During the planning of this ministry trip, we were offered a 3 day vacation in Myrtle Beach, SC. It was an amazing offer, both in the generosity of the offerers, and in the providence of God giving us a vacation we asked for in secret...

We arrived at our beachfront hotel this afternoon, and after we got settled, we got some Mexican food and then hit Walmart, for a few groceries. By the time we got out of there, it was dark outside. Everybody had been really excited about seeing the beach, and so we walked down there in the dark, although it's pretty lit from the hotel, and the moon of course.

This is a whole new thing, doing something with just the 5 of us. We were pretty much the only people out there. We stood there watching the waves come in. Later, we found some roses that someone had left on the shore, and Toby wanted to bring one home.

As we were walking back to the resort, Toby was really lagging behind and I was waiting for him. There was this... flash of a moment when I saw him, with his little Crocs on the wrong feet and his guitar shirt, holding a rose and brushing the sand with his free hand. Just a flash of gratefulness that hurt... for my miracle babies and the beauty of living the life that we live together. I am so, so grateful.

Tomorrow, I am going to soak up the moments... and post some pictures.

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Part nine

Something happened today. I know you’re probably thinking, well, things happen everyday, Jenny. Ain’t it the truth? Still, something really happened today.

I got off work, picked up Lil Hank, and went on home and just as we was sitting down to eat our mac-n-cheese, there’s a knock on the door. I had a pretty good idea who it was, and he wasn’t welcome. I had been trying to send him subtle signals to get hisself lost, but he wasn’t picking up on them. Evidently the dozen shredded up roses on the porch hadn’t give him a clue. I never said Hank Jr, was smart, neither.

I didn’t even get up from the table. “Go on and get your mangy butt off my porch, Hank Jr!”

There was a little pause, and then he cleared his throat and knocked again, real easy-like. I felt flames come shootin out my ears. “I swear to the Good Lord, Hank Jr., you knock on that door again and you are gonna live to regret it!” I yelled out as I was shovelin a little more mac-n-cheese in Lil Hank’s wide open mouth. Again, there was a little break and then he cleared his fool throat again.

Well, that did it. I shoved back from the table hard. “Watch Lil Hank.” I told Jimmy, who was just eating his food real quiet and nervous. I went in the living room and picked a good solid lookin shotgun and waited for it. Sure enough, that son of a gun knocked again.

I threw open the door and held up the shotgun, only to feel like I had got shot my own self.

The most beautiful man I had ever seen was standing on my front porch. Standing on my front porch, in a suit, with his hands up in the air and his beautiful blue eyes full of shock. Standing on my front porch with a shotgun staring him in the well-shaped kisser.

We settled here into the guest apartment in Nashville last night... If you are a long-term blog stalker, then you know we lived here in these apartments for a couple months in April 2008. So it's nice to be back with the Thunder School crew, and I love Nashville.

So anyways. We got here, got settled, then went and ate at Subway and came back for baths and bedtime. I do not see anything in that sentence that would preclude mass panic and hysteria. Even now, it eludes me.

The storm began at Subway, and by storm, I mean Toby-is-trying-to-drive-me-to-drink type behavior. The very, very quiet Indian family that runs the place and sits in most of the booths along with their offspring, all quietly watching the UN and Ahmadinejad spewing vitriol, was concerned about the behavior of the child. I tell you what, I was concerned myself. Sometimes I wish I was one of those Walmart mamas and I could just haul off and smack a kid or two. (Disclaimer: I don't really wish that)

Anyways. We dragged him out of there by the arm, and then dragged him through a bath, in which he showed his masculinity and strength by teaching his sister how to completely soak the floor outside the tub. (Where was his mother? you're asking... I was gathering PJs. Don't judge) then out of the tub and he is not putting on his pjs because he is jumping off all the couches in his Spidey undies and making heroic statements and such. Finally, as in 1000 years later, I had them all in the bedroom they were sharing.

Now, if you are a grandma type, you are probably saying, "Spank that child! One good whuppin would fix him for life. When I had kids, I made them toe the line. Kids these days are just animals. Animals! With their ipods and their underwear sticking out of their pants and I remember when gas was a nickel!" and so on.

Let me assure you. I spank the child. More than I am comfortable with. I ground, and I remove privileges. EVERY day. I have learned from the Google that 3 years old is hard. In fact, from my mommyblogger research, it seems most of us mommys are caught off guard, expecting nirvana to start right after the "Terrible Twos" end. Sheesh.

So, anyways. Hours and multiple spankings later, when I thought maybe they had accidentally fallen asleep, the MOG calls me in a sotto voice. Never a good sign.

The room, and the two remaining children in it (R2 had been moved to the couch hours back after the persecution broke him) were covered in blue marker. Read that again. The room was covered. As in the entire hardwood floor had been assaulted, as well as the walls and the beds, and the people.

We just stood there in horror. There were no words. Once the initial panic lifted, we found the marker, which was dry-erase, and set to scrubbing the floor and the walls with any cleaning product we could find, to little avail. I asked the Google and found out rubbing alcohol is the key, so we attacked and scrubbed, all the while muttering threats at the small blue boy sitting cheerily in his bed.

The good news is, alcohol takes marker off pretty much anything. The bad news is, it does not take marker off of humans, and neither does baths, or soap, water and washcloth scrubbing. The Smurfs will just have to wait it out.

We slept in a basement last night. When we turned off the lights, it was the blackest black I have ever not seen. It rocked. We slept (all 5 of us) until 9:30 (8:30 central) which is unheard of... it was great.

Last night the MOG and I rocked it Radiant Unplugged style. It was just me and him and an acoustic guitar, and mikes of course. It's weird, because we've led a couple times in the last 10 years with just us, but this was a real throwback to our early days. No, I mean early. This felt like our 16 year old selves leading Youth For Christ.

Only not as rough... I'd like to think we sound a heck of a lot better than our 16 year old selves. We look better too. I am starting to notice that a lot of people look better as they get older... we get softer and clearer somehow.

Anyway, it was really fun. Teamwork is our thing, but it's usually a team of 7 or 8, so a team of just the 2 of us was good... refreshing. Not that I want to throw out the band, just that it was nice to have that marital ministry moment. MMM, if you will.

In a moment, we leave for Nashville. It's only 2 hours away, and I have been promised enchiladas. We shall see.

My plan was to get up in the morning an hour or so before we had to leave the hotel, and write a quick blog with my peaceful children gathered around my feet in their matching sailor suits. As the birds and friendly domestic animals gathered outside the Quality Inn window, I would write a pithy and interesting entry.

That didn't happen.

The MOG and I and our sticky and relatively calm children are en route to Cleveland TN, where he will be leading worship (I will be singng with him, because of Childcare Fairies) and then he'll be preaching and such. Tomorrow night, we'll be in nashville, where he will be teaching at a ministry school and leading worship. We have about three days in Nashville, which is great.

We drove about 4 hours or so yesterday and we have 7 hours today. Everybody is pretty happy, save the ocassional outbursts because Brynn sings the Dora song all wrong and such. This is a bit of a test tour for the wee ones. I hope they rock it.

The MOG is in need of a potty break pretty desperately right now, and the iPod starts playing ocean waves. You cant pay for that kinda comedy.

We leave momentarily for our family trip. We'll be driving, and the MOG will be preaching in various cities and leading worship sometimes, I think. Maybe you wonder what I will be doing. Allow me to remind you.

Also, don't forget the disgruntled preteen who, despite frantic repeated signing of "school" and "bus" is being held here, with his family, against his will.

I had valiant intentions, and in reality, all of the clothes in all the house are clean, because I did laundry at midnight and again since 8. Now I have to assimilate all this laundry into suitcases somehow. It was a lot easier to pack for just me and the MOG... how many socks do three little people need for 12 days and such. Ay caramba. I started getting pretty stressed about how much there was to get done, so I decided it was a good time to blog. I have alternative logic, don't judge.

The MOG and I have taken alternate approaches to the urgency of the hour. I have opted for the screeching-like-a-fishwife approach, followed by the nervous breakdown on the couch and to-heck-with-it-all option. He has spent the morning on the porch, coming in for coffee refills and mild rebukes to whoever is writhing and screaming on the floor in his direct path.

He is working, so don't fire off any hate mail. He keeps assuring me, "I am almost done with this correspondence and then I am going to kick into gear." I, being a fishwife, scoff. Still, I know at some point he will be done with work, and come in and question the efficacy of my mental breakdown policy.

I'll tell you more about this "tour" and the route tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy the cuteness. They weren't coached on what to say, this is just what they came up with. :)

Oh, and if you want to give financially toward this trip, follow this link to see Richy's video update and the Donate button!

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Part six

Part seven

Part eight

Life is getting a little complicated, what with Hank Jr. being out of jail and all. I mean, he probably won’t stay out too long, but in the meantime I gotta deal with him just about every waking minute.

Well, not just my waking minutes, I guess. Last night he drove over here and played music in the yard. He don’t play a instrument, he just drove his truck up in the yard and opened the windows. Bout scared the life outta me and the baby, all that noise outta nowhere. He musta been pretty drunk. He sang out there for a good half hour before the cops came and got him… neighbors musta called. I didn’t, because even though I yelled at him several times to scat, I thought it was pretty sweet, what with the singing and all.

Tell you what, though. When it got to Hank’s mama through the grapevine, she was mad as a wet hen. Blamed me. I wasn’t surprised. I mean, if I am the ONLY one to blame for getting pregnant couple years back, then I guess I can be to blame for some drunken idiot driving up into my yard and singing all night long.

Today I got up early, like 8, 8:30 and got ready for work and when I get to Family Dollar, who do you think is sittin there in his old truck? Hank Jr., that’s who.

“Does your mama know you’re here, Hank Jr.?” I asked him.

He got all defensive and macho.”Now, listen here, uh, Jenny,” he says. “My mama, she uh, she don’t tell me what to do.”

I turned around and walked into the store. His mama don’t tell him what to do. I and everybody else in this town know that’s a lie. Me and Hank Jr. would probably be married if it wasn’t for him obeyin his mama, and I don’t have any more to say about that.

I got a good little amount of money saved up, for our trip, but I did a little research and found out that Mama’s soap opera is on some kinda filming break, and those episodes I been watching are from last year. Now, I gotta tell you, that worries me a little. I have a feeling that Mama ain’t one to stay put when ain’t nothing holding her down. Or when things, or people, are holding her down, for that matter. She just ain't one to stay put. I can only hope her amnesia's bad enough to keep her still for a little.

That Proverbs 31 chick has always gotten on my nerves. I mean, sure, sure, when I get to heaven maybe she'll be so great and I'll be like, Oh, I'm so sorry I dissed you on my blog! But this is not that day.

Her: Proverbs 31:13-29

Me:

13 She selects cotton, primarily, and Elmo underpants, and works with eager relatively cheerful hands, because the laundry room is in the basement, and if she can just get it over with, then she won’t have to hear, “I'm gonna look like a homeless man leading worship, or, where are my UNDEEEEEEEEZ I can't FIND them”.

14 She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar, because Wal-Mart is like, 15 miles away or something, and parking is a nightmare.

15 She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food iPhone games (while she snags another 15 minutes) for her family 
and portions for her servant girls. Wait just a darn minute….

16 She considers a chair and buys it at the thrift store; out of her savings she buys a Coke from Sonic.

17 She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. Then she wakes up and thinks, MAN. I need to get to the Y, soon.

18 She sees that her trading is profitable, when she offers a broken ipod for her iphone and the 2 year old falls for it, and her lamp does not go out at night, because that is the time when she gets to read a novel without anybody sticking their diaper in her face and requesting a change.

19 In her hand she holds the wipes and grasps the elbow of the naked fugitive with her fingers.

20 She opens her futon to the poor and extends her beans and rice to the needy.

21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are indoors with the heater blasting. She does not go outdoors when it is cold.

22 She makes coverings for her bed; because all the comforters have been peed on, and she has to gather many, many baby blankets to cover the square footage. She is clothed in fine linen and purple, or denim and black with accents of snot and flour, generally.

23 Her husband is respected out on the porch, where he takes his seat among various angelic beings. His respectors yell at him through the window, “See me? See, see me? I’m a CALLIPILLAR ON THE WINDOW! SEE ME?”

24 She makes linen garments and chunks them, as her sewing is pretty weak, and supplies the merchants with donations of shoes that were a noble idea, but not her thing, really.

25 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. (I didn’t change this one, I like it too much)

26 She speaks with wisdom a percentage of the time, for example, "If you run away from me at Wal-mart, then you will get smashed by a cart and probably bleed", and snark is usually on her tongue.

27 She watches over the affairs of her household, after she sprays the children with Off and pushes them out the back door, she watches the affairs of her household from the window and does not eat the bread of idleness, unless you count Facebook as idleness. Hey, shut it.

28 Her children arise and call her blessed at 6 o clock in the morning; her husband also, and he praises her: although his praise tends to be a little on the risqué side….

29 "Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all, or a couple at least. Good effort!"

If you hang around with us, in person or on the interwebs, you probably have heard about Avalon asking to record Richy's song. If you don't know who Avalon is, here's some info.

Over the summer, Christ For the Nations' worship band recorded YAH, (see that video here) and the day after their recording came out, we got the email from Avalon's rep. It's been recorded several other times, by Lee Campus Choir, Ian McIntosh, and Gilmar Britto (in Brazilian Portugese!) and I think in Spanish once or twice.

We love most if not all of the versions we've heard, especially the one in Portugese. It's super anointed.

I was really curious about what Avalon would do with it... as a professional cyberstalker, I found a clip a couple of weeks ago and listened, but I couldn't really tell what the track sounded like. Normally we get an advance copy, but this time we didn't. So last night our home group went late due to a rousing game of Cranium, and so we were awake at midnight when the CD launched on Itunes... yes, we bought our own song. We will make 9 cents, off ourselves. (actually, we spent 90 cents). It's GOOD! It's actually powerful and good and I am so happy about it. At the end they do a little spontaneous worship stuff that I really like.

Buy the Avalon version of You Are Holy here.