Sunrise With A Six Pack - Blog

March 5, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

Why We Should Stop Trying So Hard

Try.

That’s what we are all taught.

Try your best. Try harder. Try to do it right the first time.

If at first you don’t succeed, try… try… again.

A good, valid lesson. I tell my kids to try. My parents told me to try. Teachers implored us,

Try.

We try day in and day out.

We try to get to those pink-rimmed toilets.

We try to get to all the laundry.

We try to get it all fluffed, folded, and put away.

We try to finish the first batch of dirty dishes before the second and third invade.

We try to plow through all the schoolwork without spraying harsh words… or tears.

We try to be nice to the road rage driver whose agenda is to get there first – wherever there is.

We try to keep our middle finger down and our attitudes up when we are peppered with salty words from a random grump having a random bad day in a random store.

We try to be patient with our kids, or our bosses, or our parents, or our spouses.

We try to be understanding with our aging parents even when we think we know what’s best for them… but they just won’t listen.

We try to love our neighbors… especially the unlovable ones.

We try to be the lovable neighbor, even when we don’t feel like it.

We try.

We try to please others. And, we try to please God.

We try to work this partially wrecked vehicle we are given to drive across this lifetime. We give thanks for the fuel in our engines and the gifts in the back seat. We give thanks for the passengers who ride this road along with us. We give thanks for the tune-ups and the brake jobs, and for the fine tuning along the way.

And we try to do it right, because we are grateful. Most of the time.

Sometimes we get distracted by the roadside stands or the flashy billboards.

Sometimes we completely lose track and another vehicle comes along and creams us.

Sometimes we thoughtlessly barrel into another unsuspecting driver.

And, we’re sorry. And we wish we could take it back.

But we can’t.

So we keep going.

We try until we find ourselves stranded on the roadside wondering where it all went wrong.

We wonder how we missed the turn, and where were the signs anyway?

We wonder why we stall and become overwhelmed and exhausted.

Because, after all, we’ve tried.

Kneeling in this roadside place, I throw my spaghetti bowl mess of a mind up the heavens,

What do I do with all this?

This tangled, mangled mess of try-hard.

What do I do now?

And the flashes of light from the tow truck blind me. The One equipped to hitch us right up and tow us along while we sit shotgun. The whisper from this blinding flash in the darkest knee bent place blows through my weary spirit,

Stop trying so hard.

The clenched air exhales slowly from my worn and dented soul,

I want to do it right. I want to make You proud.

I want to make sure You keep loving me… well.

The Holy wind with His peaceful breeze washes over this weary traveller,

You don’t have to earn it.

It’s already in your hands.

The keys are yours for the taking.

Don’t try so hard.

I don’t know why. Sometimes we don’t know how to downshift. I don’t know where the lie started. This rumor that love has to be earned and tirelessly chased until caught. It’s a lie, you know.

One of our favorites. Yoda. He had it right,

Do or do not. There is no try.

Do ask. Do seek. Do knock.

Do remember the proof of Love allowed Himself to be hung on a cross for us more than two millennia ago.

I wonder if it’s time to move from the foot of the cross… beyond the cross to the resurrected Love that beckons,

Follow me.

Love gave us life. And breath. And hope. And no matter how hard we try or do not, Love is here to stay.

All we have to do… is be. Be-lieve.

And, deep breath…

Be still.

Psalm 46:1, 10

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble…

He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

February 28, 2014 by Karin 7 Comments

When You Hear The Nagging Voice

I did it again this morning.

I’m not much of a morning person. You would think after more than 12 years of early wake-ups, nightly wake-ups, all around the clock wake-ups… you’d think I’d be used to it. But, I’m not. I still love to sleep.

I keep hearing the whispers.

Get up. Meet with Me.

You see, I’m a night owl. The darkness intrudes, peace and quiet blankets the house, and I breathe. This is where I find the thoughts that linger and tuck themselves into crevices. This is where I hear His voice most clearly. In the peace.

But the whispers keep nagging. Is is wrong to use that word? Nagging. It brings negative connotations, but it’s only nagging if you refuse to listen the first time.

And, I have refused to listen more than once. You know, the old yes-I-hear-You-but-let-me-think-about-it response.

The prodding and prompting crept into my ears again this morning.

Come to Me. Meet with Me.

My usual reply,

I will. Later. You know the kids are all up. I have so much to do.

He doesn’t let up.

Come to Me.

So, I did.

I went to the closet tucked away in the corner. Across the bedroom, through the bathroom, behind the piles of unfinished laundry and messes. I snuck away from the screeching ruckus below. I slid into the secret place and closed the door.

It was here, where He met me.

I closed my eyes. Sometimes we just don’t even know where to start. He knows this, you know.

I began to rattle the pounding of my heart – the thoughts that grab and choke me sometimes,

Please, keep them all safe.

Please, let us grow old.

Please, protect our health.

Please, surround us with your protective hedge.

Please, let it all work out.

Please, let these dreams in my mind come true.

Please, beat back the fears.

Please.

I turned my hands, palms up to the heavens. How do we will ourselves to be broken? And willing? And accepting? And open?

How do we take our hearts in our hands and offer them to the unseen Holy?

And then, the whisper… again.

Shh.

I stopped my rattling laundry list. I murmured only one more line to the Presence that surrounded me,

I don’t want to hear myself anymore. I’m tired of my own voice.

Please… let me hear You.

And it’s here, in the silence, He answered,

I have only plans to prosper you.

My eyelids flickered,

Is that You?

We just aren’t sure sometimes. I needed more.

Is that You? Please give me something so I will know…

Again the whisper,

I have only plans to prosper you.

I needed the black and white. The words before my eyes.

Go to Jeremiah 29:11

I smiled in the dark recess of the hiding place,

Yes, I think that’s the one about calling to You and finding unsearchable things I do not know…

He must have laughed. That wasn’t at all what He was telling me.

Go to Jeremiah 29:11

I folded my hands as the sound of the wild rumpus below reached a crescendo. I walked into the light and picked up the pink leather gift my warrior and babies had given me years ago.

Opening the tissue pages to Jeremiah 29:11, He spoke again,

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

You see, I had the address all wrong. I thought He was telling me something else entirely. Until I listened and went where He pointed. But, this wasn’t all He had to say. The real message was hidden behind the first step in obedience. The real words His voice urged me toward were the ones after this…

Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. (Jeremiah 29:12-13)

And this is where He waits. In the quiet hidden recesses. In the words behind the first steps toward Him. In the depth of the heart that seeks Him.

I thought I knew. The Holy hours of my choosing, the dark of night, the time when our home sleeps in peace. I thought these were the hours carved out for His Presence to speak. I thought I knew. But, I was wrong.

He calls us to Him at all hours. Through the light, the darkness, the messes, the chores, the ruckus, the peace, the worries, the fears, the busy to-dos of every moment. He calls to us, and He waits.

It’s when we hear the call, the whisper – when we answer with a bended knee, a bowed head, a willing heart – He lets us find Him.

It’s in this wondering if He’s there that He reminds us – He’s been waiting for us all along.

John 10:27

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.

February 19, 2014 by Karin 4 Comments

When We Drop The Mask

When did this whole thing start?

The whole dress up fancy and put on your best face for church thing. And I’m not talking about clothes here.

A pastor said something recently – something that made me think…

There are two reasons people don’t go to church:

They have never met a Christian.
They have.

Ouch. Sucker punch.

Mostly because it’s true.

Growing up I often saw the prim, proper, and pressed folks who headed out every Sunday morning.

Some of them were truly kind, salt of the earth types. Some of them… were not.

It always puzzled me, so I decided at a pretty young age that I didn’t fit in with that crowd. I did go for a time. I did meet some gems of this world. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to see beyond the sparkle and dazzle of His gems. And sometimes we feel dull and rough by comparison. Comparison… and that’s a whole other road block in this quest of ours.

I did pray. I talked to God – He seemed quite distant. But, the people who flocked to His house often turned me right off. It seems awfully judgy of me, but I was a kid. What did I know?

What I didn’t know, the Owner of the House is a radical lover of all the ones we label as derelicts and losers.

The Man they were going to see flipped the temple into a tizzy with his anger.

The Son of Man hung out with the bottom of the barrel. Nothing prim and proper about these friends of His.

What I didn’t know… He can and will use anyone who is willing.

I am not saying we have to dress like slobs to make a point.

I am not saying we have to spew words that wound or shock simply for shock and spew value.

I am not saying nice clothes, good manners, and just plain decency are all wrong. Not at all. I’m a fan of all these things.

I am saying… masks are. Masks are all wrong.

I don’t know a soul who has been reached through false pretenses and pretty pictures – that are backed by nothing.

I don’t know a soul who has felt welcomed into the presence of God through shame and feeling less than.

I don’t know a soul who wants to go to a church full of people who seem perfect.

And maybe I am pointing a finger at myself.

Maybe I am pointing a finger at my own attempt to make this life seem easier than it is.

Maybe I am looking square into the mirror and wondering why in this desperate world we still think it’s ok to hide what is real.

And maybe I’m wondering when we will finally get over ourselves…

Because there are plenty of aching souls waiting for us to stop looking in – and start looking out.

This life.

It is beautiful. And brutal.

It is exquisite. And exhausting.

It is glorious. And grueling.

It is a gift. Every minute.

It is hard, and lonely, and precious, and ugly, and surreal, and solemn, and spectacular. It touches every inch of the spectrum from left to right and back again.

And, it would be so much easier to see – without the masks.

It would be so much easier to relate – to the real stories.

It would be so much easier to touch the next soul – with the barricade lowered.

It would be so much easier to see Him in each other’s eyes – with our faces bare naked.

There is an awkward squirm when the true face begins to reveal itself.

A nervous fear of what they might think.

A trembling step into an unknown arena.

And we wonder,

What will happen now?

Here I am. That’s it. The real deal.

And when the mask lowers and we look into the questioning eyes – the eyes that may not have seen Him anywhere else yet – the eyes that wonder what this whole thing is really all about…

When we lower the mask and show our faces as we really are, we might hear a sigh of relief and a small whisper,

Me too. I get you.

And when the questioning eyes begin to see a reflection of themselves, the tense muscles loosen. The doubtful face softens. This one who has been searching, but hasn’t quite filled the hole.

When this face peers into the maskless face, and the absence of the mask reveals truth…

They just might see Someone else in our eyes.

Ephesians 4:25

Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are all members of one body.

***Do you wonder if your story matters? Last week I had the joy of being interviewed by Lisa Buffaloe of Living Joyfully Free Radio. Lisa is an amazing woman who, through her interviews, shares incredible God stories on her radio show. We talked about the ways God pursues us, and in this pursuit – we all have stories that matter. Click here to listen.***

February 13, 2014 by Karin 8 Comments

When We Can’t See Through The Fog

I always look out that window.

It faces the mountains to the west. The snow-covered ones off in the distance. It’s a relief to see snow in a dry desert place.

I needed to see those mountains this morning. I lifted my eyes to the mountains. It’s madness in a house sometimes. A beautiful, wild rumpus. And sometimes I go to that window to breathe. Where does my help come from?

Blinds open. And – cloud cover. No mountains in sight.

Where does my help come from now? When I can’t see the mountains.

What do we do when we are under the cover of clouds and we so badly need to lift our eyes up to the majesty of a mountain top?

The fog rolls across the cookie cutter Spanish tile roofs like a swell of ocean washing the carefully constructed castles of our own making. Nothing to see here today. Just fog.

I want to give you a carefully crafted and profound answer. I want to tell you that the secret is in the fog. I want to show you 5 easy steps to your way out of the hazy unknown. To tell you that the mountain top is still there – you just can’t see it.

But, I don’t have the easy answer. I can’t see through the fog either. The chilly haze obscures everything – for all of us – at some point.

I do know the mountain is still there. I know the spectacular cliffs are just beyond the low-lying clouds. I know this. Because I have seen them. The vision of the rugged earth rising to 11,916 feet in altitude is burned in my mind.

I know the mountains are there because I have seen them again and again. Just not today.

I remember what my little blue-eyed baby boy said as he nestled his sleepy head into the soft cloud of his pillow,

Mama, it’s hard to believe when I can’t see Him.

I smiled in the darkness, lit only by the faint blue of an F-16 night-light,

It is, baby. It is hard to believe in the dark.

We have to remember in the dark what we know to be true in the light.

Yea, it’s hard to believe what we can’t see. But what if we have seen? We just forgot a little bit. What if the only way we remember is by closing our eyes. We can see what we know is there in our mind’s eye. In the eye of our hearts.

And, that is the answer, I think. To all of the questions. The secret isn’t in the fog – it’s behind the fog. Time and wind and sun will move the haze along its way once again to reveal what is really there. What has really always been there. Who has always been there. Whether we have seen Him… or not.

We have to remember in the dark what we know to be true in the light.

And the Son slowly burns off the fog until we can lift our eyes to the mountains again.

To the Maker of heaven and earth.

Ephesians 1:18-19

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.

February 7, 2014 by Karin 11 Comments

The Real Fairy Tale

Not what she expected.

My sweet ten-year-old looked up at me from behind the soft covers. With tears in her eyes she mumbled,

Maybe your next anniversary will be better.

I cocked my head to the side,

Better than what?

She went on,

Maybe you and Dad will be able to go out and have dinner… I don’t know.

I smiled into her innocent eyes. These young recipients of endless princess tales vividly displayed on wide-screen. The princesses who get clothing lines and figurines and jewels. The ones who sing like angels and fight like brave hearts. The ones who struggle through adversity and end up in a life that’s – perfect. With a theme park thrown in.

I laughed,

Sweetie, this was a good anniversary. I got to see my honey… you know, Dad. I was able to hang out with all of you. We are healthy and fed and in a home – all together. That IS a good anniversary.

She looked at me suspiciously,

Ok. But, it’s your anniversary.

I went on, trying to convince this young girl of the beauty of simplicity,

Well, and maybe we can go out to dinner someplace really nice… really soon.

She smiled and hugged my neck,

Ok, Mom, that sounds great. Maybe you can drive to the mountains or something.

(I’m fairly sure she wanted to add… in a horse-drawn carriage)

I tucked her sweet innocence into bed, blew kisses, and turned off the light.

I looked at my warrior,

You know, she wonders why this wasn’t more romantic. She’s watching and wondering where the fairy tale is.

He and I both chuckled, knowing the fairy tale in this chapter is six sleeping children. That is a good anniversary.

Fairy tales. The funny thing is, I grew up hearing my mother’s German fairy tales, and they were far from the story we show our own kids. The original versions involved pain and healing, life and death, beauty and horror. I have books my mother saved – the old hardback German books from our childhood. The characters are running around with hair on fire and thumbs cut off. Pretty morbid stuff. And I didn’t fall apart… as far as I remember. The real stuff of real fairy tales… was real. Or at least not glossed over and fluffed up.

The beauty in the reality of it all… was the end. The redemptive stories intertwined with mayhem. A little bit more like… life.

The fairy tales on our screens today might just bring our princesses (and our princes) crashing down – to reality. There is romance, there is true love, there is charm and beauty… but, it’s not perfect. Not yet.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a beautiful ending all tied up in a bow. There is no Disney-deficiency anemia in our home.

I love that Pocahontas had a heart-gripping romance with John Smith – even though in real life it wasn’t true. In real life, legend has it, she was a brave soul who saved the neck of John Smith and married a man named John Rolfe. She was baptized a Christian and given the name Rebecca.

I love that little red-haired Ariel marries the prince, grows feet, and has a fabulously explosive wedding. Even though the mermaid fairy tale of my childhood told how the mermaid not only longed to be with the prince, but also deeply desired the eternal human soul. This eternal soul – mermaids don’t have. The story in our old German book ended in her death. It made me sad as a kid.

Yes, I love the glossy new versions, but I wonder if they really prepare our little warriors for the real deal? The battle in this life for faith and hope and love. And, it is a battle. The battle worth living for.

Hans Christian Andersen said it well,

Every person’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s finger.

Not the glossy versions, but the real, raw stories of recklessness and redemption… of doubt and deliverance… of fear and freedom. Of life and death. And, Life.

Maybe I’ll pull those old fairy tales out and read them to my kids. I’ll read the German version to the sound of giggles and translate the stories to English. The real versions, as they were really written. Maybe kids can handle the messy tales – knowing the glory is coming in the end.

The important part is the ending. It doesn’t always end well… here. The real ending hasn’t come yet. The best part – the real ending is the real beginning.

A confession. I already read the last page, and… spoiler alert…

Love wins.

Revelation 22:17

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.

« Previous Page
1
…
5
6
7
8
9
…
38
Next Page »

Why We Should Stop Trying So Hard

When You Hear The Nagging Voice

When We Drop The Mask

When We Can’t See Through The Fog

The Real Fairy Tale

Meet Karin

Search the Sunrise

What I Write

Sunrise Archives

Pinning at Sunrise

Recent Sunrise Posts

Sunrise on Facebook