Consider This Your PSA

This past weekend one of our neighbors had a small kitchen fire. A sweet family lives there with a brand new baby, and I am sure it was quite frightening for them. The husband is a police officer, so he had a pretty good bit of support from his fellow officers. And by a pretty good bit of support, I mean a firetruck, an ambulance and seven police cars all showed up . . . for a small kitchen fire. Not only did our street become a scene from a SWAT movie, you could also hear their smoke alarm beeping all the way down to our house, seven houses away. Needless to say, it took a little bit of conversation to explain all of that to the girls.

We reassured them everyone was safe. We reassured them no one got hurt. We reassured them our house wasn't going to catch on fire. And we reassured them that if anything ever happened at our house, their "safe zone" was next door at our good friends, the Navarrete's, house.

I think we did a pretty great job calming them down. The only residual fear they seemed to have was related to the very loud smoke alarm.


So of course, wouldn't you know that last night at about 2:00 a.m., the battery in one of our smoke alarms went out and started doing that annoying chirping thing that happens. (And also, WHY IS IT that smoke alarm batteries only go out in the middle of the night?)

I woke Mike up, and he started doing the wait and hunt thing one does in the middle of the night when one has a random smoke alarm battery failure. Keep in mind also that Mike is partially deaf, so hearing that high-pitched sound was no easy feat for him.  He stood perfectly still, waited for the beep, ran to the location he thought it was in, waited again, and repeated this over and over again. Finally, after several minutes of beep and seek, he discovered the offending smoke alarm.

Any guesses as to where it was?

If you guessed the girl's bedroom, you'd be correct. I mean, of COURSE it was going to be in the girl's bedroom. It couldn't be in OUR bedroom, or any of the OTHER bedrooms, or a hallway or the kitchen. NOPE.

Fortunately, we do keep 9-Volt batteries on hand at all times, so we were prepared for the hell the demon smoke alarm had unleashed in our sleep. Mike went into the girls' room, calmly climbed the ladder with expert stealthiness, removed the battery and replaced it with the new one. He was like a ninja battery changer. I was quite impressed. The girls stirred a little, but Mike lovingly reassured them everything was okay.


But then, as though I was watching a car wreck in slow motion Mike popped the new battery back into it's place in the smoke alarm and said, "Don't worry girls, it's just the smmooooookealarrrrrrmmmmm." (use your slow motion voice).

The moment he mentioned the word smoke alarm, he was also plugging the new battery into the smoke alarm. I don't know if you know anything about smoke alarms, but when you unplug a battery and then replug one in, the entire system seems to reset itself by producing an EAR PIERCING AND CONSTANT BEEP, much like the one we heard from our neighbor's house.

Both girls flipped out, Mike jumped down from the ladder with his expert ninja battery changing skills, and flew to their bedside to reassure them. At the same time I was yelling, "It's just the smoke alarm, but our house is fine. Our house is NOT on fire! It's just the smoke alarm!" (I'm very calm in a crisis.)

Shannay, who can pretty much sleep through anything, rolled over and said, "What's happening?" as though she were awaking from a deep, deep sleep.

Unfortunately, poor Nikki, who is a very light sleeper, was not quite as reassured as we thought. At the sound of the words "smoke alarm" and the simultaneously LOUD BEEP as the system reset, and my somewhat loud "reassurance" that we weren't on fire, she did what any normal person does when scared half to death. She peed. A LOT. I mean, bed soaking, comforter soaking, child soaking, pee.

At 2:00 a.m.

All that to say, consider this your PSA and change the batteries in your smoke alarm. Today.

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!)

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?

If I'm Going to Rise Up About Something

I find that I am often frustrated by Christians' response to things.  I'm not saying we shouldn't stand up for what we believe in, or that we shouldn't have the freedom to speak our minds.  I'm not.  There are plenty of things I feel strongly about, and I'm certainly entitled to my opinion, and  I'm equally entitled to speak about those things (based on the Constitution of this country where I live), and I'm equally entitled to "take a stand" about those things. (and i'm entitled to write run-on, grammatically incorrect sentences when I feel passionately about something!)

But what I am not entitled to do is to be hateful.  I am not entitled to be hurtful.  I am not entitled to misrepresent Jesus and His love for ALL mankind, regardless of race, or gender, or political orientation.  I am not entitled to make you feel like you are less than me because we do not share the same religious beliefs.  I am not entitled to judge you.

I am called to be different.  I am called to use my powers for good ("Do not withhold good to those whom it is due when it is in your power to do so.")  I am called to love, unconditionally, unequivocally, without reservation or regard to political or religious or any another persuasion.

So if I am going to rise up and cry out and want to make a difference in the world . . .

If I am going to put my energy someplace . . .

If I am going to try to change the world to be what I believe God would want . . .

I'm going to rescue babies, and help dig water wells, and help rescue modern day slaves, and feed the poor, or at the very least I'm gonna spend some time getting to know my neighbors and loving them better.

I could go on.  But I won't.  I don't want to join the melee.  (I think I just did).

I just want to say that I love Jesus.  And I love people.  And if my love for Jesus and you isn't the *first* thing you notice about me, then I need to work on myself before I even THINK about what you need to change about you.

All that to say, before you act . . .before you speak . . . ask yourself, "Is what I am about to say or do going to be a beautiful reflection of Jesus or a hateful reflection of myself?" My answer to that question should drive who I am and how I act in the world that I am called to love.

Why You Need to Cut Your Church Staff Some Slack at Christmas

If you've never worked in a church at Christmastime, or had a spouse or parent who worked at a church at Christmastime, then you may not know the immense amount of STRESS that comes with this holiday.

In the Christian church world, Christmas Eve is the Super Bowl.  It's the celebration of the birth of the Savior of the world.  It's a month long building of events and concerts and plays and markets and parties and dinners, all culminating in THE EVENT, Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve is the single most attended service of the year in churches, by Christians and non-Christians alike.  And I have to tell you, that's a lot of pressure for a church staff. In many cases, it's the only chance people will give the church, so you gotta get it right.

Keep in mind that people who work at a church also have families, and family parties, and neighbors and traditions, and school events, and shopping and all the things everyone else has to do.  (Yes, I know other people have jobs at Christmastime, but trust me, it's different!  I've been on both sides of the fence.  It's different!)

And when your family is dressing up all cute and feeling all warm and snuggly and festive as you attend the Christmas Eve service together, keep in mind that the folks who work at the church are attending ALL of the services while their family is most likely at home, celebrating without them, or "making the most of" the fact that their family member isn't there with them.

And they've probably been there for hours getting ready for the service.  No details have been left to chance.  The candles, the music, the lights, the message.  It's all been thought about for a long time.  Even if your church does it simply, it's still a massive undertaking for the staff.

Why am I writing all of this?  It's not because I'm counting my blessings that I don't work in a church anymore.  I loved working there and often miss it.  (Well, parts of it.)

I'm writing this because this Christmas I want you to cut your church staff some slack.  I want you to shower them with grace.  I want you to withhold how you wish they'd put real trees up instead of artsy lighted tree branches.  And don't feel the need to critique the marketing of the Women's Christmas dinner that you missed. I want you to be thankful that there WAS a Children's Choir performance and that your child got to sing in it, even if they didn't have a solo.

I want you to appreciate that someone had to set up and tear down and set up and tear down and set up and tear down the insane amount of extra events that people seem to want to plan AT church at Christmastime.

Please, take the time to send them a card and write a meaningful note in it.  Not just for your Senior Pastor (though he's clearly important) but to any staff member that you interact with regularly.  Or give them a gift card (even it's $5 to Starbucks) or just do something nice for them!  Mow their yard.  I don't know and it doesn't really matter.  Just be thoughtful is my point.

And best of all, when they ask you to, or better yet, BEFORE they ask, volunteer to serve.  You'll have plenty of chances.  There will be Children's events and Student events and Women's events, and OF COURSE Christmas Eve.

All that to say, this Christmas, let your church staff (if you have one) inhale the beauty of the season by helping them a little bit more.

Trusting Requires I Lose Control

When I was a young woman, 20 to be exact, I fell in love with the Church.  I'm not saying I fell in love with Jesus, (in truth, and sadly, that didn't come until much later), but I did fall in love with the Church.  Having come from a somewhat difficult childhood that was often chaotic and stressful, I found comfort in the rules and structure of church.

The Church offered me boundaries and a feeling of control that my heart and mind craved.  It taught me how to read my bible in a structured way, how to pray in a structured way, even how to worship with rules and decorum.

Of course, as I type these words, I know that what the church taught me in my early days of Christianity was to love religion, but I know that the Holy Spirit found me there, knee deep in my religion, and rescued me, and for that, I am grateful.

In the last few years, I have come to understand how desperately I hold onto control, and the root of that is because  I felt so out of control as a child.  I find great comfort in knowing what is ahead. I'm a planner.  My lists have lists.  I have contingency plans.  I mean, why take the road less traveled? That's not a plan! And why plan for tomorrow when you can make a 5 year plan or a 10 year plan?  I'm not saying there is anything wrong with planning, to a certain extent.  It's when trusting your ability to plan overrides your trust in Jesus that there's a problem.  And that's where my problem is.

Sunday, at church, we sang a song that contained the phrase "trust without borders."

I felt like the words became the only words on the screen, an indictment to my secret character flaw, and the weight of that indictment sucked the oxygen out of the room.

From there, the pastor went on to tell a story of Mother Theresa and how when once asked to pray for clarity for someone, she refused, stating that praying for clarity was really just a way of wanting the security (and control) of a mapped out plan.  She stated (I'm paraphrasing) "Clarity doesn't require trust.   Instead, I'll pray for you to trust without boundaries."

And there it was again.  Trust without borders.  Trust without boundaries.  Trust without conditions. Trust without a damned plan.

It's not that I haven't been painfully aware of my need to control things, it's that I've been ignorant of the fact that my need for control has often replaced my trust in Jesus.

I read this excerpt from The Hobbit the other day on a friend's facebook wall and knew it was a challenge for me personally.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

So where does a girl go to learn how to trust without borders?  I'll let you know when I discover it.  But for now, I'll step out on the path, pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way, where many paths and errands meet.

All that to say, it's a scary place for a control freak, asking for the ability to trust without borders, for lessons of trust must inevitably come with opportunities to have to.

I Feel the Rush

I feel the Spirit of God moving in me today, a feeling that is at once  both exhilarating and terrifying.

It's a sense of anticipation and foreboding, which of course makes no sense whatsoever to my rational mind.

The closest thing I can relate it to is giving birth.  One minute the thrill of bringing a life into this world overwhelms you and just as quickly you are hit by the overwhelming realization of what it takes to bring a life into this world.


Knowing that God speaks to me, at all, is incredibly humbling. But knowing that He moves through me, searching me, going beyond the surface things the world can see, into the deepest part of me, that thought is overwhelming.

I trust the Holy Spirit. I trust the way He speaks to me. I trust what He uncovers in me and encourages me to tackle.  I trust His affection for me. He has proven himself to me over and over.

"And it is the Spirit who bears witness, because the Spirit is truth."- I John 5:6

All that to say, I trust the Spirit of God because what He speaks is truth, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, where truth is, there is freedom. I feel the rush of His Spirit today, speaking truths I need to hear. Sweet truth, liberating truth, His truth.

I wonder, what truth is He speaking to you today?

Too Old to Trick or Treat???

My husband is so cute when it comes to little kids. If you ever want to see the lighter side of Mike Jones (yes, he has one) then you are going to see it when little kids are around. 

Seriously, he's a goofball.

He uses this high pitched and INSANELY loud voice.

And the kids eat it up.

However, when it comes to teenagers, mmmmmmmm, not so much. He's not a fan.

I mean, I think he wishes he could be, but he isn't. He has no patience for their sarcasm or their attitudes or their antics.

Now, take these two traits and combine them with Halloween, more specifically trick or treating.

When the little kids come to the door, Mike is so engaging and entertaining. Oooing and ahhhing over every costume. Praising them. Telling them how beautiful and/or scary they are. Even pretending terror when the costume warrants it.

But if the big kids come, you can sense his frustration. One year he even refused to give the big kids candy. Sent them away with a lecture instead of a snickers bar. (I believe our pumpkins got smashed that year.)

A couple of years ago, I decided we should make some rules for trick or treaters. There is the "manners" section and the "you're too old to trick or treat" section. Feel free to add yours.

MANNERS
1. If the light is off, DON'T RING THE BELL
2. If I give you candy, say "thank you." For the love.  Your grandma would slap the back of your head if she knew how bad your manners were!
3. If I open my door and greet you, say something. Don't just stand there with your bag open.
4. Don't scare the little people inside the house. For Real. I mean it. You scare my babies, and I will hunt you down and haunt your dreams.
5. Don't make up that lame story about why you have TWO BAGS that you are filling up. Newsflash!!! No one is buying it!

YOU ARE TOO OLD TO TRICK OR TREAT
1. If your voice has gone through "the change" . . . you're too old to trick or treat.
2. If your body has "developed" . . . you're too old to trick or treat.
3. If I can't tell if you are a hooker or a trick or treater . . . you're too old to trick or treat.
4. If you drove yourself to my house to trick or treat . . . you're too old to trick or treat.
5. If you grew your own beard for your costume . . . you're too old to trick or treat.
6. If you used a GPS to map out the "good houses" . . .  you're too old to trick or treat.
7. If you are out trick-or-treating long enough to fill up a pillowcase . . . you're too old to trick or treat.


All that to say, I'm sure you have some rules you can add to this. Feel free to jump in!

No One Ever Believes You When You're 29

I have been blogging for Zack's birthday since 2008, so that means this is his 6th Happy Birthday Post.

• In that time I have shared with you the story of his birth (and how he was 5 weeks late arriving, weighing in at 9 lbs. 11oz.)

• I've shared with you Zack's great qualities (like how gentle and kind he is with people the world tends to overlook or push into the margins).  

• I've shared with you what a great Big Brother Zack is (and how he once put the fear of God into someone who was bullying his little brother and how I FEAR for any boy whom ever wants to date his sisters!)

• I shared my feelings on Zack's last birthday as a single man (get out the tissues, sheesh).

• And I've shared with you some funny secrets about Zack (like how he slept with a stuffed dog named Dylan until he was in 7th grade, and how he can dance like Michael Jackson . . . for real).

So what else is there to say about this man?

That sounds crazy in my own ears . . . this man.

First, I'll say this, you're a good son, Zack Jones.  You're a good brother, a good friend, a good husband (but Christina will have to vouch for that one), and some day you're going to be a great father.

You are tenacious, dedicated, fiercely protective, incredibly loyal, brilliant, talented, hysterically funny, sometimes a pain in the buttocks, helpful, generous, and a lover of Jesus.

When I think about the moments in your life that have been the most incredible to me, they are the moments I have witnessed you loving others.  Not so much with words, though you are good at that, but with your actions, showing the smallest kindnesses to people who needed them most. And if I erased every word I have ever written about you and left just this one paragraph, it would be saying a lot about you as a man.

These boys always have fun!

He brings out the best in her. No one else can make her smile this way!

One of our sweet babies.  Man he loved this guy!

Sometimes he's just so crazy!  And yet, his dad can remain straight faced!

One of the best decisions he ever made!

One of my favorite casual pics of us! This was a lot of years ago.

Always willing to have fun with his sisters.

Zack gave this homeless man shoes once and then years later ran into him again!
Very cool.

All that to say, Happy Birthday to you, Zack Jones.  For the next year, no one will believe you when you tell them your age.  You enjoy that.  :)