FoxNews Article: Living in the Days Following a Mass Shooting

As a trauma survivor, I had often wondered what it felt like to wake up following a mass shooting. Especially when it hit close to home in El Paso. I wondered how people could be brave enough to put one foot in front of the other and go into public again.

Unfortunately, I found out first hand when my community, Odessa, Texas, became the latest in US mass shootings over labor day weekend.

I share my story and experience in the following article on FoxNews.

https://www.foxnews.com/opinion/jessica-phillips-a-week-after-a-mass-shooting-we-in-west-texas-rise-with-strength-and-our-faith

Suicide Sucks

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

If you are having thoughts about suicide, please consider making a call to someone today. No one will be better off without you...no matter what you have done; no matter how much pain you think you have caused! Suicide is not the answer. There’s a better answer...life. Please choose to live. This world needs YOU. We need you.

Suicide Prevention Lifeline:  1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Crisis TEXT Line: Text CONNECT to 741741

I know this world needs YOU because it needs my Dad, too. But he is no longer here because he died by suicide on June 16, 2005. He was forty-four years old. He was a husband. He was a father. He was a police officer. He was an alcoholic. He was a Christian.

He was complex, and though beautifully and wonderfully made, he sunk into a deep hole of depression and self-medication that culminated in a self-inflicted gunshot wound that ended his life.

His pain was over. Ours had just begun.

What do I wish we would have done different? Everything. Nothing.

I wish we could have offered him help. I wish we would have listened more intently to what he wasn’t saying instead of harshly judging his actions. I wish he would not have felt like suicide was the route to end his suffering. I wish he knew that our lives were not better off without him.

More than anything... 

I hate that he didn’t call

I hate that I didn’t call

I hate that he hid in isolation

I hate how the loneliness lied to him

I hate that he turned to a bottle

I hate that he could be mean

I hate how guilty he felt after acting that way

I hate that I responded to his meanness with my own meanness

I hate how guilty I felt after acting that way

I hate that we couldn’t cure the pain that pierced him

I hate the hurt that broke such a strong man

I hate that he felt too far gone

I hate that he felt unworthy of the love and forgiveness of his Savior

I hate that he felt like he had failed us

I hate that he felt unworthy of our love and forgiveness

I hate that we never watched him hold any of his four granddaughters

I hate that he didn’t hold my Mom’s hand on their 30th wedding anniversary

I hate that death sounded better than life

I hate that he died on a hot day in a field all alone

I hate it because I know it’s not what he was destined for.

BUT MY HATE DOESN’T COMPARE TO MY LOVE... 

I love how he laughed. Loud and larger than life

I love how he smelled. His smell lingered in elevators long after he had stepped off. And in drawers where his clothes once occupied; and now in my closet where I reach in and smell a few of his shirts every week just to remember.

I love how he hugged. I remember our last hug. He was in uniform and he hugged me so tight I thought his bullet proof vest was going to crush my rib cage...and I loved it.

I love how he fought for the underdog. It's why he became a police officer.

I love that he gave people second and third and fourth chances – even when the ultimate outcome was utter disappointment

I love how much he loved God, his Father. It is especially hard for sons abandoned by their earthly fathers to fully grasp the love of God the Father. My Dad never ever knew his own earthly father but he embraced a heavenly Father who would choose him and love him.

I love how he demonstrated faith – reminding me not to worry, not to be discouraged, but to pray, no matter how bleak the situation seemed.

I love how he served the church – they were his tribe, his people, his family.

I love how he read his Bible everyday – highlighter and pen in one hand, coffee cup in the other, Bible on his lap.

I love how he loved my Mom – he adored her and thought she was too good for him

I love how he loved me and my sister – with fierceness and reckless abandon

I love how he taught us when to fight and when to back down

I love how he taught us to say, “I’m sorry”

I love how he treated the elderly with respect and honor. He always held the door and smiled at them from ear-to-ear while looking at them directly in the eye. 

I love that he washed dishes and folded laundry. He served and nothing was beneath him. Nothing.

I love that he worked so hard – his work ethic was outstanding and his colleagues still brag on him to this day.

I love that he taught me manners and that a simple, "No sir" or "Yes sir" will calm down most people in authority. 

I love that he got in the trenches with lowly people.

I love that he was mighty and strong and yet humble and kind

I love that I got to love him.

I love that when he took his last breath, alone in a field on a triple-digit west Texas day, he was immediately ushered to peace in God his Father and Jesus his Savior. And I love that they embraced their prodigal son and rejoiced over his homecoming.

And most of all,

I love that one day when this life is passed, I will get to hug him again – ribs crushing, heart healed. Whole. Complete. “It is finished” – kinda hug.

All because God first loved us and saw fit to draw us to Himself through the death/burial/resurrection of His Son, Jesus.

Because He lives, so does Jerry Don Johnson.

And

Because HE lives I can face tomorrow.

And so can you.

Keep Going.

Keep Going. We need you.

Suicide Prevention Lifeline:  1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Crisis TEXT Line: Text CONNECT to 741741

Ugly Cry Tribe

They were nerdy little 3rd graders when they met and became friends. Jenni and Brenna, or "JJ and B" as we affectionately called them. Best friends. Thick as thieves. They enjoyed doing the same things - like checking math and working on science projects over the weekend. They played basketball together for the YMCA. Masterful in their skills. Like that one time that Brenna made a beautiful play down the court and shot a score for the opposing team. Or that other time that Jenni, with her large-red-framed-Sally-Jessie-Raphael-glasses and head strap that kept them tightly bound to her face, hyperventilated on the court because her body just couldn't stand the excitement and the running. They cheered each other on. They took up for one another when that mean girl was talking crap about Brenna because she wanted to steal B's boyfriend. Yeah, 6th grade was hard.

Through the years, JJ and B's two families morphed into one big family. B's Mom, Lulu, became JJ's "Aunt" or "Other Mother". Lulu watched over us as another set of Mama eyes since our Mom had to work, leaving us at latch-key kids in the 5th and 7th grade. She even rescued us from the F5 tornado that swept through Lawndale in the Spring of 1990. She showed up at our house in her minivan while hail plummeted down on us breaking windows. She drove us three blocks back to her house where her other four children were huddled in a closet. We all screamed and cried. It was harrowing. And it was also not a tornado at all. Yeah, just a bad hail storm, a microburst, and some traumatized kids home alone who got rescued by a Mama who wouldn't dare let us brave that storm alone. (Our Mother still cries because she couldn't be with us - her boss made her get in the basement for safety. Mom still feels the guilt. We're fine, Mom. I promise. I'll send you my therapy bill.)

And since then, that family has not yet let us brave a storm of life alone.

They were there in the house with us when the police pulled us in close to tell us they had found our Dad's body. They wept with us. Not holding anything back. Brenna nearly collapsed as she felt the weight of Jenni's grief. She screamed, "JENNNNNIIIII!" like it was her soul's cry. And it comforted me to know that our pain was shared, divided by our Tribe.

Last year we wept and cried as B lost her sweet baby girl. We cried and we wrote an obituary and a poem. What else could we do? Where else would we be?!?  We held hands. We prayed and asked God in a collective voice, "Why?". We cried more. And sometimes we laughed, but we ate. God knows we ate! (can I get an Amen?)

Over this past weekend we shared a group text bonding through our memories. So many hilarious memories (6th grade talent show: shoop-shoop-song; Career Day, circa 1989/90: Brenna dressed as a "model" but mistaken as a prostitute; Jenni dressed as a "baby-sitter", carrying 4 baby dolls, clearly, the cautionary tale of the "after" in which her BFF was the "before". Lulu's a-symmetrical hair and her "sexy" pick-up lines. Linda's perms circa: ALL OF THE 90's and the better part of the early 2000's!)

We howl with laughter over these stories. They are the fabric of our being.

Brenna told us in a text this weekend that we are her: #UCT.

Translation: Ugly Cry Tribe.

Dang straight we are, sister!

Lulu and Gaga are the best of friends - traveling buddies and altogether crazy, hilarious, women who continue to shape and mold us. JJ and B still BFF's, although not quite as nerdy but when they geek out it's usually when they're together. (And by the way, don't talk crap about either one of them or the other will cut you. Loyalty runs deep.)

I'm so thankful for my UCT. These friendships aren't easy - my experience is that nothing good worth having ever is! It takes work and time and sacrifice and forgiveness and compromise. But on my death bed I'll have them and the fabulous memories their lives have invested into mine and that's the kind of relationships that help me to keep going. They spur me on. They are the iron to my iron.

Find your Ugly Cry Tribe. Love them hard.

PS - keep going

(Gaga & I are not pictured in the photos below b/c we were out of town. First pic: Brenna & Jenni. Second pic: Brenna. Elle, Lulu, Jenni, Mikah)

I Didn't Fast During Lent

LENT     noun   I   \'lent\

: a period of 40 days before Easter during which many Christians do not eat certain foods or do certain pleasurable activities as a way of remembering the suffering of Jesus Christ

FAST     verb

1. to abstain from food

2. to eat sparingly or abstain from some foods

Last November I fasted for 30 days. I felt desperate for God to hear me, see me, change me. I fasted most of my favorite foods: sugar, carbs, choice meats (steak! This Texas girl fasted steak!). I wanted my head clear and my heart transparent before God because it felt all jumbled up. Everything felt busy and foggy. I was getting lost in the hustle of life, marriage, parenting and ministry. Especially ministry. 

The problem is that I love hustle. 

I love waking up early when its dark outside and getting a jump on my day. I feel a thrill when I cross tasks off my To-Do Lists. I get instant relief when I send emails and set up meetings and lead and lead and lead. I love going to bed exhausted. I even began to love sacrificing sleep and rest all in the name of hustle.

But at the root of my hustle was pride. 

Pride that was swelling and growing. It went up as sleep went down. When activity soared, so did my ego. I was so much more productive than everyone else. But if that were true...

...then why did I feel so incredibly empty and miserable?

So I fasted for 30 days. 

God immediately began to slice through my idol of hustle and go directly for the pride that beat beneath. This is nothing that hasn't happened to me before. God has regularly confronted my hustle throughout my life. My need to please. The desire to be chosen for the team because I'm sharp and I'm good and I'm a hustler.

But this time He wasn't telling me to stop all the things.

It surprised me. I expected God to tell me to put on the brakes and take a time out. Instead, He lovingly reminded me that He had called me to this season of ministry. He wanted me doing all the things I was doing. What He didn't want was the hustle to come at the cost of my relationship with Him.

In my pursuit of hustle, I stopped pursuing Him.

He was inviting me back. No guilt. No condemnation. Just an invitation to lay it down and fix my eyes on Him. So I did. 

I continued waking up early. But I read and prayed and journaled. Fixing my eyes on Him. 

I saw God begin to increase my opportunity for ministry. Again, I was surprised. I equated hustle with sin because my hustle had become my idol. God began showing me that what He called me to He would equip me for. My calling wasn't supposed to land my marriage in the toilet or created a strained relationship between me and my daughter. God began filling me up as I daily pursued HIM. 

When I pursued God instead of hustle, I was no longer spent. I was poured out but not empty. 

So this year when Lent hit the calendar, I chose not to fast. Instead of abstaining from food or certain activities (social media, etc.), I decided this season of Lent would be a season of me saying "YES" to whatever opportunities God led me to. 

It was terrifying!

Fasting was SO much easier! Saying "YES" was uncomfortable. Saying "YES" required that I remain in Him or risk a nervous breakdown because life and ministry got BUSIER and BUSIER! 

God began increasing opportunities and my territory to proclaim the great name of Jesus. 

He gave me a spot at a women's conference that Beth Moore hosted in Houston. A conference that both confirmed and encouraged my next step in my calling. (Guess what it is? I am supposed to write. Duh! Why didn't y'all tell me?) 

He called me to speak at a women's conference. TERRIFYING! 

He called me to lead leader's of women's Bible studies all over the region where we live. Our church has 3 campuses, we launched Bible studies on each campus AND a Bible study in a town where we don't even have a campus! WHAT?!?! 280 women signed up for Bible study. 280 women committed to reading God's Word. Nothing transforms people like Jesus. Period.  And nothing reveals Him better than Scripture. Boom! And I got to be part of that. TERRIFYING! 

He called me to go to Vienna, Austria to speak/teach Bible classes and chapel to middle school and high school kids from all over the world. The majority of whom do not believe in Jesus or God.  And I got to be part of that. I've never flown internationally before. I was TERRIFIED! I may have cried and possibly hyperventilated (just a little) on the flight from Houston to Germany. Who's to say for sure what happened. You weren't there. (I'm not a baby, you are.) As my friend Lolly said, "Only you and the flight black box knows what happened for certain."  

So I didn't fast during Lent. But I definitely gave some things up. 

I gave up my comfort and my finances (Austria ain't cheap). I gave up my schedule. I gave up responsibilities that I hoard for myself and I learned how to delegate. "Delegate" is Hebrew for "equipping other people to fulfill their calling". I'm just kidding. But delegating really did equip others for their ministry while freeing me up to fulfill mine. I gave up control over my family. I gave up control over my calendar. I gave up control over my hustle. 

But I did not give up Jesus. 

I saw Him more visibly. Sensed Him more strongly. Heard Him more clearly. 

I realized that what He gave up for us at Easter was His life. So that's what I decided to give up for Lent...my life. 

And you know what I received in return?

Life in abundance. More joy. More hope. More laughter. More love. More and more of Him.

I hope you've learned a ton during Lent this year. 

Happy Easter Week. 

PS - keep going.