Calamities

I have shingles.

Did you know that you could be 29 years old and get the shingles? Jeff diagnosed me. No offense to the doctors of the world, but with WebMD, we are not only musicians, we are highly skilled practitioners of medicine as well. My aunt is going to kill me for saying that.

Anyways, apparently shingles happen in older people, people with weakened immune systems, or people under "extreme duress." I think that last word is Latin for really stressed out.

So I got the classic shingles rash on my lower back. Then my ribs started aching. Then it hurt to put on my clothes. Then the rash moved to my stomach but stayed on the left hand side of my body. Then it felt like I had been stampeded by longhorn and wolves (wolves are fast so I imagine they hurt real bad once they run over you that fast). And now it just feels like I have the flu, the kind of flu where it hurts to put your clothes on flu. With my luck... probably swine flu.

If you keep up with the band you know that we have had, yet another, incredible streak of bad luck. The guys hit a huge oak tree that had fallen into the middle of a windy, twisty, 2-lane country road. It was midnight, after a show, and it was raining. When I saw the pictures and they showed me what part of the road it happened on, I felt sick. They were in two cars. The van, and the little car behind them. If the little car would have gone first, they would have been really, really hurt. Maybe worse. It was that bad.

So, a week before we start a tour with Sanctus Real the van is totaled and we have no way to make it to our 17 shows. Right now the bill for the van is at about $6,000 which insurance will cover most of; but the bill for renting another van is about $3,000. Our fans, friends, and family are helping raise money on the Addison Road website to get us back out on the road and continue doing our ministry and music. You can go to our website if you want to help out.

And I...

I am just laughing. I mean, what else can you do?

The weekend before our last big tour with Mercy Me and Jeremy Camp, the entire van and trailer were stolen! This time around they are totaled! I have shingles. Ryan blew his back out and has not been able to really walk all week. We have both been at doctors, limpin' around like we got no teeth and have lost our hearing. There is a call from a collection agency on Monday because somehow I missed one of Annie's hospital bills, that I swear I have never seen, and now we owe some really mean people in Ohio lots of money we didn't know about and now our credit will probably never recover and now we will have to live in a Winnebago down by the river...

I also missed an interview this past week. Not once. Not twice. But three times in a row with the same couple and I am pretty sure I have been officially blackballed in the state of New York. I'm sorry. That one maybe makes me feel a little more awful than the other things. To stand people up... on accident... but still, ugh, I hate being irresponsible.

And in the midst of all of this, all I can do is laugh. And then cry. And then cuss. And then lay in bed and eat ice cream. And then start the cycle all over again. I have said it previously, but it has just been a long, long month. I can usually take punches pretty well; but sometimes the other guy has to let you up for air before he continues.

So...

I did what I had to do. I called a counselor in town that only sees christian artists and their families and said, "I need help." They saw me right away. I asked my friends and church back home for prayer. Intense, "God, please help George Bailey," prayer. I went to the doctor for an official shingles diagnosis and got the medicine. And I made myself stop. One morning I just skipped a writing session and went and sat down with me, myself, and God and just got still. I decided to cancel writing sessions for the rest of the week. I took a nap or two. I held Annie more than usual. And I simply decided... I will value myself enough to take care of myself. If I am so stressed about money and the curve balls life is throwing us that I have the freakin shingles... there is a problem.

My life is too precious for such a waste of toxic energy.

So, in an effort to de-stress, to let go, to welcome in joy, to trust, I mean really TRUST that the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want... I am counting the quite small, beautiful moments tonight that shine bigger and scream louder than that other garbage.

*I had the most fun radio interview yesterday with Wally at Way FM Nashville; he makes me laugh. I love good DJ's. And there are a lot of them out there.

*The leaves are turning colors and people in Franklin, Tennessee have big pumpkins out everywhere. I love pumpkins.

*The people in Las Vegas, Nevada last weekend were amazing. Kind, hard working, and genuinely sincere. We met two great sisters, Natalee and Kimberly, who came to our hotel on Sunday to watch Annie for a few hours so we could go swimming. I love swimming. And I love good babysitters.

*My pastor and his wife are taking Ryan and I to see the Dallas Cowboys on Monday. Enough said. I love Monday Night football.

*Annie has learned how to roll off of her little mattress on the ground this week. She ends up in the bathroom or hallway before I find her and she looks like a little squirmy, dying cockroach. She cries like a dying cat and when I go and find her and tell her I am there, her eyes pop open. And she has the biggest, most beautiful grin on her face. Even at 3:00 a.m. when she has rolled out of her little room and down the hall... I swear she is an angel. I love that kid.

*Someone stuck up for me this week, which meant I didn't have to. Or at least didn't want to as badly. It always feels good to know someone loves you enough to say, "Hey, back off, nobody asked your opinion."

*In less than 24 hours people from all over the country and even Canada have almost sent the band enough money to help us rent a van so we can make it on tour next week. Some people send $5... and this means a lot to me. It means they have little, but they are still doing something, and to me, that is beautiful. I don't care how little it is; when God lays something on our hearts, whether it is Katie or your next door neighbor or the dude on the street corner... something is better than nothing. I believe God honors that. I love people who do something.

* I am completely in love with the band Need to Breathe. Their CD and their live show make me happy to be an artist.

The new Donald Miller book is out; it is getting so close to all the fun things fall; I am 28 1/2 years old and it is almost my birthday; an amazing girl who I have not even thanked yet wanted to do something sweet for me and is sending me to a spa to get my hair done by a real person (yay, yay, yay!!!! I CANNOT wait); Annie is going to spend the night with her grandparents this week so Ryan and I can have a break; in three nights I will be in my bed for the first time in a month; tons of people are raising money for sweet Katie and the orphans and malnourished children in her Ugandan village; God has given me humor, health, and renewal, sweet, desperate renewal; my parents are planning a big family trip to see my sister in Hawaii over Christmas; I am about to introduce my baby girl to my Mamaw and Grandparents and they will see with their own eyes their beautiful legacy and I will be able to tell them how grateful I am for the family they brought into this world... Cupcakes, Sprinkles, and Other Happy Things; my friends, good things abound every where.

Life is good. Well, not really. Really, life is not good. It is so hard right now. And I have cried every tear under the sun. But, thank you God that you make all things new. I run, yet I do not grow weary. Well, at least not weary enough to simply kill over and die.

I walk through the waters and rivers, but I do not drown. I get that water up my nose and it burns like I laughed to0 hard and sucked diet coke up my schnauzer; but I don't drown.

I go through the fire, but then, in the flames I look and see that there is someone else in the flames with me. And neither of us are burned or consumed.

For you, my gracious savior are with me. You are the Holy one. You know me. You call me by name. You have given things and sacrificed greatly so that, I, your child, may bring you and you alone glory in the midst of my suffering. So that you may be praised... you make streams in the desert and you make a way in the wasteland. Even if the stream is a pretty fall pumpkin or a little baby that inches herself around the house in her sleep like a dying cockroach. You bring beauty from my ashes and introduce joy into my suffering. You put a smile on my face when despair is fighting to win my attention. You put perspective in my heart when I am feeling overwhelmed. My own paraphrase of Isaiah 43.

And you faithfully, oh so faithfully, send people into my life that speak your words of hope over me at just the right moment (that moment is usually about two minutes before I sit all the guys down to tell them I am quitting to be a real mom, English teacher, and perhaps cheer leading coach who has her nights and weekends free. It is usually one moment before I say to God, "Thanks but no thanks. You got the wrong girl. And I got the wrong God. This sucks. I'm out." And it is usually a few moments after another blow...or before another blow... or during another blow... it is constant) He finds me and reminds me of His Holiness at just the right moment. He reminds me that He is neither dead nor fictional; He is the very breath that keeps me going and gives me reason to exist.

Your love is all consuming when the world seeks to consume me.

So tonight, I am grateful for simple, little, silk threads of hope and light that dangle in front of my eyes and whisper in my ears as I climb a mountain and trudge a valley that I have never been in before...

Oh but HE HAS. He has met me here. And he will meet you where you are too. In fact, I promise he has gone before you, made a way, and waits to welcome you upon arrival.

Maybe with a lei. That's what he would do in Hawaii.

Calamities

I have shingles.

Did you know that you could be 29 years old and get the shingles? Jeff diagnosed me. No offense to the doctors of the world, but with WebMD, we are not only musicians, we are highly skilled practitioners of medicine as well. My aunt is going to kill me for saying that.

Anyways, apparently shingles happen in older people, people with weakened immune systems, or people under "extreme duress." I think that last word is Latin for really stressed out.

So I got the classic shingles rash on my lower back. Then my ribs started aching. Then it hurt to put on my clothes. Then the rash moved to my stomach but stayed on the left hand side of my body. Then it felt like I had been stampeded by longhorn and wolves (wolves are fast so I imagine they hurt real bad once they run over you that fast). And now it just feels like I have the flu, the kind of flu where it hurts to put your clothes on flu. With my luck... probably swine flu.

If you keep up with the band you know that we have had, yet another, incredible streak of bad luck. The guys hit a huge oak tree that had fallen into the middle of a windy, twisty, 2-lane country road. It was midnight, after a show, and it was raining. When I saw the pictures and they showed me what part of the road it happened on, I felt sick. They were in two cars. The van, and the little car behind them. If the little car would have gone first, they would have been really, really hurt. Maybe worse. It was that bad.

So, a week before we start a tour with Sanctus Real the van is totaled and we have no way to make it to our 17 shows. Right now the bill for the van is at about $6,000 which insurance will cover most of; but the bill for renting another van is about $3,000. Our fans, friends, and family are helping raise money on the Addison Road website to get us back out on the road and continue doing our ministry and music. You can go to our website if you want to help out.

And I...

I am just laughing. I mean, what else can you do?

The weekend before our last big tour with Mercy Me and Jeremy Camp, the entire van and trailer were stolen! This time around they are totaled! I have shingles. Ryan blew his back out and has not been able to really walk all week. We have both been at doctors, limpin' around like we got no teeth and have lost our hearing. There is a call from a collection agency on Monday because somehow I missed one of Annie's hospital bills, that I swear I have never seen, and now we owe some really mean people in Ohio lots of money we didn't know about and now our credit will probably never recover and now we will have to live in a Winnebago down by the river...

I also missed an interview this past week. Not once. Not twice. But three times in a row with the same couple and I am pretty sure I have been officially blackballed in the state of New York. I'm sorry. That one maybe makes me feel a little more awful than the other things. To stand people up... on accident... but still, ugh, I hate being irresponsible.

And in the midst of all of this, all I can do is laugh. And then cry. And then cuss. And then lay in bed and eat ice cream. And then start the cycle all over again. I have said it previously, but it has just been a long, long month. I can usually take punches pretty well; but sometimes the other guy has to let you up for air before he continues.

So...

I did what I had to do. I called a counselor in town that only sees christian artists and their families and said, "I need help." They saw me right away. I asked my friends and church back home for prayer. Intense, "God, please help George Bailey," prayer. I went to the doctor for an official shingles diagnosis and got the medicine. And I made myself stop. One morning I just skipped a writing session and went and sat down with me, myself, and God and just got still. I decided to cancel writing sessions for the rest of the week. I took a nap or two. I held Annie more than usual. And I simply decided... I will value myself enough to take care of myself. If I am so stressed about money and the curve balls life is throwing us that I have the freakin shingles... there is a problem.

My life is too precious for such a waste of toxic energy.

So, in an effort to de-stress, to let go, to welcome in joy, to trust, I mean really TRUST that the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want... I am counting the quite small, beautiful moments tonight that shine bigger and scream louder than that other garbage.

*I had the most fun radio interview yesterday with Wally at Way FM Nashville; he makes me laugh. I love good DJ's. And there are a lot of them out there.

*The leaves are turning colors and people in Franklin, Tennessee have big pumpkins out everywhere. I love pumpkins.

*The people in Las Vegas, Nevada last weekend were amazing. Kind, hard working, and genuinely sincere. We met two great sisters, Natalee and Kimberly, who came to our hotel on Sunday to watch Annie for a few hours so we could go swimming. I love swimming. And I love good babysitters.

*My pastor and his wife are taking Ryan and I to see the Dallas Cowboys on Monday. Enough said. I love Monday Night football.

*Annie has learned how to roll off of her little mattress on the ground this week. She ends up in the bathroom or hallway before I find her and she looks like a little squirmy, dying cockroach. She cries like a dying cat and when I go and find her and tell her I am there, her eyes pop open. And she has the biggest, most beautiful grin on her face. Even at 3:00 a.m. when she has rolled out of her little room and down the hall... I swear she is an angel. I love that kid.

*Someone stuck up for me this week, which meant I didn't have to. Or at least didn't want to as badly. It always feels good to know someone loves you enough to say, "Hey, back off, nobody asked your opinion."

*In less than 24 hours people from all over the country and even Canada have almost sent the band enough money to help us rent a van so we can make it on tour next week. Some people send $5... and this means a lot to me. It means they have little, but they are still doing something, and to me, that is beautiful. I don't care how little it is; when God lays something on our hearts, whether it is Katie or your next door neighbor or the dude on the street corner... something is better than nothing. I believe God honors that. I love people who do something.

* I am completely in love with the band Need to Breathe. Their CD and their live show make me happy to be an artist.

The new Donald Miller book is out; it is getting so close to all the fun things fall; I am 28 1/2 years old and it is almost my birthday; an amazing girl who I have not even thanked yet wanted to do something sweet for me and is sending me to a spa to get my hair done by a real person (yay, yay, yay!!!! I CANNOT wait); Annie is going to spend the night with her grandparents this week so Ryan and I can have a break; in three nights I will be in my bed for the first time in a month; tons of people are raising money for sweet Katie and the orphans and malnourished children in her Ugandan village; God has given me humor, health, and renewal, sweet, desperate renewal; my parents are planning a big family trip to see my sister in Hawaii over Christmas; I am about to introduce my baby girl to my Mamaw and Grandparents and they will see with their own eyes their beautiful legacy and I will be able to tell them how grateful I am for the family they brought into this world... Cupcakes, Sprinkles, and Other Happy Things; my friends, good things abound every where.

Life is good. Well, not really. Really, life is not good. It is so hard right now. And I have cried every tear under the sun. But, thank you God that you make all things new. I run, yet I do not grow weary. Well, at least not weary enough to simply kill over and die.

I walk through the waters and rivers, but I do not drown. I get that water up my nose and it burns like I laughed to0 hard and sucked diet coke up my schnauzer; but I don't drown.

I go through the fire, but then, in the flames I look and see that there is someone else in the flames with me. And neither of us are burned or consumed.

For you, my gracious savior are with me. You are the Holy one. You know me. You call me by name. You have given things and sacrificed greatly so that, I, your child, may bring you and you alone glory in the midst of my suffering. So that you may be praised... you make streams in the desert and you make a way in the wasteland. Even if the stream is a pretty fall pumpkin or a little baby that inches herself around the house in her sleep like a dying cockroach. You bring beauty from my ashes and introduce joy into my suffering. You put a smile on my face when despair is fighting to win my attention. You put perspective in my heart when I am feeling overwhelmed. My own paraphrase of Isaiah 43.

And you faithfully, oh so faithfully, send people into my life that speak your words of hope over me at just the right moment (that moment is usually about two minutes before I sit all the guys down to tell them I am quitting to be a real mom, English teacher, and perhaps cheer leading coach who has her nights and weekends free. It is usually one moment before I say to God, "Thanks but no thanks. You got the wrong girl. And I got the wrong God. This sucks. I'm out." And it is usually a few moments after another blow...or before another blow... or during another blow... it is constant) He finds me and reminds me of His Holiness at just the right moment. He reminds me that He is neither dead nor fictional; He is the very breath that keeps me going and gives me reason to exist.

Your love is all consuming when the world seeks to consume me.

So tonight, I am grateful for simple, little, silk threads of hope and light that dangle in front of my eyes and whisper in my ears as I climb a mountain and trudge a valley that I have never been in before...

Oh but HE HAS. He has met me here. And he will meet you where you are too. In fact, I promise he has gone before you, made a way, and waits to welcome you upon arrival.

Maybe with a lei. That's what he would do in Hawaii.

All in a Days Work

It is 11:52 p.m. Nashville time and I just wrote an amazing worship song with Phil Whickam.

Let me back up…

I woke up at 4:19 a.m. this morning in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Annie was ready to eat and it didn’t much matter because the alarm was set for 4:30 a.m. anyways. I fed her and fell back asleep for seven minutes. Seven minutes of deep, intense sleep. This made the next round of wake ups miserable. I felt sick to my stomach. I hated the world.

We got out the door and to the airport in record time.

As I pulled out my laptop to go through security I realized… wait… there is no laptop.

I can’t help that my laptop is smarter than me. It was still asleep. On the desk. In the hotel. Lucky dog getting to sleep in like that. It is flying to Nashville tomorrow. At least I hope. I was too cheap to pay the extra ten dollars to have it insured… so; I hope it flying to Nashville tomorrow.

Back to the airport. Can we just take a moment to talk about the Las Vegas airport?

I’d rather hitchhike to Vegas naked and barefoot, walking over cactus plants and hopping a ride in a horse trailer or paddy wagon than go into that place again. It is a zoo. A loud, clangy, gaudy, cheap-o cacophony of advertisements, loud music, really amazing trashy outfits lining lots of no-name-stores, cigarette smoke, and mean security guards. It is a nightmare for babies who are stimulated easily. Ok, it was a nightmare for me. It was like being in one of those creepy fun houses where the mirrors make you look extra short and extra fat, the strobe lights flash in red and purple, the floor shuffles under your feet and the only way out is to go through a series of mazes, kiss a clown, and find a candy-cane slide that eventually dumps you out into a pit full of colored balls.

There is nothing fun about using seven tickets on that.

The Las Vegas airport is a final beacon of hope for the down and out who have whittled their money away on slot machines that make no logical sense (because they just sit there and flash pineapples and grapes and number 7’s and dollar signs and three bars and then two bars and then no bars and then the machine just stops after about ten seconds and says, “Game over. I took your money you moron.” And then I feel guilty for wasting three dollars.). I hate those machines. And the airport is full of them. That’s just my first qualm.

On Monday mornings, I would venture to say, the Las Vegas airport has more hung over people than any other place in the world.

People are straight up looking like death. Some of them tripping on themselves. Some with eyes glazed over. Some of them just stink like dingy cigarettes, swimming pool chlorine, and casino funk. Most people look angry. Cause let’s be honest… most people don’t win a darn thing. And most people are like little time bombs waiting for the next TSA agent to make them explode.

“I WILL not take off my shoes, I already sold my shoes to the devil this weekend. I have no shoes to give you.”

And Monday morning, everyone is going back to work. The place is packed with hung-over, broke, exhausted people going back to the real world.

I only thought Orlando was bad. All those poor kids having Mickey Mouse withdrawals and parents licking their $1,000 theme-park wounds. And then you add to it all the grandparents who tag along so they can give mom and dad a break but really just end up slowing down the whole joint cause their knee caps are flaring up and that rain just messes with their hair and they can’t eat breakfast for a reasonable price so they just aren’t eating at all (FDR would have never let prices inflate like that). Orlando is a doozy of an airport if you are not fully sucked into all things Disney, because then it just feels like a bunch of deranged family units on the brink of self-implosion. You have to be coming to or from Disney to have sympathy for all the crazy kin running around that airport.

But Vegas makes Orlando look like a Buddhist monastery.

And after all of that…

I am glad to be home in Nashville.

We are living in our manager’s downstairs home. He and his wife built their house with other people in mind; they are the most generous people I have ever known with their belongings. The downstairs house is for artists, family, or really anyone who needs a place to stay. We have our own kitchen, washer and dryer, master bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets. It feels like my house. I have a playroom set up for Annie; I am completely unpacked into the dresser drawers; and I even have my own shelf in the fridge. Pretty amazing actually. I’ve been here before when there were 17 people staying throughout the house. Most of the time Scott and Stacey don’t even know when people will pop over to use the pool, basketball court, the porch swings for meditation, the inside gym, or the fire pit for smores. It is just known throughout the community that whoever wants to be here can be here. It truly is community living.

And most of the time you will find one or two or three of his artist or band’s living downstairs or throughout the house.

The next few days we are living here alongside of Phil Whickam.

We all went to dinner tonight and then went our separate ways. I fed Annie and got her to bed. I was winding down myself. 4:19 a.m. was creeping up on me and I was on my last wind. Putting away laundry and then calling it quits.

And that’s when Brickell came down (Imagine a big, grizzly bear of a man. About 6’3? 6’5? I don’t know. A big, big man with a low, intimidating voice. Who also, by the way, gives the best hugs at the most perfect moments) and said, “Come on.”

Not a lot of room to say no. And you don’t really say no to him if you don’t have to.

So Ryan Gregg and I followed him upstairs and Brickell said, “Y’all want to write a song or what?”

And we did.

Here’s how song writing went down with Addison Road and Phil Whickam…

Phil: What do you want to write about?

Me: I want to write an amazing worship song so I don’t have to steal yours all the time.

Phil: Ohhhh, go on, go on. Okay. What is the theme?

Me: Well, I’ve been thinking about this scripture a lot.

Phil: Read it to me.

Me: I read it to him.

Phil: Yeah, yeah, I love that. I love that passage.

Me: Can we write it this way? Glimpses of stories and people from the Bible, but without being cheesy or sounding like an excerpt from the Old Testament? But still saying that God was who he was back then and still IS now. I’ve always really, really wanted to do that. But I don’t really know how to. You know, to like incorporate the history of our faith into a song?

Phil: Yeah, that’s hard, but we should do it. Why not? Lets do it. What about…

you were there when…

He starts to strum and a beautiful, perfect melody just flows out. We start spouting out story after story from the Old Testament. The lines are flowing in abundance. And somehow, here we are at 11:30 p.m. capturing the stories of the Bible in a poetic snapshot that, by the chorus, makes us want to sing our guts out in worship.

And we do.

Phil takes the harmony. I take the melody. And this worship song just sort of happens. And we are singing loud, getting goose bumps because it is so moving, and singing out even louder when we hit the bridge. This song takes on a life of its own. We are merely holding on and following it. And I am in awe. These are the moments that make a year worth of song writing worth it. Because eventually, you will have these moments. The perfect song will come.

This song will be on the album now. In a few months, you will hear it. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be in bed. I didn’t even have a computer to type words into. I just had an old school notebook. A blue pen. Two very tired little eyeballs… and then… out of nowhere, the inspiration, the substance, a guy sitting across the room that can write a melody and sing a song with a voice that can hypnotize an angel, and enough energy and excitement to carry me through a marathon. And we write a song. And it is the exact, most perfect song. The missing piece on the album.

And I leave with goose bumps. And I can’t sleep.

And I had to tell you… sometimes I love this job to pieces and simply cannot get enough.

Tonight made me love it.

And it is 1:12 a.m. now. And I think that means I almost haven’t slept in 24 hours.

But it doesn’t really matter. I just wrote a song with Phil. I listen to Phil’s music when I workout and when I worship. I sing my head off at his concerts; and I counted down the days till I could sneak a copy of his new album away. And Phil is just a normal guy… but when you get to work with people you love and it all clicks in place and all the stars align and you leave wanting to (ok, I did) jump up and down and say, “oh my gosh…. I can’t believe that just happened!”

Well, in my book… that’s the perfect ending to a very long day.

All in a Days Work

It is 11:52 p.m. Nashville time and I just wrote an amazing worship song with Phil Whickam.

Let me back up…

I woke up at 4:19 a.m. this morning in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Annie was ready to eat and it didn’t much matter because the alarm was set for 4:30 a.m. anyways. I fed her and fell back asleep for seven minutes. Seven minutes of deep, intense sleep. This made the next round of wake ups miserable. I felt sick to my stomach. I hated the world.

We got out the door and to the airport in record time.

As I pulled out my laptop to go through security I realized… wait… there is no laptop.

I can’t help that my laptop is smarter than me. It was still asleep. On the desk. In the hotel. Lucky dog getting to sleep in like that. It is flying to Nashville tomorrow. At least I hope. I was too cheap to pay the extra ten dollars to have it insured… so; I hope it flying to Nashville tomorrow.

Back to the airport. Can we just take a moment to talk about the Las Vegas airport?

I’d rather hitchhike to Vegas naked and barefoot, walking over cactus plants and hopping a ride in a horse trailer or paddy wagon than go into that place again. It is a zoo. A loud, clangy, gaudy, cheap-o cacophony of advertisements, loud music, really amazing trashy outfits lining lots of no-name-stores, cigarette smoke, and mean security guards. It is a nightmare for babies who are stimulated easily. Ok, it was a nightmare for me. It was like being in one of those creepy fun houses where the mirrors make you look extra short and extra fat, the strobe lights flash in red and purple, the floor shuffles under your feet and the only way out is to go through a series of mazes, kiss a clown, and find a candy-cane slide that eventually dumps you out into a pit full of colored balls.

There is nothing fun about using seven tickets on that.

The Las Vegas airport is a final beacon of hope for the down and out who have whittled their money away on slot machines that make no logical sense (because they just sit there and flash pineapples and grapes and number 7’s and dollar signs and three bars and then two bars and then no bars and then the machine just stops after about ten seconds and says, “Game over. I took your money you moron.” And then I feel guilty for wasting three dollars.). I hate those machines. And the airport is full of them. That’s just my first qualm.

On Monday mornings, I would venture to say, the Las Vegas airport has more hung over people than any other place in the world.

People are straight up looking like death. Some of them tripping on themselves. Some with eyes glazed over. Some of them just stink like dingy cigarettes, swimming pool chlorine, and casino funk. Most people look angry. Cause let’s be honest… most people don’t win a darn thing. And most people are like little time bombs waiting for the next TSA agent to make them explode.

“I WILL not take off my shoes, I already sold my shoes to the devil this weekend. I have no shoes to give you.”

And Monday morning, everyone is going back to work. The place is packed with hung-over, broke, exhausted people going back to the real world.

I only thought Orlando was bad. All those poor kids having Mickey Mouse withdrawals and parents licking their $1,000 theme-park wounds. And then you add to it all the grandparents who tag along so they can give mom and dad a break but really just end up slowing down the whole joint cause their knee caps are flaring up and that rain just messes with their hair and they can’t eat breakfast for a reasonable price so they just aren’t eating at all (FDR would have never let prices inflate like that). Orlando is a doozy of an airport if you are not fully sucked into all things Disney, because then it just feels like a bunch of deranged family units on the brink of self-implosion. You have to be coming to or from Disney to have sympathy for all the crazy kin running around that airport.

But Vegas makes Orlando look like a Buddhist monastery.

And after all of that…

I am glad to be home in Nashville.

We are living in our manager’s downstairs home. He and his wife built their house with other people in mind; they are the most generous people I have ever known with their belongings. The downstairs house is for artists, family, or really anyone who needs a place to stay. We have our own kitchen, washer and dryer, master bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets. It feels like my house. I have a playroom set up for Annie; I am completely unpacked into the dresser drawers; and I even have my own shelf in the fridge. Pretty amazing actually. I’ve been here before when there were 17 people staying throughout the house. Most of the time Scott and Stacey don’t even know when people will pop over to use the pool, basketball court, the porch swings for meditation, the inside gym, or the fire pit for smores. It is just known throughout the community that whoever wants to be here can be here. It truly is community living.

And most of the time you will find one or two or three of his artist or band’s living downstairs or throughout the house.

The next few days we are living here alongside of Phil Whickam.

We all went to dinner tonight and then went our separate ways. I fed Annie and got her to bed. I was winding down myself. 4:19 a.m. was creeping up on me and I was on my last wind. Putting away laundry and then calling it quits.

And that’s when Brickell came down (Imagine a big, grizzly bear of a man. About 6’3? 6’5? I don’t know. A big, big man with a low, intimidating voice. Who also, by the way, gives the best hugs at the most perfect moments) and said, “Come on.”

Not a lot of room to say no. And you don’t really say no to him if you don’t have to.

So Ryan Gregg and I followed him upstairs and Brickell said, “Y’all want to write a song or what?”

And we did.

Here’s how song writing went down with Addison Road and Phil Whickam…

Phil: What do you want to write about?

Me: I want to write an amazing worship song so I don’t have to steal yours all the time.

Phil: Ohhhh, go on, go on. Okay. What is the theme?

Me: Well, I’ve been thinking about this scripture a lot.

Phil: Read it to me.

Me: I read it to him.

Phil: Yeah, yeah, I love that. I love that passage.

Me: Can we write it this way? Glimpses of stories and people from the Bible, but without being cheesy or sounding like an excerpt from the Old Testament? But still saying that God was who he was back then and still IS now. I’ve always really, really wanted to do that. But I don’t really know how to. You know, to like incorporate the history of our faith into a song?

Phil: Yeah, that’s hard, but we should do it. Why not? Lets do it. What about…

you were there when…

He starts to strum and a beautiful, perfect melody just flows out. We start spouting out story after story from the Old Testament. The lines are flowing in abundance. And somehow, here we are at 11:30 p.m. capturing the stories of the Bible in a poetic snapshot that, by the chorus, makes us want to sing our guts out in worship.

And we do.

Phil takes the harmony. I take the melody. And this worship song just sort of happens. And we are singing loud, getting goose bumps because it is so moving, and singing out even louder when we hit the bridge. This song takes on a life of its own. We are merely holding on and following it. And I am in awe. These are the moments that make a year worth of song writing worth it. Because eventually, you will have these moments. The perfect song will come.

This song will be on the album now. In a few months, you will hear it. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be in bed. I didn’t even have a computer to type words into. I just had an old school notebook. A blue pen. Two very tired little eyeballs… and then… out of nowhere, the inspiration, the substance, a guy sitting across the room that can write a melody and sing a song with a voice that can hypnotize an angel, and enough energy and excitement to carry me through a marathon. And we write a song. And it is the exact, most perfect song. The missing piece on the album.

And I leave with goose bumps. And I can’t sleep.

And I had to tell you… sometimes I love this job to pieces and simply cannot get enough.

Tonight made me love it.

And it is 1:12 a.m. now. And I think that means I almost haven’t slept in 24 hours.

But it doesn’t really matter. I just wrote a song with Phil. I listen to Phil’s music when I workout and when I worship. I sing my head off at his concerts; and I counted down the days till I could sneak a copy of his new album away. And Phil is just a normal guy… but when you get to work with people you love and it all clicks in place and all the stars align and you leave wanting to (ok, I did) jump up and down and say, “oh my gosh…. I can’t believe that just happened!”

Well, in my book… that’s the perfect ending to a very long day.

Late Night Ramblings

So my friends... you must go read this blog. I know, I know. Another one. And yeah, bring your Kleenex.

I told you that I met one of the ladies on Katie's board of directors... her name is Suzanne. I also told you that she and her husband Mike were going back to adopt another child, Josie Love, to add to the 6 or 7 they already have. But I did not tell you that she was documenting their trip and their time with Katie on the blog: joiningthejourney.blogspot.com

I like that. Joining the journey.

When I talked to Suzanne over the phone and in person I found out she was just a normal person like me, who stumbled upon Katie's blog and felt compelled to, well, join the journey. And now she is loving on Katie's 13 girls in Uganda right this very minute. Amazing. What an unexpected journey huh? And now?

Now their journey has become more complicated, painful, and sacrificial than Suzanne and Mike were bargaining for ...

Josie Love just tested positive for HIV.

She was tested early on for a number of illnesses (as a part of the adoption process) and HIV was never a part of the picture. But now, this beautiful mom is looking at her daughter and realizing this is not what she bargained for. This is bigger. Harder. More demanding. Terrifying. Heart wrenching. Uncharted territory. This is the journey God? I think right now it probably feels more like a roller coaster ride that has launched off the track and into mid-air...

Another reminder that the journey is unpredictable. And yet again, I am taken back to the words of Jesus in Matthew, "whoever loses his life for my sake, will find it," and I am reminded that following the somewhat insane, radical, sacrificial way of Jesus involves LOSS. It has to.

Loss of my ideas, big plans, and control over the journey. Loss of life as I have known it. My friend Kim says it means losing her ability to completely guard her kids from the world as she seeks to allow her children and her family to become more accessible to other children and families in the neighborhood who don't, perhaps, live the same way as they do. And for me it means giving up my rights to being a normal mom who gets to have Annie on a perfect schedule, makes my own baby food, and has the luxury of protecting my child from germs, strangers, public bathrooms, and being over stimulated. Nope. I have no control over those things. My baby girl's upbringing is a part of my sacrifice. And I entrust it into God's hand... this crazy journey.

Like the C.S. Lewis quote my friend Alli posted in the comment section on Tough Topic Tuesday, if we are not feeling the pinch of sacrifice, then we could be doing more. And we probably should be doing more. Much more. I know. Not exactly what we want to hear, but it's the truth.

"If our charities do not at all pinch or hamper us, I should say they are too small."

I imagine Suzanne is feeling the pinch today. Oh that she would be deeply reminded that the pinch, the squeeze, the struggle, the pain means she is exactly where she is supposed to be. Where we are all supposed to be. If there is no pinch, is it really a sacrifice?

Pray for Suzanne, Mike, and their whole family. And leave her an encouraging word if you get the chance. You can never receive to many prayers... too many words of encouragement.

Keep Em' Coming

Your responses and pledges to help Katie in her work have been overwhelming. Keep them coming.

I woke up at 4:33 a.m. the other day thinking, "What if we don't raise the $6,000?" I thought about how embarrassed or ashamed I would feel that I couldn't pull it off. And God so clearly said, "YOU??? I will move my people not you. And you should trust that they will respond accordingly. How small your dreams are Jenny."

And then I thought... $6,000 is way too small. And tonight, as I sit in my Las Vegas hotel room and watch the people scurry around outside of the MGM Hotel and Casino after a big fight night; people who have easily dropped thousands of dollars on planes, hotels, tickets, merchandise and will now pour money into a night of slot machines, women, and alcohol I think... if they can drop thousands of dollars so easily... can't we? Do I assume Christians are poor? That Christ followers can't have money and can't give freely? That it will take hundreds of people to come up with $6,000? Shame on me for thinking so small.

5,000 people read this blog every month. (Yep, that means there are LOTS of blurkers :)

If we can't raise $6,000 or $60,000 for that matter, there is a problem.

This isn't about me pressuring you. This is about me realizing how small my thinking and believing have been.

Some of you have very little money, like Ryan and I. But some of you have quite a bit; you could easily write a check for $6,000. And some are in between. Others have things you can sacrifice. While others of you can get your community groups, Sunday school classes, church, co-workers, or neighbors in on it. There is a way for each of us to be involved. I love that one person is going to set up a collection at their families restaurant, while Lauren-Michelle is going to put off a new long board or make-up. One girl is giving up part of her first pay check and people are trying to figure out how to get their money to Katie from different parts of the world. Amazing. SO, I will stop my little thinking now.

We will announce the collection day and where to send your money soon, but for now, keep dreaming, thinking, praying and figuring out how you and your family, friends, and church can be involved and can make a huge difference in the lives of an entire village of beautiful children and a girl named Katie who has taken the load less traveled to answer the call and go.

And yes...

There are more people than just Katie who need the financial support. Oh my gosh, there are so many people who need the money. So many amazing organizations, causes, and people who are out in the world being God's hands and feet. SO many basic needs that need meeting. And yet, I am just one girl. So for now, this one girl is trying to help another girl... who is changing 13 others girls and helping an entire village.

After Katie, God will bring me someone new. Like Elda or Christina or the little boys we helped from Craigslist last year who needed underwear, socks, and backpacks. Or Mocha Club or Buckner's Children Home or fill in the blank... and don't worry, if one person writes a $6,000 check... please do not panic! I promise, there are more Katie's.

I trust God will bring you people who need to be supported with your prayers, your time, and your finances... I trust, that if you let Him, He will wreck your journey and lead you to lose yourself so that you can truly find life.

Life to the full. Life abundantly. Oh that we would never thirst again, that our hearts would be captured, that our finite, silly plans would be wrecked. Oh that we could be sons and daughters of God who abandon ourselves to embark on a journey like none other.

SO whether it's joining me, Suzanne, Mike, Katie and the people of Uganda or finally plunging into the journey already at your fingertips and in your back yard (or both)... take the plunge.

It's well worth it. Here's to asking God to wreck our journeys so that we can truly...

join His journey