Not dead, but barely alive.

Don't worry, I'm not dead.

And if I do die (I think about these things which is weird, I know) I have a contingency plan for letting you all know. I hate to make light of it, but you will simply get an e-vite to come to my life celebration party. If such an email arrives, please don't be sad, just bring a cupcake and have a party and sprinkle me all around the country in my favorite places! I expect my memorial service to be a party with lots and lots of food, a gospel choir, a slide show with pictures (please, only put cute pictures of me in this slide show), cupcakes, and a few people can talk... hopefully they will say that I loved them well with a love that was never my own. It's going to be a really fun party. Everyone gets a bean burrito on the way into the service and a cupcake on the way out. I expect a pot luck dinner afterwords that puts a Baptist church to shame. And then a dance party! I expect a few tears... but mostly smiles and stories. Tell good stories. (Like the time we got stuck in the snow on the top of the mountain and you peed your snow pants because we were laughing so hard. Remember that, Brandi?)

And, most importantly, on the way out, I want to be handed out as a party favor.

I'm being serious.

In cute little purple silk sachets.

And then I want everyone who takes a little piece of me to bring me to one of the most beautiful places they know and let me go there. And don't tell anyone, but someone should definitely sprinkle some of my ashes in my favorite Mexican food restaurant, Ninfas. And my favorite coffee shop. And my favorite cupcake joint. And maybe leave a little bit of me up at my church. And, creepy, but maybe in one of Annie's teddy bears. And give some of me to my mom. She will probably set me in the windowsill or in the prayer garden by her little stone saints. My sister Melissa will probably keep me around somewhere and talk to me. Maybe Sarah will plant me in her garden. My dad? Well, he won't think this is funny or even proper to talk about. But I think he will probably bring me on a hiking trip and leave me there. And Ryan... well, we've had this conversation, to which he replies,

"You do not get to plan your own funeral and we are NOT handing you out as a party favor. You are really, really weird Jen."

He doesn't like to think about the fact that I might die sooner than later.

I don't like thinking about it either. But it's there. It hovers. It's a real possibility. So I want to make it easy on everyone. I want a party. And I want it to be sponsored by Sprinkles Cupcakes and I'd like for there to be really good music for the after party. Toby Mac? What What! Yes! That's perfect! And then I want my sister to teach a yoga class so everyone can calm down and finally learn how to stretch properly... and then everyone can head home.

And now I have to stop and ask myself... what in the world are you talking about Jen???

Here's the deal:

I started this blog by saying I'm not dead. I have been quiet for over a week now and I didn't want you to be worried. So I started with saying I'm not dead. But now that we have cleared that up, I can move on.

I saw a real live water moccasin swim right past my feet yesterday morning and I almost peed my pants.

Church Camp

I'm at church camp.

I am in Leakey, Texas.

Population: 387.

What an unfortunate name for a blip on the map.

Leakey.

Makes me think of a moldy roof or those spas in New York that are puttin leaches on people to eat away their nasty dead skin. Or leaky gut syndrome. Look it up. It's real and it's unfortunate as well.

Leakey, Texas.

I've been a Texan since the third grade and have never heard of this place. And with good cause. It is both a hidden treasure and a modernists worst nightmare.

No coffee shops. No Internet. And the only cell reception I can get is down by the river... with the water moccasin who almost made me pee my pants.

There are bugs in my camp room. Ryan killed a spider crawling above Annie's bed last night and I have single handedly expelled twenty bugs back into the wilderness. I woke up from a nap the first day covered in mosquito bites; there was one sucking my blood as I came to.

It's been in the high 90's here and we are playing OUTSIDE. Never have I loathed the outdoors the way I have loathed them this week. Who decides that playing outside in the middle of July in Texas is a good idea? It's cruel and unusual punishment. That's the nightmare part.

The hidden treasure part? The kids. They are great kids. The hometown restaurants that have saved us from the camp's cafeteria food. The pecan groves and the beautiful Texas Hill Country houses that back up to the river. The river that's fed by twenty or so natural springs. It's crystal clear and as cold as water flowing right out of the Rockies. It's full of catfish, and I've seen a five deer come to the banks of the river to drink early in the morning.

Poor deer. I hear the echo of rifle shots booming in the thicket and I want to hide them. Dress them up like horses or ponies. I want to tell them to go home a different way. Like the wise men tell Mary to bring Jesus home a different way. I want to warn them. But they scamper off to their deaths and this ruins the beautiful moment I am sharing with them.

Listen, while we are talking about the woes of camp, could we make a universal decision that all the Baptist camps out there that end with "baptist ENCAMPMENT" be changed to something that sounds a little less prison-like? What about just 'Baptist Camp' or 'Baptist Church Camp' or "Really Bad food and Mosquito's- Turn Here?" Every time I pull into an encampment, I think I might as well turn over my wallet and get ready for my strip search. And don't even think about leaving at night time, cause they got the old man volunteer shutting the gate by 9:00 pm.

Update

I am not at church camp anymore. I am home. And thank God because on the final night of camp Ryan Gregg pulled down his covers to get into bed and a great big ole' huge cockroach came scampering out of the sheets.

If I had known this, I would've faked an illness, and driven home.

I failed to mention that the first night we arrived to camp, I had a break down. I begged Ryan to let us go find a bed and breakfast.

We slinked out of camp without even telling the guys.

Let me back track.

The week before we had six flights. That's a lot with a 15 month old.

At one point we flew into Minneapolis, played in Wilmer, Minnesota, and then drove to South Dakota. Drove. Nine hours. With a 15 month old who has just flown twice and spent the day outside with babysitters she had never seen before.

We are driving and somewhere, in the midst of cornfields, the road in front of us disappears into dirt and tractors. The guys turned around and went back to the nearest city... but not my dear, sweet, adventurous husband. He took this as a sign that we should drive through the gravel roads that go through the cornfields. And for a little over an hour, we drove through bumpy, gravel roads weaving in and out of cornfields pretending to chase tornado's. Men.

We played at Hills Alive festival in South Dakota (the perfect family vacation for next summer if I do say so myself) and flew home Sunday night. Landed at 8 pm. Home by 9 pm. And had to leave Monday morning at 9 am.

This gave me about twelve hours to bath the smelly child, do four loads of laundry, repack our suitcases, and shift gears from playing for festivals in civilization to going to camp in a city with a population of 300. That's right. The number gets smaller each time. There is no way there are more than 300 people in that place.

But I'm home? Did I say that? Did I tell you we finished camp yesterday morning and drove six hours to get back home and that I didn't change Annie's diaper the entire time?

Did I mention that I fed her a dinner of champions... guilty that all week long I stuffed her face with crackers and bread and macaroni and very little fruit; I fed her every fruit in the fruit family for dinner last night. And some cheese. And bread with olive oil. And a vanilla wafer. And two whole sippy cups full of apple juice. And I am telling you each food because when someone pukes and the chunks are in your hair and dripping down your arms you very quickly remember each and every food in slow motion. You smell, in a rancid torrent of nastiness, each distinct fruit, and you wonder, why Lord? Why did I give her dinner in the first place? Why?

Annie threw up all night last night. We changed her sheets three times. There are huge strawberry-blueberry fruit stains in her carpet now. I bathed her in the dark at 2:30 am and 3:30 am while Ryan disinfected and started laundry and lit candles and picked chunks of food out of the carpet.

I laid her on my chest where she threw up a third time around 4:00 a.m.

And this morning?

Well, she woke up next to me on the couch at 7:00 a.m. Sits straight up. Eyes still closed. Hair splayed all over the place. And with vomit breath she says...

"Momma. Booberry."

Blueberry? She slid off the couch and walked, eyes half open, straight to the kitchen.

I've given birth to and raised a small food monster.

It's 8:26 am on Saturday morning.

I have the week off.

I need a pedicure and a massage and a babysitter and a date night.

Sorry Dave Ramsey... the budget... the very, very small budget, cannot be maintained this week. I am in recovery mode. Recovery from roaches and cornfields and puke and spiders and water moccasins and cannot afford any guilt over using money from savings or credit cards or wherever it must come from... I can't! So stop staring at me! I feel your eyes!

I am in recovery. Recovering.

Here's to being home and not being dead and not being thrown up on anymore and blowing the little money I have saved...

Entitlement, Narcissism, and Other Ugly Things...

The world is not all bad. Hear me say that. There is a lot of good.

But, seriously, something nasty must've crept into the spring water this year cause people are not at their best right now.

In fact, my dad recently said, "Jenny, the world is full of freaking crazy people... and most of them are in church," and y'all, this is the most true thing I've heard in a long time!

Examples of the Crazy

I sit down in first class for my two hour flight home this week. I buy cheap tickets, I promise. But I fly so often that I get free upgrades. Thus, in first class. Sitting next to a man who sort of looks like George Clooney on a million dollar budget. Snake skin boots. Three separate rings on with diamond studs. Thick cologne. And a dead give away of self-indulgence: perfectly manicured nails.

I'm sorry men, but if you have perfectly manicured nails you have just given yourself away. You care way too much about appearance. Double standard, I know. No one would ever say that to a woman! And it may not even be true for men... but it is my prejudice.

Dudes with perfect fingernails have either too much money or too much free time and definitely too much thought going into their hands.

Anyways, first thing outta this guys mouth?

"This sucks."

He said this with a disdain, snobbery, and anger that really took me off guard.

"I am supposed to be in 5b. Do I look like I want to sit in a bulkhead seat? But, one of those stupid married couples asked to switch seats and practically did it before I could say no. This. Just. Sucks. Life sucks."

No, actually, life is pretty dang good, maybe your life just sucks.

That's what I said to him in my head.

He spent the first fifteen minutes on the plane telling me about himself. 2.4 million American Airline miles. 5 million Hilton Honors points (for those of us in the travel world who live and breath our reward points, this man has us drooling. He is the pinnacle). A hotel room in Dallas that he never even checks out of. And a third wife in a New York brownstone, but he prefers to travel alone if "you know what I mean."

Oh my gosh... this guy is a word I am going to refrain from using. He is oozing with anger, arrogance, and attitude and he is messing up my positive energy field!

I turned my body towards the window. Wrapped myself up in about three blankets and tried to look for stars the entire flight. He made me sad. My heart felt sad.

***

Freaking rich people in first class. But this is not a money issue. This is an everybody issue.

We were recently unloading a cramped minivan in front of a restaurant at lunch time. We were, admittedly, right in front of the door. But, there was plenty of room to drive around us. And, we are not talking a busy Dallas restaurant. We were in a smaller town in Indiana and there was no lunch rush. The parking lot was rather empty. Still, we are being dropped off and trying to get six adults, backpacks, and Annie out of the minivan because we are going to be at this place a while.

A lady pulls up behind and waits impatiently. I motion for her to go around and she just glares at me while thumping her fingers against her steering wheel. It's pretty obvious that we are going to be just a few minutes but she refuses to go around. She starts to honk. Of course, this scares Annie and she practically jumps out of my arms. We go inside to get a table and while they are getting it together for us this lady walks in. "Oh great. Now the whole world gets to wait on you and your baby again, huh?"

I'd love to say this is where we, Addison Road, turned the other cheek like Jesus would do. But my husband, ever the protector and particularly tired of rude people on that day, shot back, "You need to stop. There was plenty of room to get around us and we were going as fast as we could to get everyone out. We have a baby."

Y'all, this lady flings her sunglasses off and gets in Ryan's face!!! It's 11:00 a.m. in the morning and I swear we are on Maury Povich or Judge Judy or wherever those staged nasty horrible cat fights happen. I'm holding Annie, trying to walk away, but I am stunned. This woman starts dropping all kinds of profanity and threats and looks like she might hit Ryan at any second. And ends by yelling, "The world doesn't revolve around you and your ________ baby. I could've just hit you with my car. Then what happens to your baby!?!?!" And she storms off to the bar.

I mean, my heart is pumping. Blood racing. Hands shaking. I am so angry. The guys are white in the face. What just happened?

We just had a can of crazy opened on us! That's what happened!

And can I honestly say, I cannot think of a time in my life where I have wanted to take someone outside. But everything in me wanted to hand Annie to someone and say, "Excuse me, you need to walk outside. Because I am not afraid of you and you just scared my baby you CRAZY PSYCHO WOMAN."

It was one of those days where you go before the Lord and have to hang your head because you were less than holy and had less than holy thoughts and did not respond to life in a way that brought goodness into the world... and I'm making it sound really pretty... it was one of those days where I had to honestly look at myself and say, "Wow, I have a lot of venom in me. Maybe as much as her."

The guys stayed angry for a good long time. All through lunch. Fuming. Replaying the whole thing. Coming up with things that they should've said. And everyone was imaging Ryan or I taking her on outside like we were on some dirty reality talk show. This at least gave us something to laugh about.

The guys were riled up, but I was sad. I was crushed Annie had heard that lady. And I was crushed she saw us even respond- mild though it was- and crushed that she could probably feel the anger flowing through my veins. I was sad that Annie saw the face of anger. I wish I could've protected her from it for a little bit longer. I was sad for the lady. There has to be a terrible thing happening in someone's heart for them to get to that level. I was sad for Ryan and I that we stooped to the level of responding to this lady. I was just sad for everyone involved.

It's not supposed to be like this, is it?

There's a lot of ugly out there.

Are people getting meaner? Are we so consumed with ourselves and so hell bent on our own rights, privileges, and agendas that other people no longer matter? And more importantly, what deserves our anger, wrath, and simple annoyance?

A parking spot? Someone who cuts us off on the highway? A loud talker at Starbucks? The person on the other end of the phone line doling out bills? The person walking too slow in front of you? Or too close behind you? Or the co-walker who doesn't do their fair share? The person that updates Facebook too often? Or the friends that take extravagant vacations? The neighbor's kids who seem to be lawless? Or the lady at church that has five prayer requests every single Sunday? The Internet that doesn't go fast enough? Or the decision you don't agree with?

Are these things worth fighting for? Do they really deserve anger, wrath, and all-consuming annoyance? Or are these the complaints of an over-indulgent, self-centered, narcissistic society that has lost touch with what it means to be human?

One of our pastors asked us a few weeks ago, "Do you really think the elevator is going to go any faster by pushing the inanimate button several times, sighing, and getting angry with it?" I laughed and thought, "I hate it when people do that!"

Next day I was at the airport with Annie, outside in the hot sun, and waiting for the elevator. I pressed the button three times and grumbled out loud, "Good Lord. This is the slowest elevator in the world....uggggghhhh."

And then I heard my pastor's voice... "Church, we are an impatient people. And it's not ok."

We are an impatient people. I am impatient.

The world is full of orphans, disease, injustice, corrupt governments, human trafficking, lack of clean water and sanitation... and we are hacked because our Starbucks drink took too long to be made?

Something is gravely wrong.

Tough Topic Tuesday...

What's wrong with us? And when does it end? After fists have been drawn or bullets have been blown? After we have wounded someone with our snide comments? After we have driven people out of our churches? Or haunted someone with our piercing gaze and stolen a bit of their humanity?

Impatience leads to anger. Impatience screams that we are so important, so entitled, that the world should operate on our watch, on our terms. Impatience says that we have not found peace... that there is something missing.

There is a pervasive selfishness in the world right now that is literally stealing our souls away from us.

The thing is, religion is on the rise. Islam and Christianity are exploding around the world. Spirituality is on the rise. The practices of yoga, meditation, and the reading of sacred texts from all different religions is on the rise People are getting progressively more entangled with God, spirituality, and religion... so shouldn't we be looking more and more like the God that we say we worship?

I'll end with this quote from CNN's, July 12th, belief blog written by professor Richard T. Hughes,

"Let me be frank from the outset: A great cultural divide is ripping the heart from this nation and Christians are partly responsible. I say that because 83% of the American people claim to be Christians. If those Christians lived as they are taught to live by the teacher they claim to follow, the American public square would be a very different kind of place."

Endeavoring to live a life today that is not so little. So focused on myself. So impatient. So easily angered.

Attempting to be a good human to every other human I interact with...

Attempting to be filled by real love that overflows onto the world around me...

attempting...

I Should be an Ambassador...

for the city of Santa Fe that is.

Can't help it, I'm in love.

iPhone pics from me and Ryan's day at the park.

Driving from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. A storm was a brewin'.

(sidenote: I am no longer in New Mexico. I am in Dallas. And, in a few hours I will be in OshKosh, Wisconsin. But, next time I am in Albuquerque I will give you sweet blog readers who were willing to drive an hour to see me, a little shout out. We can meet at Flying Star. Deal? Done! Second week of August there will be a blogger party in Albuquerque!)

Mom, We Need to Talk

I've got two things on my mind this morning friends:

1. Why Facebook, why?

2. Why Mom, why?

What would possibly possess you to publish this picture for the entire world to see? And Lord knows if any of you have met my mom, in the real world or cyber world, this woman will befriend a cat- or cow for that matter-

so when you put a picture up like this MOM a LOT OF PEOPLE SEE IT.

I got an email from Ryan Gregg (band mate, good friend) directed to the whole band and it just said, "OH MY GOSH has anyone else seen this?" Of course I am not a Facebook addict like the rest of you people, so NO, I haven't seen my seventh grade face, awkward body, and weird family dressed in pioneer clothes posing with guns and whips and whiskey bottles plastered all over the forsaken world wide Internet.

MOOOOOOOM

When I was in the seventh grade at Byrd Middle School in Duncanville, Texas I made it onto the volleyball team. The "B" team. I was completely spastic. Completely uncoordinated. And I couldn't even serve the ball overhand. Didn't matter. You would've thought an Olympic volleyball player had taken the court the way she carried on hoopin' and hollerin'. I'm not making this up. Brandi? Brandi can totally vouch for this.

She brought a cow bell and wore her t-shirt and wore pins with my face on it and carried on like we were playing for a million dollars. I was in seventh grade. B Team. Doing the whole underhanded serve which usually went straight behind me, hit the basketball goal, and I would spastically startle and end up ducking. Didn't matter.

I was the world's best volleyball player.

She's the kind of mom with no "child sensor." It genuinely doesn't occur to her that the whole world is not interested in every detail of our lives. It doesn't occur to her to be censored, reserved, shy, or to withhold any feeling or emotion she may have about us or about God or about her former pet cow. Why wouldn't everyone want to know everything about us? Why shouldn't she bear her soul to the world? Why shouldn't she have enough pride and encouragement to save the entire planet from depression and lack of confidence?

Oh my gosh.... I'm just like her, aren't I?!?!?!?!

Well, that's all. Since I'm not on Facebook I figured I ought to respond to this new development in some way.

1. We look like the Manson's mom.

2. Just because we had no money and went on vacation to state parks in Arkansas, free health expo's, and Six Flags doesn't mean the world has to know. I mean, don't you got any Disney Pictures? Where we have little Minnie Mouse ears and look like respectable ladies? Granted, we look like acceptable ladies in that pic... if we were driving freaking horse buggies, plowing the field, and burying babies because of measles...

3. I forgive you for embarrassing me out of love. Sometimes I want to lock you in a closet with lots of stuffed animals and just let you talk your little heart of love out until you lose your voice, but, I'm almost thirty and I've never heard you lose your voice my entire life. That is really amazing now that I think about it. Never once lost your voice. Dad, is that a cruel joke by God or what?

That woman's never lost her voice! Ha! I love it!

I love you mom. Thanks for being so proud of us that you even think we are beautiful with corsets, boas, and whips.

I Climbed A Real Live Mountain!

That's right! I climbed a real live mountain last week called Baldy! I thought, "Ten miles, I can do that!" It wasn't arrogance, it was ignorance. It was the curse of believing all things are possible. Half glass full. Beingthat kind of girl. Ten miles up a mountain? Sure! I've never walked ten miles in one setting in my entire life. Never. And I've never climbed a real mountain. So why couldn't I just up and do ten miles starting at 7,000 feet in one day?

Only took me five years of playing in Glorieta, New Mexico to finally talk someone into hiking the mountain at the back of the campground with me. Ten miles. 7 1/2 hours round trip. Final elevation of 10,990 feet. Only two Gatorade's and three bottles of water between the two of us. 2 granola bars, an apple, banana, two bags of cheezits and over 7,000 feet later... we conquered Baldy. To that end, my person of the day is our new drummer, Richard! My fearless mountain partner in crime! Thanks Richard!

(If I had any idea how to get these pics in order, this would be way more riveting. Oh well.)

This is the top of the mountain I climbed!

An old abandoned fire look-out station. Yes, we climbed it too. I mean, at that point, why not?

X marks the spot. That's where I had to stop and pee.

Sound of Music moment. The hills were definitely alive... with the sound of our huffing and puffing and groaning.

Mile three.

Mile one when I was still stupid and happy and my legs didn't tremble with death.

My partner Richard trying to quit on me. We took turns trying to quit on each other and trying to hate the other person for the horrible cramps and leg pain.

The sweet face of victory!