Sunrise With A Six Pack - Blog

March 27, 2015 by Karin 4 Comments

To Touch Something Closer To Heaven

The rotors whirled above my head. Funny, if you look at them for a moment – they appear to be barely moving.

This slow motion spinning; each blade defined as it slices through the thin air. The sun glints off the steely metal. The beating heart of these blades – a steady thump-thump-thump. My warrior laughs,

5000 moving parts – all trying to fly away from each other.

We are that sometimes. Flying and moving and spinning – flying away from each other, but held by an invisible force. Then a blink, and again they slice the sky with clear-cut precision. A million whirls a second.

And I look down into her eyes, blue as the azure sky; she blinks and this innocent gaze slices right to my mother heart. The whirling, when we stop for a moment to focus, seems to slow to a steady thrumming in the air. It’s when we lose our locked gaze that suddenly the moments spin to a dizzying speed.

During the brief, the commander warned us,

Walk in at 90 degrees. Keep your head straight and your arms down. And walk in at 90 degrees.

Just a few steps to the front and the blades could slice. Too far to the back and the heat will incinerate. And I wonder how many times we skim past the slicing blades before we listen. How close to the inferno will we step before we heed the warning. Walk in at a 90 degree angle. Straight in. There is safety straight ahead.

And I climbed into my seat.

In the belly of gray steel I anticipated the moment this bird would hover above the earth by only a small measure. The familiar fear of heights strangely lost its hold as we slowly lifted into the air. This sudden levitation – exhilarating. And a relief. A moment to do nothing but sit, and float, and gaze.

The forward motion like surfing on the wind. I peered over at the city – stiff and glitzy in the distance. The rat-tat-tat of chopping atmosphere leaving the false promises of glittering domes behind. Beneath us, I watched desert turn to rock and a fire-red rose from the distance. This valley of fire mesmerizing from the safe hover above.

I closed my eyes and imagined the men with legs hanging from the side. Poised with battle armor and pounding hearts. My eyes followed the winding scratches of road below and I wondered what it must look like to them. To see roads covered in debris and desperation and despair – all the while praying to God they might see the gentle hills of home again.

The lost city passed below us. Just remnants of flooded homes and washed memories. This city drowned to make way for the body of water. The parched land and receding water revealing what once was. And I just read they think they may have found Jesus’ childhood home. Buried deep beneath a convent – in the middle of a war-torn world.

Just the foundation remained below our hovering eyes. All the rest had washed to days gone by. And I smiled. Because there can always be something new if the foundation remains. The stones pointing to the sky like arms raised in solidarity. They had weathered a storm and remained to whisper the tale of days drifted to memory.

The dip and turn took my breath. Leaned toward the earth I marveled at how we can float in this space and hang just above the earth. We can hover for a moment feeling like we may fall from the sky, but keep our shoes 500 feet from the ground. Safe. And I wonder if we really shouldn’t get our feet a little bit dirtier.

The glistening water the color of jade wrapped along the angled shore. I peered straight down to the bottom of the rippling water and heard that familiar whisper,

All this. By My hand. It leaves no room for doubt – does it?

And I don’t. Doubt, that is. Just sometimes we must transcend the situations. We have to hover above to really see. Only then can we inhale, rest, and know. The beauty in the design points to the beauty in the purpose. Sometimes we have to go through the valleys of fire to get there.

Then the looming city appeared again in the distance. This sort of oasis of false promises. This adult Disney World. Where what happens here stays here. But, see, nothing really does. It doesn’t stay. It spreads and I suppose we have to decide what we want to spread. And if we don’t – it will be spread for us. Whether we like it or not.

The thump-thump-thump of the blades a steady reminder that all these 5000 moving parts trying to fly away from each other – all these wandering souls – are really trying to touch something closer to heaven.

I stopped writing here, just for a few days. Then I heard the news. This very machine that gently brushed me past mountain peaks, dangled me above a lost city, and through a valley of fire – a hawk just like this whirling workhorse – went down.

And my heart sank. Eleven lost they say. The numbers run across the screen and our heavy hearts pray for families we don’t know by name or face, but whose lives are different chapters of the same story. This small fraction of a nation who knows more than what sacrifice looks like. This fraction who knows the thrumming of aching hearts as rotors, or jet engines roar in our ears – and fade out of sight. These who know the lingering smell of jet fuel and grease-stained hands. The ones who know the faces of questioning children when we scramble for coherent answers – but don’t really know ourselves.

And I remember the weightlessness and peace in floating above this earth – this feeling a warrior wife only tastes for a sweet moment.

All these 5000 moving parts trying to fly away from each other. And these eleven souls – trying to touch something closer to heaven – flung straight into the arms of God. May their families find comfort in those same arms that hold us all.

Psalm 144:3-8

Lord, what is man, that You take knowledge of him? Or the son of man, that You are mindful of him? Man is like a breath; His days are like a passing shadow. Bow down Your heavens, O Lord, and come down; Touch the mountains, and they shall smoke. Flash forth lightning and scatter them; Shoot out Your arrows and destroy them. Stretch out Your hand from above; Rescue me and deliver me out of great waters,
From the hand of foreigners, Whose mouth speaks lying words, And whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.

December 3, 2014 by Karin 3 Comments

A Mother’s Prayer

We rounded the corner blinded by the scorching desert sun. Our necks craned until we saw the red dome in the distance. There’s nothing like an outing with Daddy. While the rest of the world seemed to be veering in and out of lanes leading them to and from the daily grind, we breathed the taste of freedom. My warrior, our six-pack, and I.

Countless days, weeks, and months of separation brought by deployments lingered in our memories as we relished this taste of freedom on a regular old weekday.

We spotted our destination in the distance and the kids bubbled with glee. The Adventure Dome – this red-roofed capsule of childhood memories. Don’t we all pray for these memories for our little ones? Don’t we look into their newborn faces and hope for endless fulfilled dreams? We fall to thankful knees and pray blessings over our young broods. Deep down we know He has unimaginable good in store for these young ones who walk this earth carrying pieces of our hearts.

That’s when we saw him… {please join me over here at my dear friend Elisa Pulliam’s place today for the rest of the story}

Philippians 4:13

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

October 24, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

I can’t believe it’s here.

The day we talked about from the first time we met you.
It’s your birthday. And you are thirteen!

Thirteen. And I can’t quite wrap my mind around that truth. You are a teenager. I feel like it wasn’t so long ago for me. But it was.
And I know I keep talking about it, but why does it go by so fast?

I sit here and watch your baby sisters take a bath and I try to remember you all covered in suds and squealing. And now you’ve grown and you wouldn’t dare let me catch you like that. It just comes upon us – this growing up thing.

You know what one of our favorites said,

Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different… (CS Lewis)

I had a little meltdown today and once upon a time you were the cause of those. And I have to say, years of practice does improve us. Not perfect, but I’ve learned to reign in those Mama meltdowns.

Not today. I dropped the reigns today. Then a moment I could not imagine thirteen years ago – you walked over to comfort me.

Mom, I don’t like it when you get upset.

You murmured as you wrapped your arms around me and nuzzled into my neck. And I thank God He gave you a heart like yours. Because, Son, you’ll never be too old to snuggle up to your Mom.

I do want to tell you something. Something I’ve been thinking about. And, man, so much has changed since I was thirteen. I remember my thirteenth birthday. I got a sweet pair of purple triangle earrings. They were the perfect match for my oversized sweatshirt. I remember my parents took me to see the Biltmore House with my aunt. I only saw her a few times in my life. She lived in Germany, and family is a whole other story.

I remember grinning into the camera with my braces-lined teeth and my not-so-great hair. Mom snapped the picture and tucked it into that baby book. It was a good day. I remember it well when I gaze at that innocent freckled face. This young girl who had no idea what the world would bring to her children. My photo is tucked away safely and today I’ll probably post your smiling face for many to see.

Our world is smaller today and these random postings let us see the people we miss. We watch little ones grow up on screens the size of our palms. And I can’t say I’m sorry. I missed seeing most of my family for most of my life. I’m grateful for the smiling posts of children’s birthdays.

But here’s the thing I want you to know. Numbers don’t matter. Now don’t get the idea this will get you out of doing math, but really, they don’t count for much.

These days we count the likes, the shares, the pins, the tweets, the retweets, the mentions, the comments, the subscribers, the friends, the unfriends, the followers, the unfollowers, and on and on. We count and keep counting.

There are a few numbers running through my mind right now.

We are 10 miles from the hospital where you were born, and 5 miles from your baby home. That’s pretty unusual for a military kid – to be so close to where you took your first breath of life.

This was the 1st place I ever nursed a baby and built a crib. It’s also the last place I nursed my 6th baby and will take the last crib down.

There are 7 people who will have your back forever and they live under your roof right now.

Your 2 parents think you hung the moon – even when we’ve considered sending you all there for just a minute or ten.

Your 1st tooth popped in 12 years ago in that first house, and you lost your last baby tooth just 3 days ago in your 5th house. The $10 from the tooth fairy may have been overkill, but, you see, those things linger in a mother’s heart forever.

365 nights a year I kiss your head while you sleep and the thought of not being able to do that someday breaks my 1 heart.

You are just 6 inches shorter than I am, though your hands and feet are as big as mine. You will grow right past me, but my 2 hands will never be too small to hold you or mess your hair. And every morning and night these 2 hands fold in prayer for every one of you.

I’ve asked God 1 million times to never take you too far from me; but, please, if He does – don’t keep my boy gone too long.

I wish you countless blessings in your life. I pray you follow the right path, and only the right ones follow you. But the 1 thing I wish most for you is to follow the only One who truly matters.

I could go on and give you the stats that bury deep in a Mama’s heart. The number of boo-boos I’ve kissed and the hours of sleep I’ve missed. The number of questions I’ve answered and answers I’ve questioned. The number of miles we’ve gone through this life until now and how many more we have yet to travel. But truly the numbers just don’t matter all that much.

You look into my eyes and ask me,

What does matter, Mom?

Words.

Son, I’m telling you words matter the very most. The words you say, and the ones you hold back. The ones you spew in anger, and the ones you offer in humble apology. The words you laugh, and the ones you cry. The words you wish you could take back, and the ones you wish you had just one more chance to say again.

Words.

You see, Son, in the beginning was the Word. In the beginning, and in the end, that is the only one thing that matters.

Use your words well, sweet boy. They give life. Believe it.
Finally, the ones I want to brand on your heart are these,

You are one of a kind.
I count myself blessed to be your Mom.
I love you… to infinity.

And, yes, you still have to do your math.

John 1:1

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

October 21, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

I can remember his baby face like it was yesterday. Only two years old.

He sat on my neighbor’s lap as she sighed,

His Daddy just passed away. A brain tumor.

I stared into his gentle face as he gazed up at the wind-blown trees. There was a serious look for such a young child. As if he knew his whole life had changed in this last breath of his father. And it had.

What I didn’t know is I would see his face again four years later.

He ran past me in the gym to join his team in basketball practice. My warrior was the coach. Our oldest son’s team.

I looked at the long six-year-old legs as they flew past me and noticed the glimmer in his eyes as he raced to the court. There was a lightness in his step.

That’s when I noticed her. She brushed past me with eyes focused on her boy. I watched her as I wondered,

How have you made it all on your own?

A few more years passed by until I found that tall boy grinning on the front step as he beckoned,

Can he come out to play?

My boy ran through the door and off they went. These friends like brothers. He came around almost every day. His eyes smiled as he told me,

My Mom had to go back to work full-time.

I smiled as I squeezed his shoulders,

We’d love to have you around here.

He spent his after-school days with my neighbor, but really he found his home-away-from-home in our home. And our hearts grew. This boy who became another one of our pack.

One afternoon he swung his shag hair from his eyes as he mused,

You don’t know my mom, do you?

I grinned into his sweet face,

No, not yet.

His eyes glimmered as he replied,

You should. You two would really like each other.

And he was right. What we didn’t know is she would become my soul sister. She, her daughter, and son would become family to us.

It didn’t take long. You know how it is when you meet your people. It just fits. No planning, or thinking, or long drawn out get-to-know-you. Family. Just like that. As though we’d been a part of the picture since the day their lives changed from four to three.

But we hadn’t. And I wondered,

How have you done this alone all these years?

And I’d like to say she’s a rock star because she looks like one. I’d like to say she’s a rock star because I don’t know if I’ve ever met kids quite like hers. I’d like to say she’s a rock star because she has mothered and fathered those kids for ten years – and has blown the single mom story out of the water.

And she would shake her head at all this and tell me she’s no rock star. Her eyes would fill as she tells me,

It’s been hard.

And ten years is a long time to do this parenting thing all on your own.

She has been my cheerleader during endless deployments and has asked me,

How do you do it?

All I can do is shake my head and whisper,

Because you do it.

But she’s no rock star. Because rock stars have an entourage. They have staff, assistants, planners, organizers, managers, and more go-to people than I can wrap my mind around. I like some rock stars. But my friend is no rock star.

Then, a few days ago, she sends me this message,

makes it all worth it… love this kid. xo

I scrolled down and wondered what made all these ten years of holding sick babies, cooking meal after meal, balancing tight budgets, carpooling, tears, stress, strain, loneliness, and every other day-in-day-out task of parenthood worth it – all alone.

Then this. A letter from her daughter. She was six-years-old when her mother held her next to her father and whispered,

Tell him goodbye.

I read the words from her daughter,

so we had to do a survey for this recommendation letter thing and one of the questions was like who’s the most influential person in your life in a positive way, and how has it made you different and I wanted to share my answer-

The person who has had the most impact on my life in a positive way is of course my mom. I wouldn’t be here without her…literally. But she has shown me what it means to be independent, hardworking, caring, and successful all at the same time. She has been a single parent since my brother and I were young and I can’t admire her more for it. She’s a rock star plain and simple. She has done everything for me in life and helped me grow into the young woman I am. She showed me how to care for myself and be independent. She taught me how to think for myself and taught me to always do my best no matter what, which I am sure everyone says, but it really stuck with me in my teenage years. She has never had to tell me to do my homework or schoolwork and it’s because of her example that I did everything on my own. She is always hard at work to make our lives better and it inspires me to do the same. She taught me that hard work pays off and not to take crap from anyone. She showed me that being caring and loving is just as important as being hardworking. She has made me who I am today and I can never thank her enough for it.

Being caring and loving is just as important as being hardworking. This from a sixteen-year-old girl. She made me who I am today…

This. This is what every mother wants to hear. And she did it by herself. This daughter of hers who is like a daughter to me just made every minute of these ten years worth it.

But she’s no rock star.

A rock star couldn’t hold a candle to her.

Proverbs 31:27-28

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed…

October 15, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Wonder If They Will Stick Together

I can see it like it was yesterday.

The scene in the back seat of my truck. A screeching baby and a fidgety toddler.

It was dark and after a long drive to I-don’t-even-remember-where, we were nearing our home. Our home for the moment anyway.

The wails from the backseat can grate on the very last nerve you have left when you are sleep deprived and trying to relish all the parent-of-little-kids moments. And our nerves were shot.

I tried every trick up the mommy sleeve, but baby girl wasn’t going to fall for it anymore. She was plain mad, plain tired, plain done. Just like her parents.

The kicking legs of toddler boy against our seats was the only rhythm we could seem to find. Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk. Little legs kicking to remind us the journey wasn’t over yet. We faced the joys of bath and bedtime after the long trip. Our night wasn’t over yet.

My warrior and I stared into the distance, worn weary by our little charges. And who would have guessed such small packages can fill your heart and drain your body all at the same time? Onward we drove. Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk. And the wailing resumed.

I don’t remember where we were when I noticed. I don’t recall what pulled me from my mama trance. But suddenly it was quiet.

Oh, maybe they fell asleep!

I whispered to warrior Daddy.

I craned my neck trying to avoid eye contact. You know, eye contact is just asking for more,

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…

That’s when I saw it. The snap shot burned to memory.

My toddler boy had taken his baby sister’s hand to calm her. Sucking away at his binky, he grinned from beneath the round blue plastic pacifier. His dimpled fingers clutched baby sister’s small hand as he turned his gaze to the window. And baby stopped crying.

I wish I had a photo of this moment, but it was long before iPhones were a glimmer in our moment capturing minds. I stared long at the small hands clutched together in comfort. And I think the best memories are the ones burned on our hearts. I rotated to the front and smiled in the peaceful silence. I was sure it would always be a little like this.

But time passes and babies grow. Big brothers find joy in tormenting little sisters, and siblings spar. Giggles and jabs turn to tears and anger before we can get to the kitchen. We watch as they grow and know that part of growing up is learning to battle, and find peace – under one roof. Part of growing up is standing our ground and finding new paths all at the same time. Part of growing up is growing close, then growing apart, and praying to God we find each other again. I have big brothers, too.

Through the sparing and battles with the ones who share our blood we find a new branch on this rapidly growing tree. A place to sit together a while. And sometimes Mom gets to watch.

It’s been ten years since that ride in the car and the paths have been winding. The sibling peace has intertwined with sibling feuds, and sometimes I’ve wondered if my boy would ever reach for his little sister’s hand again.

And then he did.

She had been crying. It’s not easy sometimes – this military life. Just when we feel at home, just when we fall in love, just when we find that perfect friend – it’s time to go again. And my girl misses her home. The one that feels more like home than this one. More than that, she misses her bestie. The one who lives states away. I suppose we all miss at least one good someone in our lives. Sometimes more. So, she cried.

And it doesn’t matter how many times Mama’s arms wrap around her neck, or how many times I whisper,

It will be ok. It will get better. I understand…

Sometimes it takes more than Mom. Or Dad.

She hunched her shoulders and drew her knees to cover her eyes. The shaking shoulders gave way to wracking sobs. And this is when a mother’s heart breaks. Because there is nothing I can do about it.

Baby sister, only sixteen months younger slipped over and touched her leg,

I know, sister. It’s hard sometimes.

Funny to hear those words from a ten-year-old. And I watched the scene unfold.

That’s when I saw his face. His eyes softened as he slid next to his not-so-baby-anymore sister,

It’s ok.

Not another word came from his lips as he pulled my girl into his arms and squeezed.

And just like all those ten years ago. She stopped crying.

Because here is the thing. There is a bond between siblings that is stronger and deeper than we can put into words. These branches from the same roots – spreading to the skies before our very eyes.

When we look closely, we can see – the branches reaching for their freedom find each other and touch. Blown by the same winds of change.

Even when decades pass and we wonder if any roots remain; we dig our hands into the common soil and find our roots have only grown deeper and stronger with the trials.

1 Peter 3:8-9

Finally, all of you be of one mind, having compassion for one another; love as brothers, be tenderhearted, be courteous; not returning evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary blessing, knowing that you were called to this, that you may inherit a blessing.

To Touch Something Closer To Heaven

A Mother’s Prayer

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

When You Wonder If They Will Stick Together

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