Micah

Micah's Birth

Baby Jones

Independence Day 2009

Babymoon in Chattanooga

Shoemake Vacation 2009 - Outer Banks

Fran and Sherry Weseman

Myli Cate Carman

Brad and Susan Losavio

Texas Friends

Christmas 2008

Graduation

Bits & Pieces 2008

Jones Family Vacation 2008

Independence Day 2008

Landscaping Part Deux

Shoemake Family Vacation 2008

Enginerds Reunite

Weekend in Little Rock

MSU vs. Vandy 2008

Valentine's 2008

Ghana

Christmas 2007

Shed-Building

Thanksgiving 2007

Jason and Megan's Wedding

Stacy and Phillip's Wedding

Fourth of July 2007

Landscaping

Farm

Finn's Blackberries

Logan's Shower

Super Bulldog 2007

Christmas 2006

Thanksgiving 2006

MSU/Ark 2006

October 2005-July 2006

Honeymoon

Our Wedding

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immunization
Three months ago, I took a writing hiatus and disappeared for a little while to prepare for the birth of my daughter and give myself time to adjust to our new life together. Yesterday, we celebrated her two-month birthday, and today she reached a milestone. Her first round of shots.

This morning we woke up early and packed the diaper bag. I strapped my daughter into her carseat and loaded her in the car. When we arrived at the office, I signed her in and sat in the waiting room with her as she cooed and grinned at me. My heart was heavy. I knew that my happy child would be upset and crying by the time we left the office, but I also knew that the shots were in her best interest.

The nurse weighed her, and the doctor checked her out. The time for the shots arrived before I was ready for them. My daughter gripped my index finger in one hand and my husband’s in the other. She laid on the examination table in complete submission and trust as the nurse held down her legs and gave her the first shot.

For a second, I thought she wouldn't cry. Then her face contorted in shock and agony and she shrieked in pain. I've never heard that sound come out of her mouth before. The crying got louder with each shot, and my heart ached for my baby girl. She had just experienced pain for the first time in her life, and I had voluntarily subjected her to it.

On the ride home, it occurred to me that sometimes God signs us up for pain that he knows is necessary for our own well-being. In those moments, all we can do is cling to his finger for dear life and keep trusting that he knows what is best for us. No life worth living is painless, and however much we may wish that we could spare ourselves the discomfort, sometimes the pain is necessary to get us where we need to be.

My daughter, by the way, is fine. As I type this, she's laid across my lap smiling and cooing at me again. She survived the temporary pain. All is well.

[originally posted on leslieannjones.com]
flying time
It's been a big week in the Jones household. For one thing, we moved Micah out of the Moses basket in our room to the crib in her room. It happened by accident. Saturday night, she woke up screaming at 1 a.m., so I scooped her up and hurried across the house to her room so she wouldn't wake up Dennis. While we were in her room rocking, she fell asleep, and I didn't want to cart her back across the house, so I laid her down in her crib, turned the monitor on, and went back to bed. I slept so well for the next few hours! I've been sleeping very lightly ever since she was born, waking up every time she grunted or groaned in the basket, and in case you didn't know, infants are very active sleepers, at least mine is. Anyway, although it's a bittersweet moment, it's a good thing. Micah's sleeping in her own bed, and Dennis and I are both sleeping better at night. For the past two nights, she's slept 6 1/2 to 7 hours. Glorious.

Micah also had her very first professional photo shoot this week. Monday, we spent the morning at the studio of Jennifer Photography capturing some of Micah's newbornness. OK, so she was six weeks old at her newborn shoot, but that's alright. Extenuating circumstances kept us from getting the pictures made earlier, and even though I'm still sad that my friend Sarah wasn't able to take her pictures, I'm excited to see the proofs from Jennifer in a few weeks.

Micah's also begun smiling pretty frequently, and this morning when I got her up, she flashed a gigantic grin at me. It almost made me cry. It made all the hours I spend wrestling her down for a nap worth it.

Micah will be seven weeks old tomorrow. Amazing how fast the time has flown when at moments it has seemed to creep by. She's changing so quickly, and I'm amazed when I look at pictures from the hospital. I can't imagine what she'll look like in another month.

Next week, I'll take Micah on her first roadtrip to Nashville. I'm going for a women's ministry conference, and my mom is thrilled to be able to keep Micah during the day. I'm a little nervous about the trip. I haven't spent more than two hours away from my little girl since she was born, and the idea of spending an entire day away from her blows my mind. I don't know how women go back to work after they have a baby.

In the meantime, I have a couple of writing assignments with swiftly approaching deadlines. It's hard to snatch time alone to do anything these days, but I'm getting better at managing my time and getting things done. That said, I need to sign off here and get to writing, but I can't leave you without a picture of my little pumpkin...


Micah Grace Jones
When I logged in to write a new entry, I was greeted by the saved draft of an entry I started writing a month ago but apparently never finished. It went like this:

Micah is due in a week. I was never really hoping she would come early until I went to my doctor's appointment Monday morning and found out that my doctor will be out of town next Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Thursday is the due date. And while I know that the other doctor in the practice is fully capable, he's not my doctor. So...we wait...and hope that Micah decides to make her grand entrance just a few days before she's supposed to.

Micah didn't come before her due date or even on her due date. One week after she was due, my doctor recommended that we induce labor, so on the morning of September 17, we went to the hospital to have a baby. Micah had been riding low for weeks. Every time someone checked me, they were convinced that she'd pop right out, but even after they started me on the Pitocin drip, Micah took her sweet time in coming. She was born at 8:17 p.m. on September 17, weighing 7 pounds, 9 ounces and measuring 19 1/4 inches long. Don't ask me how Dennis and I ended up with the shortest baby in the nursery. It's a mystery we don't understand, but we're thinking that she may hit a growth spurt eventually.



As I type this, she's fighting off a nap on her daddy's chest. She sleeps really well at night, but she's not a fan of naptime at all. She fights the good fight when it's time to take a nap, but she's getting better about giving it up. It's hard to believe that I'm the mother of a two-and-a-half-week-old child. In some ways, the time has flown, but in others, it has crept along.

For the most part, Micah's a sweet baby. She's usually pretty content, and she likes to snuggle with us (which is good, since we snuggle her a lot). She only fusses when she's hungry or sleepy, and as long as we keep her needs met, she's happy. Have I mentioned that I love her?

As much as I love and cherish my daughter, I'll admit that this new life is an adjustment that is difficult to make. Sometimes I feel like I'm nothing but a milk machine, as my days are an endless cycle of feedings every 2 1/2 to 3 hours. Since she fights naps, it's difficult to get anything done during the day, and at night I sleep when she does.

Life is different, but it's good. We're getting used to each other and learning how to live this new life we've got. Thank God for such a precious gift.
small town life
These are just a few of the reasons why I love living in Iuka:

I bet you don't have a drive-in movie theater. We do. Not that Dennis and I have ever been there, but we plan on hitting it up some day.

You probably don't have a full-service gas station either, but we've got one. Last year I went there to get an inspection sticker for my car, and the girl's offer to top off the gas tank totally took me by surprise.

When you renew your driver's license, you probably have to wait a little while. Not here. Even though you can only get a driver's license in Tishomingo County once a week, the wait is minimal. I know because I renewed mine a couple of weeks ago.

You probably have a Super Wal-Mart that's a royal pain to get in and out of. Not us. We have one of the old-school Wal-Marts that has everything you need without all the business of a Supercenter.

The Vidette, aka the Tishomingo County News, is thoroughly entertaining (thanks for the subscription, Heather). Big news in a small town isn't usually big news at all, but that doesn't stop the Vidette from covering it. So far, my all-time favorite Vidette story was about the guy who found a snake hanging out of his ceiling (which just happens to be in my friend's mother's rent house). "Without fear of the danger," the guy raced in, grabbed the snake by the tail, and yanked it down. Classic Vidette.

Yesterday, I came out of Nelson's (one of our two grocery stores) to a scene that baffled me. A blue truck with cages of chickens sat in front of the store. I wondered: is he delivering the chickens or the eggs? Neither, I'm sure, but I couldn't help but wonder.

We currently have a funnel cake stand set up in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. It's been there for a few weeks now, and I'm hoping he makes enough money to keep it up, because even though I've only purchased one funnel cake there, I like the idea of not having to wait until I go to a fair or carnival to get one. Besides, they only cost $3.

There are many more reasons I love Iuka, but this is just a representative sampling. Do any of you live in a small town? Why do you love it?
Philosophy 101
Nearly eight years ago, I took Intro. to Philosophy at Mississippi State with Dr. Michael Clifford. He scared me. I had heard that he could be rough on Christians, and when I saw the first assignment on our syllabus, I knew I was in trouble. In one paragraph, answer the question "What is the meaning of life?". I swallowed hard and dreaded the assignment, but that night, I sat down at my computer (the same one I'm typing on now, if you can believe it) and wrote the following words.

To understand the meaning of my life, you have to understand my God. I serve a holy and mighty God, and the sole purpose of my life is to glorify my Lord and Master; I live for nothing else. My life revolves around developing a deep and personal relationship with the One that I call Savior. Life on this earth is just the beginning of our existence; I will spend eternity in heaven with my Father. Maybe this sounds strange to you. Maybe it sounds familiar. Can I prove this to you? Well, no, I can’t, but I also can’t believe anything else is true... It would be a sad world if we had no reason for living. If everything ends at death, then what is the point of life at all? I have found truth in the teachings of the Holy Bible, and it is the standard I follow. I live my life by faith, trusting that a God higher than anything we can ever imagine has my life in his hands, and he knows what’s best for me. So, if you ask me the meaning of life, I can only give you one answer, and that is to serve my God.

I thought I could turn in my paper and escape without him knowing who I was, but to my horror, when I arrived in class, Dr. Clifford asked for volunteers to read their papers aloud. When crickets chirped in the background and no one stepped up, Dr. Clifford looked straight at me and told me to stand up as I read my paper aloud. My hands shook and my voice trembled, but somehow I managed to choke out the words of my paragraph and sit down as quickly as possible.

Silence followed, and then Dr. Clifford said, "Well, I guess we are in the middle of the Bible Belt," before calling on someone else.

I think I would be better equipped to handle the situation now, but when I was a 19-year-old sophomore in college, my professor intimidated me. I was relieved that he didn't rake me over the coals right then and there, and attending his class twice a week for the rest of the semester was the last thing I wanted to do. But I kept going to class and completing assignments that included debating the existence of God, learning about Plato's ideal forms, and reading Rene Descartes. In that class, I heard Karl Marx's famous quote about religion being the opiate of the masses. I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and learned the intelligent design theory, and by the time the semester ended, I emerged with faith intact and an A on my report card.

But at the beginning of the semester, standing in front of Dr. Clifford and proclaiming my faith was one of the most difficult things I had ever been asked to do. As I look back at the words I wrote for that class, I'm reminded that they are still true for me today. The meaning of my life hasn't changed over the past eight years. I still live to bring glory and honor to the God proclaimed in the Bible, and although I've got a seminary education under my belt and I've spent a lot more time thinking about the issues we talked about in that philosophy class I would still answer the question in the same way.

What about you? What do you think is the meaning of life?

[originally posted at leslieannjones.com]
tidbits
It's been a while since I last posted, and lots of little things have been on my mind, so rather than a real post, you get lots of tidbits. Happy reading!

Lately, I've become semi-obsessed with coupons and saving money. Web sites like Faithful Provisions, Southern Savers and Baby Cheapskate are a part of my daily life. I've begun clipping coupons and searching for bargains. I feel like my mother reincarnated. When we we were little, she carried a coupon box around the grocery store, and she took great pride in the money she saved every week. I think I'm becoming that person. Especially since there are lots of diapers in our future. Those things are expensive. Yikes. Anyway, all of this leads me to my second tidbit...

Glidden paint is giving away a free quart of paint to anyone who asks for it. You just have to go to the Glidden Web site, pick out a color, and ask for it. Since we're always in the process of fixing up something or other, I took advantage of the offer and ordered a quart of amethyst jewel. When it comes in, I'll paint some shelves for my office, which is in the process of getting a serious makeover.

A few weekends ago, Dennis and I had a babymoon in Chattanooga. I really enjoyed spending uninterrupted time with my husband, but I also discovered just how much this pregnancy has affected my stamina. Let's just say that we had to stop and rest several times as we explored the aquarium and Lookout Mountain. In line with the previous comments about saving money, I was shocked by how much hotel rooms in downtown Chattanooga cost, so I took a chance and put in a bid on Priceline. We ended up staying at the Marriott Convention Center for $80 a night, a savings of $50 a night. Yay for good deals!

While we were in Chattanooga, we took advantage of the mall and did some serious looking at our technological wishlist. A Flip UltraHD is probably in our future, as is an iMac. I'm seriously lusting over the new Rebel, but there aren't any plans to actually purchase one.

Micah's carseat arrived Tuesday, and it's currently sitting in a corner of the kitchen. It's somewhat surreal to have baby gear hanging around the house, as it makes her arrival seem that much more real. As of yesterday, I'm 29 weeks along, which means that if we make it to full term, there's only 11 weeks left. We have so much to get done before then!

Speaking of Micah, she woke me up this morning at 3:50 turning flips in my stomach. She was doing some serious gymnastics and boxing moves. For 30 minutes straight she showed off, but by the time she settled down, I was wide awake. So I got up and ate some cereal and surprised Dennis when he got up to go to work. In our almost four years of marriage, I've only been up with him 3 or 4 times. Oh how our lives are going to change in a couple of months! The good news is that since Dennis gets up so early, he can feed Micah while I try to get some sleep.

I suppose that's enough for now. Hope you're all doing well!
confession
Lately I've been in a funk that I can't seem to drag myself out of. When I wake up in the morning, I have good intentions to be productive and tackle all the things on my to-do list, but I usually end up wasting my time with meaningless things for most of the day. Granted, last week's VBS shenanigans at church kept me busy - and exhausted - and I've managed to accomplish quite a bit when it comes to researching baby products and completing assignments that have deadlines, but I'm discovering that I have a real problem with self-motivation.

Not good for a freelance writer. Not good.

In all honesty, there are a number of things that I really need to get done in the next few weeks. I need to write a sample Sunday school lesson for a major publishing house - since they were kind enough to send me their guidelines. I also need to prepare for speaking at the Potter's House (our youth group's weekly meeting) in a few weeks. It wouldn't be a bad idea to use all of my spare time to write a blog entry on my professional site, and I should probably start working on a fresh round of queries.

But I'm having a really hard time convincing myself to get moving on any of these projects. I don't have a good reason for putting them off. It's just that right now, for some crazy reason, I'd rather do anything but what I've dreamed of doing for as long as I can remember.

It makes no sense at all.

That's where things are right now. A little on the slow and unmotivated side. Maybe by telling you this, I'll get moving again. That's the goal, anyway.

Until next time,

grace and peace.
here, there, and everywhere
It's been a busy month in the Jones household. I can't believe that the end of May is so swiftly approaching. I spent the first 10 days of the month with my family on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It was nice to relax on the beach and take a break for a while, but I was ready to come home to my husband by the end of it. I missed him!

Things have been picking up on the writing front as well, and I've got several assignments I've been working on that have kept me busy. This is a very good thing.

We spent last weekend in Starkville for Mississippi State's last baseball series of the season. I enjoy going down there and spending time with my in-laws, but I wish State had played better this season. Ah well, there's always next year.

I've spent today working at a friend's consignment store so she could go to field day at her son's school. Apparently he's a longjump champion. It's been a good day.

And, if you've stuck with me this long, you deserve to know that we've finally settled on a name for Baby Jones. Her name is Micah Grace Jones, and we're really looking forward to her arrival. I've been picking out all sorts of baby stuff, and it's been a lot of fun.

I hope you're all doing well! Let me know how life is treating you!
meredith & derek, sitting in a tree
Two posts in two days. Aren't you proud of me? You may not be after this: this post is totally pointless except to tell you that Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd have a wedding web site on theknot.com. Thought some of you would appreciate it.
oh baby
I should have written this post a week and a half ago, but time keeps slipping away from me. Sorry about the late update, but many of you know the news already. Dennis and I are having a baby girl!



We've spent the past several days engaged in the great name debate of 2009, and though we're getting closer to a decision on a first name, now we need to start thinking about middle names. Gracious alive.

We're blessed to have wonderful families who love to give gifts. Baby Jones is already accumulating quite a wardrobe, and Dennis' sister has even offered us the baby bed that her children used. One less expense for us to worry about.

Before I got pregnant, I had heard that people like to touch pregnant bellies. Apparently the rules of personal space are null and void with a baby bump involved. I've begun to experience this phenomenon, and even though I'm uncomfortable with the touches, I don't know how to politely avoid them. People just don't realize. But they should.

I've spent a lot of time looking at carseats online lately, but the one that's my favorite isn't available in any stores to look at. It's an online only item, and I'm concerned about fitting it (or any carseat for that matter) into Pollie's backseat. It wouldn't be an issue if it weren't for the fact that Dennis and I are so tall we ride with the front seats all the way back. I feel the need to actually put the thing in our car to make sure it fits before I commit to a purchase. It doesn't look like that's going to happen.

Baby Jones has been making her presence known through kicks and punches over the past few weeks. Her kicks are now strong enough to be seen from the outside. It's exciting and reassuring all at the same time. I like feeling her move around.

That's it for baby news. More to come at a later date. Maybe we'll have a name picked out by then.
our tour of the South
Dennis and I took a marathon road trip Friday that took us from Iuka, Mississippi, to Gardendale, Alabama, to Whitesburg, Georgia, to East Brainerd, Tennessee.  It began with a 6 a.m. departure, and we spent the day laughing at the hilarity of most of the situations we entered. 

Funny moment number one came when we arrived in Gardendale.  We had purchased 12 folding chairs for the church, and we were picking them up on the way to Whitesburg to pick up the pew I ordered off eBay (see preceding post).  Dennis got out of the truck and made it up the driveway and into the garage before I even started up the driveway, but as I got halfway there, I saw him reach up to ring the doorbell.  I was thinking about how different Dennis and I are, because I would never go through the garage to the back door of a complete stranger.  I'd definitely make my way to the front door, but as all of this was passing through my mind, I heard the rumble of the garage door and saw a look of shock on Dennis' face.  It turns out that the "doorbell" was really the button for the garage door, and I didn't know whether to be embarrassed for him or laugh out loud.  I chose to laugh, and Dennis managed to punch the button again and get the door back up before the guy came to the door, but I know he heard it.  Who doesn't hear the garage door when they're inside the house?

Funny moment number two came when the guy started pulling out the chairs for us to load.  I had noticed a very furry cat wandering around, but I was unprepared for the mounds of cat hair on the chairs.  I backed away slowly and stood there watching while the man waited for me to carry the chairs to the truck.  Finally, I felt awkward enough to tell him that I wasn't being lazy, I'm just highly allergic to cats.  I thought that would explain my aversion to the hair-covered chairs, but then came the shocker.  The guy said, "Me too!"  What person with a cat allergy has a cat that sheds that much?  Self-inflicted torture.  Ridiculous, but very funny.

Funny moment number three is only funny because I chose to laugh rather than cry.  We've been searching for a pew for the house for the past two and a half years.  We've found plenty of them, only to find out that they cost over $1,000 or that they're in New York somewhere.  When we found this one on eBay, we decided to go for it.  We arrived in Whitesburg and followed the directions to the house, but even though we were on the right road, we couldn't find a house with the number we were supposed to go to.  The lady I had been dealing with was working at an antique show, and her husband was supposed to be at the house to help us load the pew, but when I called his number (three times!) he never answered.  Eventually, through a series of phone calls, the lady told us which house was theirs (we'd driven past it twice, but it had no number) and she got in touch with her husband, who had forgotten we were coming and headed off to another town.  Let's just say the situation was disappointing.  We'd driven almost five hours for this, and at first I couldn't decide if I even wanted to go through with the transaction, but even though the pew wasn't perfect, we decided it would work.  I called the lady back and we negotiated a  much lower price, and Dennis proceeded to perform surgery on the pews that were there, taking the best pieces from a couple of them and putting them together to make one decent looking pew.  The husband never showed up, but he sent his nephew over to help us, and after two hours in Whitesburg, we finally left.

At this point, the ridiculousness of the day had started to make us giggle, but as we got closer and closer to Chattanooga, and the rain started pouring (with the pew on the trailer behind us), we laughed some more.  What else could we do about it?  But we stopped laughing when hail started smashing the truck, and there was nowhere to pull over.  I was sure that the windshield would cave in under the force of hurtling hail.  It was awful.  After five minutes of tense driving, we got out of the hail, and we eventually made it to East Brainerd, where we loaded up 40 more chairs for the church with no surprises.  The rest of the trip was uneventful, and we finally made it home around 9:30 Friday night.  Some friends came over to help us unload, and we fell into bed exhausted.  It was quite a day - one that we won't soon forget.


tidbits
Because I work from home and don't really leave the house all that often, I've found that my posting material is pretty dry these days. Hence my lack of updates. That said, I thought you might appreciate some tidbits of information.

I've felt pretty domesticated lately.  I don't know if it's because I'm at home all the time or what, but I've been putting some serious dents in household chores.  Today I even cleaned the shelves in the refrigerator.  Exciting, I know.

I'm a stomach sleeper.  This is incredibly bad news for Baby Jones and my growing belly, because sleeping on my stomach is no longer an option.  At all.  Needless to say, I've had some pretty restless nights lately.

Even though I haven't written much here, I've been trying to post at least once a week at my writing site, leslieannjones.com.  My intentions don't always become reality, but at least I'm trying.

My husband the carpenter has been working hard lately to meet all my furniture needs.  It's not so much that he enjoys the building projects as it is that he's too cheap to pay someone else for something he can do.  The latest addition to our home is Dennis' version (he did a fantastic job!) of this Pottery Barn classic.  He hasn't built the hutch part yet, but the dresser is complete and in the bedroom.

That said, there are some projects Dennis doesn't want to tackle, like the pew I've been wanting to put on the loooooong wall in our den.  He's been shopping on eBay and craigslist for two and a half years, and a few weeks ago, we bought one of the darker pews from this lot.  We'll go pick it up Friday.  I'm really excited.

Speaking of eBay, Dennis has also been selling off parts of his beloved tractor paraphernalia collection.  His profits have helped buy more commentaries for my library!

I think that's all I've got for now.  I'll check back in with you later.  Until then, grace and peace.

The Word

Lately, I've been reading through Jeremiah, and the more I read, the more I'm stricken by what it means to speak the word of God. When I began reading the book, I prayed that the Lord would grant me words to speak just as he promised Jeremiah, but the gravity of Jeremiah's message is making me have second thoughts about that prayer.

God was faithful to his promise. He "put out his hand" and touched Jeremiah's mouth, granting him not only words but also an audience. He never promised Jeremiah that the audience would like what he had to say.

Which is why a few short chapters later, Jeremiah wishes he had never been born. The promised words were not pleasant words for the people, and when Jeremiah tried to keep his mouth shut and save his own neck, the words burned within him and demanded release.

"If I say, 'I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,' there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot." [Jeremiah 20:9]

I've always associated these words with my own calling. The word of the Lord burns within me and demands release. I must speak his name, and I must tell of his greatness. If I do not, then I have failed to be the person that he created me to be. But I wonder how eager I would be to speak his word if I faced the same consequences Jeremiah faced. What if my message stopped short of Jesus Christ and only covered the tough stuff? What if I couldn't talk about the hope of eternity and could only speak words that serve to "pluck up and break down, to destroy and to overthrow?" [Jeremiah 1:10]

Sin. Failure. Rebellion. Separation. Judgment. Wrath. Fury.

No one wants to hear that message. We like to hear about the love of God and peace that surpasses all understanding, but sin is a tough pill to swallow. Nevertheless, speaking the word of God isn't just about talking about the good stuff. We have to taste the bitterness of the bad to appreciate the sweetness of the good. I don't like talking about sin and judgment, but Jeremiah didn't have the option of keeping silent, and neither do I.

I must learn to balance the bitter and the sweet words of God. You see, Jeremiah's message was not just one of doom and gloom. He also spoke words to "build up and to plant," [Jeremiah 1:10] Yes, his message was one of judgment, but he also issued a call for repentance:

"The Lord sent me to prophesy against this house and this city all the words you have heard. Now therefore mend your ways and your deeds, and obey the voice of the Lord your God, and the Lord will relent of the disaster that he has pronounced against you." [Jeremiah 26:12-13]

Isn't that the same message that we should be proclaiming? Yes, "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God," but those who repent and believe "are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith." [Romans 3:23-25] Judgment and hope belong together.

It's hard for me to imagine facing death for speaking the word of the Lord. I am not a prophet. The words I speak don't carry the same authority or consequences as the word Jeremiah spoke, but that does not excuse me from speaking. God has given me his word just as he gave it to Jeremiah, but the word he has given me is leather-bound with my name imprinted on the front. If I am faithful to that word, then I will fulfill the call that has been issued to me. Thank God that the story didn't stop with the exile that Jeremiah prophesied but continued on to Calvary, where God's Word took on the sin of humanity and rose victorious.

Now that's a word that demands to be spoken.

baby talk
Back before Dennis and I started trying to have a baby, I thought that I'd keep a journal every day of my pregnancy and eventually publish it. I even had a title that was oh-so-creative: "Diary of a Pregnancy." But it turns out that I'm not really much of an ooey gooey mom-to-be. Yes, I like baby clothes, and it's fun to imagine how much our lives will change after September 10 (or so), but I've found pregnancy a lot like marriage after the honeymoon. It's just life, plain and simple. It's true that major changes are on the horizon, but life goes on. And honestly, there's really not that much to journal about every day.

More than anything, I'm a little awestruck by the kind of God who takes it upon himself to weave together DNA and direct cells to form a tiny human being. Tomorrow, I'll be 14 weeks along, and according to the baby books, our child is the size of a fist, its neck is growing longer, eyebrows are forming, and its eyes and ears are moving into their permanent positions. At our first doctor's appointment, the baby was the size of a grain of rice. Four weeks later, it was the size of a small lime. Last week we had a peach. It's amazing to see the changes take place and know that a miracle is happening inside of me. But because I'm only showing a little bit, and I can't feel the baby move yet, it all seems a bit unreal.

We're excited and scared all at the same time, but the good news is that we have lots of friends with lots of babies and lots of experience. I don't feel like a parent, but then again, I've never really felt like much of an adult either. When did we get old enough to get married, buy a house, and start a family? I'm beginning to think that I'll never really feel like I've grown up, and this is just part of it. I'm excited to see the way God will shape and mold us into parents over the coming months and years. We'll just have to wait and see.
the love chapter
Love has been in the air lately. And on TV, the radio, and billboards. Valentine's Day came and went, but love has remained on my mind.

When Christians talk about love, we tend to gravitate toward 1 Corinthians 13. It is, after all, THE love chapter. But Sunday morning, while I sat in church, I started wondering what would happen if we quit trying to make the chapter fit our notions of romantic love and start applying it to our relationships inside the church. What if we actually loved one another the way that Jesus says we should? What if we allowed 1 Corinthians 13 to define the way we treat one another in the church? I bet things would be a lot different.

Paul's chapter on love comes right in the middle of a discussion on the proper use of spiritual gifts in the church. Obviously, the people in Corinth were having a little bit of trouble maintaining order in worship services. Apparently some people thought their gifts were more important than other people's gifts, and in their attempts to "serve" the Lord through using their gifts, they ran over one another and destroyed the witness of the church.

Scary stuff. It sounds like a lot of churches that I've been in. But Paul says that it doesn't matter what kinds of gifts and talents we have. If we don't have love, we're nothing but a "noisy gong or a clanging symbol." It doesn't matter how much schooling we have or how deep our faith runs, if we don't have love, we are worthless.

As all of these things have sat on my heart over the past few days, I've realized how miserably I've failed to love. All too often, I'm not patient or kind, and I can be quite arrogant. I like to get my own way, and I'm easily annoyed. Sometimes I have a sense of entitlement because I think that the gifts God has blessed me with are superior to the gifts of others. I struggle with resentment and bitterness, and I'm far from a portrait of love in action. In fact, I'd probably fit right in with the Corinthians who were pushing and shoving their way into the limelight.

Gifts come and go. They wax and wane, fading into the distance. They aren't eternal. But love is. It never ends, and the ability to love is the greatest of all gifts. It is the summation of all biblical commandments. Loving God and loving neighbor is really what the love chapter is all about. If the church is ever really to be the church, we have to start laying ourselves aside and loving one another with our whole hearts. That is what we, including myself, were created to do.

All of these thoughts have led me to a confession, worded most beautifully in the Book of Common Prayer:

Most merciful God,
I confess that I have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed,
By what I have done,
And by what I have left undone.
I have not loved you with my whole heart.
I have not loved my neighbor as myself.
I am truly sorry, and I humbly repent.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
Have mercy on me, and forgive me;
That I may delight in your will,
And walk in your ways,
To the glory of your Name.
Amen.

violation
Carly woke up yesterday morning and went through her usual routine. She fed the baby and gave her a bath; she even managed to wash a few loads of laundry before she brought the baby to my house to spend the day so she could go to work. The baby and I had a good day. We played and went to town to run some errands, but we made it back in plenty of time for Carly to come pick her up. When Carly got here, she had her two boys with her, and they lingered a little while before they headed out the door. Her oldest son was selling magazines for school and was a little shy about hitting Dennis up for a subscription, but we got the paperwork filled out and the car seat reinstalled in Carly's car, and they headed off toward home.

Carly grew up in the middle of town. She was always surrounded by people, so when she and Shane built their dream house, they chose an out-of-the-way spot about 10 minutes north of town. She loves her country home with its long winding driveway, but when she pulled up at the mailbox last night, she noticed something strange. The lights in the garage were visible from the road, and a white truck sat in the driveway. Carly pulled into a neighbor's driveway and waited. A few minutes later, the truck pulled out of her driveway with the boys' dirt bikes piled in the back. At this point, Carly did what any sensible person would do. She called the police.

While she was on the phone with the police, she decided to follow the truck. She couldn't write down the tag number because the tag was covered up, so she took off down the road after the thieves. It didn't take long for the people in the truck to notice they were being followed, and Carly lost them, but she didn't want to go back to her house alone, so she called us. While we were on the phone, she pulled up in her driveway and panicked when she realized the back door was standing wide open.

We promptly turned off the oven and left our dinner behind to jump in the truck and head north to Carly's house. When we got there, a state trooper was walking through the house with his gun drawn. Carly sobbed on my shoulder while Dennis went inside and her children waited in the car. When Carly finally entered the house, a profound sense of devastation and violation swept over her. Her wedding ring was gone, as was most of her jewelry. The laptop, along with all of their banking information and pictures from the baby's first year of life, was taken. Money, signed baseballs, and a safe full of baseball cards disappeared.

Stuff can be replaced, but the violation devastates and debilitates. Carly's afraid to be alone in the house they custom-built. She and Shane hardly slept, and in the morning, Shane admitted that he dreamed of people hiding in the attic, waiting until the house grew quiet to sneak out of the house. People entered their house, uninvited, and walked around inside. They rifled through draws and walked past the bed that Shane and Carly attempted to sleep in. Those feelings of violation don't just disappear. They stay. When morning came and the sun peeked through the windows, evidence of the night's trauma abounded. A great grandmother's jewelry box sat broken on the dresser. Muddy footprints traipsed through the house.

Fifteen minutes south, we hardly slept. Unanswered questions raced through our heads. What if Alec hadn't stopped to sell us magazines? What if they hadn't grabbed dinner at Sonic before heading home? What if Carly didn't notice the garage lights and pulled into the driveway, interrupting them? What if they came back? What if they don't get caught? Could it happen to us? What if it happens to us?

As usual, Dennis woke up before dawn, but after he left I couldn't go back to sleep. The house was dark. I was alone. I kept wondering how I would recover if it happened here. Would I ever feel safe in this house again? Would we have to move? Would the sense of violation ever fade, or would it linger, plaguing me for the rest of my life?

This is not the first time I've rushed to a friend's house after a robbery. The same sense of helplessness and defenselessness gripped me then. It's awful. We live in a quaint little small town. Everyone knows everyone, and there are no secrets here. It's not unusual for people to leave their doors unlocked. It's not unheard of for people to leave their cars unlocked with the keys inside. I've always felt safe and secure here. That sense of safety and security was shaken last night. I wonder if it will ever be the same again.
sick of it
I've been sick since before Christmas. In order of appearance, I've had a cold, a stomach virus, a sinus infection, a stomach virus (again), and now the sinus infection has reared its ugly head again. At least I think it's the sinus infection. I'm not really sure, but I've called the doctor and I'm waiting to hear back from them. Have you been sick too? It seems like everyone I know is sick right now, so I'm thinking there's an epidemic that's sweeping across the country. Or maybe it's just sweeping across me. I don't know, but I'm so tired of it.

Due to the aforementioned illness, life after graduation hasn't been that exciting. We did a lot of traveling before and after Christmas, and I even managed to visit a couple of my best friends for a week, but since I've returned home, I've done a lot of coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose, resting, and not much else. Don't you wish you were me?

The good news is that I have the freedom to rest and recover. The bad news is that I'm about to go stir crazy. It's time to get the writing ball rolling, but I'm not sure exactly where to start. I'm still waiting to hear back from a certain publisher of Sunday school curriculum about the status of my sample lessons, and I need to get the latest copies of the Christian Writer's Market Guide and everyone else's market guide. Maybe I'll order those today.

In other news, I'm teaching How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth at church, and I'm speaking at the BSU in a few weeks. Both of these are good things.

Hope you're all doing well, wherever you are. Until next time, grace and peace.
pressing on
There is so much to say that I don't even know where to start. I've spent the past week and a half decompressing after a very stressful final semester. It's hard to believe that I'm finally finished with seminary. Now on to the real world.

Graduation was wonderful. When you get married people tell you that you'll only remember a blur of activity, people, and conversations. That's how I feel about graduation. Each professor prayed for each student. I wish I had a tape recording of the prayers that were whispered over me that day. It was one of the most special moments of my life.

I think I will grieve over the loss of Beeson for a while. I am excited to move on, but it doesn't make saying good-bye any easier. I am grateful for the many friends that I will carry with me...we always have facebook to keep in touch.

That was a joke.

In all seriousness, I won't really settle into my new normal until the middle of January, after the flurry of holiday traveling passes. We'll see what happens when I get there. Until then, I'm going to enjoy the break and the time I get to spend with my friends and family. No more books to read or reviews to write. It will be a nice break indeed.
already but not yet
This is the first time in several weeks that I've actually completed all of my schoolwork without scrambling. Granted, some of you may think that finishing my reading for tomorrow at 11:32 p.m. qualifies as scrambling, but it's better than getting up early to finish studying for a Hebrew quiz or frantically reading Ethics before class. But finally, this week, I caught up. Now maybe I can act like a real TA and grade some of the papers that I've had for a month!

I can't believe that I'm looking at the end of my seminary career. It has been going on for ages, at least that's what it feels like. There are three weeks left in this semester. Then a week off for Thanksgiving before coming back for graduation and finals. I have a slew of books to read and papers to write in that short time frame, but the reality of the end is drawing near. It's somewhat scary.

I have been a student for so long that sometimes I wonder what I will be when I'm no longer a student. Will graduation cause an identity crisis? I should hope not. I know that I'm not defined by what I do, but at the same time, it's a nice crutch to lean on. I can't tell you how many times I've answered the "What comes next?" question. Sometimes people give me a funny look when I tell them that I'm going to try freelance writing. As if it's not a valid career choice. So I'm left without a real nametag for people to read. I won't be a student anymore. What's my identifier? I don't know.

Seriously. I've been in school for 21 years. That's a long, long time.

And it will end soon.

Sad.

But good. I'm more than ready to finish this season. It's time. I'm burned out. I'm over reading books that other people tell me to read, and I'm certainly tired of writing papers that I have no interest in. I want to read for me. I want to write for me.

The idea of doing what I want to do is thrilling and liberating, but at the same time, I am afraid that the freedom that comes with graduation will paralyze me. Who do I write for if I'm not writing for professors? Am I really self-motivated enough to be self-employed? Do I have any ideas of my own? Is there anything for me to say?

These are the things I wonder. It's such a strange feeling to be where I am right now, with a foot in both worlds. In just a little while, the world of studentdom will pass away for me, and I will step into a new creation. I'm living the already but not yet. I'm looking forward to the new world, but I'm a little sad that the old one has to fade away. It calls for both mourning and celebration.

A milestone is swiftly approaching. Perhaps I'll pop back in before it arrives. Until then, grace and peace.
remembering ashley
A little over a week ago I sat in a pew at my home church and wept as I remembered the life of one of the most beautiful people I've ever known. It's been a very long time since Ashley and I were close, but at one time, we were good friends. We had a special relationship and special names for one another. She wasn't Ash. She was Shley. I wasn't LA or Les. I was Lie (like Les-lie). I, being three years older than her, considered her my "little sister" in the youth group. She always made me laugh, and we had such wonderful memories.

I remember teaching her the alto lines in our youth choir. Leaning over and singing the notes into her ear so that she could hear the harmony. We went to Knoxville and painted that falling-apart house that was scheduled to be torn down and replaced. But we did it anyway. Ashley kept taking a break to talk to the owners of the house. She shared her light with them. We were just trying to make things better for them in the short term. We got in trouble on that trip. If you ask me why, I might tell you someday.

I remember when she found out she had cancer, six years ago. I was a sophomore at Mississippi State. She was a senior in high school. When mom told me the news, my jaw dropped in shock. Ashley? Cancer? It couldn't be. She was one of those girls that everyone loved. She was gorgeous, one of the most popular girls in her school. Captain of the soccer team, on the homecoming court and student council. If you didn't know her, you would assume that she was one of the "pretty people" who couldn't care less about others. But that wasn't the case with Ashley. She was a kind and gentle person, always willing to widen her circle to let others in.

I remember going home for a weekend and seeing her. Not knowing what to say. What do you say to a girl who just found out that her dreams will not happen after all? How do you express your sadness and disbelief to someone whose life was turned upside down? She kept me from having to come up with something to say. Asked about my life at school. My boyfriend. She wanted to know when I'd be coming home again, how I liked dorm life. With her quiet grace she turned the focus off of herself and cancer and onto me.

I remember praying for a miracle. That God would heal her and take the cancer away. She had surgery. They replaced the bone in her leg with a metal rod, and her life returned to normal for a little while.

I remember sitting in the Dallas airport a few years later with my cell phone pressed to my ear as mom told me that Ashley wasn't doing well. Tears rolled down my cheeks when she told me that the cancer came back, and this time, it didn't look good. When I hung up the phone, I stared out the window as airport staff loaded our baggage into the cargo hold. I wondered how and why all of this was happening to someone so young and beautiful. Someone with so much promise.

I remember praying for a miracle, again. That God would heal her and take the cancer away. Our church rallied around her. Raising money and pulling together for her sake. When things fell apart at the church and politics got nasty, Ashley was our common concern. We may have disagreed on a lot of things, but we stood united when it came to her.

I remember seeing her dancing with her sister at a wedding. Her face shone with happiness. She was having the time of her life. We talked. Took pictures. Laughed. Remembered the good times. Then we left, and I got married, and it was a while before I saw her again.

I remember reading my e-mail and dropping my jaw in disbelief when I read the report that her cancer was gone. God took it away. She was healed. Cancer-free. On her way to Chattanooga to go to college and live the life she had dreamed of. Finally.

I remember reading my e-mail and shaking my head in sadness when I read the report that her cancer was back. In her spine. In her lungs. It was not good.

I remember praying for a miracle, again. That God would heal her and take the cancer away.

I remember seeing her at another wedding. No dancing this time. A limp. A grimace of pain when she thought no one was watching. But always a smile. Always the questions about my life. I still didn't know what to say. Hugs. Laughter. Smiles. I remember waving good-bye, wondering if I'd ever see her again.

I remember driving to Nashville, dreading the night. Stepping out of the van with my mother outside the church. Taking a deep breath. Going inside, waiting in line. Waiting. Looking at pictures, smiling at how goofy we looked when we were in high school. Waiting. Hugging the family. Standing beside the casket. Telling my precious Shley good-bye. Tears trickling down my face.

I remember sitting in the pew, watching her fiance walk in the side door with the minister. Standing at the front of the church, in front of friends and family. Waiting for his bride. Her fathers brought her in and left her with him, but there were no vows. No exchange of rings. No kiss. No pronouncement of marriage. Only the celebration of a life well-lived. A life of faith in God. A life that refused to ask "Why me?" and asked "Why not me?" instead. A life that touched so may others. We bid farewell to a beautiful girl, and we left with the hope of seeing her again someday. Because God has answered the prayers for a miracle. He has healed Ashley and taken the cancer away.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more...Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. (Revelation 21:1, 3b-4)

Amen.
Isaiah
Hi. Remember me? I'm the girl who used to write here. Life lately (as you may have deduced) has been quite hectic. I'm having major balance issues this semester and seem to be unable to get everything done. Add to that some pressing deadlines for that freelance writing thing I'm trying do do, and you have one stressed out girl. It's times like this, when I am so clearly confronted by my inadequacy and literal inability to do the things that God has asked me to do that I realize my desperate need for his strength and enabling power in my life.

My Hebrew class is translating passages from Isaiah, which is a bit of divine humor, since everywhere I turn around Isaiah is staring me in the face. Anyway, if you don't know much about it, Isaiah's one of the major prophecy books in the Old Testament. It's a sobering message to God's people about all the ways they have failed him. Even though they go through all the right motions of worship and sacrifice, it's all for naught because their hands are covered with the blood of the innocent. They refuse to take care of the orphans and widows in their midst, and they fail to be the bearers of justice, grace and mercy to vulnerable people. Therefore, they have failed to keep their end of the bargain with God (the one that they agreed to when God through Moses led them out of Egypt), and Isaiah delivers a scathing message of judgment and indictment to them. But the book is beautiful because it also testifies to God's mercy and grace. Even though these people, who are supposed to be God's own people, have failed so miserably, he preserves a repentant remnant. He restores them. So the book can be roughly divided into two parts: messages of condemnation and messages of consolation.

All of that to say that in one particular passage, Isaiah 6:1-7, Isaiah has this vision of God in the temple. And it's awe-inspiring. God is so big and mighty that the hem of his robe fills the temple. Angels are flying around overhead shouting praise to the Lord, an incessant chorus of "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts!" Their voices are so thunderous that the temple starts shaking and quaking, and Isaiah's response is one of despair. He knows that he cannot see the Lord. He knows that he is not worthy to see the Lord. He knows that he is a part of this sinful and rebellious people. He knows that he is about to be destroyed. And he says, "Woe is me! For I am a man of unclean lips."

It's always struck me as interesting that Isaiah chooses his lips to talk about. He doesn't say that his heart is unclean, or his hands, or his mind, or his thoughts. He says that his lips are unclean. I think he says it because he knows that if he survives, he will have to tell people about this, and he cannot tell people about it because there are no words that accurately and fully capture all that he was experiencing. His lips cannot do the job that they must do. And then, one of the angels stops shouting praise, flies to the altar, takes a live coal and touches it to Isaiah's lips. "There," says the angel. "This has touched your lips. Your iniquity has been taken away, and your sin has been atoned for."

Just like that, Isaiah's lips have been restored. They have been transformed from unclean to clean, from unworthy to worthy, from unable to able. It's important because his mission, that he is about to receive from God, is one of speaking. He's to go and tell people the word of the Lord. He is God's messenger, and clean lips are necessary for him to be able to fulfill his task. God meets him at his point of inadequacy and provides him everything he needs to do the work that is before him.

That is where I am. I am part of the sinful. I am unable to tell people about God, to do the work that is before me, because my uncleanness renders me inadequate. The scope of the work before me blows me away. I cannot do it. I know that unless God enables me, my work will fall short of the mark. I know that only by his strength and power am I able to do what I do. I know that he will meet me at my point of inadequacy and provide me everything I need to do the work that is before me. By his grace, might and power, I will finish the work.
snippets: a writing life
It's been a fun week for the writer in me. Mississippi Magazine published a memoir I wrote about making biscuits with my grandmother in their September/October 2008 issue. It's my first actual magazine to be published in. This morning at church, a random lady walked up to me and told me that she really liked the article and the picture that accompanied it, and she intends to try the biscuit recipe I gave.

That said, I've also built a digital portfolio Web site. I posted the biscuit article, as well as a handful of other items from my portfolio. If you're interested in reading any of it, visit leslieannjones.wordpress.com. I've been having a little trouble with the PDF files (especially on my Mac), but I think I got the bugs worked out. I'd appreciate it if you'd check out the site and let me know if you have any trouble with the links. Suggestions for improvement are welcome.

Just wanted to pop in and let you know my exciting (to me, anyway) news. Hope you're doing well. Until next time, grace and peace.
bits and pieces
I'm happy to report that Pollie (the "Polished Metal" Honda) is handling her job as my chauffeur quite well. She's tackled the speed mountains (they go way beyond bumps) on Samford's campus with ease. I like her.

It's good to be back at Beeson. This morning, I had an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. I'm already getting ready to say good-bye to the place. Right now, I'm wondering what my life will be like without the Beeson community. It's an absolutely horrifying thought.

As the teaching assistant for the illustrious Dr. Robert Smith, preaching professor extraordinaire, I sat in on his classes this morning and witnessed the students squirm when they realized they would have to select a fruit or vegetable from the smorgasbord at the front of the room and describe how it relates to preaching. I grinned to myself because when the same realization struck me last year, a full-on panic attack began building up in my system, but it was one of the most memorable moments of preaching class. For the record, I chose a pineapple. How do you think it relates to preaching?

My Hebrew class tomorrow is going to be painful. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to give students two semesters of Hebrew and then send them off for the summer before they have to come back and tackle Hebrew Exegesis was simply not thinking clearly. You might think that since I'm supposed to be good at languages that it would not be so bad for me, but you would be wrong. Painful, I tell you, painful.

I am now the proud owner of a sky blue chaise lounge from Ikea. It's the central element in my reading nook in our bedroom. I love it. It's perfect for reading and writing in my journal. I've always wanted a special reading place, and now I've got it. It's pretty, don't you think?

The super-successful and popular Donald Miller (of Blue Like Jazz and Searching for God Knows What fame) gave the benediction at the Democratic National Convention last night. That's huge for young evangelical voters. He's known as a voice for our generation. Relevant is the word I hear young adults using to describe him most often. I'm not surprised by his support of Obama, but I am interested to see if the Republicans have a representative of the young evangelical vote in their camp. If they don't have a "rebuttal," then I would not be surprised to see young evangelicals flock to Obama's camp (a lot of them have done that already anyway) because of Miller's endorsement. Interestingly enough, this is not Miller's first convention. As a child, he attended the Republican Convention when Bush Sr. ran against Clinton, but he switched parties five years ago. For more on that, read his interview with Christianity Today.

That's all I've got for now. Until next time, grace and peace.
the secret life
It seems that Molly Ringwald can't escape from high school drama. She's playing the mother of a pregnant 15-year-old in ABC Family's The Secret Life of the American Teenager. I've gotten hooked on the show this summer, and I'm fascinated by the dynamics of high school life it portrays. Like most shows, there are unbelievable elements, but the thing I appreciate most about it is that it's an honest look at what happens when a good girl gets into a bad situation.

Ironically, my favorite character on the show is not Grace, the Christian girl who wears a True Love Waits ring and witnesses to her classmates. Rather, my favorite character is Adrian, the majorette, an unapologetic "bad girl" whose tough exterior covers up an intelligent, vulnerable, tender young woman.

Some Christians may be offended by the show's portrayal of Grace and her family, who fit the stereotypical mold of American Christianity. But we have to remember that stereotypes come from somewhere: they have an element of truth in them. I didn't like her portrayal of Christians at first, but I have been pleased to see more development of Grace's character over the summer. Last week, she extended an offer of friendship to Adrian, a girl who had previously hooked up with her boyfriend. If that's not grace, then I don't know what is.

Anyway, just thought I'd give you a heads up about a show that I've found interesting and thought-provoking. The show has too many dynamics to mention here, but I've enjoyed getting to know the characters as they develop. It airs on Tuesday nights at 7 p.m. (central time). Catch it if you can, and let me know what you think.
drowning
Tonight I watched a child who doesn't know how to swim walk up to the edge of a pool, sit down on the ladder and jump in. Right as the words, "Does he know how to swim?" slipped out of my mouth, he plunged into the water. I didn't know what to do. He sank to the bottom of the pool and thrashed toward the middle of the pool, at which point I yelled, "Someone jump in and get him!" Half a second later, Ryan jumped in the pool and pulled him out of the water, but my heart was pounding. I know it only lasted for about 10 seconds, but it felt like an eternity, For the rest of the night, the scene popped into my memory. When I laid down to sleep a little while ago, I couldn't forget it.

I can't forget how easily it happened. Eight adults sat within 10 feet of the pool, and he walked past all of us and jumped in. It's not that he was being brave and thought he'd be able to swim, he just forgot that he had taken his life jacket off minutes before. The whole thing really shook me up. I'm so grateful that he's OK and no harm was done, but right now, I just can't forget the panic of those moments.

It was a reality check. A mortality check. A realization that life really is fleeting, and all of it can be gone in an instant. I watched a child drowning. I also watched the child's salvation. Despite the relief of that moment, the terror remained. For now, it remains. It's a moment, I think, that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Thank God that it had a happy ending.

snippets: by Leslie Ann

Leslie Ann Jones
author and speaker
Immunization
by Leslie Ann Jones Three months ago, I took a writing hiatus and disappeared for a little while to prepare for the birth of my daughter and give myself time to adjust to our new life together.  Yesterday, we celebrated her two-month birthday, and today she reached a milestone.  Her first round of shots. This morning we [...]
Being Taught
by Leslie Ann Jones Life has been busy lately.  So busy, in fact, that I haven’t taken the time to sit down and write here as often as I would like.  With a baby set to arrive in just three weeks, baskets of pink onesies and fluffy blankets have swallowed me.  I’ve been getting her room [...]
myMISSIONfulfilled
by Leslie Ann Jones I’ve been writing for myMISSIONfulfilled, a Woman’s Missionary Union Web site geared toward young women, for the past couple of months, and I wanted to point you in the direction of some of the articles in lieu of posting a real entry.  Happy reading! Ancient History: How Archaeology Enhances Our Study of [...]
Looking Back: Cape Coast Castle
by Leslie Ann Jones As I turned on the news this morning, images of President Obama touring Cape Coast Castle in Ghana and speaking to the Ghanaian people greeted me.  Just a year and a half ago, I walked through the same slave fortress and saw the same sights, and viewing them on TV brought the [...]
Philosophy 101
by Leslie Ann Jones Nearly eight years ago, I took Intro. to Philosophy at Mississippi State with Dr. Michael Clifford.  He scared me.  I had heard that he could be rough on Christians, and when I saw the first assignment on our syllabus, I knew I was in trouble.  In one paragraph, answer the question “What [...]
Identity Crisis
by Leslie Ann Jones I spent the first five months of my marriage cooped up in a 750 square foot apartment watching the Food Network and HGTV all day long.  I couldn’t find a job anywhere doing anything. I couldn’t remember who I was or what I was doing.  Prior to the wedding, I had commenced [...]
Virtue & Politics: Fidelity Matters
by Leslie Ann Jones I’m sad to say that when I read an article or catch a newsflash about a politician cheating on his wife, I’m not all that surprised.  Yesterday, when South Carolina governor Mark Sanford admitted that he spent the weekend in Argentina with another woman, calls for his resignation sprang up immediately.  Whether [...]
Freelance Fears
by Leslie Ann Jones As a struggling freelance writer, I admit that one of my fears is not getting paid for the work I do.  It’s difficult to find a paying job in the market these days, since no one has much money to spare and everyone and their brother has a blog.  Words are cheap, [...]
Pointing Fingers
by Leslie Ann Jones Earlier tonight I watched a young couple announce their divorce in front of millions of viewers.  Regardless of the circumstances or who is to blame, my heart breaks for them.  When I try to imagine how horrific life must be for them right now, I cannot.  Not only do they have to [...]
True Life Train Wrecks
by Leslie Ann Jones Alright, I confess. I watch TV shows about other people’s lives. It began as entertainment, but now I watch to see what people are really like. Lately, our DVR has been working hard to record new episodes of MTV’s True Life documentary series, and as I watched some of them last week, [...]

The Parks
The Staniszewskis

11/22/2009 1:02:06 PM