here's the thing: as a nation, we're better than this.

Here’s the thing: if there was anything I could do to prevent another family from losing their dad because of a plane engine malfunction, I would do it. 

I would sacrifice my time - and my reputation- to prevent any wife from having to retrieve their husbands belongings from the hospital and fill out forms to donate his corneas and tissues. 

If there was some sort of law or ordinance we could change that would have even POSSIBLY prevented that engine valve from sticking open and causing my dads plane to plummet to the ground, I’d fight for that law to pass, and pass quickly. 

If there was something that could be done to prevent another 26 year old daughter from visiting their dad's crash site and seeing the mangled plane, I’d stand on a corner with a poster chanting about it. You can bet I'd call my senators about it, if that might help.  The pain and the grief is so much that I’d do whatever I could to keep just one family from going through what we went through. 

Here’s the thing: I recognize my dad died in an accident. I understand shit happens, that crazy people will always be crazy, and we can’t all walk around in bubble wrap and hope for the best. But here’s another thing: my dads plane was required to be inspected, regularly. And it had been. Its the law. People suggested we sue- sue the engine manufacturer, they said. Sue the inspector himself. Just a few months prior, my dads small, two seater Piper Cub airplane was given an annual stamp of approval. Just two years prior to that, Dad had flown it to Montana and back over the course of a week. But my mom chose not to sue - she didn’t want to put Dads death on someone else’s shoulders. Nobody wanted Dad to die. 

That is not the case in America’s mass shootings. Last week in Vegas, someone aimed to kill. He aimed at fathers and mothers and sons and sisters. The year before in Orlando, someone wanted death and grief to come. In Newtown, in Charleston, in Columbine. 

Here’s the thing: my mom was a political science major, and my dad was very politically inclined. We talked about politics and current events a lot as a family. My dad talked to  us on several occasions about the importance of never voting straight party ticket. He said to look at every candidate. Yes, he voted mostly republican, but he explained to me and my brother that every candidate deserves a chance, and if you vote down the party ticket, you might miss a really smart Democrat who deserves the office more than the Republican. I love his logic, his openmindedness. We sure seem to need more of that lately. 

You may have heard Jimmy Kimmel's emotional monologue this week, where he described a terrible hotel fire in Vegas that happened while he was growing up. Another hotel fire happened again the following year, and the city realized they needed better laws. They needed stricter fire code safety and building standards, so the city came together and created them. 

Laws were already in place to protect pilots like my dad - and their families. Laws already existed to lessen the number of times a state trooper shows up to tell a wife of 30 years that their will not be any more anniversaries. 

Here’s the thing: I think my dad's death keeps me realistic that laws won’t solve the entire problem, or prevent every single death. The laws about plane inspections didn't save my dad. I understand that laws don’t solve everything and that shit most definitely happens. 

(For anyone out there grieving, I’ll tell you something that isn’t true: “God doesn't give us anything we can't handle." That ain’t in the Bible, sister, and it ain’t the truth. Everything happens for a reason isn’t in the Good Book either- but I’ll tell ya what is: His promise to work good through all things, even the really crappy can’t ever understand it things. Romans 8. Also, it says God is love. God is not mass shooting or plane crash or cancer. God is LOVE. People mean well, but they get confused, and they stupid stuff, myself included. But don't cling to that. You're not given grief because God thinks you're strong enough to handle it.) 

I’m getting to the point, so hang with me- 

I buy into the cliches that we toss around as a society, like guns don’t kill people, people kill people. I get it. 

But I also agree with Jimmy Kimmel - the founding fathers did not want to ensure we had automatic weapons or those block bullet things. How about we all get muskets? Im okay with that. 

Why can’t we feel comfortable enough to announce that we're Republicans and admit that we are for better gun control?  I interned for the Bush White House for Pete’s sake - I’m a pretty devoted GOP supporter. At least I was before this dumpster fire waltzed into the oval, but that’s a discussion for another day- or how about never.

Why can’t we tell the NRA to stick it where the sun don’t shine and let’s pass some laws that make sense?? Why can’t we do what they did after those hotel fires and rally as a society and make things safer for each other? Why does it feel like we believe these things together, and we want change, and then we hear crazy statistics coming out of Washington and we hear, nope, that bill didn't pass, no background checks at gun shows. WHAT?! WHY? 

Here’s the thing: if my dads death had not been an accident, if anything could have been done to possibly prevent someone else from living through the hell we’ve been through, I would go and do it. Even if it was hard. Listen up congresspeople: EVEN IF IT COST ME MY JOB. 

And though the Lord has loved us through Dads death and shown us his goodness and grace through every turn during our grief - I still want Dad back. I still want him here to be a grandfather and to go for bike rides with me and to be here for Gentry and all of us. 

Those fifty-nine souls who were killed last week - they deserve to have lived out their days and met their grandchildren. Is there a law or an ordinance we could pass so that another crazy SOB doesn’t hole up in a hotel room with eighteen guns and the ability to fire hundreds of bullets so quickly? Let’s talk about it. Because I don’t know that any of us really care about what the millionaire NFL players are doing during the national anthem anymore. We’ve got fifty-nine families that don’t give a damn if the President of the United States thinks the NFL players are SOBs this week. They’re planning funerals. Fifty nine families are planning funerals. And five hundred more families are carrying for their wounded loved ones. And we should be planning and discussing what can be done legislatively to make this harder to ever happen again. 

Here’s the thing: as a nation, we’re better than this. We’ve done hard things before. We’ve gone where there isn’t a clear path and left a trail. 

There isn’t a clear solution to gun control or guidebook to fix this. But we have reasoning, and love for our neighbor, and the time to act is now. The waters may be murky, but surely we can wade through. I’ve had a loved one here one day and gone forever the next, and it’s almost unbearable. Whatever we can do as a country and community to prevent that from happening to anyone else, we should do it.  We are a nation of trying and failing until we get it right. And this is something we have got to get right. 

No Path But Forward {Recovering from Hurricane Harvey}

Nearly five years ago, my dad died in a plane accident. He was flying at sunset in the Texas Hill Country, and the engine of his single-engine 1947 Piper Cub malfunctioned during take-off.

In the week following my dad’s accident, I felt a peace that truly went beyond understanding. It was awful, worse than anything I had ever imagined having to live through - Dad was never coming back. He would never know his grandchildren, he would never grow old with my mom, he would never give me away. Our hearts ached, to say the least. But at the end of the day, we were okay. We clung to our faith, and each other, and at the end of the day, we were okay. We were grateful. We were covered in His grace.

This past week has felt eerily similar to the week Dad died. It feels like time has stopped - Drew and I have asked looked at each other several times, asking, “What day is it!? Is this really happening?”

It's been a roller-coaster of emotions. (And to be clear, we did not get water in our home. We are hurting for a handful of friends, for strangers’ stories, for our entire city.) A friend whose home flooded described it well: “I want to laugh, I want to cry, I want to cuss… sometimes all at the same time!”

Why?? Why, Lord? Where are you in this? You could fix this! I want to quote the hilarious Jen Hatmaker, "Fix it, Jesus!!" But joking aside, we know you could, Lord, you could have fixed  this. We are left wondering, where is the goodness in this mess? Total, complete, stinking mess.  

And then moments later, we see goodness. We watch the interview with the man who drove through the night with his boat from Kentucky, just because he "couldn't sleep, and the Lord put a burden on his heart to come down here and help people."

After Dad's accident, people just started showing up. They brought meals, they brought cases of bottled water, they brought toilet paper because they realized we wouldn't be going to the store-  even though we didn't realize it. They saw needs and they met them, no questions asked. People gathered in our front yard when the house was full, because they longed to be near us. The house was full of our loved ones, and they overflowed to the front street. I remember looking through our front window, my mind in a fog, I was deeply comforted by the crowd.

It is the same in the shelters. They are overflowing with volunteers. Some volunteers have waited in line for hours, killing time outside the convention centers, unable to serve because it's full, but unwilling to go home. The same as Gentry’s Young Life kids that gathered in our front yard - they want to be near the hurting, even if they didn’t have a specific “task.”

The Sun Continues to Shine

It felt odd to be out in the sunshine this week. The world around us is still dark. Still in turmoil. Still in a storm. The sun shines on the murky, stinky water as it rises into homes. The rain has stopped, but the devastation keeps coming. Sort of like when the shock of Dad's plane crash wore off: the hurt kept coming.

That's exactly how I felt driving down 1960 on the way to Jay Chenoweth's service. The sun should not be out! I think I said it out loud, riding in the back seat next to Amy and Gentry as we rode with my parents to John Wesley. I leaned my head against the window, heavy with hurt for our friends who had lost their dad. My stomach in knots, unable to understand why Jay had to leave this Earth. There should not be sunshine, I thought. The sky should not be that pretty bright blue color.

But the sun must shine. It cannot stay behind the clouds forever. We must continue to breathe. We must continue to laugh. Because, at the end of the day, we have hope. Hope everlasting. We have the peace that passes understanding.

4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. 5 Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; 6 do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. -Phillipians 4:4-7

Peace That Passes Understanding

In the week after dad's plane crash, I marveled at the peace that washed over me, and remained. This peace...it was hard to describe...it truly did guard our hearts and minds.

I was in wonder at the number of people who showed up to love us, to stand shoulder to shoulder with us in our grief. When it became hard to describe where God was during our immense sorrow, it became clear when we looked around at our friends: here He was. Here was Christ in action. Here was God with us.

We are with you, Houston. Shoulder to shoulder. Even as we ask "why" we can look around and find these stories of love, hope, courage, faith. We can see the body of Christ through one another's actions.

Our close friends vacuumed our house and took out our trash and cleaned our kitchen every night the week after dad's death. They didn’t ask “how can we help?” They just got down to work. They showed up. Like the man in Kentucky, they just "had a burden on their heart" to love people, to love on us.

I had - still have - such gratitude after dad's death. We didn't “deserve” him in the first place, really. So who were we to shake our fists at the sky and say “give him back!!!” There is so much in this life, this side of heaven, that we will not understand. Coming to grips with that is not easy. It takes some longer than others.

There is No "Normal" 

We went to Austin on Wednesday last week, after we knew our house was okay. Grocery stores in our area were “one in, one out, twenty item limit” and they wanted folks to stay off the roads so that first responders could get around town. We decided it was best to get out of the way and visit Lovie ( my mom) and Robbie in Austin. I called my mom to tell her we had made it to 290. It felt weird, I said, to be leaving behind our city while it was in the midst of such hurting. My mom pointed out that doing normal things would probably feel strange for a while, kind of like after dad's death. She hit the nail on the head - it's weird to go back to the day to day, the mundane. But we have to go on. There is no path but forward.

We can be changed by this, we can allow this storm to change our hearts and our actions and our communities. Since Dad died I have gained new perspective on a lot of things. For starters, it makes “challenging” things seem trivial. We can be far more positive after going through something so dark. For example, it is not a crisis if your wedding flowers are different than what you imagined. You know what sucks? Your dad not being there on your wedding day. Traffic was bad today? Well… you know what sucks? When your home floods. When you get picked up by helicopter because the water is so high inside your home that you have no other way out. Traumatic experiences, if you’ll let them, can help you put things in perspective, help refine you, make you stronger.  

And Houston, don’t miss this fact: this week is unlike the week my dad died in one big way - we are ALIVE. (If you know someone who passed away as a result of this storm, I am very, truly sorry.)

We have lost things, and money, and families are stressed, and pets have been separated from their people, and folks are hungry and babies need diapers and a quiet place to sleep instead of a convention hall. But here's the deal: God is still good, and we are still alive. The Lord was still good and sovereign when my dad died, when Jay died. And we were mourning DEATH. This week, we are ultimately mourning things. Yes, we need to grieve, that is perfectly fine - I walked through a partially demo-ed home this week and it was SO awful. But let us cling to the fact that we are still alive. Blood in our veins, hearts pumping. Think of the ways this city - this country!- has jumped up and gone running to help a neighbor.

No Path But Forward 

There is no path but forward. My mom repeated this often in the months following Dad’s death. So with softer hearts, kinder attitudes towards each other, and gratefulness, let's walk forward. Historic flooding be damned. Hurricane waters, recede. All the help and hope we've seen this week - let's go forward with more of that.

Let's remember that the Lord is good, always. That he never has plans to harm us, that he works good through everything. (Jeremiah 29, Romans 8)

Let's recognize that as the waters (literally) swept around us, He was there with us.  The feeling that God is near, God is with us? Let’s cling to that for weeks and months.  

I kind of feel like doing some fist bumps in the air and repeating what the heroes said on the airplane on September 11th when they overtook the terrorists… “Let’s Roll!”

Shoulder to shoulder, Houston. Let’s go. No path but forward.

a letter to my nephew {happy birthday, hunter carrigan robinson!}

My Dear Hunt, 

Hunter Carrigan Robinson, happy birthday! 

I will forever remember the day you were born; I will always remember the butterflies I had in my stomach as I hauled it up to the hospital to be there for your delivery. Your mom was in labor all day, and I had to stay home with Thomas and Harris, so I checked my phone for texts constantly and talked to your dad a few times for updates. Then, after I got Drew settled with our boys, I practically peeled out of our driveway. It was around 9 pm, and I was SO EXCITED that Amy and Gentry's SON was about to be here! 

Ben Rector blared through my speakers as I pulled out of our neighborhood. I was so pumped to finally be en route to the hospital. (Who is Ben Rector, you ask!?! You look him up right this second, young man! Incredible musician.) 

I stopped at a gas station to grab your daddy some sugar free Red Bull, because he and your mommy went to the hospital SO EARLY when her water broke. Normally I would object to him drinking that nastiness, but I knew he was tired and I knew I should be nice. (Listen to Lovie, she's a wise lady. She tells me to be nice a lot.) 

I know you will hear countless stories of your grandfather, but in case you haven't heard yet, the man could almost exist on a diet of sugar and soda alone. He loved a wide variety of crummy candy, but banana laffy taffy was one of his favorites. (Personally, I say yuck, but he ate it all. A refined palate he had not.) Also, he loved icees. He would drive out of his way if he knew a particular gas station had a good slurpee machine. So the night of your birth, after I grabbed the red bull and a few snacks to share with CC, Gunner, and Lovie, who had been at the hospital for hours, I thought, I'm getting an ICEE. Hadn't had one in forever. And when I saw the machine, and noticed the banana laffy taffy flavor option, I think I laughed out loud. I know I smiled for all to see. Some people call them "God nods" and some call them "God winks." Some might call it a coincidence. But in this city of 4 million people, never once at any of the hundreds of random gas stations that I've been in, has anyone had a banana laffy taffy ICEE machine. Coincidence?  No. Strange way to feel that Pops was watching over us? Sure. But they say the Lord works in mysterious ways, and Hunt, in that moment I was reminded that Pops is never far away, that his spirit lives on in many ways, and I felt comforted that even if you mom needed a c-section, we were okay. I know, I got all that from banana laffy taffy? Life is weird. 

I hopped back on the freeway and hurried up to the hospital. I was there when Clare was born, and I could not miss this!!! Wild horses and millions of dollars could not keep me away. And that will be true whenever you need me, sweet Hunt. Call, text, tweet - whatever technology we'll have. (Don't tell anyone this, but your father and I were born before the internet was invented. I KNOW. It's like we're from covered wagon days! Get this: our car didn't have a TV in it. How did we ever drive to Colorado without a TV?! It was a crazy time.) 

You don't know it right now my love, but you have one of the greatest teams on Earth. The people who are pulling for you, rooting for you, loving on you - you are a lucky little man. Your blessings are abundant, my love! Remember that when the days seem long and life seems rough.  

In addition to loving laffy taffy and pretty much any candy, your grandfather was a dreamer, a goal-setter, a man with an "agenda", as he liked to say. He was purposeful and purpose-driven. Work hard, play harder. He found adventure at every corner. He made driving to school fun. He made road trips unforgettable. We'll have so much time to talk about him, Hunt, but I want you to know: your grandfather lives on all around you, most specifically in your daddy. You are a LUCKY, LUCKY guy to have your daddy. I have learned that great dads, the legendary ones, are not something every child is given. I hope you are always cognizant (look that up too, it's good for you) of the wonderful people that God has given you to call family - and our friends who are like family, too. Not everyone gets a CC and Gunner in this life, bud. I hope you don't take them for granted one single day. 

I'll tell you something else, Hunter Carrigan Robinson. You were named after an amazing man. Actually, amazing men: Hunter Smith, Steve Carrigan, and Robinson you carry from your great-grandfather, Tom Robinson, Sr, who passed it to TWR Junior, who passed it to your Daddy, Thomas Gentry. 

It is an honor to say that I knew Hunter Smith. Hunter's favorite verse, I'm told, was Micah 6:8. I pray that verse becomes a banner over your life as well. You are but a week old as I write this, but I pray you find comfort and wisdom in the scriptures. And actually, Hunt, I  pray that for myself too - I could always use more time in the word and presence of the Lord. 

Life is hard to explain, my love. There will be big hurts and huge laughs and lots of in betweens. As you learn these things yourself, know that you have so many people to count on, to talk to, to ask questions. Your grandfather and Lovie were great at never making me feel silly for asking any question - big or small. You will learn more about Hunter as you grow up, too. May we always be telling stories of him and talking about him. 

One of my personal favorite stories of Hunter was when we all traveled to Colorado for your mommy and daddy's wedding! (What a love story! What a weekend! Some other time I will tell you about how I stole a vacuum and a snow shovel from the hotel basement and helped myself to their breaker box to shut off the power in Lovies room.)  

Back to the Hunter story... we were at this hotel called The Broadmoor, which has an incredible pool. It has a slide for kids, likely designed for ages 6-12. Well, Hunter decided that age is just a number and that the slide would be fun. So as his friends watched, he hooped and hollered, and at age 27 went down the slide with gusto! Hunter found fun and adventure wherever he went, a lot like Pops. He brought giant smiles to people's faces and made them laugh until their face hurt. I hope you are like Hunter in many ways, HCR. For one, I hope you always know that age is just a number and life is worth living with abandon. I hope you are also like Hunter in that you make sure the people around you always feel valued. I pray in your first year, and in all the years to come, you will feel so loved and filled with gratitude for all that you've been given. 

I made it to the hospital just in time for your mom to be taken to the OR for a c-section. She was fine, and you were fine, you just were determined not to come out on your own. So doctors decided, after hours of labor, that your mommy needed a c-section. Your daddy was a bit anxious (it appeared.) Worried for his wife, anxious for you to be here! CC took me back to talk to your mom. She was every bit herself - courageous, peaceful, kind, patient, faithful, steady. You are being raised by an incredible woman, Hunter Carrigan, and a fantastic father. Now that I'm a parent too, I realize it is hard to express to your children just how much you care for them, how much you truly love them. 

When I wrote your sister a letter when she was born, I told her this: 

It is a crazy, mad, messy, beautiful world that you were just born into. Your parents have known great joy, amazing love, and tremendous loss. You will likely know all these things too, at different times of your life. And I pray you'll also know incredible hope - the kind of hope that comes from new life, from beginnings, from joining families together. I pray you continue to know the incredible hope you’ve brought to all of us. 

We are all so thankful for you, sweet boy, and oh so smitten with your 8 lb 12 oz self! 

All my love, 

Lolly 

five years of love does

The week that my dad passed away, I was overwhelmed by countless friends asking me what they could do to help. After Dad's plane engine malfunctioned in the Hill Country, and his body stopped breathing, we were overwhelmed with community. What a lovely thing to say: we were overwhelmed with support. 

My brother and I both felt strongly that we wanted to speak at his memorial service, and my mom gave us the go-ahead to do so. Dad died on a Saturday evening at sunset, and his service was the Thursday after. As we dealt with the shock and finality of Dad's death, friends kept asking: "what can we do?" One of my mom's dear friends, who I later learned had lost her dad when she was a teen, brought us toilet paper. Yes, TP. I remember looking through the front window of our house, watching her unload a giant case of toilet paper from her Toyota Camry. What a strange thing, I thought. People were bringing us meals and doing our dishes and reminding me to wash my hair. And here comes Mimi and Nancy up the sidewalk with toilet paper. But you know what? We needed that TP. These women had known grief and known trouble and known sadness, and somehow they knew - when tragedy strikes, and you're just trying to keep your head above water, you don't go to the store for toilet paper. And if you're like our family, and you're immensely blessed by friends by the dozen coming over to hug you, cry with you, laugh with you, tell stories about TR with you - well, with all those friends over, you're going to need more toilet paper than on a usual September week. 

It was a Bob Goff thing to do, to bring toilet paper without us asking. It was love in action, showing up, not waiting to be told how to help. Simply put, love does. It was a behind-the-scenes gesture, not a glamorous task, but it meant so much. 

A friend gave me a copy of Bob's book, Love Does, in July 2012. Drew and I got engaged in June, and I thought she was giving me a book about marriage, since love was in the title. I waited a few weeks to read it, and when I finally did, I devoured it. I remember telling my family stories from the book at our dinner to celebrate my July birthday. You have to read it, I told them. I remember smiling at my dad, sitting around our dining room table,  telling him how the author reminded me of him - not taking no for an answer, living that saying my dad said so often: "What do you have to lose by just asking? The worst thing they could do is tell you no." Isn't that just like Bob Goff, sitting on that bench waiting to be allowed to attend law school?  

My dad never had time to read Bob's book. August was a busy month, with him and my mom making arrangements for my grandfather, who's dementia was advancing and quality of life was going down the tubes. Life is never easy, is it? But gosh, is it worth living. At the end of August, my parents went to Switzerland for a New York Life business trip and a much needed break. They tacked on a few days at the beginning of the trip to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary. 


Bob Goff has his pilot's license, just like my dad, and flies an amphibious plane, just like my dad. He throws candy from his deck at his home in Canada to the kayakers below, just as my dad threw candy to boaters on the Highland Lakes. I wrote about how the NTSB officer had never seen anything like it when they examined Dad's plane after the crash - bubble gum by the fistful came pouring out of the tail of the plane. There's a quote in his book, live life like you're being shot out of a canon. Gosh, is that my dad, or what!? 

The week after Dad's accident, my close friends were grieving too. They wanted to know how to help. Distant friends came out of the woodwork, wondering the same thing, too. I received countless texts and facebook messages and emails, people sorry for our sudden loss, people wanting us to know they were there, they were hurting, too. 

As I prepared to speak at Dad's service, I hoped I would find something short and sweet to say, to capture Dad, to honor him. I remembered a letter Dad had typed and left on my desk when he and mom moved me in for college. I wanted to read from that letter, to share his humor, his advice, his reminder that I should pray often, and his encouragement for me to learn to flirt. (Ouch. It's a real eye opener when your Dad tells you that you need to learn to flirt.) And I wanted to read the quote from the Notebook, a movie he loved and wasn't ashamed to admit it. And as I prepared to add one quote from a book so fresh on my mind, Love Does, about living life "like you were shot out of a cannon", a lightbulb went off in my head: I know what they can do. All these sweet friends, wanting to know what they could do for us, I had an answer: they could read this book. They could leave the service and be charged to live their lives more like Bob Goff and more like my dad: on fire. Brave. Bold. Far from perfect. Adventurous. Chasing the Lord's will. Loving like were made of it. 

I am so thankful for so much, in the wake of Dad's accident. Our gratitude is often hard to express in words. The Lord is near the brokenhearted, and for that we are so thankful. The Lord drew near to us through you, sweet friends. 

It was a joy to hear from dozens of folks who heard of Love Does for the first time at my dad's service, and who read it and were changed by Bob's stories and faith. I love how scripture is woven through the text yet never directly quoted: it is an easy book to begin discussions about Jesus, to point us to Christ without pointing fingers, to remind us that God is Love. 

My gratitude continues to multiply since Dad's accident - after losing someone suddenly, you become aware of the things you take for granted. It's like my senses have been heightened. This is so true, even five years later. I try not to take things like birthdays and sunsets and bike rides and adventures big and small for granted. A trip with Drew to Carmel, California, and a ride to the grocery store seeing big tractors out the window with Thomas - it is all to be cherished. I try to hold things more with an open palm than a closed fist. (Something Sweet Maria Goff talked about on a podcast just released by Jamie Ivey.)  So I do not take for granted the incredible gesture of thoughtful friends who called Bob on his cell phone number, which is listed in the back of the book. He called me during our rehearsal dinner and wished us well - the author of this best selling book leaving me a voicemail on December 30, 2012, a time I'm sure he wanted to spend with his family but he took the time to call a young bride about to get married without her dad there to walk her down the aisle. What a huge smile his voicemail brought to my face, one that lingered for a long time. How generous, how kind of everyone involved - thank you, Lisa and Clay. Wow, what thoughtfulness. 

I realize this post is long enough, but our gratefulness continues. I've had the pleasure of seeing Bob in real life a handful of times - the first, when Mary C, Mom, and I went to the Love Does conference in Austin in 2013. He opened the conference by throwing buckets of candy into the crowd - my dad was a sugar fiend and it just felt like what my mom calls "God winks" - like the Lord was saying, I see you. I knew your dad and I love you and I see you. And if a grown man throwing candy into a crowd causes me to be reminded that God is real, and that sounds crazy to you well.... sorry that I'm not sorry. 

Lainey and I with Bob's briefcase - he asked us to hold it, we didn't peak. 

Meeting Bob for the first time in ATX

Then Yellowstone Academy had Bob to speak at their annual luncheon, and I was on staff at Yellowstone for a hot second (another thing for which I'm so grateful) and my mom and I got to be the INCREDIBLY lucky fools who drove Bob from his hotel to the school for a tour and then to the luncheon. Spending just a few minutes with Bob lets you know he is the real. deal. He walks the talk, people. 

We heard him speak last year at an event for West Houston Young Life, and it has been neat to sort of track him for five years, from the book release to five years later. He's still the same guy, huge smile, loud laugh, love for Jesus, cell phone printed in the book for all to see. Last September, in 2016, Bob spoke at the YL banquet and I furiously took notes. He talked about how their cabin burnt to the ground - a cabin he and his wife Sweet Maria have used so graciously to serve the Lord and to serve His people. They open their home up to SO MANY and give their lives away and the house burns to the ground! How hard to understand. He was talking about this to the ballroom full of Houston folks and he said this: "God shows His presence through the difficult things in our lives.(insert my loud AMEN here.) And I wanted to scissor kick people IN THE NECK when they told me that our cabin burned down to show God's power. No!!!! But He does show us His presence." He also talked about not making the gospel easier, just more simple. If you're making it easy, you're messing it up, he said. Don't water down scripture, but do make it accessible for thirsty people. Speak love and truth and Jesus into their lives. 

This September will mark five years since Dad was last on this Earth. I don't miss him any less, and I don't long for him any less, but I do think I've learned these past five years how to live more fully. How to hopefully live with more love. I hope my life shows people that God is good, all the time, even in the midst of inexplicable hurt. While I've been missing my dad and learning to live without him here, we have been living. And loving. One day at a time, like my mom models for us. 

Speaking of one day at a time: I was recently listening to an interview with Bob on a podcast (type Bob Goff into the search bar on podcast app and just pick something - you can't go wrong!) And Bob was saying that his team doesn't really show him his schedule for more than one day at a time. He is all over the world, all over the place, speaking and leading and telling stories of how to live and love well and spread Jesus - and his schedule MUST be overwhelming at times. So when he was asked about that, he talked about how he is never really shown more than one day or a week at a time. It reminded me of my mom, telling us in those months after the accident, and telling us sometimes now, one day at a time, sugars, one day at a time. 

Slowly, but surely, by God's grace, we move forward. Love Does. 

(if you have not read the book yet, for the love of pete, get on with it! also, we have a bunch of extra copies. Drew ordered a case from the publisher a while back for us to giveaway to friends, to take on trips and leave in our hotel rooms for folks to find - he is always teaching me how to love extravagantly.) 

“But the kind of love that God created and demonstrated is a costly one because it involves sacrifice and presence. It's a love that operates more like a sign language than being spoken outright.” 
-Bob Goff

dear discount tire man: i'm sorry for crying all over your desk.

To the sweet manager at Discount Tire, I am sorry that you had to deal with me when I could not stop crying today. I'm sure that was awkward, and I'm sorry about that - but I am not sorry for why I was crying. I will never apologize for missing my dad so much. 

I had a flat tire this morning. I noticed it just as I pulling out for an already jam-packed day of work. I was pulling Thomas' red tricycle out of the way on the drive when I saw the back tire was almost too low to drive it. I do not have time for this, I thought. I quickly filled it up with air at the nearest gas station, and then hurried to the nearest Discount Tire. When I got there, they had to look up my account, which is under my dad's name, and then they wanted to update all the contact information. 

The discount tire man (Joey) turned the computer screen towards me so I could see all of the account data. I don't know exactly why this was so painful, there is nothing sentimental about Discount Tire. But it was. 

They deleted his email, and added mine. They deleted his cell and put mine. They deleted his address and put mine. Gone, gone, gone. Your dad is gone. I couldn't stop the tears. I'm usually able to fight them off when something causes my eyes to well up and my throat to tighten. I push them back and keep on truckin, to save the poor soul who has no idea why I'm crying. But not today. Joey at Discount Tire was trying not to look as I turned away to pull myself together. He had to wait patiently, staring at the screen as I took a few deep breaths before i could talk. What's the email address you'd like me to add? he asked me quietly. 

Silence. More tears from me. I smiled at him and whispered: "I'm sorry." The tears kept coming. Poor Joey. 

Discount Tire man has likely known great loss. Maybe not, but probably. He's buried a loved one, someone close. But I doubt he had a dad like mine. i hope he did, for his sake, but I don't know. 

I've always sort of hated the phrase  and lost than not at all... but its true. I would so much rather have had my dad in my life and have the terrible pain of him leaving the earth too soon, than to not have had him. Some dads out there are total crap. (I'm not talking about the ones who make an effort.) Not all dads strive to be the kind of dads that mine and that Jay Chenoweth set out to be - caring. devoted. funny. generous. selfless. Why do we have to lose the good ones? My friends from college, Paige and Taylor, both have lost their moms too young, too.  I think of them often. From what I've heard, their moms were incredible. Why are these the ones to go? 

This man at the discount tire counter, I don't know anything about his dad. And i'm sorry for having tears dripping off my chin and trying to nonchalantly wipe them away but... there is nothing nonchalant about grief. 

part of me feels silly for missing him this much five years down the line. he's been gone for almost FIVE years. and yet, erasing his email address from our discount tire account brought me to real tears. but that's okay. it's not really silly. i'm nearly 31 (who's counting) and i expected my dad to still be here. i miss him. i wish he was here for me to call and brag about how i put air in my tire all by myself at the gas station  and how i had 6 quarters in my purse so that I didn't need change. i miss him. i miss his laugh, his advice, his sick sense of humor. some children are not given parents to miss the way we miss dad. one of my students when i was a teacher lost her dad to violent gang shooting before she was in kindergarten. her dad was troubled. my dad was not. she will never find herself as a thirty year old mom of two who is not sleeping through the night weeping at a discount tire register. and you know what - that stinks for her. because she'll never really know her dad. 

i am thankful i was given a dad worth missing. i am thankful for all that he taught us and the way he loved us and made us laugh. we live in a world where we are guaranteed nothing yet our culture makes us feel entitled to so much. 

I realized today, I have nothing to complain about. Getting a flat tire and being an hour later to work than I planned - that's not a big problem. For starters, I was born in a country that values women (I don't know your political views, dear reader, but it's a fact (not the alternative kind) that on a global scale women in America are valued and given SO MUCH.) I'm given the right to drive and wear whatever I want and marry whom every I choose... My car is paid for and I have the means to buy a new tire - or four. I'm not wondering if i should choose between diapers and food for my family - as so many people do. Yes, it's annoying to have a flat, but really, I have nothing to complain about. I live a charmed life. i have a sweet husband (who is also totally smokin hot, amiright) and two healthy babies and yes, I miss my dad every single day. But  alas....I live a charmed life. 

I am so blessed. If you catch me complaining about ANYTHING anytime soon, you have my permission to smack me. (unless your name is Gentry, in which case you most definitely do not and never will have permission to smack me.) I have zilch to complain about. Nada. 

My cup runneth over ... and spills over right onto my four new tires and my charmed life. 

a letter to my 5th grade self

Dear 5th grade me,

Sixth grade is totally going to suck. Totally. Your English teacher Ms. Teague will be awesome and your dad driving carpool with Elizabeth will be fun (he'll make you listen to Paul Harvey and you'll think he's weird but you'll cherish those memories.) You won't have many friends, the boys will call you pig nose in gym class, and you'll make a D in art because the teacher is a witch and she thinks your pottery skills are terrible. And in fact, your pottery skills are terrible. But you're a very conscientious student (for now. maybe hold on to some of that for high school) and a D in art just seems unbearable, unfathomable! You will go for after school tutorials and eventually Dad will have a conference with her because the witchy teacher scares Mom. Can you imagine!? 

Dad will argue with the teacher that middle school art should be pass or fail, and that you should get a passing grade for the many hours you've put in and for giving your best effort making this godforsaken pottery .... and Dad will come home and tell Mom "that woman scares me!"... And you will get a D in sixth grade art class. 

Also, while I'm breaking bad news, I'm sorry to tell you that you will not kiss a boy from senior year of high school until senior year of college. Yep, college is basically a dry spell on the kissing front. Bummer. But, it's okay because you'll eventually kiss Drew Prochaska, and nothing else will matter.

So now for some good news...sixth grade my not be stellar in the friends department, but eventually, you'll have incredible friendships. Lifelong friends that make your face hurt from laughing. Here's how to find them: look for the friends that will hoop and holler when your grandmother walks into the room because they think she's so fun. Look for the friends that will go on ski trips with your family and not think you're all completely nuts (or they'll think they belong with the crazy, either way, it works.) Look for the ones that will get you to ride 30 miles to Mount Vernon on a cruiser bike just because. 

These are the friends who will drop everything when dad dies in a plane crash and literally move in and take out the trash and remind you to shower when everything in your world seems completely, utterly wrong. (Yes, Dad dies in a plane crash. That's all you really need to know for now, because if you knew more, you might not leave the house. And you might not understand that God is still good and everything is mostly okay.) 

Look for the friends who will pray with you and for you and remain quiet when there is nothing to say and say the right things when it's time. Look for friends that won't care that you need a paper bag to help you breathe a few hours after you've been told the news. Look for them, because miraculously, though it may not feel like it today, they are there, they are nearer than you think. 

Guess what? You will get kicked out of math class for sleeping in the back - how embarrassing! Maybe have some extra diet coke so you don't insult the poor teacher. By the way, be sure to take math at Blinn so that it doesn't hurt your GPA at A&M. Yes, you wind up at A&M - it sounds terrible to your little Longhorn heart right now, but you'll see. It's wonderful. 

You won't have many regrets by the time you reach thirty, but you will regret not hugging your parents more - maybe don't yell "no!!!!" so often when mom goes in for a tight squeeze. 

You will make countless mistakes and you will have many successes based on the way you handle those mistakes - and by the way you handle it when your loved ones make mistakes, too. Throw out grace like Dad used to throw candy from the airplane - without abandon, just to make others smile. It'll be memorable, promise. 

Life is going to be really, really hard and really, really confusing. And it's also going to be glorious and wonderful and I cannot even tell you how incredible it will be to meet your two sons. To love them and feed them and be silly with them and pray with them and sing songs to them. The world is going to break your heart more than once- and God is going to be there in the hurt. Look for Him all around. Look for Him at church, in the scriptures, look for Him in the eyes of the people around you, the ones that feel like family but technically are just friends. 

Learn to be better at apologizing. You're probably still going to suck at it when you're 30. Dads plane crash will help keep the small stuff in perspective - very much a "ain't nobody got time for that" kind of mentality. In fact, Mom will be diagnosed with Stage 3 uterine cancer and after a year or so you'll kind of forget it even happened, because of her positive attitude and because so much other stuff hits the fan. Mom will do radiation and have surgery and thankfully, she'll get to live. Others you know will fight like hell and not get the same chance ... do not try to make sense of it. But do allow yourself to feel whatever you're feeling, as hippie-dippie as that may sound. Pissed that John and Willie won't have their dad at their weddings? Weepy that Jay and Tom won't be hilarious grandfathers together? Allow yourself to feel those things. And then put on your boots, get your shit together, and keep on walkin, my friend. 

You won't have many enemies, but you'll feel evil in your life. Evil knocking on your door, whispering for you to run along with it, to be fearful and vengeful and hateful and bitter. Lock the door, baby girl. Lock that door and tell the demons to run. Run, and hide. For the Lord is good, and He is faithful, and He is among us. There will be days, months, stretched into a year, that you just don't feel much for praying. Not while you're alone, anyway. Things will happen to people you love that you just cannot understand. 

Pray anyway. Love anyway. Things will happen that cause you to question what it's all for... Live anyway.  God doesn't promise we'll understand it all. But He promises to love us. He promises to hear our cries, our questions, our joyful prayers and our prayers of desperation. Whatever your heart feels, miserable or grateful, pray anyway. Love anyway. 

And when you leave art class on report card day, give that old bitch the bird. 

Okay, I know you won't, but gosh...I wish you would. 

Love, 

Thirty year old you 

PS - get some leave-in conditioner sooner rather than later.