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?

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!

32 Years to the Same Man?

I was talking with a young woman a few weeks ago about marriage and conflict and conflict resolution.  

She asked me, "How have you done it for 32 years?  Stayed married?"

I said, "That's easy.  When I have days that are incredibly good or devastatingly bad, there is one person I want to run to, and that's my husband."

Mike and I are 32 years older than we were on the day we married.    In some ways, we are completely different people than we were then.  People change.  Life changes us, often in ways we would never expect.

And the truth is, some days marriage is hard.  After 32 years, I am often surprised that we argue about the same damn things we argued about in our first year of marriage.  Seriously.  We do.  Arghhh!

On more than one occasion, my husband has not lived up to my very high expectations of him, and I am quite certain that I have failed to meet his expectations as well.

 And yet . . .

One Thing Remains

At our core, one thing remains.  We love each other.  For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part. That, my friends, is a rich love that withstands all the crap that life can throw at it.

There is a worship song I love that says,

Your love never fails
It never gives up
It never runs out me


Though I know the words to the song are about Jesus, I believe this is the same love Mike and I pledged to each other on the day we were married. (I technically also pledged to obey. I'm not doing so well in that area! HA!)

I love you Mike Jones, for so many reasons.  I hope you always know how much I love you.

(And in case you forget, just think about how awesome I am in bed!)

All that to say, Happy Anniversary Mr. Man.  I love you.

In Honor of My Birthday

If we aren't very careful, I think it is very easy to live a topsy-turvey, life-upside-down kind of life, spending time on pursuits that don't matter at the sake of the things in our lives that do.

Perhaps I am just being philosophical because it is my birthday, but I have come to realize that the ability to waste your life is something that comes far too easily for most of us, while LIVING your life, the full, abundant life we are called to live, takes incredible effort.

I made  a list of the things that have wasted my life (and discarded it ceremoniously).  

These are the things that are worth living for:

My deep faith that challenges me, rescues me, protects me and sustains me;

My husband and children, who are the best part of me;

My family that loves me unconditionally, and 

My treasured friends (they know who they are, I don't have to name them) who have weathered life's storms alongside me and still call me friend.

In honor of my birthday, I say to you

LIVE YOUR LIFE TO THE FULLEST.  

All that to say, that is all.  Carry on.  

Filters

The girls were playing outside in the backyard the other day when all of the sudden, Shannay came barreling through the back door of the house yelling,  "MOM!!!!!  Nikki's digging in the dirt!!!!!!"

I was in the middle of cooking dinner, so I wiped my hands, tossed down the dish towel and headed out into the backyard to see exactly what was going on.



Sitting quietly in the corner was this sweet, little girl who was gleefully digging in the dirt.

Initially, I freaked out.  But before you judge me too harshly, you should know that I have OCD and the thought of anyone digging in the dirt would freak me out.  You should also know that last summer/spring/fall, Nikki consistently dug holes in the back yard and Mike consistently had to fill them up.  It was annoying.  So I felt justified in my anger.

Anyway, as I was about to launch into my "how many times do I have to tell you" lecture, she looked up at me and said, "Mama, don't be mad."

Oy.

I was mad.  About dirt.  About a child playing in the dirt.  Children should play in the dirt.  So, I said to myself,  "What in the world are you mad about?  She's 4. She wants to play in the dirt.  Calm down, Carol!"

I'm good at "Calm Down Carol" pep talks.

I smiled a smug little "Mother of the Year" smile, told her to enjoy the dirt, but not to put it in her hair, and I very calmly walked into the house.

As I walked past Shannay, she looked at me like I'd grown two heads.  She takes after me.  She likes things orderly.  And clean.  So, I stopped for a moment and got down on my knees and said, "Nikki needs to play in the dirt.  It helps her to be happy. Okay?"

She smiled at me, still somewhat confused, eyes bright with tears and lip quivering, and said, "Okay Mama."  She stood over Nikki for the next 10 minutes "supervising" the situation.

I tend to want to believe that people are doing things to make me mad (true confession) or to annoy me; but in reality, they are processing life through their set of filters.  Nikki thinks better when her hands are busy (well, really when her whole body is busy).  Shannay thinks better when things are routine and orderly.  I think better when I'm in charge.  (I may or may not have control issues.)

All that to say, recognizing that each of us are wired and created to process life differently, through different filters, is an important realization, and honestly, an important life skill.

Joy Comes

"Some days are diamonds.  Some days are stones.  Some times the hard times won't leave me alone."

If you're old enough to recognize these lyrics, you'll know they are from a song written by storyteller and songwriter, John Denver.

And for some reason, I woke up today with this song in my head.

I find that each day I awaken is a crapshoot in terms of my emotions.  I've been encouraged that this is normal.  That I'm a mere five months away from a life-changing event in my life.  That I should cut myself some slack.

But I'm a "pick-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps-and-get-on-with-it" kind of girl.  So I'm not so good in the "cutting myself some slack" department.

I woke up this morning, early, not by choice, but decided to use the time to sit quietly before the Lord.

He was silent.

Or maybe I wasn't.

It's most likely the latter than the former.

I awakened with a heavy heart for no particular reason.  Perhaps I dreamed dreams that bore a weight only my spirit perceived.  Even His Word, normally quite comforting, seemed like print on a page. And though it said, "the joy comes with the morning," I felt no sense of that; only a deep longing for the truth of it.

Then my morning beckoned me (and by "my morning" I mean two singing four year olds who had awakened at 4:30a.m. and never fully gone back to sleep), so I closed my Bible, sighed heavily, and headed upstairs to quieten the "morning" before it awakened my husband who worked most of the night.

I confess, I was quite frustrated as I walked up the stairs to their room.  Was there no peace to be found this morning?  And then I opened their door.

And the whitest eyes grinned at me in the darkness.  And the sweetest voices said, "Good Morning, Mommy."

All that to say, funny thing about the Lord.  Sometimes he uses what we see in the darkness to bring light to our troubled minds.  I love that about him.  He's a "teachable moment" kind of guy.

"And though the sorrows will last for the night, His joy comes in the morning." - Psalm 30:5

The Life Cycle of a Scar

As I mentioned earlier, I have a scar on my arm.  It's not pretty.  But it's better than it was.

I remember seeing that scar the first day I took the bandage off my arm, 8 days post-op.  All the steri-strips had fallen off, and all that was left was a very exposed, very raw scar.  I couldn't cover it with long sleeves; it was painful to touch, to try to cover, so I pretty much stayed inside the house, content to be alone with my wound while it healed.

Within a few weeks, I could tell it was getting better, but still it was red and raw.  At least it was no longer painful to the touch, so I could put on a long sleeve shirt and go outside into the world.

As more time passed, I was still acutely aware of the scar, and at times, others were aware of it as well. But for the most part,  I no longer thought about it all the time.  Every now and then, I'd bump it, and it would hurt, and I would remember it was there.

It's still there.  Not yet healed, but not so raw.  Just . . . well . . . there.

I am assured by the folks that know these things, that someday my scar will be a tiny little line, a small reminder that I once had something bad happen to me.

I think that's the way of scars.  And the usefulness of them.  They are a small reminder that something bad once happened to us.  And that we survived.

All that to say, I guess I'll learn to love this scar I am presently carrying.  You know the one I mean.

Sometimes We Don't Want Logic, We Want Compassion

I recently had a follow-up appointment with my dermatologist about my "not, not cancer" spot on my arm.  When I had the procedure done, she told me that I would have a scar, but that the way she was going to sew it was going to leave a fairly minimal scar, one that she could even do some minor abrasion therapy to later on to render the scar virtually unnoticeable.

On the day I left my surgical appointment, I left with the idea that I would remove my bandage, see a minimal scar and a few months later at my follow up appointment, I'd go in and she'd do her magic on whatever was left.

That is categorically NOT what happened.

First off, when I removed my bandage I had a hideously red and very bumpy scar.  It actually looked like someone had sewn an angry, red, fuzzy caterpillar to my arm.  There was nothing minimal about that scar.  So, I called the doctor's office and got what is probably a very commonly relayed "Calm Down" speech.  I was assured that within 6-8 weeks I would be fine, my scar would be fine, the world would not end, and I could someday wear sleeveless shirts again.

Fast forward 6-8 weeks and that is categorically NOT what happened.  My scar was less red, but other than that, pretty much the same.  I decided not to panic this time and gave myself a pep talk.  (Not the Kid President kind of pep talk, but more like the "don't be ridiculous Carol, it's a scar, not an amputation, geesh!" kind of pep talk.)  I also decided not to call the doctor and get another lecture about calming down.

But every time someone would see my scar (I'm not even kidding here people!) they would say something like, "oh my" or they would suck their breath in sharply.  Clearly, a surprisingly ugly scar.

So, when I went in for my appointment, I was ready to take that dermatologist to task over that scar.  It wasn't at all what she told me I was going to get.  It was far, far worse.

I feel the need to tell you that my dermatologist is an incredibly sweet person.  Very soft-spoken.  Very sensitive in her bedside manner.  So when she said to me, "Mrs. Jones.  You're being superficial about this.  You have a small scar.  It's significantly better than death by cancer, which is what you could have experienced had we done nothing," I was somewhat taken back.

And I cried.  I mean like a baby, snotting, sobbing cried.  (So embarrassing.  I am an ugly crier, so there I sat with a red-splotched face and a hideous scar on my arm).  Ugly from head to . . . well . . . elbow.

I said, "I know you're right.  Of course you're right.  My logical mind can tell me you're right.  And then there's my illogical mind that just wants to be pretty."

All that to say, perspective is important.  Of course I understand I'd rather have a scar than cancer.  But sometimes hearing what you already know is still just hard to hear.  Sometimes, we just want a little compassion.  Sometimes, we just want someone to tell us it's all going to be okay.

Drowning

The other day we were visiting some friends whose house backs up to a lake of sorts.  It's really more like a really, really big pond, but nonetheless, a substantial body of water.  We took a walk, my friend and I, and our two sets of 4 year old twins, down a path that eventually led to a gazebo that overlooked the lake.  Very picturesque, even with the lifeless pall of winter overshadowing the scene.

The girls, all armed with a small twig, knelt down at a small pool of water just alongside the gazebo, pretending to fish, as my friend and I talked.

And then, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, Shannay leaned ever so slightly too far in and the weight of her off-balanced body caused her to topple, head first, into the lake.  My friend moved with ninja speed (I don't actually know if ninjas are fast, but in my mind it sounded right) and rescued Shannay from the water.

The other girls thought this was delightful and laughed with glee, but Shannay didn't think it was too funny.  Once she stopped screaming, she said, "I kept draining."

I feel it important to note that at no time was she actually "draining," a fact she realized as soon as she stood up in the knee deep pool of water.  But nonetheless, a very scary thing for a 4 year old.

Today, I was thinking about her feeling like she was drowning, and as her fear overtook her, she was incapable of simply standing and taking a deep breath.  In her mind, she was actually drowning.

I understand that feeling some days.  I think I'm drowning, but in reality, if I could just look past my fear and stand up, I'd realize I'm actually okay.

All that to say, fear has a lot of power in our lives; too much power.  Funny thing is, it only has the power over us that we let it have.  So to you, Fear, I say, "I'm not draining.  I'm standing.  And I'm breathing. Boo ya."


So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10

Finding the Margins

When I was in college, I had this one professor who always allowed us to use a cheat sheet on test days. That policy, in and of itself, was not that unusual, as many professors had similar policies.  But where this professor differed was that he had no rules about our cheat sheet other than it all had to fit on the front side of one sheet of paper.

No rules about font size.

No rules about margins.

Simply, "However many words you can get on the front side of one piece of paper."

Like everyone else, I tried to type my entire study sheet on that piece of paper.  Every. Single. Word. I used size 6 font and set the margins as wide as I could.  And in whatever white space was left by my printer's inability to print that wide, I wrote by hand.  There was not one square inch of white space.  No discernible margin.

I noticed, though, that this didn't actually help me on test days.  There was too much on the page to be useful at all.  I couldn't find any of the information I needed because the words were all just crammed together on the page.

So I changed my strategy and actually studied for the test.  Then I put information on the sheet that I thought I might need during the test.  Around each piece of this information was space.  Lots and lots of space.  And because I had created margins around my information, it was easy to find what I was looking for.

I was thinking about this yesterday because I listened to a sermon from Andy Stanley called Breathing Room,  and it made me realize that sometimes too much is just too much.  Cramming everything into life that you think you need doesn't make your life better, it makes it busy.  And it makes it infinitely harder to find the things in your life that are actually beneficial.

All that to say, I'm going to begin today to find the margins of my life, create some white space, and enjoy the breathing room.

Forgiveness According to Yang

I was watching Grey's Anatomy (don't even think about judging me right now).  On the show this week, there was a scene where Dr. Christina Yang went in to talk to Dr. Derek Shepherd.

She said, "You need to forgive Owen.  You're holding a grudge."
Dr. Shepherd said, "I can't."
Dr. Yang said, "You need to."
Dr. Shepherd said, "It's hard."
Dr. Yang said, "I know.  Do it anyway."

And of course, he forgave him.

But life is not a TV drama.  That's not to say that life is not sometimes LIKE a TV drama.  But in real life, things like forgiveness don't often happen in the course of an hour, wedged in between short commercial breaks.

In real life, forgiveness is often a process, a process that takes days, weeks, months, sometimes even years.

In real life, forgiveness comes with conversation, tears, prayer, and much soul searching.

And though I am wise enough to know that Grey's Anatomy is not real life, I like Dr. Yang's thoughts on forgiveness; "I know it's hard.  Do it anyway."  Just do it.

Someone said to me once (I think it might have been one of my sons), "Can you see yourself forgiving them years from now?"  And when I said yes, they said, "Well then why not just forgive them now and save yourself the headache?"

The process of forgiveness might be a process, but the act of forgiveness comes in an instant.  I think sometimes we just need to speed up the process and just get to it.

All that to say, life may not be a TV drama, but that doesn't mean we can't learn from it.

The Facts of Life

Mike and I were at Chic-Fil-A yesterday with the girls.  It was miserably cold and rainy, so any outside playing was out of the question.  Finding an indoor play area becomes critical on days like this.  The mall area was overcrowded, and quite frankly, people do NOT watch their kids at that stupid place.  (The sign says "For kids 6 years old and younger" so the fact that it is overrun with older kids is a teeny weeny bit problematic for me.  I guess when my kids are 7, I might be thinking differently . . . but I digress).

So we went to Chick-Fil-A and enjoyed a nice, healthy salad and then let the girls play for a while.  Like most kids' play areas, though, there were some unattended kids in there just not being nice.

(As an aside, one of my FAVORITE things about Mike Jones is that he is the ENFORCER of the play area.  He's not gonna let any anyone get away with anything, and he ESPECIALLY is not going to let anyone be mean to his daughters!)

There were a couple of older boys, way beyond the height limit for the play area, being naughty and running over the little kids.  Someone went and got the boys' mom, and she came in to check things out.  She dropped a few expletives at her sons, at which point Mike Jones aka "The Enforcer" politely asked her to watch her language.  (I told you that he won't let anyone get away with anything!)

A couple of small girls came out of the play area and sat down near their mom.  They complained about the boys to their mom and one of them said, "They are mean.  They didn't like me."  I expected the mom to say, "I'm sorry that happened."  But instead she took that moment to teach some real life lessons.

She said, "Well, those boys shouldn't be mean, and they shouldn't even be in there.  But people don't always do what is right, and people are not always nice.  Sometimes you can only be responsible for yourself and do what you know is right."

The little girl said, "But Mommy, they didn't even like me."

The mom said, "That's okay.  They don't have to like you.  Everyone in life is not going to like you.  That's just life.  As you get older, you will discover many more people who don't like you.  But you will also have people in your life that love you, no matter what.  Those are your true friends."

She went on to say, "You will also see that there are people in life that you don't like.  You will have different personalities.  Maybe they will be loud and you are more of a quiet person.  Maybe they will be more into sports and you are more into reading.  There can be lots of reasons why a person doesn't "like" someone, but as long as you treat them like Jesus would want you to treat them, that's what matters."

The little girl looked at her mom.  You could tell she was really taking it all in.  And then she said, "Well, I was nice to those boys.  Even though they didn't like me.  But they hurt that little brown girl and her grandpa got really mad about that.  I don't think he liked them very much."

The mother looked over at me, a little chagrined at the girl's faux pas, and I laughed, assuring her that happens all the time (being mistaken for the grandparents).

Then the little girl said, "Can I have some ice cream?"

I love kids.  They make life so simple.  And they move on quickly.

All that to say, wouldn't it be awesome if all of life's lessons ended in ice cream?

All That to Say: Pinch Me

My grandmother used to make this cake that she first baked, cooled, frosted, the whole bit.  And then when it was all looking pretty, she'd dump it and crumble it!  Then she'd layer it with vanilla pudding and whipped cream mixed with cream cheese.  It was unbelievably good!

I remember the first time I saw her take a beautifully frosted cake and turn it upside down in a bowl.  I almost had a heart attack! But she assured me she was making something even better.  And she was right.

That's how I feel about my life right now. 

I felt very comfortable with the life I had.  I enjoyed my work, the people I worked with, my church, our friends, all of it.

And then all of that got turned upside down.  And I almost had a heart attack.  (Truth be told, I still have hard days every now and then).  There was no way that I could see the whole mess turning out okay.  But God assured me He had a better plan.

So here I am a couple months later, and I am just so amazed at everything.

Mike and I are in such a great place, marriage wise. Probably because we have more time for each other!  Maybe because our family order has returned to normal.  I don't know.  But it's awesome!

I'm writing.  For a living.  And I'm making very good money to work part-time.  From home, well technically from Starbucks.  I'm working with some people who are doing amazing work and for some reason feel like I have something to offer in the process. 

And every. single. day, I am home when my daughters get off the bus.  Every day.

And now we are getting to foster babies.  Because I'm available.  Last week we had a sweet little 4 month old boy.  And this week we are getting a 3 day old baby girl. 

All that to say, I feel like I have awakened to find that I am living the life I was created to live.  And it's pretty incredible.  Pinch me . . . yep, it's real.