karin madden

  • Home
  • Sunrise With A Six Pack (Blog)
  • Meet Karin
    • Truth In The Details {4×4 of 4 things about me}
    • Hear My Story
    • Food Allergies
      • Recipes for the picky ones
  • 31 Days Series
    • 31 Days of God’s Promises
    • 31 Days of Good Deeds
    • 31 Days Of Walking The Path
  • Essential Oils
    • What’s The Deal With Essential Oils?
  • DIY
    • DIY Deodorant
    • DIY {easy} Facial Toner
    • DIY Liquid Laundry Detergent
  • Contact
  • Subscribe and Free e-book

October 2, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

That One Mistake We Make

 

Walking the path

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…

Rock climbers

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.

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Walking The Path Tagged With: that mistake, you are enough

October 1, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

Walking The Path

It’s that time of year again. walking the path button

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…

Walking the path girl

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.

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Walking The Path Tagged With: 31 days of walking the path, God's plans

May 7, 2014 by Karin 12 Comments

When You Don’t Know How To Forgive Yourself

The phone rang through the sizzle of the searing meat on the stove.

Taco Monday. Not nearly as clever as Taco Tuesday, as my girl pointed out, but it’s Cinco de Mayo. A day to celebrate our Mexican heritage – thought it’s only a fraction for this six pack of ours. A grandmother of a great-grandfather. Born and raised in a border town in the blazing Texas heat… a very long time ago.

I had a few conversations with this grandfather of my warrior. A brilliant man whose heart bloomed beautifully as his mind aged. I remember the stories that brought a twinkle to his eyes. The time he ran away when his parents adopted a little sister. He was ten-years-old and found this new sister an imposition. He laughed as a 95-year-old man recalling his childhood antics. His life stretched a full 98 years. Though my children had prayed for a full one hundred. Who gets to live that long? They wanted him to wear the badge of honor.

I wonder if his mother ever dreamed her boy would live to be on old man with grandchildren upon grandchildren. A man who touched the cheeks of his great-grandchildren.

River Fishing

River Kids

I wonder if his mother thought that far ahead? It’s almost too far to look down the road. Besides, we are supposed to live right now, aren’t we?

The sound of the phone drilled through my thoughts of tacos and dinners and heritage and old age and mothers.

I scooped the phone to my ear,

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Her voice trembled through the line,

Hi Karin, how are you?

We can just tell, can’t we? We can hear in the tremor of one small syllable of a dear friend’s voice when the flood of salt is close to the rims of blurring eyes,

What’s wrong? Why do you sound so sad?

The barrier broke as she poured her aching mama worries through the line. The ebb and flow of her voice washed over us both as she described every fear, every worry, and every heartache her sinking soul couldn’t hold. We all end up here sometimes. Paddling upstream. Clamoring for air, and relief, and any reed we can hold on the shoreline. We all end up here – grasping at straws.

Warm Hands

Fishing Kids

We talked like two oarsmen trying to find a rhythm we could both understand. Trying to make sense of the choppy waters we find ourselves paddling through furiously. And sometimes the rowing is so much easier with two. Sometimes we need to know someone is holding the other oar – praying to God we don’t sink under the weight of ourselves.

The words flowed on about motherhood and mess-ups and maternal mayhem, until she asked the question,

Karin, how do you forgive yourself?

How do you forgive yourself when you mess up?

There it was. The place our river turns to white water rapids. Guilt.

And we just drown under it.

Guilt. How do we forgive ourselves when we make the same mistakes over and over again?

How do we forgive ourselves when we lose tempers or sanity?

How do we forgive ourselves when we turn out to be less than the mothers we expected to be? When our ideas become vapor? When our plans wash down the stream far from view?

How do we forgive ourselves when who we are turns out to be less than whom we can accept?

Boots in the River

I stammered over my reply. It’s not easy to explain the demon you battle yourself. It’s not easy to describe the end of the rapids when you are stuck in the middle of the water yourself,

Well, I guess, we have to remember that when we don’t forgive ourselves – we are sort of calling God a liar. He forgives us, but we are telling Him – He must be wrong.

She sighed,

I know. And that makes me feel even more guilty.

Yea, me too.

And I’m tired of this wasted emotion. I’m tired of it when I hear my son sink under the weight of the same snarling beast. Guilt. And I wonder if he learned it from me.

I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the emotion that lies to us and tells us we won’t get it right, and even when we do – it won’t let us forget the times we didn’t. The blade cuts to the soft white underbelly of a sinking soul.

So, my friend, this is the way I see it. Guilt is the part of the ride where the river forks.

You can keeping riding that dangerous wave as the current pulls you toward the cliff plummeting into the spray of murky depths. Or you can grab the oar and steer and paddle like hell – until you find yourself on smooth waters on the other side of that fork.

But, you are going to have to believe the One who forgave you first. And you are going to have to throw your sisters – the rest of us moms – an oar so we can help you steer. Because see, we were never supposed to raft down this journey alone.

And in this ever-changing current of motherhood… a river runs right through it.

 

John 7:37-38

On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.”

Karin Madden

 

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Forgiveness, Friendship, Motherhood Tagged With: forgive yourself, motherhood, throw out an oar

April 24, 2014 by Karin 10 Comments

Why You Are Just A Mom

I stared into the midnight sky.
My warrior sat down beside me and the warm Vegas breezed washed over us.
The silence we had been waiting for. The house after dinner is the kind of wild rumpus that can drive you to the brink of madness – or to the back patio.

At this point, though, we are usually too tired to put up much of a battle. The kids race like madmen in circles from room to room. Funny how we have always lived in a house with some sort of racetrack. It’s like God knew we’d need a nice wide circle for them to burn any excess energy at the end of the day. And where they get it, I’ll never know. Because if I did, I’d buy stock in it… or hoard it for myself.

But it was our time. For a few minutes anyway – until the first pair of scurrying feet would show up and ask for an extended bedtime.

What do you think we are tapped for?

My warrior had mentioned a book he heard about. A successful businessman who said the key to life is finding what God has tapped you to do. We let the thought marinate for the day.

What do you think it is for us?

He smiled into the darkness, took a sip from his birthday beer, and answered,

Six kids. He has tapped us for six kids.

Well there it is. I don’t know why, but we get caught up in looking for some kind of cataclysmic event. We wait and wonder what the big AH-HA of our lifetime will be. Like there is some seismic occurrence or some paramount moment that will take place. We wait for the BIG one – the reason for it all. Now, I know walking into heaven will be much like that, but I’m talking about here. We wait for it and wonder what we are tapped for – when what we are tapped for is right under our noses.

The mystery of God is not in what is going to be, it is now; we look for it presently, in come cataclysmic event… We look for God to manifest Himself to His children: God only manifests Himself in His children. ~ Oswald Chambers

Just hearing those words come out of my husband’s mouth lifted a restless fog from my heart and folded me in peace. That’s it. That’s what I’m tapped for. Right now.

Mom and Baby

Jumping Joy

Wave Jumping with Mom

I am a mom. I am a wife. I am amazed.

Yea, I am just a mom. And, maybe you are, too. We are just parents.
And, maybe you wonder how you will make it through the next hour with a crying newborn.
Or maybe you wonder how on God’s earth you will raise those kids alone – and, why does it have to be that way.
Maybe you think there has to be more. And sometimes you are afraid of the day when the more in your house will become less.
Maybe you are tired, and burned out, and borrowing sanity from the moments you have stored up in the laundry room alone.

And, maybe you are just tapped out on what you were tapped for.

Yes, you are most definitely grateful, even when you sink into your bed at night too late knowing you will rise too early.
At the beginning and end of each day – you are just a mom.
Just. A. Mom.

JUST a Mom

Yea, let’s remember this today,

Jesus picked
U to
Shepherd
These souls

Just moms. Just about the most seismic, paramount, cataclysmic event of our lives.

And we are hand-picked. Just for this season. Just for these young souls.

Just where we are supposed to be.

 

Psalm 116:16-17

Truly I am your servant, Lord; I serve you just as my mother did; you have freed me from my chains. I will sacrifice a thank offering to you and call on the name of the Lord.

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Motherhood, The Good Stuff Tagged With: just a mom, motherhood, you are chosen

April 14, 2014 by Karin 15 Comments

When It’s Time To Live – My Messy Beautiful Truth

Here I am. Fingers poised.

I did it again. I signed up for a project, not really knowing what I was signing up for. I do that sometimes. I think if God wants us to follow Him faithfully and step out into the unknown, sometimes we actually have to. Step out into the unknown, that is.

Then I found out more about it. I have to write the real, messy beautiful truth about who I am. Argh. Not that I want to really keep it all to myself, it just seems so painfully introspective. Almost narcissistic. And, man oh man; I don’t want to be narcissistic. There are too many millions out there who don’t have the luxury of sitting at a computer playing mind-mellowing tunes while they pick apart their own anxieties and deep-seated isms. But, it’s what I signed up for. And I like to follow through. I like to do what I say I’m going to do. I think that’s a big deal. There. That’s one part of me.

I like follow through because it’s the same as telling the truth. And I like to tell the truth. But, I don’t like mean. Not that kind of truth-telling. Not the,

Hey, I really don’t dig that shirt… or hat… or purse…

Not that kind of truth-telling. It’s really not necessary. Unless someone asks. Really asks. You know, the girlfriend who wants it straight,

How do the jeans really look?

I’ve had friends like that. And I need them. I miss them.

See, in the military, you get to start over and over again. Like anything else, it carries the great and the gruesome with it. You clean your house and your heart, and you pack up and leave.

There’s an excitement and a refreshing order that comes with going to the new normal. You get to start from scratch. But, scratch can hurt. The scratch can bring cuts and wounds and tears. The hardest part, it brings tears from your kids. Those are the worst ones. You just can’t un-live some places for them. The heart places. They have to go there, just like you do. The best you can do is grab their hands and hold on. We only become warriors by going to war – by going to battle against the dark places. Outside of us – but, first, inside of us.

I’m married to a warrior – the kind who flies fighters and goes to war. I’m a mom of six kids. That makes me a warrior in some ways. Six more souls to go to battle for. It also shows me God had to give me more practice in patience than most. Each one of my littles is a hill on which I die. Another place to die to myself. And I really want to die to myself, though it took me over four decades to figure out what that means.

So, who am I? That’s the assignment. I’ll just go right to the fears. We all have those. It’s not such a tough place to start.

I’m afraid of heights. Really afraid. Like knee buckling, heart racing, dizzying fear. I’m not so much afraid of falling; more that I’ll forget I’m up high and jump. Pretty strange, I know. What scares me more is I’ll miss some really cool moments with my kids because of this fear. I already have. Roller coasters and lighthouses. I missed that time on the lighthouse. I have pictures, but they’re just not the same. What’s worse, my baby girl is more petrified than I am. And, I’m sure it’s my fault. Guilt. That’s a whole other subject, isn’t it?

I’m afraid something will happen to my kids. I know we all are, but I don’t want to be like Nemo’s dad. I want them to live. Really live. I don’t know what to do about this fear. So, I pray. But, sometimes I worry I don’t pray enough – or the right way. Like God’s giving me some prayer exam and I am one question away from failing. I want to get it right – like it all depends on me.

Which brings me to the next fear. It all depends on me (and I worry about narcissism?), and I’m going to completely mess up my kids. I had a great childhood. Good parents, good brothers, good friends. And I never had to move. Ever. Same house, same town – until I left for college. And I hardly ever went back. And that’s it, I think. I hardly ever went back. There’s the root of my fear. My kids will take off and live and never come back.

Beautiful Life

My parents still live in the same house and I hardly ever go back. We live too far away, and it’s not easy to road trip 3000 miles with six kids. The worst part – my mom has Alzheimer’s, or something like it. We aren’t sure because she’s not the biggest fan of doctors. Every phone call, I try to memorize the brief conversation. She’s my mom. It’s been called the long goodbye, but it’s more than that. Imagine your life as a time line. You cruise along collecting memories and suddenly the one who gave you life, the one who held your new baby body, the one who taught you everything about being a girl and a woman – is living a sliding scale. The memories slide to the right leaving everything to the left – your whole past – behind. The memories become yours – alone. And I hate it. That old saying,

We’ll always have the memories.

Yea, but sometimes we won’t.

Fear of man. It’s one of the worst. Being afraid of what people think. It’s almost paralyzing sometimes. We can say (and when I say “we,” I mean “I”) we don’t care what people think. But, we do. The problem with this fear? It keeps us caged. Stifled. Half alive. And the worst part, we miss the best parts of the turning pages of these passing years. We read only half of every page, which leads us through only half of the book. We miss some of the best parts, but we’ll never know it – until the end when all the pages are open under the sun. I’m not saying finding favor with man is wrong. Wise old King Solomon told us it’s a good and honorable thing to have. It shouldn’t be the goal; but it shouldn’t be the hindrance.

Love is a big deal. Love and mercy are mission number one. But, don’t you know, there’s always going to be someone who wants to shoot you down. And, that’s why we’re warriors. Because we are willing to let people shoot at us. Because we know what’s at stake – our very lives. Our real lives. The ones we are supposed to live – wild and free. Just like that rebel Jesus.

It’s funny, the more you talk about your fears, the smaller they get; and the braver you become. And, man, I want to be brave. I want to be brave for my kids every time they face the dark places. I want them to be brave in the face of angry and critical eyes. I want them to be brave when the angry and critical eyes are the ones facing them in the mirror. Because we can be brutal with ourselves. I want to show them what brave looks like. I want to show them forgiveness is the bravest thing you can do – especially to yourself. I want them to see what it means to carry a cross and to sacrifice. And I want to love their daddy well. I want to be brave for my warrior every time he steps out to battle. And sometimes love is the battlefield (thank you, Pat Benatar…). I want to show them that this is not all there is; but this is all worth fighting for. And, then I think of her.

She’s been gone two years now. The kind of friend who would tell you in her sweetest southern drawl that those jeans were just all wrong. She would smile and hum,

Girrrrl… huh-uh. Those are all wrong, girl.

Man, I miss her. Two years is a lot of life to keep to yourself. So, here’s the thing. My girl, she could stress with the best of them. We could talk in the dark of a booth in a remote restaurant, and just as she poised herself for true confessions, her ears would perk and her eyes would shift,

Do you think anyone heard me?

She pretty much cared what people thought. For a long time. Until she got sick.

Cancer will kill more than healthy cells. It will kill any inkling of fear of what your purpose here is. It will kill any thoughts about what anyone else thinks. It will make you brave and strong and grateful for this very moment, even while you are scared and weak and the moments pass by. It will make you grow up and wake up. It will make you see things you forgot to look at. It will make your eyes new again with more tears than you can count. She was brave and I want to be just like her.

I could go on. But, well, there comes a point we have to stop. We have to get a grip and stop being afraid. I don’t know how to change it all. I don’t know how to erase the fears, but I know a God with a mighty powerful pen. I am fairly certain He can write over anything we ask. In fact, I know He will.

So, I am just going to start here – with pen and ink. I’m going to ask Him to re-write my view of heights through His eyes. The places that seem too high for me are just footstools. He has higher and holier places to take us. Maybe I can just step on one of these footstools, then take the next step, and the next…

My kids. Yes – motherhood. This place He shows me how wrong I can be – while being right where I am supposed to be. I guess I’ll just have to remind them I never doubted them when I let go of their hands… or they let go of mine. And I would fight the world for them; but, that’s not what they – or the world – need. The best I can do is throw these fears onto a page to tell them, and you, we are really all in this together. Some same, some different, but we are all sweating bullets over the pages we haven’t even gotten to yet. And those faded chapters? They show us how far we’ve come.

I want to live this epic tale. I don’t want to miss any more of the story meant for me. And whatever I miss, I’ll ask Him to please have a white-washed beach for me in heaven – somewhere breath-taking, with a hammock and a cold drink – where I can finish reading the parts I missed until now.

 

Romans 8:15

For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”

Karin Madden

Messy beautiful

(This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, Click Here. And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, Click Here.)

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, Hope, Marriage, Military, Motherhood, Together Tagged With: fear, messy beautiful warrior life, time to get a grip

  • « Previous Page
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • …
  • 12
  • Next Page »

Meet Karin

Hi! My name is Karin Madden. Writer. Warrior wife. Mom of six pack. Homeschooler. German-blooded southerner. Welcome to the place where I explore what it means to grow stronger - spirit, soul, and body. I write to inspire and encourage - to remind you we are not alone. By being bold with grace and speaking truth in love, we can become who we are meant to be. I'm glad you are here.

Connect With Me

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • RSS
  • Twitter

Search the Sunrise

What I Write

Sunrise Archives

Pinning at Sunrise

Visit Karin's profile on Pinterest.

Recent Sunrise Posts

  • When You Have A Promise To Keep November 9, 2016
  • When You Are In The Secret Place April 21, 2016
  • When You Need To Hear – Do Not Be Afraid April 6, 2016
  • The One List We Need To Write January 1, 2016
  • The Dance May 29, 2015

Sunrise on Facebook

Sunrise on Facebook

Copyright © 2025 · Executive Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in