online by Christians have been based on defending God. As if God needs us to defend Him. Defending the Bible. Standing up for what is right. Calling a sin a sin. The idea that black and white must be established and we as Christians must bring to light right and wrong so that people repent and turn to God. It goes back to waging a battle for God. Waging a battle for the church. For morality. It is all about engaging in a battle. Sounds a bit like something called... the crusades.

My response:

Let God be God. God speaks to the hearts of all men and women. He brings to light what is right and wrong. God alone is holy and draws all people to himself. He convicts. He persuades. He delivers. He believes. He patiently works and cultivates a seed of his light into every soul. And I for one trust that my savior is big enough to draw all people to Himself- gay or not.

If you are a homosexual, I want you in my church. Not to save you or change you. I want you in my church for the same reasons I want myself to be in church; I believe in the Body of Christ, corporate worship, the study of scripture, and in the importance of growing up in faith. I want that for all people. I want you to know God deeply and intimately. I want you to study scripture. I want you to be a part of the body of Christ known as the church. I want you to draw close to Jesus because I believe as we draw close to Jesus, to the heart of God Himself; we begin to look more and more like Him. As we draw close to Jesus, Jesus himself moves in our spirit and urges us to be more like Him, urges us to turn away from that which keeps us distant from Him; our distance and unholiness are chipped away as we allow Him to change us. This is the process of being made into a completely new creature. In churchy terms, this is repentance and sanctification.

This doesn't happen by calling sin a sin on Larry King live (this only draws people into battle). It doesn't happen by battle lines and attacks. It doesn't happen by ostracizing people from the church. And to assert that it does, to participate, in my opinion, means we have little faith that God is doing what He says he does. Interacting with humanity for His own glory and drawing all people to Himself. It's a process he longs to engage us in.

That process, friends, is deeply personal. It is long and hard. It is vulnerable and raw. It is complicated and complex. (And repentance that usually lasts happens within the loving confines of a supportive community of faith that walks alongside of you… so why are we kicking people out before they can even come in?). The act of being transformed from this world, truly, is a hard process for the most seasoned Christ followers.

To simply dumb this issue down to right and wrong, to sin or not sin, robs humanity of our deep complexities and robs God himself of His ability to conform people to His likeness.

Real Life

By now some of you are seething at the opinions I have expressed. Some of you may be disappointed in me. Some of you agree with my thoughts. Some of you think I have played politician, not giving a clear enough answer (as if I am close enough to God to deliver the verdict). And some of you are offended that I have not gone far enough in denying that homosexuality is not a sin.

To all of the above: I am not engaging in a battle. I do not have the ultimate answer.

Look, my parents both have doctorates in Theology and Pastoral Care. My sister just graduated Magna Cum Laude with a master’s degree in Theology. My little sister is in her second year of seminary and her husband speaks, reads, and writes Greek fluently, which was part of his master’s degree in Christian theology. I am the lowly one of the bunch. I merely have a bachelor’s degree in religion and church history. And I say that to tell you that while other families shoot the breeze over the holidays, my weird family sits around the table and argues baptism, Lord's supper, the use of birth control, the Vatican's role in sex abuse scandals, the Baptist Faith and Message, homosexuals in church, women preachers... you name it, we go there. All eight of us. I come from a family of learners. Avid readers. Brilliant researchers. And well-versed students of the Bible. Relying heavily on the cumulative shared knowledge of the whole gang, it would be very easy for me to sit here and dogmatically argue a position and back it up with translations of this and that, commentaries, social history and context, etc.

But what good does that do? At the end of the day, all the knowledge in the world cannot answers our biggest questions. Sometimes the most we can do is have faith that God is doing what He says he does. Drawing all people to himself. Somehow. Someway.

I understand sin within the church has to be addressed. My friends hold me accountable. My husband and I encourage each other as we grow up in Christ together. Our community at church addresses different forms of sin and often gives us chances to go before the Lord asking for forgiveness for the ways in which we have separated ourselves from Him. But we do it at church within the body of Christ, the community that is walking alongside of us. Not on a blog aimed at one church member for thousands to read. Not on national tv, aimed at one church member for millions to hear. We do it with one another in the confines of our faith community.

A stranger can't just walk up to me and tell me I need to repent. And if they did, I would not listen.

It's just not as simple as that.

And I'll end with this.

I have often said that I am not a proponent of the death penalty. However, I follow that up by saying that I have never had my little girl kidnapped, violently raped, and murdered by a sadistic man. I can say that I do not believe in the death penalty until I am blue in the face... but when it happens to my little girl... get back to me. I can only tell you then, when I come face to face with this complex issue, what I really believe and how I will really respond.

This could be said of many hot topic social issues. You can spout off information, scripture verses, and dogmatic views but everything changes when you actually come face to face with the issue.

Do you know a homosexual? Have you ever loved someone deeply who has later turned out to be a homosexual? Because I guarantee you, it's not so easy to look someone in the eyes who you have seen love Jesus and tell them that their faith is invalid. Until you have gone there with someone, you cannot possibly understand what it is like to juggle these questions, these battlefields, these deep matters of faith with someone you love. Because it is no longer "a gay person," it is your brother, sister, dad, or the best pastor you've ever had the privilege to work with. They are people. Family. The ones you love. The ones God loves.

My aunt was a lesbian before she passed away. Coming from a rural town in Mississippi of faithful Southern Baptists, you can imagine the shock waves this sent through my family. But my Aunt Debbie knew God and I know it. Was she living in sin? Did she die in sin? So many questions plagued our family and yet, most of the family showed up for her and her partners commitment ceremony. Why? Because Debbie was loved. She was a light. A beautiful little light. And it's not so easy to draw battle lines when you are hugging your sister. She is still your sister. And somehow when it becomes personal you realize that you firmly believe what you believe, they firmly believe what they believe and you can walk closer to Christ together, trusting that He will call us to Himself, or you can draw a sword and engage in battle.

But when you love people… battles aren’t the preferred method of operation.

And to me, that's a good thing. Because I am convinced more than ever that people don't need battle lines... they need Jesus.

Draw them to Jesus and let him do what he does best.

Transform.

We do Because we Have to. We get to.

It is a perfect day here in Waco, Texas.

Not humid from the stifling river; just breezy and perfect.

It's understandable then, that the young lads at my college Alma Mater walk around with such carefree looks on their faces. Smiling; talking about their weekend trips to Austin or Dallas. Running; facing down the bear trail and looking like a million bucks as they hit mile number two. Cruising; literally, in lawn chairs in the bed of their buddies truck. Chatting; with girls about other girls about other girls. Flirting; like the couple behind me on the porch of Common Grounds who are dreaming about their future together.

They all look so young.

What happened? Are they letting junior high kids into college now or have I just gotten that much older?

These kids are little. This place screams summer camp. And as my dear friend Sam said over lunch today, "They have it so easy and carefree... they have no idea what they're getting into."

I laughed.

No matter what age you are, you do not want someone older than you telling you that your life is simple and trite, as if being a college student is really all that carefree. As if being in junior high is really that easy. As if being five discredits you from knowing everything there is to know in life. As if almost turning 30 is the wonder year that you will long for in years to come. Don't tell me that. This year hasn't been easy at all.

So- I aim at not discrediting the weighty matters of being in college and completely deleting all the meaning out of existence before then. Sincerely.

It's just that I don't remember it. Being back here makes me feel like I am stepping out of the wardrobe closet and back into the professor's house after a long and magical trip to Narnia. This place isn't Narnia.

This is the cold wooden dank armoire bringing me back to reality. Narnia feels like home. This place feels foreign. Or does this place feel like Narnia and where I have lived the last few years as a rootless vagabond feel like the dank armoire? I'm not sure. But I have driven the streets today, looked at the buildings, and tried to retrace me steps. And I am quite sure I have never been here before.

Did I ever go to college here? What did I do? Was I happy? Why didn't I just have fun while I was here? Why did I insist on being so grown up? So serious? So committed to boys? Why didn't I take more road trips? Make life-long girlfriends? What happened here anyways? Was that me or a different me? Have I changed... I mean, who is the real me. Her? Or me, now?

Are you sure I lived in that dorm?

I feel no more connection to that dorm than I do the swing I am sitting in. The swing I have never seen before in my life.

Wait, I must take a time-out here to say that a really adorable 19-ish year old guy with dimples just saved a girl's dog who broke free from the leash. He jumped in front of two cars to save that girl, I mean that dog, and I am quite sure he will have heroic folklore follow him the next four years for these actions. At least that's how the girls squawking over his bravery right now are acting. He is a hero. And he knows it.

And I don't know. I am not in a bad mood. I am not pessimistic or sad or even sitting here in regret. I just feel like a bit of a realist today.

I wonder if that guy will still be a hero in ten years? That's all.

The boy who saved the dog and had all the girls gasping and hugging him. Will he hit adulthood and find out that it's complicated? Hard? Tricky? Will he ever come back here and sit in this same swing and wonder if this place is a dream, if he ever really saved that great big white dog from being hit by a car or if it was just a dream? Will he wonder who he was back then and how he could have grown up so much since then? Will life pass that quickly and that eternally slow for him too?

These are Friday afternoon musings from a girl who feels like she's lived a lot of life since she's been on these streets last.

I met my husband here. I started the band Addison Road here. I studied religion and history and fell in love with the anthropology of people here. I made lifelong friends with Sam and Leslie Smith the very first day of school here. They became spiritual mentors. Teachers. Friends. Parents.

These are facts. They most certainly happened. But it all seems so fuzzy now.

My life is not overly complicated or terribly hard. Still, something about being here tugs deep within me and makes me a little bit afraid. Afraid that I can't remember. Afraid that it seems like so long ago. Afraid that I will be back here soon... with Annie and her boxes. Afraid that life is shorter than I thought and yet oceans away from memories that should be more fresh. Afraid that maybe I miss making memories. Afraid that it is happening all to quickly. Desperately wanting to hang on and slow it all down. To keep it in my hands. Frozen.

Fear will only have me for a few more minutes. Then I will tell it to go away and stop messing with my mind, my memory.

But right now I sit here, on this swing, and I wonder...

Did I really show up here, a scrawny 115 pound little person all by myself? And for what reason? Did I have any idea what I was getting myself into? Did I have any clue that life would happen? Or did God protect me from that little piece of information?

Like he does before you have a baby.

Protects you from knowing how brutal the first few weeks will actually be with strange fluids, aching legs, sore breasts, the strange fear of defeat, utter exhaustion, and a complete certainty that the critter in the other room has stopped breathing.

Maybe that's how we do life. If we knew ahead of time, we would run. So, we live innocently. Freely. Without fear. And when we have to grow up. When we have to face the fire. When the flames get hot...

well, that's when we learn to fight another day.

We grow up because we have to.

But we are changed in the process... because we want to.

Warning Signs

I adhere to the universal signal of flashing my lights so that oncoming drivers know there is a cop running radar ahead.

I do this because I believe in the universal theme of being warned.

(Though, yes dad, I suppose the posted signs are fair warning enough).

I can’t stand it when I have passed 29 miles of bumper to bumper- kids out on the median playing frisbee- truck drivers have called it a night and abandoned their rigs to smoke a cigarette with other drivers- woman’s having a baby on the side of the road- highway is shut down until Easter- kind of traffic and I know that I have no way of telling the poor unsuspecting drivers headed into this nightmare to STOP.

“STOP. TURN AROUND. EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO DIVERT THROUGH CANADA OR BACK TRACK A STATE OR TWO Or ABANDON YOUR CAR AND HIKE, TRUST ME… YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO THIS WAY!”

There really should be a universal signal to let people know there is upcoming traffic the same way there’s a signal for letting people know a cop is hiding in a bush past the next intersection with his radar gun. It’s just the proper, kind-loving thing to do.

I have tried creating a new signal.

I really have. I sit in the front seat and stare at the people with bulging, terrified eyes (which Ryan says will get me confused for a kidnapping victim if I’m not careful) and I wave my hands back and forth and mouth out the word S*T*O*P* and NOOOO.

(This is a practice I swore I would never do because, as I have explained numerous times to my mom, “MOM that’s embarrassing. Nobody knows what you are saying when you are mouthing to them from a different car. You just look like a crazy lady. Even if you are using hand signals at the neglect of your own steering wheel and giving them a thumbs up and vigorously shaking your head to tell them that you like their license plate or their dog is cute or making the pumping motion so they know their gas knob is opened or their kid is hanging out the back window. They honest to God don’t know what you’re saying).

But there I am in the front seat and I am terribly concerned about getting the message out that people need to turn around.

Ideally, in a perfect world, I would have my own public announcement system attached to the roof of my car along with bright pink flashing lights and an LED screen that gives people a fair warning that they’d rather hear finger nails scratching a chalkboard and then have to floss their teeth with big sheets of aluminum foil than continue on.

Ideally, in a perfect world, they would then nod their heads at me and raise one hand off the steering wheel in a friendly wave of human camaraderie, the way my Papaw would greet every single car that drove by him whether they paid any attention to him or not; and cars would turn around in droves. Because that’s what happens in a perfect world… someone gives you a warning.

Everyone wants a heads up right?

That’s why we have websites like Tripadvisor.com and other outlets that allow us to shoot straight with each other. And while I am quite sure there are a lot of people out there with pent up anger that turn to these online sites to spew rage, seek justice for their product gone bad, or dish out their passive aggressive opinions, in the beginning these online sites began as useful warning tools for the public.

Don’t go here, go there.

We have signs on the highway that tell us ‘20 minutes of traffic from this point on’. Signs at Six Flags that tell us how long we have to wait to get on the roller coaster. The GPS gives us the ETA. We have a count down for Christmas. We take numbers at the deli so we can constantly gauge what is coming next: number 29. Pastrami on rye. Number 28. Tuna. I only have to wait through 7 more orders. We even get a countdown at the DPS. Seven more miserable people in front of me before I go pay the state money to take a really bad picture that will haunt me for years. Still, something about knowing how many people are in front of me and watching the numbers disappear on the screen makes the whole thing bearable.

I think in general we can take the blows if you just shoot it to us straight.

Six months of chemo? Twelve? Ok. I can do it.

My company is putting me up at a shoddy hotel for two months? Ok. I can do it.

We have to live on a budget this year? Ok. I can do that.

27 minutes before I get to my exit five miles down the street? Ugghh. Annoying. But at least there is an end in sight. A goal. A set your eyes on the prize. At least there is a warning. And I am convinced, with warnings we can weather anything. (Because it makes us feel like we have some control.)

But it’s the unknown road that I seem to be on lately.

The road feels desolate. There are no road signs, no mile markers, no countdown clocks, warning signs, no websites where well meaning people can tell me what to expect. No girl with an announcement system, pink flashing lights, and an LED screen on her car that says, “Warning: Hell is straight ahead of you. Turn around.”

And maybe that’s good, because I’d take the road to Canada and forget the original plan all together. I’d go somewhere safe. Somewhere with lots of bright lights and police officers and countdown clocks and warning signs. I’d take the easy road and not look back.

People have said a lot of amazing things about Ryan and I this week. How we have encouraged them to keep going in the midst of their own trials. How we have been a part of renewing their faith because we are what it looks like to persevere under fire (literally). How we will be blessed for not quitting and how we are doing this amazing thing for God. And I just want to say, “thanks, but no thanks.”

I can’t be anyone’s poster child for what a warrior looks like.

There’s an old song by an artist named Twila Paris that has always stuck in my heart and the chorus says:

“People say that I’m amazing, strong beyond my years. But they don’t see inside of me, I’m hiding all my tears. They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down. They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around. I drop my sword and cry for just a while. Cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child.”

The warrior is a child.

That’s me.

Put me on a highway without warning signs and throw some curveballs… like a fire that takes away my favorite pajama pants, my daughter’s only embroidered baby gifts from her baby showers, and my new make-up, and you will see me fall apart.

My vision is limited.

My faith hangs on by threads.

My endurance for roads deplete of road signs is waning.

My mind tells me to go home. Go to a place where warning signs are a part of everyday life and the next step is always, mostly certain.

And then my God, that voice that speaks quietly to me, that is constant even when the Bible seems to make little sense, Christians seem to embarrass me, and I wonder if I’ve made it all up… even in the midst of my small, defeated faith, my God who is very real and very near to me shows up on the plane ride from Atlanta to Chicago… on Sunday, when I am very much missing being in a place where I can worship.

The sky is beautiful. The clouds are puffy like marshmallows and the sparkly blue-sky dances on as far as my eyes can see. I am lost in the beauty of this perfect day. And yet minutes later, as we descend through the clouds I realize that Chicago is wet and nasty. The sky is full of dark clouds and the city looks dreary from 20,000 feet.

And I hear His voice. “You want to tell them it’s a beautiful day today? It is, isn’t it?”

That was it. Nothing booming or profound, just a single thought that God clearly floated through my mind and into my heart. It might be rainy in Chicago today, but it is beautiful 33,000 feet above Chicago. The sun is out and shining… even if they can’t see it.

There’s your warning sign Jenny. You don’t know the scope of what is going on in a single moment. Your eyes cannot see it. Your mind cannot perceive it. No clock can tell you. No estimated time of arrival. No game plan. No warning. No weather channel can tell you that it is miserable on the ground but beautiful above the clouds.

Your vision is limited. But mine is not.

You have to trust me.

You have to trust that.

The road is not desolate. There will always be a warning sign… because I see what you cannot see. And I give the signs. The warning signs that tell you no matter what the road looks like on the ground, there’s something else going on beyond your vision. And detouring to Canada won’t change anything.

It’s cloudy in Chicago today baby.

But the skies are dancing and I am watching them. I see.

I can give you your warning signs… trust me.

Week One of the Tour

Monday: Annie and I are with my parents in Albuquerque. The guys are supposed to leave Dallas at 9:00 a.m. on the RV. We rented the RV from an amazing couple who saw that we were in need of a vehicle for this tour and offered to let us rent theirs for a ridiculously low price.

The RV won't start. The guys don't leave Dallas until 6 p.m. The RV might not like us. They drive to the border of Texas and New Mexico.

Tuesday: The guys cross the border and the RV starts acting up. By late morning the RV has broken down again.

Tuesday afternoon: The RV is up and running, only a short circuit. They are in Albuquerque by late afternoon and we practice with our tour drummer, Richard. Tuesday night after dinner the RV won't start for the second time that day. We wiggle a wire around, and it starts.

Wednesday: We play the first show in Albuquerque!

Thursday: Leave for Phoenix. Somewhere in the straight desert the RV starts topping off at 40 mph and the whole interior reeks of diesel fuel. Annie is coughing. We are all feeling gross and fumy. Makes you a little nauseous after a while. We make it to Flagstaff. We need to get this thing checked out. A guy comes out to fix our RV. I call a local church and explain that because we are all Christians they are morally obligated to please come pick us up from this truck stop and give us a place in their church to crash for a few hours :). Not quick thinking... I saw my mom do this on youth trips when we were broken down with 300 students. I stole the idea. They promise to get us as soon as we need them.

Thursday afternoon: We head to Cracker Barrel for lunch. The RV man will fix it in their parking lot. Gotta love Cracker Barrel parking lots. We finish lunch. RV is fixed. We think. But as our driver Brandon begins his test drive the entire RV stops running on the side of the road. It is dead, dead. 1:oo p.m. We play in Phoenix at 8. This won't be fixed in time for the show, we need to rent cars and drive to Phoenix. The bus can meet us tomorrow. The random church, Christ's Church of Flagstaff, comes to pick up the boys and bring them to the airport.

Thank you Thank you Thank you Kathy and Christ's Church!

Me and Annie crash at Cracker Barrel. She is getting bugs and diseases from the floor... I am sure of it. We are on this floor for over an hour. She never cries once. She is a trooper.

The guys get back with the rental cars. We pack just enough clothes to get us through the night. We leave everything else we own on the RV and travel to Phoenix. We get there at 6pm. The show starts at 8 pm. This was a crazy long day but a great time with our Phoenix fans. And, I got to meet Stacey, a faithful blog reader who showed up with a bag full of girl gifts... she is perhaps my soul mate!

Friday morning: The RV is still in Flagstaff. It will not be ready in time to pick us up in Phoenix and drive us to Las Vegas. So we keep the rental cars and start driving. We have a show at 8 pm and a five hour drive. The drive is beautiful. We take time to stop and let Annie stretch and see her first cactus. She loves it. We get to Las Vegas without any hiccups. A welcome relief after two entire days of exhausting break downs and car trips with a ten month old. Brandon calls to say that they have fixed the RV, he is headed to Vegas and we will have our stuff and our vehicle back in a few hours. Whew... the worst is behind us.

Never say that people. It's like a challenge for the negative forces of the world to come after you. Brandon calls...

"Ryan the RV is on fire. I've tried two fire extinguishers. I can't contain it. Oh *&$# (expletive) it's exploding. There are explosions. I have to go."

The initial picture. The final picture. I guess it takes the fire department a while when you are in the freaking desert.

Friday night: Ryan breaks the news as soon as he gets it at dinner. The RV is on fire. The details continue to pour in. This isn't a grease fire. Not a small fire. This is huge. A huge fire. We get the call that everything is destroyed.

Mind you, I packed the entire contents of our apartment (besides furniture and appliances) and moved into this RV. Every piece of clothes Annie owns. All her toys. Her DVDS. Enough diapers and formula for two months. Every piece of clothing Ryan and I owned. Our shoes. Undies. Toiletries. Most of the new make-up :(. All of the new clothes we just got for free from our photo shoot. Books. Bibles. Food. New appliances for the RV. Vacuum cleaner. Coffee pot. Humidifiers. Baby Monitors. And then everything in the trailer. Sound board. the 4,000 t-shirts we just ordered (basically the only way we make money on the road...) all of our merchandise, new hats, new bags, suitcases, guitars, amps... everything.

We have lost everything.

As it rushes through my head, I have what I think is as close to a clinical breakdown as I have ever had :) I am on my face crying in a dark nursery. I am going to go home now. really. Truly. Tonight will be my last show Lord. I will not live like this and put my daughter through this and my husband through this kind of living anymore. I cannot take another blow. Another rapid. I can't do this. I call my pastor. Jackie, tell me what to do. Please. I don't even know what to do anymore. I cannot stand up under the weight of this. She prays. She says get up and bring honor to God by fulfilling my obligation for tonight and then we will figure out our next step after that.

The unfolding of events over the next 24 hours is another blog or two in itself.

For now you should just know: I did not quit. And you can't quit either. You can make it. Whatever the blow is, you can make it. You are not alone. Voice your burdens, share your struggles and ask God's children, the Big C church as my friend Christy calls it, for prayer. For help. Allow them to walk with you. And know that someone has come for you. You are not by yourself.

I will thank a host of people who have stepped in to take care of us later this week. But for now, that is my little Annie Boo in an outfit that we were given by a mom who insisted we take her daughter's clothes. I woke up this morning and I was able to put an outfit on Annie. I was able to dress her. Watch her squeal and kick and laugh.

She was not in her bed in the RV where she played and slept and talked.

The bed that erupted into flames out of no where.

The bed that sits right on top of the engine where all the electrical wires that were shorting out resided.

She was not on that bed when the flames erupted of nowhere. She was not in that RV when the fire quickly spread. When the explosions pierced the quiet of the desert. When the sun set on a smouldering bus that held our livelihood.

She was not there.

I dressed her this morning. I fed her. I held her in my arms. And watched as she chased squirrels in the park this afternoon. I will tuck her in tonight.

My stuff is gone... but my baby is safe.

The miracle this week is that the RV practically forced us to get off of it before it caught fire.

I've never been more grateful for a miracle in my life.

If you want to help Ryan and I replace our things, please feel free to make an on-line donation to our personal Paypal account: [email protected].

If you want to help the band replace gear you can make a donation at AddisonRoad.com.