The Importance of Failure

Someone close to me is walking through their husband’s first major work related “failure.” You know the feeling of dread that a guy gets before he hears the words “turn your head and cough” or “bend over, you’re going to feel three fingers”? These have nothing on the deep, deep sense of dread, shame, and anger he goes through when failing at his job.

I am not a man, of course, so I cannot tell you what a man goes through with complete certainty.

I only have a dad who has failed and a husband who has failed.

And let me tell you, watching a man that you love- fail- just plain SUCKS.


When I was a little girl my dad and mom moved my sisters and I from small town Mississippi (where all of our family lived), to the bustling, overcrowded, multi-cultural, drug-ridden side of the biggest city I had ever seen with my own eyeballs.

Fort Worth, Texas.

Before we moved my mom was a youth minister and my dad was a police officer. But one day he had an epiphany. My dad, the police officer with anger issues, felt like he heard God tell him to join the clergy. Become a minister. Go to seminary. Change the course of your entire life for MY sake. Incredibly, my dad listened.

My dad put a lot on the line.

He had three little girls: 8,7, and 3 who had only known life around our grandparents, life in a small town, life roaming in the woods and playing under magnolia trees. He wagered all that on a dream. An epiphany from God.

His dad helped us move to Texas and I will always remember my Papaw crying in the Pizza Hut parking lot as he hugged our necks and said good-bye. I had no way of knowing then that my Papaw and Mamaw would never come visit me. That because we were moving to a different state, my grandparents would not make any effort to be a part of my life. Maybe my dad knew the bitterness he was stirring up by leaving his parents behind. Still, he wagered that on a dream.

We moved to the ghetto. They started seminary. And three months later, I turned nine.

I only remember this because for the first time in my life my mom let me buy party favors for my birthday party. I was so excited. I had Lisa Frank bags with Lisa Frank stickers and coloring books and bubbles and candy for everyone who came. And as the minutes ticked away and no one came, I remember my mom wiping tears off her face and quietly slipping the party bags off the table while my dad took the few presents they were able to afford and unwrapped them, divided them up, and re-wrapped them to make it look like there was more there than there actually was. Like maybe I had a friend who had come and brought me a present.

My parents wagered a lot on this dream.

Dad took a job as a security guard at the local hospital to make ends meet. For a while he worked at a half-way house. Mom went on staff at a small church with a pastor who slept around with women in the congregation and stole money from the church. My sisters and I got lice from the neighbor kids and I spent the third grade convinced that, “Mexican men kidnapped little white girls with green eyes who walked home by themselves from school.”

I’m not sure who told me that, but I had never known anything urban or multi-cultural in my life; I was little and I believed it.

I spent an entire year convinced that I would be kidnapped as I walked home from school.

Several years later my parents graduated seminary and my mom found the perfect job at a church that ended up being our home for many, many years.

But my dad found nothing.

Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. He worked jobs he hated to put food on the table. He doubted whether he ever “heard” God in the first place. He lived, for quite some time, in the land of dread, shame, and anger. He had failed. He wagered everything on this dream. On what he thought was a calling from God. He put it all on the line. Uprooting his family. Changing the entire course of his little girl’s lives. Quitting the only career he had ever known and ever been good at to become “a man of the cloth.” And two years after graduating seminary he was bagging newspapers for minimum wage in the basement of a printing plant in downtown Dallas.


I have seen a man fail.

It is brutal. Gut-wrenching. And deeply heart breaking.

To watch someone risk it all and fail is to watch their heart being ripped from their own hands. And to know, that they know, the whole world is watching them fall a part- well, it only adds insult to life-threatening injury.

At least that’s what it feels like.

I would rather be run over by a car, or slowly tortured than to watch my dad or my husband have their confidence and dreams stripped from them.

Take me Lord.  Please. I will endure anything. I will voluntarily be tortured. I will work three jobs. I will scrub toilets. I will make a deal with the devil. Anything. Just don’t let a man that I love be humiliated. Don’t let him fail.


Last night, out of no where, Ryan said he would love a Nissan Maxima. Something sporty, but grown up.

“Really, I just so desperately want my own car.”

“What, you don’t love our vibrating 99’ Ford Escort? You don’t want to share a car with me anymore?!? That’s tacky. I want to share an old nasty car with you for the rest of our lives!!!”

I make light of it, but it is a constant reminder of our financial reality. Our failures. I see it in Ryan’s eyes and it kills me. He’s a grown man who has worked his butt off and sacrificed so much, for so many people, for so long. He deserves his own car.  Or at least a car that doesn’t vibrate.

Watching a man that you love stare failure in the face is numbing.


So to my friend, who is standing there today, I am so sorry. I have been there.

And here’s what I’ve learned along the way.

  1. We all fail.
  2. We all process failure differently.
  3. Failure, eventually, ultimately, is good.

In light of that...

1. Don’t try and act as if he didn’t really fail. IE: “It’s not your fault, it’s that a**hole boss of yours.” “The test was rigged” “The process was unjust”  “Those results can’t be right... you don’t fail.”

Don’t put the pressure on someone you love of being incapable of failure. Trust me, they are actually capable of great failure. And while it feels good and does no harm to have the initial gripe session where you blame and bash the rest of the world, ultimately, the man failed and deep down he needs to be able to come to terms with his own limitations.

No one wants to acknowledge failure. It’s a bitter pill. But I would wager to say, at the same time, most men don’t want a woman in their life (be it mom, friend, sister, wife, lover) who goes around making excuses for them and being angry at the world for the perceived injustices that their male counterpart is experiencing. So after the initial anger and grieving are over, it’s ok to let it sit there. The failure. It’s ok to acknowledge its existence. He failed. It sucks. But he failed. Don’t make excuses for him.

2. Don’t force the process. Every human will process failure differently. Let him process the way he needs to. You don’t need to send out an urgent prayer request if he wants to keep the whole thing quiet and you don’t have to build him up into superhuman status if he just wants to sit and sulk for a while. The worst part of watching someone you love fail is that you simply can’t fix it for them and you have to allow them to muddle through much of the guilt and shame by themselves. Life is not meant to be a singular experience, that is for sure, but there is something about staring your shortcomings in the face- without the rose colored glasses and overprotective presence of a perpetual cheerleader, that causes you to grow.

Somedays dad would come home from bagging papers and he was just angry. I didn’t want him to be and I remember trying to make the spaghetti noodles extra good on those nights so that maybe it would make things better. Better dinner. Better life. But my sixth grade attempts of “fixing” my dad fell miserably short because what he needed was not a fixer, what he needed was the freedom to be mad. You gotta give them space to process their failures without writing it off as “God’s will” “somebody else’s fault” or trying to fix it for them so that they don’t have to face it at all.

The best thing you can do is give them the space they need to process the failure at hand. Let them know you are there for them and you love them unconditionally... then... zip it. Sit on your hands. Tie your ankles together with rope if you must. But don’t dominate his process of facing failures with lame attempts to rescue him.

3. Finally, as you watch the brutal process and long to make things better, take up the cause of HOPE, because eventually, ultimately, failure is good.

Failure is good for the man who lives in prideful arrogance. Failure is good for the man who lacks grace. Failure is good for the man who has lived a charmed life. Failure is good for the man who lacks compassion. Failure is good for the man who believes he can control his own destiny.

Failure is good for the man, woman, boy or girl who longs to know God; because it is only in our brokenness that we realize our need for grace.

Failure is good for the man who desires wisdom. Failure is good for the man who wants to live empathetically. And failure is good for the man who seeks to love others, because failure makes us real. Failure makes us relatable. Failure evens out the playing field. No one is beyond it or above it. Everyone fails.

Failure makes a man fully a man.

Failure is eventually, ultimately good.


I grew up and had lots of birthday parties with lots of friends and lots of presents.

I have more “adopted” grandparents than any kid I’ve ever known, and it has more than made up for the grandparents who chose to take a back seat in my life.

My dad got his dream job after being jobless for nearly three years.

The job was working for Baylor University. He sent my sisters and I to a top-ranked, private college for free. Not one penny of debt. And we have incredible degrees and life experiences that he never dreamed he would be able to give us.

My dad is a pastor now and has been in ministry for over 15 years.  He is an incredibly gifted minister who pours into the lives of others and makes a difference in the world around him.

The dream he wagered so many things against came to pass and his failures have became valleys of the past.

Most importantly, my dad walked a way from his failures a new man.

A man of grace. Courage. And perseverance. A man of empathy, humility, and awareness. Aware that he was not perfect, and no one else was for that matter. My dad came out on the other side of his failures a better man...

And I am convinced your husband will as well.  He is a good man. And this might be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Don’t lose hope sweet friend.

Soul Vacation

I have been on soul vacation.

Well, at least I am beginning to take a soul vacation. I am dreaming about what a soul vacation looks like. And I am trying to figure out how to pack my soul-suitcase and go lay out by the beach with a coconut drink in one hand and a good book in another.

In the midst of 55 shows. From New York to Seattle and everywhere in between. In the midst of living on a bus. With my baby. And husband. And eleven other adults. And one tiny bathroom.

Yep, during the next two months in the midst of all that I am trying to go on soul vacation, because, as Nita Andrews from Porter’s Call once told me, “You can’t be everything for everybody. Your soul needs rest. And if you don’t find a way to give yourself rest in the midst of what you do, you will end up a recluse, in a cottage, far away from society, bitter at the world. God doesn’t need you to be a martyr Jenny; a depleted, useless, martyr. Your soul needs rest.”

Burn Out

My soul is a bit burned out.

One too many girls this summer dealing with abuse, one too many preachers with hidden agendas, one too many student pastors with good intentions who end up making my faith feel cheap, one too many online comments written with anonymity and so little respect or personal responsibility, one too many plane rides, one too many books saturating my brain, one too many hugs, one too many autographs, one too many...

So I met my pastor Jackie for lunch recently to get some things off my chest.

I told her that I felt off. I’ve been so tired this summer that I’ve convinced myself I was pregnant... twice. Yikes! I stopped eating healthy and I've taken to eating ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. I avoid text messages and phone calls like the plague. And worst of all, I told her, I don’t feel anything when I worship. It just seems fake. And I find myself looking at people who are worshipping like they are foreign aliens.

Crazy. Foreign. Aliens.

I feel removed. I have found myself wondering time and time again, “Is God even real?”


“I don’t think I believe in God anymore,” I said in defeat, “And I really don’t like church people they are all giving me the heebie jeebies. And I mean, I have nothing against God. Other people can believe in God but I’m too tired too. I just want to live on an island and work at a coffee shop and play in the ocean.”

She smiled and shook her head. My friend Krista came in to the restaurant and ordered us wine.

“What’s up?”

“Jenny doesn’t believe in God anymore.”

“Oh cool. I’ve done that before,” she smiled.

Jackie looked at me with the most tender eyes “Well, my friend, if you end up a Buddhist or a recluse living by the ocean who doesn’t believe in God, I will still love you. But seriously, I am not going to have that conversation with you today. I think you and Jesus are closer than you care to be at times. But I think your soul is so burned out that you don’t even know how to go home to Him. It’s not that you don’t believe in God, it’s that you need to take a soul vacation. You need to spend some time processing the intensity of this past year with a counselor. You need to shut down for a while. You need to play. You need to not think. You need to go on soul vacation friend.”

Burn out? Soul vacation?

Hearing someone give me permission to take a soul vacation brought me to tears.

Nothing has ever sounded better. I was ready to vacate all responsibility right then and there for an immediate leave of absence.

Her words rung deep and true and I knew without a shadow of a doubt... I needed a break.


That’s where I have been. Taking a break. Defining boundaries for my soul. My family. My time. My life.

I have been on soul vacation. And to be honest, I need to be on soul vacation for quite a bit longer. And once this tour is over, I am going to take time off. Maybe a month. Maybe a year. I’m not sure yet. All I know is that I have started on my soul vacation and I know without a shadow of a doubt that it is exactly where I need to be.

I haven’t read books. Haven’t engaged in anything political or controversial or even slightly related to Obama or healthcare or tea parties or crazy Koran burning pastors. I have not gone there. I have not done anything for anybody. Whew. Let me say that one more time: I have not done anything for anybody, for at least a week or so now, and oh my gosh, it’s been the best feeling ever. No reading the news. No volunteering. No blogging. I really haven’t been a good friend either. No returned text messages. No calling. No emailing. Nothing really. And the thing is...I’m ok with that for right now.

The people who love me the most are ok with it too.

What do you even do on S.V.? I’ve been playing with Annie. Watching her. Taking joy in the smallest things that she does. I’ve been looking at what actress wore what dress to the Emmy’s (I’ve literally never done that before in my life). I’ve traded in my Christian books for magazines about how to make the perfect cupcake and how to help my daughter, Annie, poop better. I’ve taken guilt-free naps and fallen in love with Ellen. Did you know she dances on every single show??? And almost always gives away presents to people? And I promise you that lady owns every cool pair of shoes ever created!

I can’t believe it.

Me, the girl who only watches TV if I am on my death bed. I’ve been watching Ellen and Access Hollywood for fun.

And I love it!!!

I love that everyone in my life has simply let me be. No quoting scripture or looks of disappointment. No one trying to fix me. But just friends being friends. Parents being good parents. Sisters being good sisters. Counselors being good counselors. Pastors being good pastors. And all of them saying.

Soul vacation.

Porter's Call...

The only way I can see a counselor during times like this is because of a really amazing ministry called Porter’s Call.

Al and Nita Andrews realized years ago that Christian artists are often sent out on the road to love on and minister to people, at a break-neck pace, with little pay, and much strain to their relationships back home. They realized artists needed a safe haven. A place to vent. To grow. To heal. To dream. And then to be sent back out again to bring God’s message of hope to people through art.

Al and Nita single-handedly created a place for your favorite artists- and I’m telling you, I don’t know many people in the business who have not been to them for therapy- to receive counseling services free of charge and in untraditional settings and times. Like 8 pm at a coffee shop. Or in their artist retreat center. Or first thing in the morning with your husband or bandmates at their office. You name it, they are there for us and they have single-handedly guided artists through the roughest spots in our marriages, ministries, and band relationships. Free of charge.

They make it possible for someone like me to get the support I need when I have found myself face to face with a desperate need for SOUL VACATION.

This week we are raising money for Porter’s Call through a huge online Ebay auction!!! It is my hope that there are some fans out there who would love to spend a day drinking coffee, eating cupcakes, mexican food, and going shopping with one girl who is officially on SOUL VACATION!

If you want to join me for an ultimate day of pampering and support an amazing ministry that keeps your favorite artists spiritually and emotionally together... please, please, please consider placing your bid first thing tomorrow morning for Dallas Diva Day with yours truly!

A true soul vacation!!!

Long Live the Crazies!!!

First of all I'd like to thank the Denver International Airport for the free wi-fi, without which, I would not, at this very moment, be able to tell you about the flight I literally just walked off of.
United Flight 156.
Albuquerque to Denver.
Just when I thought all the funny had left my life...

The lady next to me strapped Tigger into the empty seat between us.

Then, she used hand motions and verbal reinforcement to teach him the safety rules.
I was so stunned at first I couldn't even laugh. But then, I had laughter steaming out of my ears and trying to come out of my eyeballs. I have not been this tickled in a long, long time.
She whispered things to Tigger the whole flight.
And she talked to her husband, in the seat directly behind her, the whole flight.
And she smacked her gum... the kind of smacking you would do if you'd possibly like to lose a tooth or if you'd like the pilot to hear you or if you believe your smacking, might, in some small way help the plane stay in the air... she did that kind of gum smacking the entire trip.
So did her husband.
And when his ginger ale came out... he slurped. The kind of loud, prolonged slurping sound that an Ogre or hairy bushy mountain man makes after he's sucked down rabbit-feet stew. He slurps and slurps. And now I'm trying to get secret pictures of Tigger and audio of the slurping so that the rest of the world can know that these people were real....
and then he belches.
The nastiest belch I've ever heard.
And I have never had to laugh so bad in my whole life.
I'm biting my lips and trying to take deep breaths, the kind you take after a bad contraction when you have just tried to push a small, slimy head out of your body... I was taking those kinds of breaths and I was trying to think of something sad. Anything sad.
I was trying to focus on the horrible smell that seemed to be lingering in my part of the plane.
Trying to think of my third grade birthday party where no one showed up except the next door neighbor who gave me a used Barbie doll with lice and caused me to have to take baths with my sisters for months while mom and dad tried to get critters out of our heads.
I tried thinking of that.
Death. I can almost always think of a good funeral... so I tried to think about death... and it was starting to work but just as I got my laughter under control and zipped up tight in my mouth, the old man behind me (the slurper's seat mate) who had literally been singing "da-da-da-dee-dee" in a grumbly low voice for the entire flight said,
"Well, now that we're in the air, I'll need to get my bag out. My wife packed a fresh meatloaf sandwich for me and my tongue is excited!"
I lost it.
Shoulders uncontrollably shaking. Legs bouncing. Hands hitting my knees. I could not control myself any longer. I buried my head in my lap and died laughing.
The lady next to me leaned over and began whispering to Tigger.
Up until this point I did not realize that he was a Native American Tigger wrapped in a traditional headdress and outfit, but I was at eye level with him now, and realized he was wearing a small backpack and traditional Native American garb.
And, let's not forget, he is STRAPPED INTO THE SEAT BELT.
I felt like I was trapped on a flight that would end up being a Stephen King movie. If the universe were to suck up a plane and keep it frozen in time to commemorate the weirdness of humanity... this was the flight. I was on it. And I was surrounded by the three biggest nut balls I've ever experienced in my life.
The flight was only 50 minutes long.
The old man ate his meatloaf sandwich, and on the way out, the teenager two seats in front of me pulled out a family size bag of Popeye's Chicken from the overhead compartment.
Full of chicken.
Meatloaf. Chicken. Tigger. And a lady who whispered the entire set of emergency directions to her friend and checked to make sure his seat belt was secure. Did I mention she reclined his chair?
She reclined his chair.
Long live the crazies.

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.
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.

Therapy Thursday


Letters From My Sister

a true form of therapy...

On Getting your Christmas Wish List Together


Yep, you know it, it's that time once again! Time to put the tree up, and to dream of a white Christmas, and to come on ring those bells, AND time to start thinking about your Christmas Wish List. That's right, what would you love most to find waiting for you under that Christmas tree of love this Christmas?? Do you hope for a little red wagon, the kind that makes you fly, whatever it is, your heart desires, now is the time to be thinking about it. And I propose this year we write our lists in the form of a letter to Santa Clause. Yes, that is right, a sweet letter telling Santa what it is YOU want for Christmas this year. Then forward that letter on to everyone else, and it will be just like Santa Clause is coming to our doorsteps once again, dropping off wonderful surprises for us to wake up to on Christmas morn. And don't forget to remember, Jesus is the Reason for the Season! Much Love and Happy Santa Writing (Ryan this means you too!) ~Mel

On Responding to Melissa

Dear Melissa,

Do you know what the date of today is? It has to be almost Thanksgiving, right? Oh wait...let me look at my calendar. That can’t be calendar says it’s only Oct 9. So only 9 days ago we were in the month of freakin’ September.

I am still high off the big Columbus Day celebration we had yesterday. We still have Reformation Day, Halloween, All Saints Day, Election Day, Veterans Day, Remembrance Day (for our Canadian friends up north), Thanksgiving, Feast of Christ The King (for you Catholics), Chanukah (for people of Jewish descent) and even Advent before we get to Christmas.

Please get back to me when we are about 30 days away from Christmas. I might have a list ready. I have to see what I get for All Saints Day first before I can finalize my list.

Much Love and full of the Holiday Spirit,


On Some Things Never Changing

It's Christmas in Killatee with all the folks at home! (She means Killarney, a Bing Crosby Christmas classic.)

I know, I know Ryan, I'm not allowed to start any of this until AFTER Thanksgiving, but I just can't help it!!! So since we are going with the theme, Less is Best, this year, I thought it would be a good idea to start giving suggestive suggestions, not saying you have to stick with any code of buying, but you know, just thought since I was going to be starting my Christmas looking that YOU could start giving me your Christmas listings! =) That rhymed.

On Following Up

Well Hello Again Everyone!!

This is your friendly reminder that I will be doing most and hopefully ALL of my Christmas shopping on Black Friday (actually, the outlet malls in San Marcos open at 12am on Thursday night and the biggest sales will be going on from 12-6am, and I will SO be there! And if anyone would like to join me it will be a TON of fun!!!), but anyways, this is your last opportunity to give me a list of what you want, otherwise I will just be creative, but I'm not actually a very creative person so it will be to your benefit to send me a list!!!

Dad and Sarah, you have sent out a very small list, and unfortunately Sarah, I don't think I'll be able to buy you furniture. Dad, you have sent out just a few things as well, and there just aren't enough things on your list to go around...kay???? (And by the way, that runner's calendar looks really cool, but that site is shady!! They won't even tell you how much you are paying for everything and they just say "bill you later", which is very tricky business, I put in a fake name and address to see if the total would come up at the end, and it didn't, so BOB GEORGE who lives on 555 East Dr. in San Antonio will be receiving a runner's calendar this year =) Hope the house is vacant or non-existent.)

On what to buy Melissa’s cat, Tiger, for Christmas

My cat, who is most definitely mentally handicapped, truly needs other things to occupy its poor little feeble mind, because as of right now, he is eating toilet paper, and I'm not sure where he got the toilet paper from, considering we ran out last night, but this is how he spends most of his days, except when he is napping in his kitty litter box. So really, he needs toys.

On the Pervasive Randomness My Sis Possesses

From Dad: I don't know what it's like where you guys are, but it's snowing where I am! Don't worry, supposed to be less than an inch accumulation...barely enough for a snow mouse!

Melissa’s response: I LOVE SNOW MOUSES!!!

Melissa’s response to me adding my mother in law to the family e-mail list, “Hmmmm, I recognize all those e-mail addresses up there, except who is Ila???? Well anyways, nice to have a new family member aboard, whomever you are!”

On Planning a Party when Melissa is Unavailable

Family- As we all know, no one can have an adequate, happily spent, mesmerized, delightful, wonderfully intoxicating (on joy of course), lovely, Happy Birthday Day party without ME, HELLO!!! And of course the others might add something special as well. So I vote NO for this course of action! NO because I like cake, yummy foods, and ice cream, and I like presents (even if they aren't mine), and I like biscuits, and sing-song fests, and old grandparents telling lame jokes, and animals running around the house like a wild barn or a forsaken zoo. And so my vote is NO, because without all of this, how could one really, truly, have a happy birthday???? I must say it would be non-sensical, unfashionable, unthinkable, illogical.... absurd, asinine, brainless , cockamamie, crazy, daffy*, daft , dingy, dippy*, doltish *, dotty*, fantastic, fatuous , feebleminded*, half-baked*, half-witted*, harebrained... to truly think you could have a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, without me and all the other things that make birthdays so special at the Chisolm house!!.

(Sorry, I had to rely on to help with those last words =)...)

But, I guess it is not MY birthday, and so whatever suites you best, well, I guess we have to go with that idea, even if that doesn't include me and yummy food and disturbed animals. Ok, Fine, My Vote is YES, yes you can have your happy birthday without me, but don't think I'm not going to sulk about it, because I am.

On The Deep Well That Runs Within Her

I remember the words that are on the little board at Glorieta. You'll have to stop by and take a picture of the old wooden sign if it is still there. (The last time she saw this sign was over ten years ago):

An hour spent in silent prayer,

Within God's sacred garden here,

Brings sweet content within the soul,

as self I yield to His control.

I set each human problem free,

And in it's place, dear Lord, to thee,

I build an alter deep within

Secure from life's depressing sin.

On Loving Me Well

Melissa recently sent me an email with these words. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Sometimes I'm a selfish fake

You're always a true friend

And I don't deserve you

'Cause I'm not there for you

Please forgive me again

I wanna be there for you

Someone you can come to

Runs deeper than my bones

I wanna be there for you

I wanna be there for you

And be someone you can come to

The love runs deeper than my bones

I wanna be there for you

*Sometimes love and laughter are the best forms of therapy.

Thank you Melissa for being water to my soul…

and one of the best therapist’s I have ever known.*