All That to Say

Over Informed

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 13:56:00 +0000

I have decided that one can be "over informed." I remember that my mom used to say, "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." What she meant was, "You can be over informed, and that's not always a good thing."

I think the modern world of facebook and twitter (do people still use myspace?) has lent itself to a lot of this phenom of being over informed. I mean, do I really need to know that you just got out of the shower? Do you need to know that I just did two loads of laundry?

And then there is the stalking aspect of social media. You know what really makes me laugh about "stalking?" If you look at someone's pictures, or you comment about one, or anything like that, they'll say with indignation "were you stalking me?" HELLO, you are the one that put it out there for all to see!

Then there is the drama aspect. You know, the drama I mean. There is always some kind of facebook drama, and it is not just girls involved in it. Someone posts something stupid, or mean, or someone gets jealous b/c they see that two friends were hanging out w/o them, etc., etc., etc.,

You see what I mean? Here is how I know when I am becoming over informed (I still think over informed should be one word, but spellcheck says otherwise!). When I start feeling anxious as I am reading FB, when it starts sucking the life out of me, when I start hating what I read, or it makes me mad (don't act like you have never read something on FB that didn't frustrate you or make you mad) or I feel sad,etc. I take a facebook hiatus, or as someone wrote the other day, I "fastbook." I get offline and do something more valuable with my time.

All that to say, you can be over informed.

I Wonder If He Knows

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 13:58:00 +0000

I wonder if he knows just how incredible he is. I wonder if he knows that he was a beautiful, unexpected, incredible gift to his dad and me. I wonder if he knows that the creative spark he has in him, that burst of energy that says, "Start something new" didn't come from either of us, so it must have been placed deep within him by God. I wonder if he knows that beyond the boundaries of today lies great purpose, big challenges and unforeseeable promise.

I wonder if he knows that all those times he has messed up in life will be outshadowed by all the great things he will someday do. I wonder if he knows that God measures his character, and seeing beyond all of his faults, has destined him for a greater purpose. I wonder if he knows that this "calling" also calls him to live each day with purpose.

I wonder if he knows that he has so much to offer someone who really wants him, who will really love him, and who will never hurt him or want to hurt him. I wonder if he knows that out there in this big world is the woman that God has created to complete him. I wonder if he knows that the first step out of darkness is also the first step toward that someone, the first step toward light. I wonder if he knows he deserves that kind of love?

I wonder if he knows that he can trust again, trust God, trust love, trust people. I wonder if he knows that by trusting, he can finally let go of the past and embrace the future.

I wonder if he could possibly fathom how much he is loved by those who are closest to him.

All that to say, I wonder if he knows.

My Friend, Helen

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 14:04:00 +0000

Helen and I met at church, where I was the Children's Pastor and she was a volunteer. We struck up an immediate friendship because she had the most infectious laugh known to man. She was the kind of person that just lit up a room with her laugh.

Helen was always getting on to me and telling me that I was naughty (which, of course, was TOTALLY not true . . .) and that I was a bad influence on her, and didn't I KNOW that I was a CHILDREN'S PASTOR and there were certain expectations of my behavior. Again, I don't know WHY she said such things to me.

One time, we were walking into church from the parking lot, where they had recently poured these huge concrete speed bumps. To be safe, they had painted them bright yellow so people wouldn't trip over them. So as we were walking, Helen approached the BRIGHT YELLOW speed bump and just went FLYING over it. I know I shouldn't have laughed, but it was funny. I mean, one second we were talking, and the next, Helen was airborne! She did skin herself up pretty badly, so I felt bad for laughing, but she laughed too, which made me laugh all the harder because as I mentioned before she had a very infectious laugh.

That afternoon, when I got to AWANA (where she volunteered), she took my Sparky pin (it's a little mascot character for AWANA) and turned him upside-down and said that until I did a good deed, I had to leave my Sparky upside down. She said that was my punishment for laughing at her in the parking lot. From that day forward, anytime I didn't something she considered "naughty" she would turn my Sparky upside-down.

Fast forward several years, when Mike and I were moving to Georgia. She made me a beautiful red scarf, attached an upside-down Sparky to it, and told me that she wanted to give me something that would always remind me of her, my "Upside-Down Sparky Friend." I still have that scarf, which does always remind me of her, but I have so many other things that remind me of her as well.

Yesterday, my upside-down Sparky friend went to be with Jesus after a lengthy battle with cancer.

All that to say, I love you Helen. Have fun at Jesus' birthday party and I will see you when I get there.

A Series of Choices

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 12:54:00 +0000

"Every day is a series of choices." I say this almost every day to myself and to others. I used to say, "Every day is a choice," but I realized that isn't correct. That sounds like you wake up, you make one choice, and you're done for the day. As though that one choice will be all you have to make for the entire day, and you will be set. Those of you who are more spiritual than I might argue that if I awakened and said, "Today, I choose to live a life that is completely led by God" then my choice-making would be complete. I argue, however, that even in that, I will find myself throughout the day having to make choice upon choice upon choice.

Each day we, I, you are faced with a myriad of small choices. Will I get up when the alarm goes off, or will I push the snooze button? Will I call in sick, or will I go to work? Will I eat a healthy breakfast or skip it all together? Will I try to make it to work on the gas in my car, or will I play it safe and fill it up? There are probably thousands of these types of choices that we make every single solitary day of our lives. And these are the easy choices!

Each day we, I, you are faced with much weightier choices as well. Will I interfere in this situation, or will I trust God with these details? Will I harbor bitterness and unforgiveness, or will I freely forgive others? Will I continue to be angry, or will I release myself from the bondage of my anger? Indeed, will I choose bondage or freedom? Because ultimately, that's what my choices will lead me to, either bondage or freedom.

David said it this way in the book of Psalms, "I choose the true road to Somewhere, I post Your road signs at every curve and corner. I grasp and cling to whatever You tell me; God, don't let me down! I'll run the course You lay out for me if You'll just show me how."

He's saying (I think), "God, today I am on a journey to somewhere. Throughout this day, I am going to come to curves and corners, and I am going to have to make a series of choices about which way I go. And making the right choice isn't going to be easy. I'm going to have to grasp and cling to you in order to make the right choice. Don't let me down, God. I will make the right choice. But I can't do it without you."

All that to say, "Every day is a series of choices." Our journey to somewhere can be so long and so hard somedays. The curves seem bigger, the corners seem tighter and more treacherous, and the road seems longer. On those days, especially on those days, I choose to grasp and cling to the One who knows how to get me where I am going.

It is for Freedom

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 17:20:00 +0000

A week or so ago I was living my life like some sort of caged animal. I could see what I wanted, or what I thought I needed, but events and circumstance of my life made me feel trapped. I felt like I was reliving a familiar story again, and again, and again. I was knee-deep in a situation that I could not, nay should not, control and I felt helpless to extricate myself from it.

Then one morning as I was praying, I read this verse from Galatians 5. It says, "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free." A simple verse, yes, and one that I have read many, many times, but on THIS day, the verse seemed complex, weighty, incredibly deep and life altering. So I read it again. . . "It is for freedom that Christ HAS set us free."

Christ HAS set us . . . me . . . free. Not Christ "Will" set me free, but He has set me free. I am already free. Any bondage I choose to live in is of my own choosing. Paul, in Galatians, says we should live freely. He means "choose freedom." And he means for us to choose it every day. Each day we get to choose freedom or bondage. It's a conscious choice and it has life giving results. He says,

"My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit. Then you won't feed the compulsions of selfishness."

And the compulsions of selfishness he lists are horrendous. Galatians 5

All that to say, I have already been set free. Now, the challenge is to live free. It is for freedom that I have been set free.

Better Living

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 22:25:00 +0000

I have decided that life is something we either choose to live or to survive. I think what made me think this today is that I was looking back through my road trip pictures and realized that most everything we enjoyed was simple life stuff. Sure we enjoyed the museums and the beautiful scenery, but mostly we enjoyed one another.

The things we laughed at the most were just normal things. We laughed about getting caught in the rain, and riding on the subway, and discovering that our windows rolled down in the car. We laughed about getting parking tickets and cows in open fields and horse poop. We people watched and laughed at our own stupidity over people watching.

We savored our meals together and enjoyed really simple foods as much as we did rich fattening ones. We were goofy and gave up being critical and laughed 'til our sides hurt over our own shortcomings. A trip to Walmart was a chance to enjoy one another's company. Wrong turns were cause for laughter and getting lost was just another adventure.

I think we're supposed to enjoy life that way. We could have chosen to get mad over ruined shoes and rain storms. We could have gotten angry over wrong turns in the middle of the night and getting lost even with the help of a navigation system.

But instead, we chose joy. We chose laughter. We chose to enjoy one another and our time together.

All that to say, what if we lived every day like that? What if each day, I chose joy? Better living comes with better choices.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Aunts

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:54:00 +0000

I just returned from a 5 day road trip with two of my sister-in-laws and my mother-in-law. We gave my mother-in-law the trip as her 75th birthday present/Christmas present. I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard, for so long, for so many days in a row. Laughter really is good medicine.

There is no real way to blog about all 5 days and effectively tell the story, so I will try to just give you the highlights.

On our first day, we arrived in Philadelphia and headed toward Harrisburg where we would spend our first night. The only real plans we had (in concrete) for day one was to stop at Trader Joe's and the local wine shop. Right off the bat, Corri started causing trouble, either that or the locals just didn't like redheads, because as we were leaving Trader Joes, an old woman started backing out her car, COMPLETELY ignoring the fact that Deb was already backing out. Corri looked back at the woman (whom I am guessing did not like Corri's look) and the old woman flipped her off! The old woman had to be in her 70's, which made us laugh! Later in the day, when we were in Intercourse, PA, I saw someone flip someone else off, and our Carriage Tour Guide said that just meant "Welcome to Intercourse." We laughed again, and from that point forward, anytime someone was grouchy (or I couldn't get people to smile for a photo) I would just say, "Welcome to Intercourse!" and everyone would laugh.

"WELCOME TO INTERCOURSE!"

On Day two, we had a leisurely breakfast at our hotel (where Sharon made fun of me for how much breakfast I was eating . . . a waffle, some scrambled eggs and bacon . . . not really THAT much food, but whatever!) and headed out to the Hershey factory. Any day that begins with a place called "CHOCOLATE WORLD" is going to be a good day. We had our picture put on the cover of a Hershey bar, and I shared this secret I heard that if you stand on the end of the group being photographed, and put your hand on your hip, it will make you look really thin. When the picture came out, everyone exclaimed how thin I looked and Sharon said, "You should have that blown up b/c that's the best you're gonna look!" More laughter (why does she keep picking on me"!) We had a lot of fun in Hershey, PA and then headed back to Intercourse to find some quilt shops. Corri is not a fan of quilting, so the quilt shops were not the highlight of her trip, but we managed to help her have fun anyway. And we also managed to spend a lot of money on some really beautiful fabrics (WHICH by the way caused us to have to go buy an extra suitcase to get it all home)!

On Day Three, we were scheduled to go to DC to see the Smithsonian but the weather was supposed to be horrible, very very rainy! But we decided to brave the weather, ride the metro from Frederick, MA to DC and check out the National Museum of American History. Deb kept telling us that the neighborhood where she grew up was in the Museum b/c it was the first subdivision in the United States. (This fact, along with the fact that she is related to Jared Ingersoll, Signer of the Constitution, was her claim to fame on the trip). I could not help but point out that my claim to fame was significantly greater than hers, b/c my 5th Great Uncle was also in the museum because he was one of THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES!

Right when we had to leave DC to catch our train, a serious downpour came, and we had to cross Pennsylvania Avenue in the pouring rain! What a sight we must have been! Deb carried one umbrella and Sharon's oxygen, Corri ran in a raincoat with all our purchases stuffed under it, and I carried three purses while holding a broken umbrella over Sharon and I, who was trying to run with a walker in the pouring rain while crossing an INCREDIBLY large street! We laughed so hard when we got across the street. And pretty much instantly it stopped raining.

To top off that day, when we got to the train it was packed, and people were literally shoved up against the walls, doors, seats, one another. It was crazy! The doors even closed on one guy's backpack! At the first stop this massively large man, who was smashed into the back of Corri yelled, "I'm coming out!" and literally shoved his way out of the train. Corri was so mad, I thought she was gonna follow him out and kick his butt. I believe she could have done it!

Day Four was fairly subdued. We went to visit Gettysburg. Deb kept telling us there was a beautiful park there with gorgeous trees and monuments. Every time she described it to someone at the visitor center, no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Finally, we stumbled upon it. Turns out it was a CEMETERY! But it was beautiful (in her defense). Beyond that, unless you count the run in with the local law, and the chair stealing incident, the GPS giving us bad directions, and the midnight run to Walmart to buy extra suitcases, it was a mellow day.

"CAN I HUG MY FRIEND?"

Day Five started a little rough, with Sharon waking up sick. She pulled it together though and we were able to go to Philly for one last day of sightseeing. Before we left the hotel, Corri and I made several trips to the fitness room with our luggage to weigh it all!(Phew, everything under 50 pounds!) Then we went to Historical old Philly, visited Jared Ingersoll's grave (remember, he's why Deb is famous)ate a cheesesteak, and headed to the airport. I had never eaten a cheesesteak before. It was surprisingly very good!

"

All that to say, we had such a great time! I am exhausted, but refreshed, if that makes any sense at all. We have decided that we have to do this every year. I can just picture us all being a bunch of old ladies taking our annual trip to somewhere. It won't matter where because we will be going together.

This One's For You Tina

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 12:40:00 +0000

I remember the first time I "recall" her. It was on the rec field at 220, and she and another super cute girl showed up with fancy "Texas" hair, all kinds of jewelry, and looking ready for a lot of things, but definitely NOT rec! What a funny memory.

Her first remembrance of me is me speaking at a girl's retreat weekend called "Dear Diary" put on by Shauna Maness. I was undressing on stage and talking about all the things I didn't like about my body (which was not at ALL the point of the lesson, but sadly the part she remembers).

So, our first recollections of one another have to do with her being all dressed up, and me getting naked. This does not make for a good start to a relationship. :)

But today is her birthday, and I wanted to honor her in my blog. So here goes.
You are a funny girl. You make me laugh out loud, lots of times. Like the time you came out of the bathroom at Pappacito's and yelled halfway across the restaurant, "Carol, what are you getting?" and then when the WHOLE table made the "talk softer" hand signal, you got all shy again and said, "Oh, was I loud?" And then there was the time we were all playing dominoes and you looked at my dad and said, "Stop beeping me Gordy." I am sure both of these encounters are not funny to anyone reading this, except for the people who were there, but trust me, it was funny.

You are a sensitive girl. You defend everyone and it is endearing. You always say things like, "I'm sure they didn't mean it like that. They have a good heart. They just were raised differently."

You want everyone to be happy. Which is a nice quality . . . just be careful not to be tooooooooo concerned with everyone else's emotional condition! It'll suck the life out of you eventually!

You have a good sense of style. And I am reasonably sure you have never had a bad hair day! And if you did have a bad hair day, you could just put a headband on and another necklace and it would be a good hair day! (I don't actually like this quality about you for the record. Please, just once, could you look bad!)

All that to say, Happy Birthday to you. Oh, and I took your birthday purse. I liked it.

Twenty Five

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 18:23:00 +0000

Something happens to moms when it comes to celebrating the birth of their children. The day for us is so much more than a party, or presents, or cake and ice cream. Birthdays are remembrance celebrations. When my kids were babies, and then toddlers and then teenagers, I always spent at least part of the birthday day, on my own, just thinking about their lives. Today is no different. Each time one of the boys has a birthday, I take some time, on my own, to sit and think about the life they have lived. I relive good times, hard times, funny things, sad things, lessons learned . . . you get the idea.

Here's my birthday memory from last year

Today is Zack's 25th birth. Twenty-five! How is that even possible?!! In honor of his special day, I have made a list of my favorite things about Zack.

1. He feels everything deeply. If he loves something, he really loves it. If he doesn't love it, he REALLY doesn't love it. If he's happy you know it, and if he's mad, you know that too.
2. He is hysterically funny. He has spent a lifetime making us laugh. You only have to look at our family photos to see this quality in him. There is always at least one where he is trying to kiss Jacob or do something else equally as silly.
3. He has his own sense of style, in a lot of things, but especially when it comes to clothing and hair. I secretly want to be like him, but don't have the confidence.
4. He has a sensitive heart when it comes to people who are physically challenged.
5. He cares about people who others would deem unloveable.
6. He's not afraid to take a stand, but he's wise enough to know when to stand and when not to.
7. He loves his family, especially his little brother.
8. He's so talented. He can't take credit for the gift, but he is responsible with the gift he has been given.
9. He loves Jesus and lives a life that Jesus would be proud of, caring for the things that Jesus cares for.
10. He is such a great son. He's been a blessing from the very first breath he breathed in.

All that to say, Happy Birthday Zack. I love you more than candy.

Hooked

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 18:34:00 +0000

I was thinking today about how often we use the word hook in our English language, usually with a very negative connotation. I have NO IDEA why I was thinking this, some stream of consciousness I am sure, that led me to think about being let off the hook, which then led to me thinking about letting myself off the hook, and so on. From there, I just started thinking of all the ways we use the word hook.

If someone is addicted to drugs, we say they are "hooked." In fact, if they are addicted to anything, we say they are hooked. If someone meets a random person for an illicit sexual activity, we say they "hooked up." If someone is gullible and believes something stupid, we say they swallowed it "hook, line and sinker." If we catch someone at something and they don't know that they have been caught, we say they are "on the hook". If someone feels guilty about something, but they are clearly innocent, we say they should be "let off the hook."

I guess not all uses of the word hook are bad. A hook in musical terms is a good thing (I remember that from Masters of the Universe - the movie). I even remember when hooking up just meant that you would meet each other later, ie: "Let's hook up later and grab some coffee." BJ Thomas once sang a song called, "Hooked on a Feeling" and that was a happy song.

All that to say, my mind is obviously a mess if this is what I am blogging about!

Life Has a Rhythm

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 12:33:00 +0000

Last night we celebrated Zack's birthday early. He will be 25 very soon. Weird. I have a husband who is a half a century old (older really) and now a son who is almost a quarter of a century old. Yikes. Those words sound old and ominous. In my brain I'm not that old! Of course, my body and wrinkles would tell a different story, but they're liars, so . . .

Our lives are so busy that literally the process of trying to find a free day to go celebrate the birthday was ridiculous. Every day was the same, "What about Friday? I have to work. What about Saturday lunch? I have to work. I have to be somewhere at 2. What about Sunday after church? Okay. No. I have to work." There are four people in this family and everyone of us has a different work schedule. It was maddening.

But alas, we did finally settle upon a date and time (a mere 8 days early!) On Zack's official day, I will write about him (which I am sure he will love) but for today, I just wanted to say that families need to slow down. We are all too busy, all the time. Our lives are flying past us and we are content to watch them do it!

I listened to a Rob Bell message yesterday. It was about rest. He kept repeating this phrase over and over and over. "6 and 1, 6 and 1, 6 and 1."

All that to say, life does have a rhythm. It has a speed that it is designed to be played on. When we play it faster than the speed designed, it just sounds like noise. Slow down.

White Knuckles

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 13:05:00 +0000

One of my least favorite questions to be asked is, "What is God teaching you right now?" If I can't come up with an answer, I feel like they will think me unholy, non-pastoral-like, so I grasp at something that's near the surface and say that.

Unfortunately, the thing that God is usually teaching me isn't near the surface. It's usually pretty far down, and it takes something jarring, some crisis or near crisis event to unsettle it and make it rise to the top.

The last 5 months have been a jarring of a sort. I have ridden a rollercoaster, of my own choosing, and my body and mind have paid the admission price. I cannot sleep. I eat junk. My mind is incapable of holding on to more than just a tiny bit of information in its short term memory bank. I'm cranky. The list could go on.

But this morning, I felt something give way, not a dam of tears, no epic cryfest, it was more of this dawning realization that I am not in control. That try as I might, it is not intended for me to be in control, and the sooner I get that, the sooner I understand that, the more likely I am to finally sleep and to rest.

All that to say, my white-knuckled grip on life needs to loosen up. My fists are sore from being clenched. So for those of you who ask, my answer is this. "He is teaching me that I am not in control. That He's got it. Whatever "it" is. He has it."

Funny Things That Made Me Smile This Week

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 22:25:00 +0000

1. Monday - I wore flip flops to work. It rained. I break.
2. Monday - I got a bad haircut fixed. It was worse. My friend Kim said, "Don't worry, I'll tell you if it's really bad. I'll screech and say, 'oh my gosh, here, take my hat."
3. Tuesday - I saw a 70 year old man in a pink bathrobe picking up his paper. He looked very comfy in it. I smiled.
4. Tuesday - Went to popeyes. Got a spicy breast and a biscuit. The guy at the window said, "You come here a lot. You like our breasts, don't you?"
5. Wednesday - I saw a woman with no shoes on steal a potted plant out of a shopping center planter box. She carried a brown paper bag around with her. A large one. I wonder what else was in there?
6. Thursday - I was driving down the beltway, going around 70 in the left lane. A woman driving a little sports car got so close to me, I couldn't even see her anymore in my rearview mirror. But every now and then she would swerve right and left (I guess so I could see her). She was AAAAAAANGRY! I couldn't move over b/c traffic was heavy. I wanted to slow down. I didn't. But she was AAAAANGRY, and for some reason, that made me smile.
7. Thursday - The AC man fixed my AC. Yay for him. He said, "The wires melted. I fixed them." He said it like it was no big deal. Just the wires MELTING. I love calm people.

All that to say, each day does have something worth smiling about, if you look for it.

Just Another Manic Monday

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 12:38:00 +0000

Yesterday, I "awakened" at around 6:30 a.m. I say "awakened" in parentheses because in truth, I hardly slept at all the entire night. I kept being awakened to pray for someone. At first, I was very graciously obedient. I woke up, and I prayed. I prayed for what seemed like a very long time, and eventually drifted off to sleep. Within moments (or so it seemed) I woke up again, again feeled prompted to pray for the same person. Obediently, again, I prayed. This went on for what seemed like hours, so finally I rolled over and looked at the clock. It was only 12:49! Ugh. It was going to be a long night. And it turned out to be one. Literally all night long, I was awakened to pray for this same person.

This whole prayer process should have been a very sanctified experience, but after a while, I just got frustrated with God (it's not a secret, we've already talked about it). Not only was I NOT sleeping at all because He wanted me to pray for someone. The SOMEONE is someone I'm trying really hard not to be mad at. God is good that way, I guess. As long as I'm praying, it will be really hard to harbor unforgiveness.

Anyway, Monday morning rolled around and I knew I needed to get up for work, but I'm was dang tired that all my body wanted to do was sleep! I decided to check my calendar and see if I had any early appointments, and alas, I had an 8o'clock which meant I HAD to get up, drive to The Woodlands, and keep my 8 o'clock.

By mid-day I had gone to the doctor (he said I was stressed and to get some rest . . . I paid for that diagnosis - seriously.) But he also told me to go do something nice for myself, nice and relaxing. YIPEEEEE.

So, I went and got a haircut, bought two shirts, new jewelry, came home, put the whole new outfit together and went back to work. I felt like a million bucks! Then I realized, "I just had a totally spend-money-to-make-yourself-feel-better manic episode."

All that to say, it was indeed a manic Monday. And I liked it.

Washing Machine Woes

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 12:59:00 +0000

My washing machine makes me so mad. Seriously. I don't know what is wrong with it! First of all, it takes FOREVER to fill up! What should take about 35-45 minutes to be a full cycle, takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. Every cycle that requires the tub to be filled drags out the process. I don't even THINK about a double rinse cycle.

The latest thing is that if I don't remove the clothes immediately, I mean IMMEDIATELY, like in less than 30 minutes after the cycle is finished, then all my clothes smell mildewed. It's so gross and so maddening.

Last night, I thought I would do something nice for Zack, because he has been working 7 days a week, so I changed his sheets on his bed. When he got home late, he crawled into his lovely clean bed (at least that's how I pictured it!)

This morning he comes down the stairs into the kitchen and says, "Thanks for changing my sheets . . ." (I can feel the "but" in his voice) . . . "but the sheets were mildew smelling." UGHHHHHHH!!!!!! So frustrating.

All that to say, if you know why such a thing would happen, would you let me know what I do to get my washer fixed?

Not in Control

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 23:29:00 +0000

Sometimes, life isn't funny. Sometimes it's crazy and insane and maddening, but not funny.

Have you ever experienced something in life that was so mind bogglingly difficult that you really did feel like your head might split open from the pressure? It's not a fun feeling. It's even worse when you watch it happen to someone else. There is no real way to help them through it. You can give advice when asked. You can hold their hand. You can give them a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. But there isn't much more that you can do. And if you are a control freak like I am, it is HORRIBLE. But control freaks NEEEEEEEEED to fix things. And not everything can be fixed, at least not easily.

But I have a Love greater than life itself. So the feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness, of being consumed by constant torment and held tight by the tormentor, those feelings have no power of those of us who know that Love. For us, we have prayer. And prayer is something. It is better than something. It is everything. It holds us together. It gives us hope. It gives us something to do. It focuses our minds on the One who is control. It gives us peace. It calms our minds and our hearts and our spirits.

All that to say, prayer is the real work. And the One we pray to . . . He is in control. So we don't have to be.

Nothing IS Better Than Something

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 14:24:00 +0000

My blog, my journal of daily life, filled with random stories, true experiences, struggles, heartaches, joys, moments to celebrate, wrestlings with God, and such . . . my blog has been noticeably vacant.

It's not that I have nothing to write about, it's that I don't know what to do with the emotions that surround what I would write about. So I drive down the road looking for the inane, mundane things of life to write about, thinking that writing SOMETHING is better than nothing. I have chosen the easy road of writing something, but it has not been fulfilling, or particularly well written for that matter.

For you see, SOMETHING isn't better than NOTHING. Something is what we settle for because we are afraid that nothing is all we will ever have. The land of NOthing involves waiting . . . waiting for the RIGHTthing instead of settling for the SOMEthing. Does that make sense to you at all?

Isn't it true of everything in life? We fear having nothing so we settle for something . . . we fear not getting the right job, so we settle for the wrong one? We fear never getting married, so we accept the wrong proposal (not that I did this . . . in case you were wondering). We fear what might never be, so we settle for what is.

All that to say, Something isn't better than nothing. So until I have something to say that is the right thing to say, it is probably better that I say nothing at all.

Schockenfurgen

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 20:44:00 +0000

I went to IKEA today. I sort of love living where I am living right now because it is close to all kinds of AWESOME places, IKEA being one of them. Normally a drive to IKEA has always been like an hour drive, but now I am only like 10 minutes away! I love it. I love to get a basket and wander aimlessly, picking up random things I like but don't need. It's always a two hour trip to IKEA, no matter how big or small the crowd is.

But TODAY I went in with a purpose. I knew exactly, EXACTLY what I wanted! I got a close parking space, grabbed a soda and some free cookies (yum) and headed straight upstairs. Lo and Behold (I have no idea what lo and behold actually means) at the very top of the steps sat the item I needed. "Could this be for real," I asked myself.

The short answer. . . no.

It took me almost 20 minutes to figure out all the pieces I needed to purchase to equal my ONE item. Then it took me almost 20 more minutes to weave through the crowd of people and baskets and strollers and old people and sightseers. I'm not kidding! 20 minutes just to WALK THROUGH Ikea. Arghh.

Then finally I get to where my item is supposed to be, but I can't find it. Up and down the aisles we go, for 10 minutes. Finally, Mike says, "Why don't you ask someone where it is?" Sure . . . why don't I ask someone. Only problem is that means I have to do my LEAST favorite thing at IKEA. I have to try to say the name of the item and not sound stupid. Why can't they just give the items normal names? I get that the store owners are swedish. But seriously, I HATE to say the names of the items there. I was buying the efecktiv today and the numerster. So I had to go ask the customer service rep where the "efecktiv" was located. He smiled. (I know he was making fun of me. I could sense it.) Then he pointed directly behind me and lo and behold (couldn't resist) there it was.

All that to say, I like IKEA. But I am not a fan of Swedish. Or whatever the language is called. I feel dumb. Oh, and, my quick trip to IKEA STILL took me 2 hours. I guess IKEA means 2 hours in Swedish.

A Day of Remembrance

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:24:00 +0000

For some reason, I remember it being a rainy day. Maybe it wasn't, and maybe in my mind it was a rainy day because it was such a sad day, and sad days should always be rainy days.

But I remember that I walked into work through the side door, and as I passed Rocky's office, I could hear the tv on. Rocky had brought a tv from home the week before because his wife, Sue, was in New York with a group of friends, and he had wanted to see her on The Today Show and Good Morning America. He just hadn't taken the tv home yet.

As I passed his office, he said, "Did you see this?" And I said, "No, what is it." He told me there had been a terrible accident and a commercial passenger plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers. As we watched, more and more of our co-workers started to arrive at work, and they, too, stopped in Rocky's office to watch the tragedy. We stared at it in horror and while we were watching it, another plane crashed into the other tower. Rocky said in the most somber voice, "People, we are at war."

Within moments, perhaps it was longer, but it felt like moments, the first tower collapsed. Then the second. Then the phones started to ring. The church phone, our cell phones, our office phones. Everywhere, all at once, the phones started to ring.

Later that day, my kids (who were in High School at the time) told me that the exact same thing happened in their classroom. All at once, everyone's cell phones started to ring. No one was sure exactly was was happening, but we all knew that we wanted the same thing . . . to be with the ones we loved, to hear their voices, to know they were okay.

People picked up their kids from school. It's not that we thought our kids were in danger, we just wanted them close. And then we all sat in front of our TV's for days. In horror we watched as ash covered ghosts appeared running down the street; some with bloody streaks seeping through the ash on their faces. In horror we watched as over and over and over again those towers fell on the tv screens. In horror we watched as a wall, a make-shift memorial/missing persons bulletin board, that stretched for what looked like miles, appeared at what would later be called "Ground Zero."

I don't think I will ever forget that day.

All that to say, it is a day to remember those whose lives were lost. Those who lost husbands, and fathers, and sons, and mothers and daughters and grandchildren. It is a day to remember a tragedy that scarred our hearts and our country.

Driving

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:03:00 +0000

I am THAT person. The one who gets frustrated behind you because you are driving too slow, and so with a grand amount of drama, I pass you, only to slow down a bit when I get right beside you, then look over at you, like I need to see what kind of blankety-blank driver goes so slow. (yes, I said blankety-blank)

My kids hate it when I do this. They always say, "Don't look." But I can't help it. I have to look. Usually, when I look I catch the driver doing something stupid, like putting on make-up. I once passed a woman on the Beltway doing about 50 miles an hour (the speed limit is 65, I probably wanted to go 70). As far as driving on the Beltway goes 50 is slow, but as far as acceptable speeds at which to apply mascara goes . . . SERIOUSLY, she was putting on mascara at 50 MILES AN HOUR!

I've seen crazier though. One time I passed a guy reading a novel. True Story. He had his book propped up on his steering wheel. Flying down the interstate reading a book.

Of course I have passed people doing less crazy things, but none the less, things that caused them not to pay attention to their speed. Things like, talking on the phone, texting while driving, searching for a radio station, looking for something in the backseat, discipling their kids, the list could go on.

But the grossest, by far the GROSSEST thing I have ever seen, I saw yesterday. If you have a weak stomach, do not continue reading. (THAT WAS YOUR WARNING!) Yesterday, coming home from work on the Beltway, I get stuck behind this guy going like 45. So with the usual drama, I pass him, get right up beside him and look over at him. He has his pinky finger shoved so far up his nose, I swear it was completely enveloped by his nose. And right at the moment that I look over, he drags that finger out with the longest, thickest booger I have ever seen in my life. It was (and I am NOT exaggerating) about the length and width of an egg noodle. It was unexpectedly long for him as well, because right as he is dragging this thing out, he gags, which makes me gag. (I told you it was gross.)

Then I realize how long I have been staring at this guy, because there are now cars behind me ticked that I am driving so slow.

All that to say, this experience might have actually broken me from doing the quit-driving-so-slow staredown when I pass people from now on.

To You Oh Lord

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 23:51:00 +0000

An excerpt, a prayer from my journal today. Don't usually share these, but thought it would be encouraging to you. This is the God I love. And maybe the one you love too.

You, oh God, are the creator of the universe.
The maker of life. The giver of hope.
The designer of heaven. The keeper of promises.
The deliverer of captives. The rescuer of the weak.
The mover of mountains.

Nothing is too hard for you, too big for you,
too heavy for you, too complicated for you,
too messy for you, too personal for you.

You see the smallest of problems,
the depths of despair,
the slightest hurts,
the deepest wounds,
the most insignificant of thoughts.

You wage war against our enemy.
You give us strength and a shield,
a helmet and a sword. How great you are indeed.
You are a victorious warrior, a strong tower,
a shelter, a refuge, a rock.

You care deeply for me.
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
You know the number of hairs on my head.
You collect my tears in a bottle.
You know my thoughts before I think them.
You know when I rise and when I go to sleep.

You are my God.
The only true God.
All that you give to me is good.
Even my suffering is good.
You are worthy of my praise.
You alone, are worthy of my praise.

All that to say, God, oh how I love you.

I Really Do Love People

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 04:41:00 +0000

I actually have two stories for today. This morning, I left WoodsEdge Montgomery Community Church, after a fairly, ummmm, non-eventful, but somewhat stressful morning of Children's Ministry. Seeing as how it was almost 12:30 and I had an hour and a half drive home, I decided to stop at Valero and get a fountain coke (THE BEST MIX) and some jalapeno Cheetos.

When I got up to the cash register to pay, I asked the cashier how she was. She didn't look like she was having so great a day, so I guess the timbre of my voice must have sounded particularly compassionate, because she looked up at me and stared a whole through me. After a very pregnant pause, she said, "I'm here. And that's all I can say for today." She sounded so sad.

So I smiled, and said in my best Steel-Magnolias-country-sisters-we're-all-in-this-together voice, "Honey, today I am right there with ya." She smiled. I smiled.

Then she said, "That'll be .99 cents." "Ninety-nine cents?" I asked. (I had chips and a drink which should have been well over two dollars) And she said, "Yep. It's my gift to you, because you actually sounded like you cared how I was when you asked me. Thank you for that."

All that to say, see, I really do love people. :)

Get The Heels

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 04:22:00 +0000

This is the story of the pointy-toed shoes. I love these shoes. I have other pointy-toed shoes, but these are my favorites. I feel special when I wear them. They transform every outfit and turn every frown upside down (yes, I said that.)

I was shoe shopping one day, something I do farrrrrr too often. I was actually looking for a pair of leopard skin pumps. I don't know why, I just wanted some. And when I got to the store, I decided I did not NEED a pair of leopard skin pumps, so I opted instead to buy a pair of boots, which I DID need.

I looked throughout the store, selected a few pairs (pair, pairs?) of different boots to try on, and then walked, boots in hand, up to the counter where I hoped to find a store associate who would help me. As I approached the counter, I saw the funnest (yes, I said funnest) pair of pointy-toed shoes, so I snatched them too, and asked the associate to bring them all out in my dainty size 9.5.

I narrowed my selection down to one pair of boots and of course the pointy-toed shoes. I tried on the boots and walked across the floor. Then I tried on the pointy-toed shoes and walked across the same path. I NEEDED the boots, but my feet looked so great in those pointy-toed shoes. So I tried on the boots again, and then the shoes again, and then the boots again, and then the shoes again.

I looked up at one point and realized there was an older gentleman watching me try on the boots and the shoes over and over and over. He smiled at me. I smiled at him. He asked, "Are you married?" and I said, "Yes." He said, "Get the heels. No question. Your husband will love them." I said, "Are you sure?" He said, "Get the heels. Trust me."

So I got the heels. And he was right. My husband loved them. And everytime I wear those shoes, I think of that old grandpa, saying to me, "Get the Heels."

All that to say, I wonder if he was a shoe angel? Do they have those? Because he was like a little gift to me. And the way I feel in those shoes is . . . well . . . heavenly. :)

Closure

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 13:19:00 +0000

Lately, too much "life" has been going on around me. So many things I would love to tell you, my readers, but things so private (if you can even imagine me saying that) that I can't write about them out of consideration for those that are involved.

But I do want to say this. Loving someone can be the hardest thing we will ever do in our lives. True, unconditional, forgiving, genuine love is hard. And the hardest thing of all is learning that we are not loved in return. And with THAT realization comes a choice.

All that to say, when closure feels more like a slamming door, the earth shakes a bit and feels a little less secure. But we do survive and are better for having loved.

Family

noreply@blogger.com (Carol Jones) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 12:45:00 +0000

I recently traveled to Arizona for my brother's 50th birthday. It's weird to think that I HAVE a brother who is 50, but then when I think about it, I am not that far from 50 myself. Ugh. In my brain, I feel about 32. My body would tell a different story, but my brain and my heart, they still feel really young.

Funny thing about my family, which is probably not a unique story, but we don't really know each other that well due to divorce. Our parents divorced when we were young (11,9, and 7 respectively) and we almost never all lived together after that. There was a year or two when we three kids all lived with the same parent, but those days were very, very rare. Usually two of us lived with one parent and one of us lived with the other and then there would be a fruit basket turnover and things would be different for a few months or a few years. This went on until we were in our teens. From that point forward, I lived with Mom and the boys lived with Dad. My younger brother, Dewey, and I have always been close, even before the divorce, but somehow remained connected over the years, and are close today. But Carl (the older brother) has pretty much always been distant. I used to think it was a defense mechanism (life was hard in our family as a kid, very hard) that kept him separated from us, maybe it was.

But here we are 50, 48 and 46 and just now we are starting to become a family again. Carl, at 50, has decided that he wants to know his brother and sister. I am happy that he has reached that place. I hope that it will be the first step to peace for him. He's had a tough life.

It was weird being at the birthday party of my 50 year old brother and feeling like I don't know him at all. Truthfully, all I really know of him are the tragedies in his life. I don't know his hopes or his dreams or his aspirations. I don't know what kind of food he likes or if he's allergic to anything or what his favorite tv show is. I know he has a mullet (a source of amazement for me) and I know he likes motorcycles and drives a Harley.

All that to say, I'm glad that each new day God gives us a second chance at something. This is a second chance for three little kids to actually become brothers and sisters.