Faith Archives - Page 11 of 28

July 31, 2013 by Karin 12 Comments

When You Realize That “Maybe Later” … May Be Now

It is hard to leave.

I think, though, that it’s harder to be left behind.

leaving

It was only a month ago. I watched the tail lights until they were only a glimmer… and then gone.

I don’t know when I will see her again. I didn’t cry. Not one tear. It’s pretty strange for me to hold back a good flood. Cleansing… those tears. Though I have to remind myself that there is no shame in them. I wonder why we struggle so hard to fight tears, when releasing them is far beyond the relief that any long talk or soothing glass of wine can bring. I have to remind my kids… especially my boys… there is no shame in crying. We were made to cry just as much as we were made to laugh.

Nevertheless, the tears didn’t come.

Hm, strange.

My heart hurts… but, no tears.

Maybe later.

I looked into eyes… blue eyes, brown eyes, and those green ones. Brimming heartache. My own blue-green soul windows… guarded. Heartache in my throat quickly smothered by my own words…

It’ll all be ok.

This will all work out.

Just wait and see.

This is only the beginning.

I repeated these same words over and over. My kids needed to hear them, but maybe I needed to hear them the most. I just didn’t know it yet.

I looked back as our own tail lights rounded the curve. The tan mama arm thrown over her son’s shoulder.

I wonder if she is telling him the same thing…

We began the first leg of our journey.

maryland my maryland

Hours upon hours and then darkness set in. Finally, through the veil of trees I could see the outline of the house I called home for decades. This place of carefree youth nestled in the overgrowth of memories. Snapshots tucked in my mind. My parents still live there. A gift. The feeling in my throat returned… joy, sorrow… how odd the two can mix and swirl and just get stuck in your throat. That ache that burns up to brimming lids.

Squeals from the back seats,

We’re finally here!

The words pushed that feeling and the brimming back into storage. Maybe later.

Just a few days. We had many more days to go. A long journey for two parents, six kids, 1000 videos, and one truck. We had a long way to go. It would just leave time for a few short days here.

grandma's secret garden

The thunderstorm woke her that night. She doesn’t do very well with thunderstorms anymore. She tells me that they remind her of the bombs. The bombs that burned her German city when she was 13. The apartment home her family lived in was hit directly. The air raid sirens shrieked through the night. My mom and her little 3-year-old brother were separated from her mother and three other siblings. Running in all directions. Running into a burning city. For a while, she sat with him on a park bench.

You just can’t imagine the storms that come with that much fire.

So many storms.

They began to walk. They walked and walked. The door to the bunker was open. The women standing at the doors wore only their slips. The heat was too intense to remain dressed in proper clothing. The women were fanning air into that bunker. That’s where she found them. That’s where mom found her own mama and siblings. They were reunited. A gift.

The storms, they scare me.

distant storm

I looked into these eyes that had comforted, disciplined, loved, and raised me. She was the one who calmed my young heart during the storms of my youth. Now, she walked into the kitchen shadowed by midnight and needed a little bit of comfort right back.

It’s ok, Mom.

It can’t hurt you.

We’ll just talk a little while.

We talked for a while. The memories slowly sifting from this mind that holds decades upon decades of life. Those same blue eyes looked into mine,

You are going so far away.

I don’t know if I’ll see you.

There it was again. That feeling rising in my throat. No, not now. Maybe later.

Her eyes smiled into mine. Brimming.

Ok, c’mon, Mom. You went far from home and still saw your mom.

There I was, trying to convince her. Or, perhaps, myself?

There is no fooling wise eyes. No matter how much they seem to forget.

Her hand touched mine.

Well, we will certainly see each other in heaven.

I don’t think in all my life that I have ever tried to fight tears like I did at that moment. Why, I am not sure, but fight them I did.

Of course, Mom!

But, we don’t have to go yet.

My mind racing… it’ll all work out.

Not to be undone by sadness or uncertainty… we danced. Mom has a thing for polka music. At midnight, she turned on her music despite my and my husband’s attempts to quiet the music for the sake of sleeping children. No, we had to dance. She is quite German that way.

The three of us danced polka and sang Biergarten Musik into the wee hours.

My 83-year-old mama, my warrior, and I. We danced and my eyes brimmed. No time for tears now. Maybe later.

The morning came. The truck loaded with kids and cargo. Little arms wrapping and squeezing around these grandparents and then my turn.

Every time I leave them, I wonder…

No, not now. It’s just too much right now. Maybe later.

I could see their waving arms in the rearview. Smiles. A gift.

Our tail lights climbed the hill and disappeared.

Texas sunset

The journey went on for days and days. Rolling hills and green gave way to prairie, and desert, and majestic mountains. The scenery mesmerized. Sweltering humidity gave way to blistering heat. It’s all sometimes just too much to take in. You know that feeling when you can’t believe you are somewhere doing something until it’s over. Then and only then can you see what was before you. Only to find it is behind you in the rearview mirror.

bridge over water

Desert mountains

We made it. Road trip with a six pack. All the way across this breathtaking land. Mama sanity is over-rated anyway.

evening mountains

Sometimes it’s on the other side that we can finally see.

We can choose joy, you know. Joy comes from the surrender. The real surrender.

The feeling came back. That feeling in my throat. Here, right where I am.

It’ll all be ok.

This will all work out.

Just wait and see.

This is only the beginning.

I could only whisper it to myself. Thoughts colliding like bumper cars in my mind. Just almost too much to take in.

I could only whisper this to me. Stripped of the old normal. The comfortable. The safe place I could squelch that nagging feeling in my throat with,

Maybe later.

Maybe there is no later. Maybe the point is now. Right now.

I told my girlfriends,

Live day-to-day. That’s my new motto.

I can only think about right now. The rest of it is all sometimes too much. It is meant to be taken in day-to-day doses.

We have right now and to live fully in this moment… is the point. That is the gift. It’s not a new idea. Carpe diem has existed for ages. Actually seizing the day takes practice. So, here I am in this new normal. That nagging feeling in my throat. Here it is again… burning, brimming, blurring these eyes. Maybe later has tricked me just a little bit. Maybe later delays the sorrow… and the joy. Maybe later, may be just all wrong.

Yes, here it is again. That collision of sorrow and joy. Maybe later…

May be now.

Matthew 6:33-34

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

June 27, 2013 by Karin 14 Comments

When You Can Take Everything… but the Kitchen Sink

My eyes drifted to the very back. There is a part of the fence I can’t see from where I scrub the dishes.

They run wild out there. Sometimes their energy takes over and they stumble out like puppies tripping over themselves trying to get to the good stuff.

Sometimes I send them out… those times that my own energy just can not keep up. Those times I want peace with soapy running water. Just my dishes, me, and the kitchen sink. Strange, it’s actually one of my favorite spots in the kitchen. The sink.

This sink has washed dishes of 1000’s of meals. This sink has rinsed boo-boos clean. This sink has bathed babies, caught tears, and one too many times was readily available when morning sickness (in truth, all day sickness) couldn’t wait one. more. second.

This sink has been my big screen to the world of my young ones. The secret garden of their youth.

I have had many conversations at the sink here. Phone pinned to my shoulder, scrubbing circles over the parts of the pot already clean. Scrubbing circles, listening to the voice on the other end. Wanting to scrub away the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the fear and uncertainty, the doubt, the shame… just all of it… from so many voices I have loved over the years at this sink.

The voices of my parents have become gravelled… grown quieter. Eight years is a long time when you are in your 80’s. Eight years is a long time when you are 8. Eight years is a long time… and a blink. My eyes wander to my little girl. She is 8. Just a baby when we came here. Eight years is a long time when 8 years is all you know. And it is just a blink.

The voices of my friends have risen and fallen at this sink… just like the laughter… and the tears.

The cherries… they hang from this window to the backyard. I put them up there 8 years ago. I had no idea then.

She gave them to me when I left home for the first time. The place I grew up. She gave them to me, gift-wrapped with a bow in the parking lot on a sweltering South Carolina summer night. That was a long time ago. I had no idea then… she would be gone 12 years later.

A gift, you know, to have no idea.

This life as a military wife has kept me in this place for a long time. It’s unusual to stay in one place for this long. Ten years in one place and eight in this home. This gift to watch our six little ones grow from flailing to crawling to sprinting legs that fly past mama.

My eyes drifted to the very back.

Just over the hill the yard slopes into woods… just out of sight.

I pulled on the rain boots. The ones covered with hearts. I get tired of the boring. The black boots. I found boots covered in hearts. It’s on the rainy days that we sometimes need a few more hearts.

It was actually sunny, but the boots would be just right for the lurking poison ivy. The stuff that creeps and crawls and licks at our heels. Only later do we know that it has touched us. The damage can sometimes show up much later. Sometimes the things that touch us, the ones that seem so benign at the time… they show the damage much later. Yes, the boots covered in hearts… they would do the trick.

I had to go back there. The big old oak tree. The woods, the peace, the quiet.

There is a trail through the back of our yard. The trail itself has been long swallowed by brush and trees and time. The tree line is what remains. You can see the line of trees stretch beyond sight. The trail was worn thin in its heyday. George Washington rode this old road. From his capitol home to the harbor city. Years and years and we have no idea. The years… a blink.

It was the wind that day that caught me. The kind of wind that whispers and names itself wild. Just the sound of wind as the leaves turned belly up in anticipation of quenched thirst.

Eyes closed, I just stood and felt the wind.

This wild wind, blowing in all directions. The whisper…

It’s all going to change.

You just can’t capture a moment. I tried to capture this wind, but on the screen it just stood still. The beauty is in the motion… and we just can’t capture the motion. All we can do is move. Be still… listen… and move.

I found my way to the bench. A small clearing with traces of marshmallows melted and sticks charred. I’ve watched from my kitchen sink countless time… I wonder if I forgot to come out here… I wonder if I forgot to move… one too many times.

The sound of squeals woven through the blowing breeze on this day. This wind of change blowing His holy purpose through our comfortable secret garden.

The plans we make, the routines that keep us flowing in forward motion, the secret gardens where we hide from the world. This garden where we have been planted for a decade… where we bloomed into something entirely new. From five to eight of us. From blindness to sight. From stillness to motion. From doubt to devotion. From fear to faith.

I just don’t know. I have no idea. This one moment in time to the next burst of wind. Unpredictable.

With each gust, this crescendo of hope. This hope that His holy purposes cast our doubts to the wind.

I have no idea where this will take us.

The one thought in my mind… the whispers growing louder… my sight growing clearer… it’s a promise. The number he flashes before me over and over. This number… He has reminded me to pay attention to Him again and again. He has a way with all of us… if we would just pay attention.

It’s 3:33 pm.

I smile.

I hear You.

I know it’s time to move. To leave this place where our roots have grown stronger.

It’s time to move into the plan of His choosing.

I know this. This wind of change is the one worth riding. This wind that whispers, that beckons, that commands… this wind is the breath of Life.

The breath of life that brings me to leave the secret garden…

and the kitchen sink.

Jeremiah 33:3

Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.

April 19, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

Fear, Faith, and the Good Fight

The water heater broke that day.

I remember the water running across the garage floor, flooding plastic toys that were waiting for the little one growing in my swollen belly.

The water flowed endlessly, but I couldn’t seem to pay much attention to it. The day was a sweltering, early one in Las Vegas that morning.

It wasn’t the leaking water that woke us. It was the 7 am phone call.

Did you see it?

Have you heard?

Both towers! The planes flew right into them!

There’s another one – the Pentagon.

And a 4th… they are looking for it….

I startled from a deep, pregnant sleep. Shocked.

Repeated the words to my husband.

Bin Laden

That’s all he said. He knew.

The rest of the day… burst water heater, blazing Las Vegas sun… all a blur. I remember rubbing the swollen life inside me while I watched the news…. stories over and over… smoke, terror, fear.

The eeriness of the empty skies in the city that day. The only day, in a city full of life and air traffic… everything sat silent.

What kind of place are we bringing you into?

I wrapped arms around myself in a thin attempt to protect this new life given to us.

We had 5 more little ones over the years. With each story passing along news tickers and told by animated reporters, I wondered the same.

What kind of place have we brought you into?

Monday. Scrolling through pages in the screen I glimpsed a message from a friend.

Two bombs have exploded at the Boston Marathon.

My mind raced to my dear girlfriend.

That’s where she is!

He’s running that race.

My friend, having just lost both parents to the vicious villain of cancer. Only three months apart. Sometimes it all seems too much.

She was there… cheering on her boyfriend.

What’s her number?

I lost her number…

My contact list, incomplete after being swallowed into the cyber world. Incomplete. My list was just incomplete without this sister I’ve had for 25 years.

Scrambling with sudden dread, I grabbed the remote and scenes of chaos flashed before us on the screen. Smoke, terror, fear. My warrior grew silent. The all too familiar scene required no words.

This time, the moment of panic to find out more as I worried for my friend, brought the scenes to life in front of my children. Eyes wide, they watched. The scenes, the stories gruesome. The voice of the reporter cracked in the familiar tone that took me back to September 11.

I turned it off. Sometimes it all seems too much.

A message flashed.

I’ve talked to her. They are ok. Here is her number.

A wave of relief fell across me… followed by a wave of dread. How many killed? Hurt? How much more?

The eyes from young faces peered at me questioningly. These little ones…. they feed from our love, they feed from our tempers, they feed from our joy, they feed from our fear. I do not want to feed my children fear.

Let’s pray.

I whispered as a I took small, young hands in mine. They nodded in silence and bowed their tender, trusting heads. We prayed for love. We prayed for healing. We prayed for peace and protection. We prayed over and over for the Father’s arms to wrap around the people of a city attacked by the evil serpent of terror. We prayed.

Sometimes prayer rattles like a check list, as if we have forgotten we are talking to the very One who loves us the most. It shouldn’t, but sometimes it does. This time we felt it. The Holy Arms wrapping around and a blanket of peace fell across the room. The glimmer of worry vanished from the young eyes and they went back to the carrying on of kids.

I texted with my girlfriend that day. Over and over the words strung together and revealed a disbelief of the reality before her eyes.

Her runner. He had, at the last moment, moved forward in the wave of runners. This put him ahead of schedule by 20 minutes.

Her runner. He finished the race. They moved from the victory line in celebration… 20 minutes before the bombs exploded.

Sometimes it all just seems too much.

She wrote of chaos and fear. Sheer horror and crying. Running and little kids scared to death because they didn’t understand as they saw horror on the faces of adults. She saw a mother and her children crying because their dad was running the race and they couldn’t find him.

Broke me right there.

She wrote.

Drawn into the place through her rapidly strung words.

Oh God, that breaks me right here.

I looked at the faces of my children.

We do that, don’t we? We put ourselves into these places of fear and dread… we imagine.

What if.

Bedtime came.

Weary children, warm beds.

My oldest daughter tucked tight under soft blankets.

Mom, will you pray with me?

I really want to pray.

And she prayed. The most beautiful words flowed from this child as she prayed for family, friends, new babies, fighters of cancer, and a city fear-filled and mourning. She prayed words that drifted like incense to the very feet of our Father.

A smiled crossed her sleepy face.

Goodnight mama. I love you.

Sweet slumbers took my precious girl.

Faith. She prayed the worries and wonders and why’s straight to the Source. She released it all and fell to dreams.

The faith of a child.

May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice. (Psalm 141:2)

Prayers. Our prayers. The prayers of the saints are incense for our God. You know what He will do with the prayers of the faithful? He will build bombs. Bombs to right the world. To wipe every tear, to heal every wound. Fear will have no place to hold foot.

…Each one had a harp and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. (Revelation 5:8)

…He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all the saints, on the golden altar before the throne. The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of the saints, went up before God from the angel’s hand. Then the angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and hurled it on the earth; and there came peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning and an earthquake. (Revelation 8:3-5)

Faith.

In this battlefield of earth, where we wonder why…

We fight the good fight.

The good fight… we fight together…

To let go of fear, embrace the faith of a child, and fight the good fight… finish the race.

We provide the shrapnel of love that the justice serving God will use…

to turn the earth off its head… and back to holy ground.

Hebrew 12:1

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

April 15, 2013 by Karin 4 Comments

When It’s Hard to Let Go

It finally arrived.

Spring.

I found myself piled under clothes ranging from baby to big.

The boys, completely uninterested, roamed as mama went to work sorting, saving, discarding.

The girls, completely interested, protected prized possessions from mama’s rapid fire selection process. It takes more than just a little time to sort clothes for six.

Oh, mama, not that one.

I like that one.

A tear trickled down my sweet girl’s cheek.

Please don’t give that away.

I don’t want to let it go.

She held what looked like a Barbie-sized shirt to her chest and sighed heavily.

It’s too small for you.

We’ll save it for your little sisters.

I smiled, knowing that feeling of I-don’t-wanna-let-go.

You know, sweetie, sometimes we have to let go off something.

Many times we get something better in place of it.

My mind went to the bag of treasures from my sister-in-law. One of the gifts of a large family. Hand-me-downs.

Then, I heard my own voice…

My words must echo Yours.

Don’t you have those times when what you say to your children… is just exactly what God is saying to you?

I smiled to myself.

I get it. Yup, I heard you.

It’s hard to let go. Of things… of places… of people.

It’s hard.

I cling to the things… the things that remind me of babies new in my arms.

I cling to the things… the things that bring me back to a time gone by.

I cling to the things… the things that trigger a memory. Afraid that the memory will be lost if I don’t hang on tight.

I cling to places… wrapped in fear that if I loosen my grip, the place will fade away from my thoughts. Or worse… I will be the one forgotten in that place.

I cling to people. My children… husband… parents… family… friends.

Will it all fade away if I don’t hold on?

If I loosen my grip, even just a little, will I just end up empty-handed? Or worse… broken-hearted?

I pulled out a sweet surprise for my little one. A treasure just a little too small for her older sister.

This one is for you.

Do you like it?

She squealed with excitement.

Mama, I love that one!

Is it mine, now?

Oh, you were right! I let go of one of my favorites, and look!

I got another one! And I love it!

It’s not complicated, this letting go. It’s simple, really. Stretch one finger at a time. Open the hand. Palms up. Let go.

It’s not complicated. But, it’s not easy.

It’s not easy when it comes to the things that trigger memories.

It’s not easy when it comes to the places that feel so comfortable.

It’s not easy when it comes to people. Especially people.

It is so very hard to let go of people.

I lost my entire contact list on my phone last week. Not a tragedy. But, definitely a pain. Inconvenient… and startling. My dependence on this little device for contact with just about every one I know.

My oldest boy chuckled.

First world problems.

No doubt about that. The remedy was fairly simple. A few emails, postings, and contacts came rolling back in.

But what about the ones I missed?

Would I get those back?

Along with the contacts went the text messages. A series of strung together words between friends and family. I saved so many. Me. Having a hard time letting go.

There was one in particular. My dear friend. She passed on to peace in His arms a year ago. I saved her words. Every. Last. One.

Gone.

I felt the tightening of my throat… waited for the tears. The words came flooding back.

Sometimes you have to let go.

Sometimes letting go is the only way to receive something new.

This something new is a new realization. Heaven. That places that waits for someday. It exists right now. Now, I know that seems so simple. I just never thought about the Heaven that is now. It’s a place we talk about. The final destination somewhere in the future. The truth is… Heaven is very present. Today. She is there… today. I don’t need thin words and typed texts. I need the truth. The truth is freedom.

Letting go.

The contacts I lost? The numbers came rolling back in. The something new? Connections I didn’t have in the first place. People I had lost along the way.

The truth? The freedom in this truth?

None of this is mine. I hold tightly to everything that is temporary. The things and the places in this temporary season. The people, well, there is an eternal promise.

My dear friend gave me words to hold on to before she went.

It will always be ok.

And it will. I will not be easy. It will not be painless. But, it will always be ok.

We have to let go over and over again. Letting go… opens our hands to receive over and over again.

Let go. Give. And wait…

We can not out-give God.

In the end… the new beginning… it will always be ok.

1 John 2:24-25

See that what you have heard from the beginning remains in you. If it does, you also will remain in the Son and in the Father. And this is what he promised us – even eternal life.

March 30, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

Surprise, Surprise

We’ve been waiting for it around here.

My little ones have checked squares on the calendar.

It’s here!

The first day!

They sprinted to bedrooms, rummaged through piles, and came up victorious.

Spring clothes.

T-shirts, shorts, tank tops.

Spring is here!

Finally.

We have all been ready for this new birth.

The buds shivering, ripe and ready. Quaking at the stem. Trembling at the last of winter cold. Ready to burst at their seams.

Spring is here.

Finally.

Spring break. Easter break. The house bustling with excitement. Time for painting eggs and preparing for all things brimming with the burning desire for new life.

The long, cold winter sliding into memory.

The noise of the house wakes me.

It’s snowing!

3 inches already!

My drowsy eyes fly open.

What?

Yes. Spring is here. This time to shed our winter coats and doldrums.

And, it’s snowing.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

We wanted this all winter. And, we get it… now?

Isn’t that just the way it goes?

We want and wish and wonder. Thinking we have it all figured out. We know just exactly how it should work. We know just exactly what we expect. Our expectations seem completely reasonable, rational, and right.

Isn’t that just the way it is? With marriage, motherhood, family, friendship… and faith.

We know how it is supposed to be. We have painted the mural of life in our minds year after year. Adding brush strokes. Touching up streaks. Changing hues. We have painted the picture of it-oughta-be-this-way…

And, then, it is not that way. At. All.

Our expectations, our experiences, our expertise. We have it all planned out.

Then, our well-planned, well-rehearsed, well-constructed lives are blanketed… with thick, white, wet snow. In the spring.

The snow. It does something. It spreads a calm and a hush over the frozen earth. For a moment… God whispers…

Surprise.

I love surprises. Even in this. This day of expected sun and warmth. This day met with clouds and cold… and white washed glory.

Oh, this is awesome, mama!

Can we paint the eggs now?

The pieces don’t have to fit the way we thought they would fit.

It doesn’t have to be warm and sunny to paint eggs for Easter.

It doesn’t have to be winter for snow to sneak its surprise on us.

Expectations can be dashed and leave the sweet taste of expectancy.

Expectations can fall in flakes to the ground. Expectancy is something much different…

Expectancy… knowing that He will show up. Knowing that He is here.

Knowing that something unexpected will happen.

Psalm 5:3

In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly.

When You Realize That “Maybe Later” … May Be Now

When You Can Take Everything… but the Kitchen Sink

Fear, Faith, and the Good Fight

When It’s Hard to Let Go

Surprise, Surprise

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