Faith Archives - Page 2 of 28

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 8, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

The Monsters We Can’t See

Her brown eyes met mine with the look only a child can muster. She searched my face and whispered,

It’s like a monster. And it’s hungry.

We walk the same floors day in and day out and we think we know everything there is to know about them. But, even these little ones have thoughts hidden from us. Thoughts they think are wrong, or strange, or different. Thoughts they become too ashamed to mutter – even to mom.

Their young faces are like open books. But you know what they say – never judge a book by its cover.

The look on her face uncertain. A hint of worry.

I took her face into my hands,

Tell me what it’s like. Tell me what is in your mind.

I couldn’t take my eyes off this face I have watched grow breathtakingly beautiful with time. I noticed things here and there. I saw, but I really didn’t know the ways a mind can become enslaved. Sometimes the worst demons are the ones we don’t see.

The flood gates opened as she poured the details of every obsessive worry, every compulsive act. My mind went to the light jokes we toss around about our OCD ways, but the joke of it is lost in the reality. It’s no joke.

She described in detail every little thing I had noticed along the way, and too many things I had never seen.

I squeezed her to my chest and stroked her hair,

I’m going to take you to see a lady doctor this week. You know, when you have allergies, you go to an allergist. When you need help, you ask for help.

You are not OCD. You have it, and you will tell it to go away. And we will ask for help.

The relief on her face broke through the clouds beginning to shadow her trusting child eyes. In a moment, she seemed older,

Oh thank you, Mom. Thank you for noticing. I thought I would have this forever. And it’s exhausting.

Suddenly aware of the monsters trying to grip her life. And sometimes we just need one soul to tell us it’s ok to ask for help. Someone to whisper,

Shame is the monster. Silence is the monster. Secrecy is the monster.

Sometimes we have to pry our eyes open, and then pry open the eyes looking into ours. Eyes pried open is the only way to see the sun rising at dawn. And sometimes is really is darkest just before the dawn. The encroaching light whispering,

Wake up.

The sun peers through, warming these souls chilled by uncertainty.

There is nothing new under the sun – and nothing to hide from the Light.

It’s in the light of truth where we can finally see the monster for what it is… a lie.

You want to know the secret about secrets? It’s this. The secrecy is what will eat you alive. The secret itself has no power over you. Once you whisper the truth –

you are free.

Ephesians 5:8-10

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord.

October 6, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

What We Find When We Look Back

Sometimes we have to look back.

We have to look back to see just how far we’ve come.

Sometimes the only way to know we are walking this path well is by looking back at the times we couldn’t see the stretch of road before us.

We have to look back at faded footsteps to see the lifting fog. Only then can we see this dimly lit world through different eyes…

I remember the splintered, worn deck that wrapped around and fed into the yard. This yard teeming with little children. Running wild, all exuberance. Fingers sticky and dirt-stained, eyes peering curiously into mine.

Giggles and shy grins bashfully covered by these small tender hands. Their arms couldn’t be satiated with enough hugs. It was as if they knew the next time would be quite a while. I was seventeen. This was a children’s shelter in my hometown. I volunteered for a time. I don’t remember if I saw them again.

I remember the old wooden cribs. The kind of wood that lost its shine years ago, if it ever had any shine to begin with. The cribs were shoved into a corner. There were just so many of them. Crying babies reaching up. Small toddlers with smudged faces prying at my hands.

I sat in the yard and the brave ones clamored for a snuggle. So many kids. I was eighteen. This was a home for children in my college town. I volunteered for a class. I was silent on the ride home. I never saw those faces again.

I remember the way she smiled at me. She was eight-years-old. Her sky-blue eyes shone beneath the blonde silk of her hair. Her mouth curled the way it always did when she had something to tell me. She told me about the day it happened. The day her mother went to the store and she stayed home with her older and younger brothers. They were three, four, and five-years-old. They heard the blast of the shotgun. Only her older brother went in to see what Dad had done.

They waited on the driveway for Mama to come home. She could barely remember her dad. I was nineteen. She was a little sister to me at the boarding school ranch where I worked my summer job. I kept in touch with her for as long as she would. Her mother often told me what it meant to her. I was twenty-eight when I discovered the pain never left her alone. She went just like her father. She was only seventeen, and her name was Faith.

Where was my faith?

I remember his young face, dark against the crisp, white hospital pillow. He giggled when we joked, trying to remember anything that may have happened yesterday or the day before that. The memories were starting to return. I asked him if he remembered what happened.

The curly hair was just starting to grow back on the left side of his skull. That one spot sagged slightly as a reminder that the surgeries weren’t over. The skull had to be replaced. A scar zigzagged across the side almost resembling a part. It was where the bullet pierced his nine-year-old mind and exited without a care to the damage it left behind.

They asked him several times if he remembered who had done this. His dark eyes clouded as he shook his head,

No.

We hung out together sometimes for a little while after therapy was over. It was a few weeks and tears began to fall. I hugged him and prayed. I knew there was a Father somewhere listening to him.

I had no idea.

Where was my faith?

I remember the bow of his perfect lips and the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I was thirty and he was my first-born.

I remember the faces of each one of my six beautiful babies as they came into this world. And my heart burst beyond any beating it could contain.

Isn’t this the way it is with mothers?

It was years later, when my oldest asked me,

Who is God?

The pat answers just weren’t enough this time. The truth? I didn’t know the truth.
Where had my faith been?
Somewhere between dimmed memories of conversations into dark nights. The words I whispered to Him as a child. I knew He was there. I just did not know Him.

Who is God, Mama?

My five-year-old whispered from the perfect bow of his lips.

I leaned into his soft blonde wisps and murmured words that would change the rhythm of these beating hearts,

Let’s find out together…

I remember all of their faces. And I remember their names.

I have to stop on this path. Stop for just a moment to look back at the faces I’ve passed. These young faces. The arms that have wrapped around my neck hoping for someone who could make this whole place make sense to them. And I couldn’t. Because it didn’t make any sense to me, either.

But He is relentless. And I fall to my knees in thanks. I look into the six beautiful faces I rise with every morning and thank Him for never stopping.

Because He never stops. He pursues us down our path and when we stop to breathe it all in…

We find He has been walking with us all along.

Luke 18:16

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

October 4, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Don’t Get To Say Goodbye

She tells me she won’t get there to say goodbye. She’s too far away and being a military wife flying solo right now doesn’t lend itself to quick getaways.

I can feel her heartache even in the tiny black and white font popping up on the screen.

They just found out and it’s not a matter of if… but, when.

The cancer has ravaged her body and this woman she has known all her life – this mother to her own father – is leaving soon.

I know she wants to see my Grandpa again. They married when she was 16. They had an amazing life.

This dear soul in my friend’s life is going Home. And missing the goodbye is hard.

And then there’s a wife. She’s burying her husband today. He was too young, and they have young daughters.

He got up one morning and went to work. Just a simple sortie that day. An out-and-back. But his Eagle slipped the bounds of earth. And he went Home.

She didn’t get to say goodbye. And it’s crushing our souls.

Another friend. A wife. Today is his birthday. I see his face scroll across my screen and smile as she sends him birthday wishes. They have two daughters and it was years ago. A sortie, a plane crash, and that knock at the door. I think of that jet going down – as his spirit went up. Suddenly gone.

She married again and had more beautiful children. Because this life keeps going, even when we don’t get to say goodbye. The world keeps spinning and we keep walking. We walk our paths and try not to faint.

It’s been two and a half years. My girl went Home. I think of the last breath she drew and then let go. Here. Then, suddenly gone. She suffered and when I heard the news a wave of sorrow and relief washed over me at the same time. She told me,

It will always be ok. Even when I die… it will be ok.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. I saved her last message. I scroll past her name, but don’t push play. Hearing her voice scrapes the scab from that wound, and I know where she is. She said it would be ok. Her husband married again. They combined two families of hurting children to make a whole again. And I sink to my knees in thanks. She said it would be ok, and it is.

Another dear friend told me about her best friend. It’s been six years today. A tragedy. Another life lost too soon. And it wrecked her. I think about how she collapsed in the airport when she heard why her friend didn’t make the flight. She died on impact. Here. And suddenly, gone. Their reunion wouldn’t take place. She didn’t get to say goodbye.

We hear it all the time.

You just never know.

We don’t know when the hour is upon us, until we look back in gut wrenching sorrow and whisper,

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

And it slices right to our core. Our souls take a hit and we wonder if anything will ever be ok again.

But, it will.

It will because my girl knew something I suppose a soul facing death comes to know. This isn’t the end.

Not in an I-just-want-to-say-something-to-make-you-feel-better way. No. Not that.

The Truth doesn’t need our approval or belief to be true. It stands on its own. It just is. Truth.

It is not the end. This is the beginning. And our aching hearts and burdened souls have to hold onto this like it’s life itself.

This is not the end. The departure isn’t the end. It is the beginning.

A celebration awaits. A party we can’t begin to wrap our human minds around. And we will join in when that hour arrives.

This is not home. The Truth whispers to our aching souls,

I am here.

The Truth doesn’t have to scream or cry or convince or cajole. The Truth simply waits for our eyes to open and our hearts to know,

I am here.

The separation aches in our bones, but we can know this – goodbye is,

Welcome Home.

John 14:1-3

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.

October 2, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

That One Mistake We Make

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

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

And we all have a story…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Psalm 119:87-89

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

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

The Monsters We Can’t See

What We Find When We Look Back

When You Don’t Get To Say Goodbye

That One Mistake We Make

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