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.

Thank You Thank you Thank You Thank You Thank You ...

I mean, I don't even know where to begin.

Of course there are a dozen small miracles to tell you about and amazing stories of how God has totally taken care of us over the past five days, but it's hard to find an appropriate starting place. It's been like five days of Christmas or Oprah's Favorite Things or five days of perpetual winnings in Bingo or Bunko or Clunko or whatever all those fun games are called that I never win anything in.

I went to the bathroom in the LAX airport this morning and the seat was up and there was a bunch of blue, sparkly, bubbly stuff smiling at me from that toilet bowl and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was the first one to pull down the toilet seat and use it for the day and my germ-a-phobic-bathroom-booty- gun-shy self let out an audible, "YEEES!" because I knew I didn't have to squat. I knew I was the first one on that pot. And it was the greatest way to start my day ever.

Right now it's the small things in life that are making us happy and keeping us going.

I want to give some thank yous and quick stories.

To our dear friends Jimmy Mac and Lori in Las Vegas for coming out to the show even though they were tired. For realizing that the reason they were at the show was because they felt like God wanted them there to take care of us when we found out we had lost everything. And for taking Ryan, Annie, and I on a TJ Maxx shopping spree the next morning to replace our most basic essentials like undies, jeans, shoes, and clothes for Annie! They gave each of us a shopping buggy and when Ryan and I came back with about two or three things in it, Jimmy said, "Now it's none of my business but I'm pretty sure you didn't bring all your boxers and unmentionables to the gig last night and I don't see any in that buggy... you people need to go back and fill it up. I don't want to see you until that buggy is full." They laughed with us. Loved on our baby. And sent us on the road with, you know... unmentionables.

To the man at the front desk who had no idea what a HELL of a day we had on Friday, but randomly decided to upgrade Ryan and I to the penthouse suite of the Palace Station hotel! We could not help but laugh at the irony. Everything we own has been destroyed today. And back home we have two cars that don't work, a bunch of hospital bills, the IRS hounding us for self-employment taxes and here we are in a 1600 square foot penthouse with 30 foot long floor to ceiling windows, a guest bathroom, a jacuzzi, doorbell, 60 something inch TV, and a shower with a steamer in it overlooking the Las Vegas strip. If they only knew...

To Lyndi Hagen and her son Josh (oh forgive me, I think that is his name!) for showing up to our Las Vegas hotel the next morning with a HUGE bag full of Mary Kay products, because, as she said, "I don't care what happens to you, you still have to feel like a girl." A woman after my own heart. I know that she gave beyond her means. She gave sacrificially from her heart and that meant more to me than anything else. It would be AMAZING if some of you ladies out there would bless her in return by placing your next skin care, make-up order with her. She would be totally surprised and she deserves it. She is a beautiful mom working hard to raise her two sons and at the same time blessing someone above and beyond. If you use Mary Kay or just want to try something out to bless one of my new friends... please, please place your next order with her. Simply order online at: www.marykay.com/lhagen3.

To Jeff and Angie Bevel who were at the Las Vegas show with their daughters and offered to give us some of their own babies' clothes. She literally went home, washed the clothes, and met us at TJ Maxx the next morning with a huge bag of the most cutest, amazingest, designer baby clothes I have ever seen!!! Seriously, Annie has been styling all week in the best little outfits ever made. And I had to think, this is what Jesus would have done. Not simply given his leftovers. His old clothes that were out of style or dirty or useless... but he would've shown us what it meant to give our best. And that's what they did, literally took their daughter's cutest outfits and gave them to our baby girl. Thank you for not giving your leftovers, but the very thing you would want to dress your little girl in. On the way out their brother gave us an envelope full of cash.

To Connie and her daughter Jenny in Las Vegas who literally met us off the highway and filled our car with diapers, wipes, clothes, cheerios, and money.

To Yasmin and Katherine from Paso Robles who sent out a facebook request for baby items and came back with an ENTIRE van full of toys, clothes, books, DVD's, a brand new boppy, baby monitor, medicine, and everything else under the moon. They drove around all morning collecting things for us and then drove another hour to bring us the items and watched Annie while I sorted. Not only did we replace everything Annie needed, but we also made an entire stack of clothes and baby goods for our guitar player Ryan Gregg and his wife who are expecting their first baby girl in June! Katherine, who is in the third grade, was a little bummed the night before because all her friends were able to affords the expensive tickets that included a meet and greet and private concert. Yasmin told me that katherine said in the car, "Mom, this is so cool. This is exactly what we talked about in church. How one person can make a difference. We are able to help them by just asking and collecting things. That is so cool... and I bet all those other kids didn't get to play with her baby." This made me smile. Not only did they bless us, but in His own way and timing, God gave this little girl a very special blessing herself. How cool is that.

And finally to Scott and Happy Saunders who went through their closets and picked out their coolest clothes so that we could have stage clothes. Their goal was to try and get clothes that "looked like our style." I got my first ever (and probably last!) pair of Kenneth Cole boots. An Abercrombie coat. Things I would have never been able to afford. Happy said that there were a million reasons she could think of to keep these incredible wardrobe pieces, but she knew she was called to give us her best. Again, I am just simply amazed. Scott gave the guys a private gift that was above and beyond what we could have ever imagined. When he found out that we didn't even need what he felt called to give us, he said, "You know what, God has still told me to. I think he just wants you to know that you are going to be taken care of above and beyond what you could ever need or ask for."

There have been, literally, a hundred other people step in the gap. This is just the beginning of the thank you's...

Wherever you find yourself today, remember that people are good. God is faithful.

Fire Update

Wow. What can we say? We are completely blown away by the generosity, love and support we have received from the body of Christ. Words cannot express our gratitude. Through your financial donations, personal stories of facing adversity, prayers, and your reminders of so many beautiful passages of scripture, you have not only met our needs physically but you have been a part of restoring or souls and re-igniting a passion for our ministry as a band. We are incredibly humbled to know that we have played a small part in your lives and overwhelmed with gratitude and joy that you have played a HUGE part in ours.

We wanted to give each of you a brief update on our current situation:

Ryan, Anniston, and I are completely taken care of. Moms literally showed up at the shows in Las Vegas and Paso Robles California with their babies own clothes for us to have. Likewise, people have given Ryan and I their brand new jeans, shoes, and other things from around the house and dear friends in Las Vegas brought us shopping to replace everything we needed! Family, friends, and loyal blog readers have stepped in to provide for us financially and we have recovered or have the money to recover every single thing that we lost. So, as for the Simmons family, it feels like Christmas over here!

Because of the amazing Christian radio stations across the country, facebook, and twitter the band has been able to get out our story to thousands and have been blessed with so many donations! This blows our mind. Thank you for trusting us with your money and believing in our ministry. Please know that every single donation that has been made to the addison road paypal account will go directly to:

Covering the unexpected rental cars, hotel fees, and RV maintenance which preceded and directly followed the fire.

Paying for a new batch of merchandise (we lost all our new merchandise and that is how us starving musicians make our bread and butter while we are out on the road!).

Covering the cost of new gear and sound equipment until the insurance money is in hand and the so many small equipment items we have gathered along the way that insurance will not cover.

And most importantly, your money is making a way for us to purchase a new vehicle. In 2009 the van and trailer we owned were stolen twice... along with ALL our gear! In September, we turned the corner in a rainstorm and ran directly into a giant oak tree that had fallen into the road and totaled that van and trailer. And now... the RV we were renting from friends burned to the ground. Needless to say, in order to continue as a band, we have got to get a new vehicle that we can safely bring our daughter and the band out on the road in. Your contributions after such an incredibly hard year makes that possible.

We want to be completely transparent with every good and perfect gift we receive and want to thank you again for trusting us by giving so generously to our ministry. People have offered their personal vehicles, guitars, homes, and free services like massages (what girl can turn that down?) and insurance advise and we are just incredibly honored and overwhelmed to be a part of such a generous, hard-working, passionate family of Christ.

We covet your prayers, your financial sacrifices to make what we do possible, and really hope you will come to a show and help us sell out this incredible tour!!!

love

jenny and the addison road gang.

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.

Story Number Two

So maybe no one's given you 15 $100 bills.

(see the post: His Mercies are New Every Morning)

And you are thinking, "Well, that's great for you. But I've been facing the rapids for a long time, barely keeping my head above water, and the money and free make-up haven't fallen in my lap yet."

Fair enough. I too have watched other people's good fortune, amazing luck, and blessings come at just the right moment and have thought... "uh-hum God it must be nice for someone to just hand you money. I wouldn't be in this predicament if you fixed it for me."

In that moment, not only am I setting myself up for failure by comparing my life to others and wallowing in my own toxic, poor-me cess pool, but more importantly, I am forgetting that having my physical needs met is only a very small part of the equation.

God has a magic wand?

To be honest, I have spent much of my life not believing that God blesses us with "stuff." I would hear stories about people who needed milk and milk showed up on their front porch; single moms who had cars given to them just as their old ones died; and people who got anonymous checks in the mail just in time to pay the bills and I thought, "that's so cool, but it's not God."

Not only did I hear those stories, but I saw those stories with my own eyes as they played out in my family. Still, even though I knew we needed ________ and were praying for _________ and that at the exact moment we needed ____________, it appeared; in my mind, this had nothing to do with God. It was more or less the result of people who loved God or good timing or simply because we made our needs known and that's what people do: take care of each other when someone else has a need.

I took God out of the equation. It wasn't exactly God. If anything, blessings were inspired by the people of God, so they were quasi-God, but He wasn't dishing things out with a magic wand. No way.

I guess I mainly thought this because with my incredibly intelligent brain I reasoned that God could not be a good God if he gave me lipstick and free make-up, yet he did not provide safety, clean water, or a simple meal to the people of impoverished nations. What kind of God would do that? Pick and choose?

A really unfair one. Only a perverse, awfully unloving God would do this.

The Answer

Here's the part where you might think I am about to tell you that one day I heard a sermon or read a book or took a theological class that made everything crystal clear, and that now, I, Jenny Simmons, knows when and how and why and on whose behalf God works.

As if it is as easy as praying a prosperity prayer and believing you will get the desired results no matter what. Or picking one scripture verse that we can use to completely define God's job description and they type of people who qualify for His benefits. Or touting the words of an author or speaker as a shield to hide behind as I tell you that I know with complete certainty what God will and will not do for his children... with his magic wand.

But of course, I don't have that answer. And anyone who claims to have that answer is making a very big assumption that they know how the Holy God of the universe operates... I would be very weary of anyone who makes such a claim.

But I am not without any answers. I have some. I can know some of the mind of Christ. I can know something about God, because I know what Jesus did. I know how Jesus lived. And I have scripture verses, like Psalms 23 that I quoted in the last blog, that simply tells me I do not walk alone. Ever.

Does that mean manna and money and make-up rain down from heaven?

Maybe.

But more times than not God has simply walked with me. Held my hand. And spoken to me with a still small voice.

It means God has spoken with gracious authority to my soul when I am fighting my doubts, demons, and disparity.

I don't think the Bible defines exactly when or how or why God moves or does not move in a situation; there is no set formula. No checklist to which humans can hold God accountable. God is just God and by faith we believe He moves.

I spend so much time begging for the manna, money, and make-up. All too often I forget that God's intervention in my broken life is a spiritual transformation. A moment. A whisper. A nudge. A breeze of peace. A voice calling out in the wilderness.

A few weeks ago I wrote story number one, about a man named Dexter.

This is story number two...

it's about the other kind of blessings.

A Sticky-Note from God

I feel like I should start this story off by saying, "Long story short," and just jump to the ending because the beginning of the story is familiar.

It included 20 days out on the road in the month of January (we were only home 3 days in January). Lots of shows, finishing the new album in Nashville, etc. A really great month but oh so exhausting.

I have a friend who is a lawyer. He used to have big deals come through and he would work 60, 70 hour weeks. So, if I had a 'real world' job, say I was a lawyer, then I would have spent the entire month of January working overtime to push the deal through. Just in case you were trying to figure out an equivalent.

We get to the end of the month and play for a pretty big weekend event. About 4,000 people.

We are glad to be there, really glad. But tired. We are at the end of the deal. The month of working overtime.

Before the last worship session the guys are eating dinner in the hotel restaurant when they hear a youth pastor say to his table full of students, "I can't believe Addison Road sucks so bad. That girl hasn't been on pitch the entire weekend. I won't even be able to listen to Hope Now again because they ruined it. Their music is horrible." The students laugh and chime in.

He went on and on and ended by praying that the music would get better.

Now, cute Amy Stendenbach (I don't know your other, real last name :)) and Rebecca Wells, and all of you very loyal, encouraging, pit-bull, mama bear friends out there... don't hate this man. That's not the point of the story, I promise.

But there he is talking so bad about the band that the guys thought it was a joke. Any second they were expecting him to turn around and say, "Oh my gosh, what do you know, it's the band!" But he never did. Instead, his teenage daughter caught a glimpse of the guys and quietly told her dad that she thought the band was sitting behind them. He responded arrogantly and loudly, "Well, this is gonna be a good story to tell my friends. How I dissed on the band and they were right behind me. Guess that's what it means to put your foot in your mouth."

In the working world, I suppose this would be like my lawyer friend sitting down in the cafeteria for a break after busting his butt for a month only to hear his very own clients talk about what a dumb schmuck he was.

The guys were furious. They were shaking. I get a text to meet in room 1204.

(How cute is this? They are angry but instead of beating the guys head in, they just want to meet in room 1204 for a band meeting. A pow-wow. A gripe session. And they say men and women are different...)

So we meet at the room and the guys recount the story for me and they are trembling they are so angry. And we are about 45 minutes shy of leading people in worship. And I've got a man rebellion on my hands.

Long story short... the guys think of all the things they should have said to him and arrive at the venue half way defeated and half way on a witch hunt.

And me, well, I was too tired to cry. Too tired to be angry. Too tired for a witch hunt. I was just a big blah.

Blah, blah, blah.

I went to the back of the convention center to look over the audience and pray for worship. But as I got back there and I started looking at people, I started getting angry. Who are these people and why am I here sharing my most precious music and life with them? They don't even care do they? What a jerk-o. He was bald right? Short and stalky?

My mind was racing. My heart started pumping.

Wait a minute buddy, you can't just talk bad about my job like that. What I do for a living. Right in front of my boys. We need to have some words. A little come to Jesus if you will. You better hide because I am coming to find you...

I texted Travis, "Kind of thuggish looking, right? His wife and daughter were with him, right?"

I will find him. And I will tie him up and blindfold him like they did in the old Western movies and I will bring him back to my tribe and we shall discuss the punishment over a camp fire and some sort of roasted animal.

By this time, of course, the guys have moved on with their lives but I have only just begun my witch hunt (and a woman's witch hunt, especially when it involves her tribe, is one to be feared). I will find the short bald dude and I will take care of him before I lead worship. First go make peace with your brother and then come to the alter... isn't that a scripture verse somewhere? Well good. I am going to give him a chance to come and make peace with the tribe. I will kidnap him. And I will throw him over my horse. And I will bring him back with the pride of a tribesman who has killed a buffalo (oregon trail, anyone?).

As I look out over the 4,000 thousand people every male suddenly becomes bald. They were everywhere. Tall, short, thuggish, clean cut, old, young, in betweenies, and I swear they were ALL bald. Each and every one of them: B- A- L- D.

I turned the corner to pursue my witch hunt but right there smack dab in front of me was a prayer room.

I didn't even know this event had a prayer room.

"Go in," God speaks quietly to my heart.

"No thank you. One: I don't want weird people praying on me. Sometimes they start anointing me with oil and touching me and doing all kinds of things and I am not in the mood. Two: I am not in the mood. Three: I have to lead worship in 15 minutes and I will find this man before then... and God you know good in well he's not in the prayer room."

He speaks to my soul again. "Go in. Sit down. And rest."

And for the first time in a long time, I did not argue. I was not stubborn. I did not fight back. I just obeyed. Seriously, a rare moment for my prideful, rebellious spirit. And I have no other explanation except I was really tired and the idea of bounding a man and gagging him and putting him on my horse and galloping back to camp where we would decide his fate around the camp fire with songs and incantations sounded like way too much work.

So I went in the prayer room. Only the second time I have ever gone into one of those rooms while I was performing at an event.

I sat down at a big round table. There were sticky notes everywhere. All over the table. All over the walls. All over the crosses and poster boards that adorned the room. But there wasn't a sticky note in front of me. I sat at an empty spot on the table. With an empty pad in front of me.

I began to write. "I'm weary and unsure. I'm open to any insult and waiting to listen to any ugly voice. I'm feel cold. Tired. Fake" I wrote and wrote and wrote. And I ended by saying, "I want to believe you, but right now I just don't know what is true. You know what the last year has been like. So am I doing the right thing or not? I have no idea anymore. If this is a ministry, if this is my ministry, I need for you to tell me."

Tears are streaming down my face. Streaming. I am weeping and I don't even realize it.

I literally lay my head down on the table. I know I have to go lead worship now. Jen, you have to get up and go sing now.

I pick my head up and right where I laid my hands there is now a sticky note.

I did not see it before. I intentionally sat down away from other people's writings. Remember, I sat down at an empty spot. But there it was. A yellow sticky pad that was not there moments before, I promise, it just wasn't... and it said this:

And say to Archippus, "Take heed to the ministry which you have received in the Lord that you may fulfill it."

"TAKE HEED TO THE MINISTRY WHICH YOU HAVE RECEIVED IN THE LORD THAT YOU MAY FULFILL IT."

I've attached pictures. I am not making this up. I asked God to tell me if this was ministry and if I was supposed to be doing this ministry and I look down and a sticky note right before me says those exact words. A scripture I have never even heard before.

Seriously?

There was another verse, Col 4:2. "Praying also for us, for the Word, to speak the mystery of Christ, for which I am also in chains, that I may make it manifest as I ought to speak," and then Col 3:23, "And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men."

More Often Than Not

Sometimes God does not answer us by meeting our physical needs. And I am not sure why this happens; my theory is that more often than not we live in a less than perfect place and less than perfect things happen and sometimes our gracious God intervenes to meet needs and perform miracles, but sometimes He doesn't. Sometimes He just weeps with us.

Sometimes His answer to our prayers simply come from His presence. Mostly, at least in my life, my God shows up to be my strength... not my next paycheck.

He shows up, in a thousand tiny ways, and reminds me that I'm not alone. Sometimes it is a word of encouragement. A sermon that speaks exactly to my current situation. The song that tells me everything rides on hope when I am feeling utterly hopeless. A letter from an old friend. Or a sense that I am not alone in the room. The feeling that something bigger than me is holding me together, breathing the next breath, putting peace in my heart that passes my momentary understanding, and holding me together when I cannot do so myself.

Sometimes He's in the whisper of the wind or the old hymn my friend Becca prayed over me this week.

Sometimes He is in the scripture verse that speaks perfectly to my anxious heart.

Sometimes He shows up in the smile of my homeless friend Dexter.

Sometimes he shows up at a U2 concert where 10,000 voices join together and paint a picture of what true worship is going to look like one day in God's presence.

and sometimes

He shows up with a love letter on a sticky note.