Four Kids in the Suburbs and all

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My sister Melissa is one of my favorite people in the world. She is also one of the most funny people in the world. I mean, maybe this doesn't sound funny to you, but if you could only hear her say it, I promise you would be laughing and you would be in love... with her that is. Here is an excerpt from her blog today:

"Sorry for the long delay! I'm sure most of you thought Tim and I fell into the ocean and were eaten by angry dolphins, or maybe you thought Hawaii doesn't receive internet connection, that it is really like the TV show LOST and some evil weird guy named Ben is jamming all the satellite devices on the island. Well, the sad truth is, I've just fallen behind on life and I'm only beginning to catch up."

Angry dolphins? This cracked me up. Melissa has a great blog up today about Esther (and yes, my sister is like the most beautiful person in the world, so don't hate her, she can't help it). Check it out and leave her a comment if you get a chance. That will make her happy and it will surprise her (cause Lord knows she's about 6 months behind on this blog, so it really will be a surprise! Oh yay, I love this idea. Surprise Jenny's sister day! Lets leave her like 100 comments! I can't do this with my other sister though... she actually reads what I write! Thanks Miguel :)

***

I am sitting on the front porch of our recording studio in Franklin, Tennessee. The part of Franklin I am sitting in is part Pleasantville, part Bridges of Madison County, part Fried Green Tomatoes (please tell me you have watched this), and part Horse Whisperer. Beautiful. Wealthy. Classy. Refined. Lots of moms gathered at adorable tea parlors and pastry shops having coffee and then heading out, in their Range Rovers, for yoga class together. Not exactly the picture of middle class America. At least not the middle class America I come from.

And low and behold as I am taking in the richness of this beautiful moment two ghetto, souped-up, low-riding, bass thumping cars pull up at the stoplight in front of the studio. One car is red. One car is silver. They both rev up their engines, which is totally impolite to do in front of such beautiful fall leaves and refined lady folk in their fancy cars. Totally impolite. I worry these two cars are from opposite gangs. I worry they are about to spill their red blood into my very beautiful, black and white, Pleasantville movie scene.

Then in an unexpected moment of ghetto chivalry, the low-riding thugs who apparently did not know one another exchanged polite waves to each other. It was so cute. Even the thugs are classy here. I love this place.

***

One of my best friends, Kim, has a great blog up today. I have been wanting to tell you guys about Kim and I for some time now. She showed up out of no where like a long lost relative, made herself at home in my life, and pursued me with the intensity of a Mark Kay lady. (No offense Mark Kay ladies. I love ya. I'd love you a whole lot more if someone could get me a sample of that lip stuff that makes all the dead things go away and promises to make you the bestest, most kissable lipped person in the world).

Kim has four kids, a smarty-pants husband (who, by the way, is a really amazing husband), three sisters, a mom, and a cat. Ok. No cat. But it sounded really good right there. The truth is, Kim and I technically shouldn't be good friends. She is older than me and has a 12 year old. I am younger than her and barely know how to keep my newborn alive. We live in different cities. We go to different churches. We have different circles of friends. We have different hobbies.

But one December, after I was ready to give up on music, my marriage, and my faith I sat down with God and told him I was tired. I asked him for help. Begged him for a friend. A mentor. A spiritual counselor. Someone who had enough time to keep up with me on the road, who had enough energy to encourage me and love me, who had enough courage to confront me, who had a desire to pour into me the same amount of time and passion I was pouring out on those around me. Someone I didn't have to hassle or please or beg or do anything for... they could just step in and be something for me because they wanted to. It was a tall order. But I needed tangible, sacrificial love from someone down here on earth. I told God it was a deal breaker. Among many other deal breakers, this was at the top of the list.

And a few days later this (lady/girl/woman, I wasn't sure how to define her?) that I vaguely knew from an old church I led worship at wrote me an email. I still have it printed out and saved in my forever box. Out of no where she wrote and said, "Jenny, this sounds crazy, but I think I am supposed to be your friend." She went on to say she thought I needed support, love, prayer, a mentor, an encourager, someone who would pour into me the way I poured into others and someone who just did so without even being asked to. Y'all word for word, out of NO WHERE, Kim wrote me an email that, methodically and in-detail answered every single thing I had begged the Lord for.

We have been amazing friends ever since. The first year she sort of nursed me back to health. And hopefully the second year I have just been her equal and been able to pour into her and give her a few of the things she has given me. Had you asked me three years ago if I would ever have good, lifelong, life-giving friends I would have said... "nobody likes me, everybody hates me (or uses me or doesn't know that I even need anything or they are just lazy friends), I guess I'll go and eat worms." I would have never said, "Yes, I am going to have amazing people in my life and be best friends with a mom who has four kids."

Let's be honest, I would have thought that might be sort of lame. Nope. It's just the way it is supposed to be. I am best friends with a mom who has four kid. She sort of feels like my sister. Sometimes my mom. Sometimes my friend. Sometimes my pastor. She wears a lot of hats.

And that whole long story came up just because I wanted you to know that she has a really good blog up today.

Kim and Leon have started a Sunday morning breakfast club for the kids in their neighborhood (kids who really need the love they are not getting at home). This blog details her journey.

Kim might not ever live in Africa, she might not ever adopt orphans, she may not do the things you or I would associate with someone who is on a completely selfless, monk-like, Mother Theresa journey, in some foreign land... but she is one of the only moms I've ever met that just takes her kids, on a regular basis, to find homeless people so they can give them water, blankets, and some extra clothes from around the house.

Kim is one of the only ladies I know that stuck with a church that was literally dying; not because it was the place that best met her needs or provided the greatest programs for her children, but because they felt God calling them to stay... calling them to be a part of making it better.

Kim sits outside, during her precious free-time (which means she has to wake up earlier or go to bed later to get things done) so she can play mom to a bunch of girls in the neighborhood who really need the love of a mom.

Kim give me her extra shopping money so I can go buy "concert clothes." She could be using it for herself, her house, her kids, any number of things, but she gives it to me because she wants me to feel confidant on stage (and knows I'm too broke to get new stuff!).

Kim reminds me, and hopefully she will remind you, that if you seek to live each day thoughtfully, it doesn't matter where you are or who you are (or how flawed you might be as she will attest she is not a perfect lady), God can use you to be a part of what He is doing. Through her simple story of starting a breakfast club and inviting the neighborhood kids over for pancakes, crafts, and dance time I was convicted.

It's just so simple.

Living beyond yourself. Pouring into others. It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a saint. If you choose to partner with the nudgings of God's very spirit you can make a lasting difference in people's lives. You can be a catalyst. God can use you.

Four kids in the suburbs and all.

Four Kids in the Suburbs and all

/

My sister Melissa is one of my favorite people in the world. She is also one of the most funny people in the world. I mean, maybe this doesn't sound funny to you, but if you could only hear her say it, I promise you would be laughing and you would be in love... with her that is. Here is an excerpt from her blog today:

"Sorry for the long delay! I'm sure most of you thought Tim and I fell into the ocean and were eaten by angry dolphins, or maybe you thought Hawaii doesn't receive internet connection, that it is really like the TV show LOST and some evil weird guy named Ben is jamming all the satellite devices on the island. Well, the sad truth is, I've just fallen behind on life and I'm only beginning to catch up."

Angry dolphins? This cracked me up. Melissa has a great blog up today about Esther (and yes, my sister is like the most beautiful person in the world, so don't hate her, she can't help it). Check it out and leave her a comment if you get a chance. That will make her happy and it will surprise her (cause Lord knows she's about 6 months behind on this blog, so it really will be a surprise! Oh yay, I love this idea. Surprise Jenny's sister day! Lets leave her like 100 comments! I can't do this with my other sister though... she actually reads what I write! Thanks Miguel :)

***

I am sitting on the front porch of our recording studio in Franklin, Tennessee. The part of Franklin I am sitting in is part Pleasantville, part Bridges of Madison County, part Fried Green Tomatoes (please tell me you have watched this), and part Horse Whisperer. Beautiful. Wealthy. Classy. Refined. Lots of moms gathered at adorable tea parlors and pastry shops having coffee and then heading out, in their Range Rovers, for yoga class together. Not exactly the picture of middle class America. At least not the middle class America I come from.

And low and behold as I am taking in the richness of this beautiful moment two ghetto, souped-up, low-riding, bass thumping cars pull up at the stoplight in front of the studio. One car is red. One car is silver. They both rev up their engines, which is totally impolite to do in front of such beautiful fall leaves and refined lady folk in their fancy cars. Totally impolite. I worry these two cars are from opposite gangs. I worry they are about to spill their red blood into my very beautiful, black and white, Pleasantville movie scene.

Then in an unexpected moment of ghetto chivalry, the low-riding thugs who apparently did not know one another exchanged polite waves to each other. It was so cute. Even the thugs are classy here. I love this place.

***

One of my best friends, Kim, has a great blog up today. I have been wanting to tell you guys about Kim and I for some time now. She showed up out of no where like a long lost relative, made herself at home in my life, and pursued me with the intensity of a Mark Kay lady. (No offense Mark Kay ladies. I love ya. I'd love you a whole lot more if someone could get me a sample of that lip stuff that makes all the dead things go away and promises to make you the bestest, most kissable lipped person in the world).

Kim has four kids, a smarty-pants husband (who, by the way, is a really amazing husband), three sisters, a mom, and a cat. Ok. No cat. But it sounded really good right there. The truth is, Kim and I technically shouldn't be good friends. She is older than me and has a 12 year old. I am younger than her and barely know how to keep my newborn alive. We live in different cities. We go to different churches. We have different circles of friends. We have different hobbies.

But one December, after I was ready to give up on music, my marriage, and my faith I sat down with God and told him I was tired. I asked him for help. Begged him for a friend. A mentor. A spiritual counselor. Someone who had enough time to keep up with me on the road, who had enough energy to encourage me and love me, who had enough courage to confront me, who had a desire to pour into me the same amount of time and passion I was pouring out on those around me. Someone I didn't have to hassle or please or beg or do anything for... they could just step in and be something for me because they wanted to. It was a tall order. But I needed tangible, sacrificial love from someone down here on earth. I told God it was a deal breaker. Among many other deal breakers, this was at the top of the list.

And a few days later this (lady/girl/woman, I wasn't sure how to define her?) that I vaguely knew from an old church I led worship at wrote me an email. I still have it printed out and saved in my forever box. Out of no where she wrote and said, "Jenny, this sounds crazy, but I think I am supposed to be your friend." She went on to say she thought I needed support, love, prayer, a mentor, an encourager, someone who would pour into me the way I poured into others and someone who just did so without even being asked to. Y'all word for word, out of NO WHERE, Kim wrote me an email that, methodically and in-detail answered every single thing I had begged the Lord for.

We have been amazing friends ever since. The first year she sort of nursed me back to health. And hopefully the second year I have just been her equal and been able to pour into her and give her a few of the things she has given me. Had you asked me three years ago if I would ever have good, lifelong, life-giving friends I would have said... "nobody likes me, everybody hates me (or uses me or doesn't know that I even need anything or they are just lazy friends), I guess I'll go and eat worms." I would have never said, "Yes, I am going to have amazing people in my life and be best friends with a mom who has four kids."

Let's be honest, I would have thought that might be sort of lame. Nope. It's just the way it is supposed to be. I am best friends with a mom who has four kid. She sort of feels like my sister. Sometimes my mom. Sometimes my friend. Sometimes my pastor. She wears a lot of hats.

And that whole long story came up just because I wanted you to know that she has a really good blog up today.

Kim and Leon have started a Sunday morning breakfast club for the kids in their neighborhood (kids who really need the love they are not getting at home). This blog details her journey.

Kim might not ever live in Africa, she might not ever adopt orphans, she may not do the things you or I would associate with someone who is on a completely selfless, monk-like, Mother Theresa journey, in some foreign land... but she is one of the only moms I've ever met that just takes her kids, on a regular basis, to find homeless people so they can give them water, blankets, and some extra clothes from around the house.

Kim is one of the only ladies I know that stuck with a church that was literally dying; not because it was the place that best met her needs or provided the greatest programs for her children, but because they felt God calling them to stay... calling them to be a part of making it better.

Kim sits outside, during her precious free-time (which means she has to wake up earlier or go to bed later to get things done) so she can play mom to a bunch of girls in the neighborhood who really need the love of a mom.

Kim give me her extra shopping money so I can go buy "concert clothes." She could be using it for herself, her house, her kids, any number of things, but she gives it to me because she wants me to feel confidant on stage (and knows I'm too broke to get new stuff!).

Kim reminds me, and hopefully she will remind you, that if you seek to live each day thoughtfully, it doesn't matter where you are or who you are (or how flawed you might be as she will attest she is not a perfect lady), God can use you to be a part of what He is doing. Through her simple story of starting a breakfast club and inviting the neighborhood kids over for pancakes, crafts, and dance time I was convicted.

It's just so simple.

Living beyond yourself. Pouring into others. It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a saint. If you choose to partner with the nudgings of God's very spirit you can make a lasting difference in people's lives. You can be a catalyst. God can use you.

Four kids in the suburbs and all.

Monday

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This past week has about sent me into early retirement. Here's what it looked like.

Monday.

We flew home that morning (after an amazing weekend of shows with the people of Indiana) and hit the ground running. Ryan and I had so much work to do that we drove an hour away to his parent’s house so that they could watch Annie while we got our “computer” jobs done.

Annie was not down for this drive. Not after an airplane ride and two car rides the day before which left her in the car seat for close to five hours. Nope. She was having no part of this.

She went ballistic.

Ryan jumped in the back seat to soothe her.

She gave him the stink eye.

She continued her high-pitched squealy scream.

We gave in. We pulled over in a stuffy, upscale shopping center and we looked like worn-down airplane rats (gypsies if you will). Ryan went into Smoothie King to ask for free water and I held our dirty, angry, crying baby outside on the bench in the Texas heat.

The rich ladies looked at me. I pulled out the pour-n-go packet of formula from my bag, whipped up a bottle, and began to calm this little person down. Just when it got quiet, I heard a buzz. Then another buzz. Then lots of buzzes.

This bench was like a rich person’s house… only meant for looking at. It was surrounded by big potted plants and needed a sign that read, “Warning: This bench is just meant to be looked at and not actually sat upon. In reality, we don’t want you sitting in front of our stores anyways. That’s why the bench is surrounded by an entire rainforest of plants, shrubs, bushes, and flowers. And, just in case you don’t get the hint, we’ve planted three beehives and wasp colonies to ensure you don’t sit here. But thank you for visiting our shops. Really, we are happy that you came our way today.”

I was sitting in a bee colony. And this is a moment, as a parent, you are trying not to scream like a little girl…no, you are trying to stay calm and not instill fear in your kids (The way my mom did with us when my dad was working night shifts as a police officer. “What was that noise? Did you hear that? Girls, be quiet! Jenny you get a knife from the kitchen. Melissa you grab the phone. Sarah, you stay under your covers.” Wow. Thanks lady. I’m still dealing with anxiety attacks and reaching for butcher knives). So, as calmly as I could, I brought Annie up to my chest, held her tight, buried her eyes into my arms so she couldn’t see…

Then I screamed like a little girl, bolted from the bench, and opened up the door to the first store and ran in. Literally, I ran in.

I was panting. I’ve got a baby and a bottle in one arm, an ugly purse and drool running down the other arm, no make-up, and we look like airplane rats. Now I’m in some high-end swanky boutique with really cute clothes that, I tell myself, I could have fit into long before the stretch marks. That is, if I could’ve afforded them. “Stop Jenny. No room for self-defeat right now.”

The two gorgeous college girls with boob jobs, blonde hair, and awesome outfits that were working there just sort of looked at me. No welcome or anything.

What? I can shop in your stupid store. In this moment I wish I had a $1,000 to drop just to make a point. Stupid point, I know. But dang I wanted to make it.

So, I strolled around (in my sweats, hair falling into my face, still feeding my baby with a petrified look that should’ve let everyone know I was just barely attacked by the wasps that live on their fake-not-for-real-people-to-sit-on bench) looking intently at each piece of clothing and stitching as if I were the master of their universe and I had every intention of purchasing something real nice (again, spoken as Eddie from Christmas Vacation). As if I were intentionally planning on getting out of the house that day to go to their store. As if I have so much money and so much class that I don’t even care how I go into a store, I just go when and how I please.

I was tempted to have them set up a fitting room for me and order the finest clothes sent there for my approval. But then I remembered how exhausted I was. I just needed to get this baby fed and get on with the trip.

“Hum. Perhaps next time I will buy something from you ladies,” I said in my head. I scanned the store over with my eyes, giving it a look of disdain. And then in my Meryl Streep, Devil Wears Prada, voice I said to them in my head, “That will be all.” And I left.

Tuesday and Wednesday

/

I am skipping over the rest of Monday night. Like the massage I got out of desperation from the only woman giving a massage in that town at that time of the night. She worked from a building where I am quite sure people actually go into just so they can smoke. Maybe it’s backwards there. They work outside and come inside for a smoke. I am not sure. But I was sick within minutes from the smell and totally stressed out. Woman, I am coming to you for healing but I am leaving with second hand smoke lung cancer. All I could see were those tar commercials from the 80’s with the little shriveled dying lungs, little dancing carcinogens, and I could here the song that my friend Jeff sings that he learned in first grade, “We are the smoke-free class of 2000, two triple zero, everyone’s a hero.” I started feeling cancerous instantly. I should’ve left but I felt bad.

And, in the nicest but most honest way I know how to say it, it was like getting a massage from a sumo-wrestler. It took every ounce of energy and will power to doze off and not pay attention to the fact that my head or foot or whatever body part she was working on seemed to disappear somewhere within her rolls and rolls and rolls of skin. Nope. That was not four layers of armpit just swishing back and forth over my forehead; it was a very heavy raincloud, so go back to sleep.

So Tuesday and Wednesday?

Tuesday and Wednesday we did one final round of songwriting for the album that, yes, we start recording on Monday morning. This lasted all day long. Ryan watched Annie. I expended the last little bits of brainpower that I had on songs that will probably not even make it onto the album. I felt done, you know, with life in general. I just wanted Oprah and ice cream. Instead, I went home and watched Annie so Ryan could take a break and get his work done.

Exhausting. We were both worn out.