The Eowiggle

Today I was looking for an old photograph to post. The photo depicts me in a body cast with my nickname Eowiggle written across my chest. I can see it in my mind's eye, but   I did not find it. It must still be with my parents. In looking for it, I stumbled across my baby book. On the very last page, my mother (Rebecca Jones) describes events that occurred on April 27, 1973 when I was 10 months old. We were driving to Princeton for Peter's oral examination on his dissertation. It was raining, and as we were coming around a curve, Peter lost control of the car and it began to go off onto the shoulder of the road. He steered back toward the center of the road, but we were going nearly 60 mph and the wet roads kept him from regaining control. We smashed into the center guard rail, were flung across the road, spinning as we went, and smashed into the side guard rail. When we finally came to a stop, Peter said, "the baby!" and we immediately jumped out to see how...

Do you sometimes wonder whether your life is making a difference in this world? I do. I want to feel like I am part of something bigger, something significant, something that is changing lives of people around me for the good. I want to be changing for the good too. Stories of normal, yet courageous people encourage me to be more bold in my pursuit of my calling. I want to be realistic about my abilities and my limitations, but I don't want my view of my limitations to limit what God might be intending to do through me or even in spite of me!  One such encouraging story is about the life of Gladys Aylward. My grandfather, Ron Jones, used to tell stories of an unusually short and spunky British missionary woman who would occasionally stay at Maybank, my grandparents large home in Liverpool. This lady, who didn’t exceed 5 feet had become as Chinese as one could get. Her stature, her demeanor and especially her pitch black hair made her look very Chinese. One might think, in o...

  As a child I did gymnastics. I loved it. I enjoyed the thrill of the balance beam: Being up high off the ground and having just 4 inches of width on which to perform tricks. I learned quickly that looking down was a sure way to fall. Our coaches always hollered repeatedly: "Look up! Keep your eyes on the end of the beam!" Living in Berlin is God’s will for my life and that is the best place to be. It has become my new balance beam. It is the place where I've been dared to learn new tricks, reach new heights. There are days when I love it. I thrive on the challenges of living in Germany, ministering to difficult people and being cross- and counter-cultural. I love the fact that Berlin is a dark place where God’s light shines all the brighter. But the reality of that darkness is sometimes overwhelming. Remaining a foreigner and being different  gets to be exhausting. I waver a lot when I look at my life. I have lots of questions about calling too. On good ...

Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle (as depicted for C.S Lewis' The Silver Chair )  Why this blog? The Marsh-wiggles are pessimistic creatures, always expecting the worse so that they are surprised when things go well. Over the years, I have come to the conclusion that I am, gulp, a pessimist, in spite of not wanting to be one!  We pessimists like to believe that our way of seeing things, namely that the glass is half-empty, is more accurate, more realistic than that our optimist counterparts. We don't like to be disappointed. We hide behind our "realism" to avoid the negative attribute "pessimist." After all, who really wants to be around a pessimist? Negativity is not "in." The views of a realist, however, might be considered constructive and helpful. We also like to believe that our criticism and judgments are neutral, hence contributing positively to any conversation. In the end, though, our neutral criticism does not seem to be appreciated b...