Karin, Author at karin madden

October 3, 2014 by Karin 4 Comments

When You Think It’s All Going Too Fast

I’m shuffling from room to room dragging pounds and pounds of dirty laundry.

Actually pounds and pounds is an understatement. It’s more like tons. Six kids can crank out a load of dirty.

But, I’m not complaining. I actually enjoy the sanctuary of the chug-chug-churn-churn in the cozy room tucked past the kitchen. The kids aren’t very interested in that room. A nice refuge for Mama.

I remember shuffling from room to room thirteen years ago. I was full-up swollen to the rim with a new life waiting for his entrance. I thought I’d be pregnant forever. Vomiting and all. We pregnant women tend to believe the hefty weight of new life will never leave our bladder; but we are wrong.

The day arrives. The tiny gift from God emerges, sucks lungs full of life, and screams. For about three more years. Well, there is some peace and rest in there, too. And the long days stretch into short years. Before we know it, that baby prancing on our bladders and wriggling for the freedom found only in Mama’s arms… that baby, grows up.

And this is where our hearts burst and ache all at the same time.

I look over at my boy and can’t help grinning. This boy who thought he would be little forever and,

When will I get taller?

I can’t contain the smile, because I’ve told him time and again,

Just wait. You’ll grow taller than me. You’ll be big before I can stand it.

He sees me smiling and ventures across the room for a hug. They still do that, you know. Even at almost thirteen. I wasn’t sure if the big boys would still want those Mama hugs, but they do.

We are nearly eye-to-eye and that familiar dread creeps into my mind.

We don’t have much more time. I don’t think I can bear letting them go.

We see our friends and family send kids to college, while we nostalgically watch our young friends bring new life home.

It all goes too fast. Our parents and grandparents said it would. But, we didn’t really believe it – or want to hear it.

The faster the downhill snowball of parenthood, the more we dig our heels into the ground trying to stop the momentum. But we can’t.

And, I’m tired of being sad about it. And dreading it.

I remember the hope my sister-in-law gave me years ago when I asked her what her favorite age was with the kids.

Every age has been the best age. I’ve loved every year. It changes, but it’s amazing to watch them grow… to see the people they become.

We bring home these babies and before we know it the babies have deep voices, and whiskers, and look us right in the eye.

I’m done with the dread and the wondering if my heart will be able to take it. Because I know it will. Dreading the journey because we think it will end is like dreading the gift before we’ve opened it. The journey IS the gift.

My boy wraps his arms all the way around me and suddenly I realize…

The tiny arms were just a glimpse of the whole picture. These long arms with the hands as big as mine have been waiting to find their way full around my shoulders.

We have an eternal journey down this road. Shoulder to shoulder. There is much yet to see.

And the Light shines brighter than I realized all those thirteen years ago…

Isaiah 42:16

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

October 2, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

That One Mistake We Make

Stories get me every time. I could listen over and over again. The thing about living in a place where darkness seeps into corners and engulfs lives before our very eyes is this – the light shines brighter in the darkness.

I listened to my beautiful friends share their stories of darkness and destruction. I listened as they revealed how the Light changed them – how He changed them.
Stories. The real ones. This world desperately needs our stories. This is for you – the one with a story. We need to hear it.

And we all have a story…

I know what you’re thinking.
Maybe not right this minute. But I know you thought it this morning, or maybe last night. And probably a few times last week.

I know you.
Because I know me.
And in a certain light we all look the same.

We’re not cut out for this. Whatever this is – today.
We don’t measure up.
We can’t hack it.
It’s too much.
We are not enough.

I know you’ve thought it. Because I have. We aren’t so different – you and I.
I know the other thought, too.
The one telling us – we know better. We are better.
We don’t need a thing, because we’ve got this. All. On. Our. Own.
I’m not sure which one is worse.
Not enough? Or too much?
Either way.
We’re both wrong.

Do you know someone needs to hear you?
Do you know someone needs to know your story?
Do you know someone is waiting for you to know – you are enough?

Our stories weave and collide, and somewhere along the way we bought the lie that it doesn’t matter.
The lie that someone else can tell it much better than you, or I, can.
Or worse, the lie that no one wants to hear it.

We waste our stories.
We wrap them into air-tight containers, shove them in the dark corner, and name them Unimportant.
We waste the pain, the joy, the suffering, the victory, the horror, and the delight.
We waste all the tears shed in glorious happiness… and heart shredding sorrow.
We waste it all – when we don’t tell our stories.
We waste it all when we tuck ourselves into the file labeled Irrelevant.

Nothing is irrelevant. Nothing. And no one.
Every breath from our lungs has a purpose – no matter how minute.
You have a mighty purpose on this earth.
You know that, don’t you?

Remember the soul you passed in the store the other day?
And the one at the red light?
Or the one who lives right down the street, but you throw a wave into the air and move on?
Remember that one guy at work or the young mom with the tired eyes?
The are just like us.
They are thinking the same thing.
I am not enough.

Here’s the truth.
We. Are. More. Than. Enough.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made.
You and I are not a mistake – and neither are our stories.

There is one mistake.
The one we make when we keep our hearts and our stories to ourselves.

We hear it all too much. All the ways we should be something different. Somehow different. Someone different.
Younger. Older. Thinner. Prettier. Smarter. Quicker. All the ways we should be more put together.
And we get tired. We stop trying. We avert our eyes and go on our way. Because surely no one needs anything from our less-than-enough selves.
And we get it all wrong.

Love spoke life.
And Love spoke you.
Love expects something in return.
Love leans into the wind and releases the truth – we are more than enough.
We are necessary.
This story can’t go on without us.

You are enough right where you are.
Keep going.
Tell your story.
This world needs to hear it.
You have a purpose.
Go find it. And do it.
Love has been spoken.
Let’s pass it on…

Psalm 119:87-89

They almost wiped me from the earth, but I have not forsaken your precepts. In your unfailing love preserve my life, that I may obey the statutes of your mouth. Your word, Lord, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens.

October 1, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

Walking The Path

It’s that time of year again.

Every October writers across the web link up at The Nester’s place for 31 days of writing. It’s a cyber kick in the pants for writers. I participated in the challenge in 2012 and 2013. Both years I lined up my plans and my words, and went to work.

Recently God’s whispering Spirit told me to lay down my plans. In everything. I thought to myself,

Oh no! But those are just so good…

Time and again, day after day, He has shown me His plan is better. I know it is. I believe Him.

This year, I am joining in the 31 days of writing again. But, this time, I am going to let God drive. He gives us the first breath in our lungs when we open our eyes. His mercies are new every morning.

Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. ~ Lamentations 3:22-23 (NKJV)

This month I am going to open my eyes to what He has to give. Every. Day.

I will spend this month, and every other after, just walking the path…

Join me over here for 31 days of Walking the Path. Thank you for joining me on the journey.

Psalm 16:11

You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

September 29, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

Wings In The Storms Of Worry And Fear

It has been a while.

I’d like to say I’ve been waiting on God, and the reason I haven’t uttered a word in this place is because I have been waiting on just the right words.

A wise friend of mine recently posted these words,

Waiting is not passive. It’s active. We wait with head erect, neck outstretched – expecting God’s answer at any moment, from any direction.

However, the truth just dawned on me. I have been waiting, but more than that, I have been muted by the pain I see all around us. I mean, what in the world does some mom have to say that can change the way we see this suffering world? I could barely see clearly to the end of a hell hot summer in Vegas.

How in this world tearing at the seams can we find anything at all to say that hasn’t already been screamed or spewed or vomited all over the internet?

People are angry. People are afraid. People are fed up. And everyone around us seems to have every answer, and no answer at all.

It seems as my faith grows, so does my pain in seeing the suffering. So, I find myself just wanting to be quiet.

What can we say to the grieving wife of a warrior lost too soon? I remember last month, the day I heard the jet went down. I remember waking in the night before any word had surfaced of his fate. I woke in a cold sweat and went with heart racing fear into deep prayer,

Please, God, please let him survive. He has a wife. And two daughters. Please show us he ejected safely from that Eagle. Please…

Though I didn’t know him, I know his best friends. Though I don’t know her, I know too many widows who have suffered the same tragedy. Though I have thankfully never heard that knock at the front door, I have feared it from the moment I set eyes on my own warrior. The reality falls around us and our hearts break one piece more with every tragedy that crosses our lives.

Just days later, another report. Another warrior, and this time his brother with him. Black ribbons stream across my Facebook and I wonder why again this life so young. Why, again, grieving widows and orphaned children?

And again, another week gone by, a step closer to our door. The call from my warrior,

Have you read the email? I’m in shock…

A warrior brother to my own pilot. Every time we go to this place of shock, disbelief, and mourning; it rattles our core just a bit more.

I took my kids to the photo hanging on our wall. This young bride glowing next to her beaming Captain. My face went to the mischievous grin of a sword bearer – knowing the whack to the rear of the princess bride was approaching.

Just one of many traditions in the military. The magnificent arch of swords welcomes the newly married couple. Just as they are about to emerge into this new life together, the swords close in front of them. This – the cue to kiss this unsuspecting warrior wife – is followed by the raising of the swords. Just as the two enter into this daunting world of deployments, and wars, and battles, and separations; the lovely wife gets a smack. Right on her ass. How apropos for a welcome into the reality of military wife life.

I looked into the glimmer on the face of our friend and whispered,

Why you, too?

My warrior walked in the door that night, swarmed by the squeezing arms of young children. I prepared them for Daddy’s sadness. But these warriors, you see, they’ve been there many times. They lose many comrades. And the thing about this – these comrades are more than friends. They are brothers. Even the ones we don’t know.

The family tree is strong having weathered a similar journey together – divided only by lines on a map. Our hearts bleed for each other as though we are given this one chamber of our hearts to share. We bleed into each other, and carry the families of the fallen. The bond can hardly be described to anyone else. But we can look into each others’ eyes and know.

When he saw me, dish towel and dinner in hand, his stride approached me with the precision targeting they learn like the beating of their own hearts. And his heart bled on my shoulder.

You see, every time, every story, every man lost – the faces waiting on the other side pry open the barrier between earth and heaven to remind us of the wounds our shared heart chamber has suffered. Every face, every call sign, every brother-in-arms gone too soon lights up our memories like exploding bombs. And it never gets easier. In fact, it gets harder.

Because here is the secret we all know…

The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. ~ GK Chesterton

Our warriors go to the gates of hell because they love. And when they go to battle for us, they bond with their brothers in ways we can never completely understand. These friendships forged in the fire of battle burn holes to the core and leave singed scars until they come face to face again.

With every step in my faith – and those strides have grown by the grace of God – my heart aches more for the suffering.

Perhaps it’s this.

The pain invades our souls more with every subsequent blow, because we know. We know sometimes the only way to wake the sleeping soul is to rattle it awake. Our spirits won’t grow stronger in the slumber. Our souls can’t learn in the comfort of downy covers. Our souls won’t come alive without the truth that this life is fleeting.

Our faith will not grow without seeing that we just can’t see with our eyes anymore. Perhaps the only way to really see, is by closing our eyes to this dimly lit world and allowing Him to finally show us the truth. The blinding light beyond what we can see here. The truth in the reality is beyond our comprehension.

We can listen in the stillness of heartache, in the storms of worry and fear. We can close our eyes to what we think we know, and open our hearts to the truth our weary souls are dying to hear.

Then, our spirits will soar… on wings like eagles.

Isaiah 40:30-31

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

July 28, 2014 by Karin 3 Comments

The One Thing We Have To Let Go

Sometimes we just don’t even know where to begin.

It’s one of the reasons we wait to make that phone call. You know, the one to the friend who lives just too far away. Or the brother whom you miss, but so much time has gone by you’re not even sure what you’ll have to talk about. Or the uncle who lives an ocean away and doesn’t realize his sister can’t recall his name and has forgotten he is still there – just a phone line away.

It’s the reason we stop trying to make new friends. There’s just too much to explain and the stories that made us are so many and so far behind we don’t have the energy to put them into words. There’s nothing like old friends and sometimes the new faces we meet remind us so much of a long gone friend, we can’t bear to visit the time again.

Sometimes we don’t know where to begin because it all begins with small talk. And we are tired of small talk. Small talk takes big effort and we just get tired. And sometimes we become allergic to small talk.

The breath gets caught in our throats and we just don’t think we can form one more sentence about the heat, or the weather, or the schools, or the neighborhood, or the state of the world.

Everything is fine. It really is.

There is not one thing in this broken world for a well-fed, clothed, sheltered soul to complain about.

Especially a soul with six healthy, happy children. This woman with a loving husband. This educated woman with friends and family and a good life.

Not one thing.

Except for Alzheimer’s and cancer.

And the fears that come with raising kids in this mess of a world.

Then why on this spinning orb do we find ourselves revolving around distress?

What do we do when the doubts, the fears, the guilt, the regrets just won’t let us go?

What if we turn time and time again to the heavens, beating fists against a Holy Chest, and we get – not one word?

Where can we retreat to plead in silence and solitude when the noise and the voices and the rage burn just outside the thin doors… threatening to engulf us all.

What happens when we aren’t quite sure if we believe… enough?

How can we die to ourselves and become like Him when we lie to ourselves? We don’t even know what to die to.

I am tired. Mostly I am tired of my own voice. The reel-to-reel loop of real life.

I wonder what I would have to say if no one were listening? The words we toss out into the air we know are bound to be caught. I have tossed the words out again and again, just waiting for His response.

And, silence.

Then, a thought. Oswald Chambers has said,

God’s silences are His answers. His silence is the sign that He is bringing you into a marvelous understanding of Himself.

Silence. In the silence we take our inward turned eyes and look… out.

Introspection. The constant mulling, dwelling, analyzing, deciphering, and re-deciphering. The constant me. me. me. is the chain link fence. This fence restraining us while our clamoring fingers wrap around the barbed links and grasp at Him. And all the while, we dig our feet into the self-centered dirt.

The silence. In the silence He has begun to cut away the fencing. A hole appears just large enough to push an arm through. Then, a leg. Then the whole self.

Look out. Not in. In the silence a most startling whisper can appear. When we finally crumble and ask,

What do I need to let go?

Fingers bleeding and clawing for the Truth. The silence is suddenly interrupted with two words no more audible than a single exhale,

Your plans.

The startling truth. The one thing we force Him to pry from our aching hands. Our own plans. They’ve been in the way all along. We insist,

But they are good. Hear me out. My plans are just so, well… planned.

He must laugh knowing the plans firmly clasped in our sweaty palms are the very plans keeping us from the other side of the fence.

The awkward, misshapen plans are the very barrier keeping us from this marvelous understanding.

Sometimes in His silence, He waits for our open palms.

And, finally, He can pull us through… and bring us right into Him.

Job 42:2-5

I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted. You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’ Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. “You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak; I will question you, and you shall answer me.’ My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.

When You Think It’s All Going Too Fast

That One Mistake We Make

Walking The Path

Wings In The Storms Of Worry And Fear

The One Thing We Have To Let Go

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