6:08 a.m.

It's 6:08 a.m. on Saturday morning, the wind is howling, Ryan is snoring like a large animal, and I cannot sleep. For those of you who regularly get up at this time, 6:08 probably translates into 3:08 a.m. Too early to stay awake for the day, but just enough sleep that your brain tricks you into believing you are actually awake. So annoying. 

I've been sitting in Anniston's room rocking and talking to her. Ryan never, ever snores. It's only if he is in a deep, blissful, much, much needed sleep that this little monster snore comes out. That, or if he's half dead. Meaning his allergies are so bad he can't breath. After yesterday, I am not sure if he is in the deep, much-needed, coma sleep or if the large gasps for air he's making right now indicate that he might not make it another four hours with that nose of his. 
I should be in there monitoring his breathing patterns or something, I'm sure.  So, my first prayer is not to let him die on my watch... I would feel really guilty. Husband snores to death while wife escapes to her blog. 
We flew in late Thursday night from a pretty long writing trip in Nashville (marked by the death of a friend, intense writing sessions which I previously described in a blog, and bad allergies which keeps your head in a funny state... but good friends and food. Always good friends and food). Friday morning, yesterday, we woke up tired. Me because I'm elephant-size pregnant. Ryan because he was already thinking about all the work he had to do that day. Mainly, how to get all of our gear and merchandise out on the Rock and Worship Tour since we are flying to most of the shows. I woke up worrying that I might have new stretch marks and he wakes up worrying about band equipment. What's wrong with us? 
Worry is not a good way to start the day. 
But as of lunch time Ryan did not have to worry about band gear anymore because it was gone. 
He looked out the window to see where the van and trailer were parked (one of the guys had taken it to get some work done) but he didn't see it anywhere. The van that is. Or the trailer. He didn't think much of it at first because he figured they parked it somewhere else... but long story short... by the time I got home from lunch the police were here, Ryan and Jeff were in the parking lot looking a little stunned, and it settled in that our van and trailer had been stolen. 
Everything, literally, that we own is gone. Over $100,000 worth of stuff. Our livelihood. Just gone. And two weeks before we start the biggest tour we've ever been on. Eight weeks before I have a baby. And about eleven weeks before we start recording this new album that we are so passionate about. Everything. 
I think I almost went into labor. I for sure had a panic attack. I couldn't breath. Once I got past that I began to cry, but only for a little bit, and then we hit the ground running. We're all making phone calls to different people about borrowing instruments, filing reports, cancelling toll-tags, xm radio, credit card machines. It was a blur of a few hours but Ryan seemed euphorically on top of the world as he dealt with a million blows at once. Those are the moments you step back and look at your husband and are amazed at his abilities and strength. Had I forgotten? He was flawless. 
My job was to take care of the apartment/living side of things. This is our second theft from the parking lot. And including our mail box being broken into last year and the massive amounts of identity theft and money stolen then, this makes our third incident with the police. Third time's a charm, right? 
But we are so torn. We love our apartment and our area. I love my Starbucks, my parks, and being right next to both highways. I love Anniston's room. I love our apartment gym. And I feel safe here. Cars can get stolen anywhere, can't they? Especially vans and trailers that are loaded with valuables. It's not like we live in the slums of Mumbai or in some rough neighborhood in Queens or inner-city Los Angeles. Our neighbors are working families, multi-ethnic, many of them new to our country starting their lives over, and young couples. There are some crazy neighbors from time to time, but I assume all apartments have their share of screamers. 
Still, our families, friends, and everyone else with a voice on Facebook all have one opinion: Move! 
And I want to scream back in return, "I don't live in the ghetto! We are safe! Cars get stolen everywhere!"
It's hard to know whether that is pride screaming back or the truth. Truth is, we feel safe, and we like it here. But they have a point too. Three run-ins with crime is a bit much. Moving only seems logical. But this is the hurdle that has me awake right now. Do we move or not? 
6:58 a.m.
So here I am rocking, talking to Annie, and talking to God. 
What do we do God? I really don't know. It's not in the budget to move. Anywhere we go will cost more a month and we don't have more a month. And moves are expensive. It's not a good time to move. We have about 5 days at home over the next two weeks, then we are gone on this tour for about a month. And P.S. God, I'm pregnant. Like, elephant-size, 8 weeks left pregnant. 
I say that a lot now. P.S. God... I'm pregnant. As if he doesn't know. But just in case he's forgotten and that is why He is asking for so much of me, I figure I might remind him.
I'm a fixer. A perpetual, habitual, fixer. I like having answers, options, plans A-D or maybe F even. But I can't fix this because I don't know what to do. I'm at a total loss. 
So all I know to do right now is leave my snoring husband to come and pray. 
Make it clear Lord. Fix this. Give us wisdom. Please don't let me go into a stress induced labor. Help us. We are musicians and we don't even own guitar picks anymore. Our instruments are gone. Our albums, all of our merchandise, T-Shirts, posters, every way that we provide for ourselves has been stolen. Our van is gone. We can't even get to the show properly this week. Not that it matters, we have nothing to play. And moving, is it the wisest thing to do? How? How can it work? I have so many questions Lord. I know I can't fix this. Believe me, I've spent the last 6 hours tossing and turning and dreaming up solutions, but this is bigger than my solutions. I just don't have them this time. I need divine intervention. We need help. Guidance. And, I'm sorry for asking you to kill the people that stole our stuff in a tragic car wreck. That was bad. I kind of feel bad for them, wherever they are this morning. Whatever their story, I suppose they are yours. They had a conscience once, got desperate, and lost their humanity... but they are still your children. So, do whatever you would like with them. Tragic car accident is probably not the Godliest thing. Sorry about that. And I'd love some pancakes this morning. I mean, while we're talking, if you can put that on Ryan's heart first thing it would be great. Blueberry pancakes. 
You don't give us more than we can bear. So help us bear up underneath this. Please. Use this for your glory. Take credit for doing what we cannot do. Make streams in this desert...Isaiah 43 is my prayer today God because I don't know what else to pray. I just know to believe.  
Isaiah 43 and blueberry pancakes. 
Praying for mercy, wisdom, and a little more sleep even though the sun is out now...
your friend Jenny