Finding Strength in the Strangest Place













Psalm 46: 1-5  
God is our refuge and strength, 

a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, 
though the earth should change
And though the mountains slip
into the heart of the sea;  
Though its waters roar and foam,
Though the mountains quake 
at its swelling pride.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
The holy dwelling places of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her,
she will not be moved;
God will help her when morning dawns.


I love this Psalm.  It paints in my mind's eye a very vivid picture of God's strength in the midst of chaos.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

His presence is familiar.  It's always there.  It's very present.  When I feel like the world is spinning out of control (out of my control, if I'm honest) I look for Him, and He's always there.

Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, and though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.

Think about this picture.  A mountain slipping down into the sea. I can picture the turmoil, the swell, the white foamy water.  It is not a peaceful picture.  It feels overwhelming and frightening.


It says, "Therefore we will not fear . . . " no matter what things look like around us.  No matter what is being destroyed or falling apart or changing.  We will not fear.  I will not fear.

And then there is the next beautiful line of this Psalm.  And every time I read this line . . .

every.
single.
time.

it makes me catch my breath in awe.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God

I am not a theologian, and I don't know exactly what this means, but this is what it says to my heart. 

In the midst of destruction and chaos and uncertainty, there is a river, the depth of which cannot be imagined.   It is unfathomable.  It provides life.  It provides protection.  It has a determined course. It is a force to be reckoned with.  It is the Lord.


And I'm pretty sure THAT is why the thought of it takes my breath away.

When I read this one line, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God," I feel instantly at peace.  And oddly enough, I feel bolstered.  I want to raise my fist and shout, "YEAH, That's right!  A RIVER!"

The holy dwelling places of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved;
God will help her when morning dawns.

All that to say, there is a river, a foaming, raging river, yet it is there I will find strength, and comfort and peace. There is a river, and I am wading out into the deep of it.

Setting an Example


I am a hand talker. This fact is most evident when I am angry. Or when I am driving. Or worst yet, when I am angry AND driving. (I couldn't decide whether to say worse yet, or worst yet, so I went with "worst yet" as it felt to have the greatest amount of emotion, so don't correct me if it's wrong. I took literary license.)

Anyway. I'm a hand talker. I make gestures (not those kind of gestures!) when I talk.

Also, when I don't know someone's name, I make a name for them that describes what I know about them.

For example, years ago, my kids and I always ran into the same guy on Friday's at the donut shop (don't judge me. YES, I fed my kids donuts faithfully every Friday for many years, and it didn't stunt their growth; though I once had a three year old tell me that he couldn't have a donut because, and I quote, "donuts make you flabby and weak." Wow.)

Back to my story. I have blog ADD today.

So, we saw this guy every Friday. And the thing that was the most notable about him was that he bounced when he walked. So we called him "bouncy man."

Really, my whole family does this naming thing. We have named all the chef's at Kobe Japanese Steakhouse. They have names like "rock star guy" or "sweaty man" (sweaty man is one of the best there).

When I broke my leg several years ago and the paramedic tried to PULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL the skate off my broken foot, Zack named him "Captain First Day On the Job."

I have many other stories about names I have given people whose real names I don't know.

The most common place I "name" people is in my car, while driving. People get names like "Mr. Oh-That's What That Lever Is For On My Steering Wheel. It's a Turn Signal!" (Most of the names aren't that long.)

I digress.

So the other day I was at a four-way stop and there was a dad there with two kids on bikes (with training wheels).

Brave Dad. (that's not the name I gave him)

He had his hand on one set of his kids' handlebars and was waiting on the other kid to catch up (at said four-way stop).

So, "Mr. Safety Dad Man" was waiving on the cars at the stop sign he was standing next to, FORGETTING the fact that there were 3 other stop signs at this FOUR-WAY-STOP.

He almost got us killed.

So I said, "Hey, Mr. Safety Dad Man, how about letting the TRAFFIC SIGNS do their job? Okay? Cool with you?" (Of course I didn't say it TO him, more "at" him, in the privacy of my own car. I HAVE mentioned my road rage issues, right?)

Then, all the sudden, I realized I had the twinderellas in my backseat. And they were listening to me. So I switched into "Mrs. See What a Good Mom I Am" and said, "Look at that nice daddy helping his kids on their bikes. That's so sweet."

Gulp.

All that to say, I am going to have to work on remembering that I am setting an example.  I guess technically I have been setting one for a while. Hopefully a few of my better qualities have shown through as well.  Time will tell, that's for sure. Those Twinderellas. They keep me humble.

You're Looking Pretty Good Carol Jones

I don't know why, maybe because I knew I had to leave my house today, or maybe because it's my birthday and that warranted a little bit of extra time looking in the mirror; but no matter the reason, I stood in my bathroom this morning, staring at the woman looking back at me.

photo credit: Tim Barosh
My attention initially fell to the curves I seem to have acquired as I have aged, but I wasn't put off by those curves as I often am.

Nope.

Today I looked at myself and said, "You know, Carol Jones, you don't look too bad for a woman of 53 years. You've got a few wrinkles and some junk in the trunk, and let's get real, a boob job wouldn't hurt you, but generally speaking, you're one hot mama."

(yep, my actual conversation with myself)

I don't know, something about staring at myself in the mirror and talking to myself out loud made me giggle.

Hearing the noise in the background of our home, the girls laughing, iTunes playing,  I smiled, thinking how different my life *is* versus how I imagined it *would be* at this point.

I think somehow I pictured that I'd be in Paris or on some remote sandy beach sipping fruity drinks adorned with pink paper umbrellas. Trust me when I tell you, in no way did I ever imagine I'd be starting all. over. again.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a mom.  In fact, I think it's been my very best work.  I just didn't see myself here, at this stage again, at this point in my life.

But in the best and most fulfilling of ways, I'm glad I'm here.

And I'm thankful for every single thing God has allowed in my life, because each of those things, from the greatest of joys to the deepest of sorrows, has shaped and molded me into the woman I have become - every curve, wrinkle and flaw included.


All that to say, "Happy Birthday Carol Jones. You're looking pretty good, girl."




Less of Me

This morning at church Mike and I were standing close together, singing (or something we call singing) and soaking in those moments together when I felt this incredibly deep sadness come over me.

It's difficult to explain, so I won't try, but I just reached around him and whispered in his ear, "Will you pray for me?"

Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around me, placing one hand behind my head and pulling it next to his so he could pray into my ear, over the sound of the song we had just been singing. Of course, he had no idea why I needed him to pray, and honestly, he didn't ask. In reality, *I* had no idea why I needed him to pray, but that didn't deter him. He just prayed, trusting the Holy Spirit to supply the words.

The music shifted and the congregation around us began to sing these words,

Set a fire down in my soul
That I can't contain and I can't control
I want more of you God
I want more of you God

I want more
I want more
I want more of you God


Oddly, I could not bring myself to sing the words.

As I stood there in silence, I felt the Holy Spirit speak to me, so gently, but so firmly, as he so often does.

He said, "Carol, you don't need more of God. You need less of yourself."

Such truth in so few words. But in that truth, I found such comfort.


All that to say, perhaps these words are just for me today. But perhaps they are for you as well.


He must become greater and greater and I must become less and less.  John 3:30 NLT




I Survived Dance Recital Pictures

I would like to begin this post by saying I raised two sons, boys, non-females. I raised them from infancy to adulthood, successfully.

I navigated the roads of parenting, surviving everything from the terrible twos and potty training, bad grades and bullies, teenage attitudes, driving, dating, drinking, and broken hearts (and not necessarily in that order).

So you would think that with that much experience under my belt, a little thing like dance recital picture day would be no big deal.

Well you would be wrong, if you thought that.


First off, I'm not a girly girl. I can't do fancy hair, I don't accessorize well, I didn't do ballet or tap or jazz or any such thing as a little girl, nor did I attend school dances that required extravagant formal gowns. So I am immediately at a disadvantage.


Secondly, when your daughter has dance recital pictures, it's serious business. You have to go to a meeting where they tell you what to wear, and how to wear it.  You gotta know how to fix the hair, where to put the bow, what color stockings you need, the fancy socks . . .

O.M.G.

the list goes on and on.

But you know what? I rallied.

I figured out how to put my daughter's braided and beaded hair into a bun, expertly crafting a black sock around all that hair in such a way that it looked exactly like a black bun on the top of her cute little head.

Read that again. (Go ahead, I'll wait. . .)

Did you catch that? I used a

CUT
OFF
SOCK

and made it look like a bun.

For.Real.

AND I expertly fashioned the other daughter's giant fro into a tight-ish bun on the top of her head.

I somehow managed to get my twinderellas in car seats amidst giant glittery tutus and exclamations of grand protest.

And we somehow arrived without anyone falling down and tearing their TWELVE DOLLAR stockings or SIXTY-FIVE DOLLAR costumes (for the love).


When we got out of the car, I must confess. I was nervous.  So nervous in fact, that I gave myself a little pep talk.

"Come on Carol. You can do this.  You've raised kids to adulthood. It's a dance recital picture.  Just get in there. Be confident. You've got this!"  (I wish I was kidding. But I'm not. It was very stressful.)

The second we walked into the room, I knew I was totally out of my element.  All around me were little girls with glittery hair and rosy cheeks and thick, dark mascara-laden eyelashes.

I pretended not to notice, but in my head all I could think was, "No one said anything about make-up in that meeting! I didn't know about make-up! They are FIVE! Why do they need make-up?"

One mom walked up to me and said, "It's kind of crazy, right?" (Clearly the fear was evident on my face.)

My response was, "Let's just say soccer pictures were way easier than all this!"

She patted my back in that reassuring, "Oh-honey-you'll-get-it" sort of way and walked over to the other group of more confident-looking moms.

As we waited, moms and daughters took selfies. They posed in groups, the moms equally as done up as their cute little girls.  I have no idea how they got themselves AND their daughters that put together.  We barely survived getting out the door, and I was a mess.  Sweaty, hair disheveled . . . seriously, a hot mess. (But in my defense, I had to get TWO girls ready, just saying.)

Finally it was time for pictures. The photographer placed the tall glittery girls on the pinnacle of the stage, and then dragged out these two "s-shaped" props.  As the photographer took each of my girls by the hand and led them to those props, I smiled a little smile.  I knew she was going to try to get my girls to sit on those props.

Nikki . . .
Sitting, on a prop . . .
A curvy prop . . .
With ten more girls waiting to be positioned in the photo.

Let's just say by the end of that decision, the photographer looked as sweaty and disheveled as I did.  It was my tiny little bit of revenge for the hell I had endured to get my girls there.

All that to say, I survived dance recital picture day. And when the actual recital day comes, I'll be ready, armed with a video camera, because knowing my two girls, I very well could have a $10,000 winning t.v. appearance in my future.

(Oh, and also, I have NO PICTURE to go with this post. That's how nervous I was! I'll come back later, when I get the pictures back, and post some pics!  But until then, I'm giving you this cute movie of the girls dancing. Turn up your volume!)

video





The Twinderellas Meet Their Cinderella

I have a long story to tell you today.  There's no deep theological meaning in this post. No grand philosophical point to make.  Just a timeline of events, if you will, but one with a pretty cool ending.
(Now don't go skipping to the end, or you'll miss all the really awesome details in this story!)


Wayyyyyy back in early February, I received a message from the Director of Love Fosters Hope, Cindy Mericle, telling me that this year's grand fundraising prize was going to be a trip to Disney World.  (I coach a Couch to 5K running group that runs in the Run for Hope as its Completion Race, so she knew I'd be running and likely fundraising as well.) The Run for Hope raises funds for Love Fosters Hope to send kids in the foster care system to camp.  She said, "I think it would be so cool if a family who adopted a child from the foster care system won the trip to Disney!"

Get Busy Winning


I posted this status update on Facebook immediately upon learning the news (because, well, you know the power of social media to make things happen, and I wanted to get busy winning!)






Which was immediately followed by this post on my son, Jacob's, Facebook wall:




A Very Unexpected Gift

Not too many days had passed when a young woman by the name of Jessica Fraser reached out to me, via Facebook.  Jessica knew of our family because she had taken an AP class with Jacob in High School, had seen his post, and was writing to explain to me that she really wanted our family to go to Disney World. She had already made a donation to my fundraising efforts, but wanted to find a way to make sure we got to go.

Ultimately, Jessica, her family, Mona Lane (Disney Planner) and a large group of her Jessica's friends and coworkers made the decision to send Mike and I and the Twinderellas on an all expense paid trip to Disney World.

The decision to send our family to Disney World was based on the Fraser family's desire to do something more in this world, to leave a heartprint instead of a footprint by doing something incredibly generous for someone else in the world.  As part of their "heartprint project" her two sons, Jimmy and Jackson (ages 3 and 4) gave up their birthday parties and presents to be able to help send us to Disney. (Please take the time to click the link and read their story).

Disney had been an incredibly healing experience for the Frasers after their family suffered a significant loss, and she wanted our family to experience that same "Disney magic."  Here's what she wrote in her note to me:

"My boys told me after I had to explain our loss that they "wanted to go to Disney to be happy." So we went. And we laughed so hard we cried. And we felt true joy again. And it was absolutely beautiful. It's something about Disney. It brings out the joy that sometimes we hide away. I want this for you and your girls so very much it hurts."


My one hesitation in their generous gift was that I didn't want it to hurt the fundraising for the Run for Hope. So we (the Joneses and the Frasers) made the decision not to tell anyone about the trip and to continue working to raise money for Love Fosters Hope (the organization that sponsors the Run for Hope).

Privately, the Fraser Family and their coworkers held a Disney Reveal for the girls. They showered them (and us) with plane tickets, Magic Bands, Disney Gift Cards, spending money and so much more. It was overwhelming, to say the least.  Here are a few pictures from that day.

The girls with Jimmy and Jackson and Jessica (See the Frozen pillowcases?)

A few of the people who made our trip possible!

The girls in their Minnie shirts from Aunt Cathy.
At this point they only knew they were going to get
a surprise. When asked what they thought the
surprise was, Shannay said, "a rice cake?"

More to the Story

Fast forward 2 months, and I got an email from my good friend, Courtney Templeton, who had this great idea to raise A LOT of money for the Run for Hope so we could win the trip to Disney.  Keep in mind, very few people knew we already had a trip in the works, and the WHOLE REASON very few people knew was because we didn't want to hurt the fundraising for the Run for Hope.  So I couldn't tell her we were already going to Disney!

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that we would raise almost $4000 in ONE DAY from her brilliant idea, but we did! We were so thrilled that so many foster children would be going to camp from that incredible day of fundraising (and we hadn't mentioned Disney World one time in the day of fundraising!)

Never in our wildest dreams did we ever imagine we'd end up with TWO trips to Disney, but that is exactly what happened.  Not only were we going to Disney because of the generosity of the Frasers, we were also going at the generosity of so many who gave to the fundraising for the Run for Hope.

O.M.G.

In a crazy twist of events, at the 11th hour, another fundraising family passed us in the fundraising competition, but their last donation came in past the 9:00 p.m. fundraising deadline. We were declared the winners and given the prize.



Paying it Forward

The thing is, that other family was also a foster family, and what were we going to do with TWO trips to Disney? So we did the only thing we could do; we paid it forward, and gave them the trip.


All that to say, the Twinderellas are going to meet their Cinderella.  And so is another special family.

It is, after all, a fairy tale ending. :)






What Is The Impact of Your Words?


Our words are so incredibly powerful; the words we speak to others and the words we speak to ourselves.


Our words can delight the heart or devastate the mind.

They can be instruments of peace and hope or chaos and destruction.

We can wield them as weapons or whisper them like salve over deep wounds.

We all know the power of our words, and yet we speak them with such carelessness, such blatant disregard for the impact they will make upon landing.

There is an ancient biblical proverb that says, "Death and life are in the power of the tongue . . . "



The Power of Death and Life


I had a friend of mine who's father went into surgery for a minor hernia repair.  No big deal, even given his advanced number of years.  They were assured it was a very simple procedure; he'd be in and out before they knew it.

After some time, two doctors came out (they never deliver bad news alone), each removing their surgical caps, almost in unison.  She and the rest of her family stood up, surprised and each sensing the impending doom that had sucked the oxygen out of the room.

Due to a slight error in the way some medication was administered, a medication designed to regulate his heart rate during surgery, her father had suffered a heart attack and they could not revive him. He died on the table.

Imagine the shock of that.  A simple medication, designed to give life, but instead delivered a deadly blow.


Thus is the impact of our words.


Though they have the power to give life, if spoken carelessly, they can bring death and destruction.


Choosing My Words


I have thought so much about my words lately; about the ones I speak, and the ones that remain thoughts in my head, threatening to spill out over those I love . . .


. . . and those I struggle to love.


God gave each of us the ability to speak. He also gave us the power to give life, and hope, and encouragement with our words or to use them to bring devastation and destruction.



All that to say, we have the power of death and life on the tip of our tongue. Today, for one whole day, speak each word as a gift and measure the life that it brings to your soul.





What Would Happen If You Just Loosened Your Grip?

This morning I woke up to go workout, but with a last minute cancellation from my workout partner, I found myself fully-dressed, caffeinated, and wide-awake with a good hour and half before I had to wake the girls for school.


So I spent that time listening to the Lord. The Lord does speak to us, despite what we may think to the contrary. He spoke to me of trust and my lack thereof.  He whispered sweet endearing words, assuring me of His love for me and my value to Him. And then this song came into my mind, and I sang it, out loud, in my squeaky early morning voice.  


These are the words to the song:

I confess my hope 
In the light of Your salvation 
Where I lose myself 
I will find You're all I need

Sing my soul of the Savior's love 
Sing my soul Unto God alone 

I will meet You here 
In the life we call surrender 
Let the world I know 
Be the glory of Your grace

You alone are God 
You alone are God 
We declare the glory of Your name 


Holding On


I try so hard to hang on, to control things.  I have fooled myself (many times) into believing that by controlling my own life, I have found freedom.  I can do what I want, what *I* think is right. I can course correct, make adjustments, go my own road. But the reality is that nothing could be farther from the truth. There is no freedom in being in control.  There is worry, and anxiety, and heartache. There is bondage.



Where I lose myself, I will find you're all I need. There is rich, deep truth in that sentence.



I sat across the table from a friend of mine a while back. Her life was out of control, spinning in a crazy chaos and she said to me, "You know, I'm just white-knuckling it. Just hanging on the best I can."  And I said to her, "What would happen if you just let go?"



All that to say, What would happen if we just loosened our grip? What would happen if *you* just let go? The scary part is removing our hands. Letting go . . .


I Peter 5:7 Cast your cares upon Him because He cares for you.


What are you holding onto today that would set you free if you released it?

Why Finding Fault and Placing Blame Won't Solve Anything

Yesterday I woke up early.  Mike was out of town, and I knew I needed to get up early to be able to shower and get everything ready before it was time to wake the girls for the day.

I had plenty of time for the things I needed to accomplish.  Get dressed, make breakfast, pack snacks and backpacks, get two 5 year olds ready for school . . . no problem.

Except . . . I decided to open my computer for just a few minutes.  (What was I thinking?!!!)

A few too many minutes went by and in a panic I closed my computer, rushed up the steps, stressed out from how little time I now had to accomplish such a long task list!

 And it's *that* mom that my girls woke up to.

Have you ever tried to get two little kids to do anything in a hurry?  If you have, then you can picture the scene in my house.

Pan-de-freaking-monium!

I woke up Shannay and told her to go potty.  Shannay's not a morning person. At all.  So I give her the extra time she needs.  Except we didn't have extra time today because I made a poor decision.

As I finished getting her sister ready, and then told Shannay it was her turn to get ready she said, "I need to go potty" . . .  just like she does every. single. morning.  She always waits until it's her turn and then SUDDENLY she has to go.  For real.

You see, she has control issues.  It's too much to explain so you can read this if you want to understand what I'm saying.  But the point is, I know this is how the morning is going to go down.  On most mornings, it doesn't bug me.  I don't let her need to be in control be an issue for us.  I politely tell her, "Okay, go potty and let's get ready."

But because I had made the decision to get online and waste precious minutes that I didn't need to waste, I was not the mom she needed.  I flipped.  I yelled like a crazy person said , "Shannay, we do this every single day.  You are not in control.  I am in control."

Side note:  Anytime you have to STATE that you are in control, you aren't.

The morning proceeded pretty much as you would expect it to go with a stressed out, flipped out mom. Lots of yelling, lots of hurrying, lots of tears.

When we finally got in the car, and we were all able to take a deep breath, I said, "Girls, I'm sorry.  You didn't do anything wrong this morning.  I did.  I wasted time on my computer and then I got mad at you because we had to hurry. I'm sorry.  It's my fault."

Nikki said, "Mama, fault don't matter."

Cue my mama tears.

You see, when we have conflict in our house, especially between the girls, there is always such a great need for them to blame, to establish whose fault something is.  And I often just say to them, "Ladies, fault doesn't matter.  Let's just say we're sorry, fix the problem, and move on."

Sure fault matters. But my point to them is that sometimes we are so busy trying to find fault, and place blame, that we get stuck in the conflict and can't move on.

Despite my parenting fail of the morning, she was able to reach beyond the craziness and find the reassurance I give them when conflict threatens to overtake them.

"Fault don't matter."

All that to say, if today you're feeling like you've blown it as a parent, take a deep breath, say you're sorry, fix the problem, and move on. You're probably getting way more right than you think.

Why I Married That Jerk


I remember meeting Mike Jones that day in the Student Union of LSU in 1979.  As far as I could tell, he had one major personality flaw.  He was a jerk.  And the only thing that was bigger than his personality was his reputation for being a . . . hmmmm . . . how can I say this in a way that would be culturally relevant 33 years later

 . . .  he was a p-l-a-y-e-r.

So no, I wasn't too impressed.

But we had a large circle of the same friends, and as was the "thing" back in those days, we often ended up in the Student Union together at the same table playing Spades with our mutual friends.  Playing Spades with Mike did little to change my impression of him, other than perhaps to add adjectives to my already dim view of him.  He went from being a jerk in my mind to an arrogant jerk, a cheating jerk (he was notoriously bad for cheating, but virtually impossible to catch) but also a brilliant jerk.

I'd often tell my friends, "It's a shame he's such a jerk because he's so dang smart and cute."

So how in the world did I ever end up on a date with this man, much less married to him?

Well that story started 34 years ago today, the anniversary of our first date.

You see, he was brilliant, and I sucked at math, and he helped me pass college algebra.  And honestly, I was so surprised to pass that class (I got a solid "D" and was incredibly grateful!)  that when grades were posted, and I passed, I ran straight to the student union and found Mike Jones and kissed him straight on the mouth. It was a spontaneous gesture.  I was overcome.  Don't judge me.

And in that moment, when he saw my weakness, he charged, as any good p-l-a-y-e-r with an "a" game would do, and said, "You know, I think you should repay me with a date."  And I agreed.  Because I was weak.  And grateful.  And it was sort of a good kiss.

And even though my friends were appalled that I was going to go on a date with "THE Mike Jones" I have to say it was the best move of my life to date.  Turns out he wasn't a jerk.  He was funny, and sensitive, and a man richly in love with his family.  And a marvelous kisser.

Three days later, (which also happened to be 3 DATES later) he declared that someday he was going to marry me.

All that to say, I learned that sometimes you have to look beyond what you think you know about someone and realize there's a richness to people that we sometimes never take the time to see.  I'm glad I married that "jerk."  Turns out he's the gift of my life.  (But he still cheats at cards.)

So Happy Anniversary of our First Date to you, Mike Jones.  

I Give You Permission to Quit Trying So Hard


I love the early morning.  Before the girls became a part of our life, I used to wake up early just to experience the peace and quiet of life before daylight and hustle crashed in. It was during those quiet hours that I had the leisure to think my thoughts as they came; untidy, unfiltered, and unpolished.

I still rise early, but it's to be able to have time to brush my teeth and throw on some clothes before the mad rush of the day begins.  Some mornings, as I look back at the woman whose face I see in the mirror, I think, "Man, she's gotten old." 

I notice all the imperfections I see there.  The tired eyes, the fine lines and wrinkles that seem to multiply daily, the haggard look of a woman in her fifties with a whole lot on her plate.  On those mornings, it is so easy to doubt.  Easy to doubt God, easy to doubt His plan that includes me raising babies all over again; easy to doubt my ability to do it well, do it again.

But most mornings, I rise early, brush my teeth, throw on a bra, a t-shirt and some jeans, rake my fingers through my hair and think to myself, "You look pretty damn good for an old lady, Carol Jones."

Then I dash upstairs to greet the day and the two beautiful little girlies who await my morning greeting.

Amidst the frenzied pace of getting them dressed, fed and off to school, I am often caught off-guard by my reflection.  Not the one I see in the mirror, but the one I see in them.  Turns out, some mornings they, too, notice the tired, doubting version of me.  And other mornings, they delight in the me who is ready to conquer the day.

I've been thinking about my reflection a lot lately, because the me I see reflected in them is a much clearer reflection than the me I see in the mirror.  What my children learn and receive and hear and see in me; they will practice those things, they will reflect those things. 

All that to say,  I'm not trying to pressure myself into becoming a perfect mom so that my kids will reflect that.  I'm giving myself permission to relax, take life a little slower, a little easier, let some things go that aren't really important anyway, and let *that* version of me be the reflection I see in them.

And just in case you need it, I give you permission to quit trying so hard as well. What do you say, you in?



Photo by Shauna Maness Photography





Quit Making Resolutions You Won't Keep and Instead Carry Your Strengths into 2014

Ahhh resolutions.  We love to make them, fail to keep them, and discard them as quickly and as carelessly as we made them in the first place.

But it's the new year.  Aren't we *supposed* to make resolutions? Aren't we supposed to take a look back at all that we didn't get accomplished last year and make a plan to do it right, to do it better this year?


You know, out with the old, in with the new . . . that's how the saying goes after all.

But what if instead of focusing on all that we didn't get accomplished in 2013, we started the new year with a celebration of all that we did well, focusing on our strengths, and making a plan to use those strengths in an even new and better way.

What if old became the new new?

What if the celebration of "Old" was the thing to do each New Year's day instead of making resolutions we know we will never keep?

Today, I'm going to dump the marbles of 2013 out on the table and look for the patterns I see there, making a note of strengths I see in myself and my family members.  And then, I'm going to spend some time thinking about how to use those strengths in a new and better way in 2014.

All that to say, out with the new and in with the old. I'm celebrating the joy and strength of 2013 and carrying those things forward into 2014.  Who's with me?