Family Archives - karin madden

May 29, 2015 by Karin Leave a Comment

The Dance

I was the only girl.

An entire generation – on both sides of my family. I could look for miles and miles – across an ocean – and I was the only one.

I suppose that’s one thing that brought me right up against my mother’s hip most of my childhood.

I could hang with the boys and I never felt a lack for anything girlish. My time with dolls and tea sets was just a little time all to myself. And I’ve always liked a little time to myself.

The only girl.

And then He gave me four daughters. How funny He works things in His own time.

But before I had daughters, I had the sisters my brothers brought into my life.

And then the babies. My nieces. One by one – I wasn’t the only one anymore. The scale seemed to settle while my heart filled. We women need each other.

My mother. She went home to Him just 21 days ago. And I’ve counted every one. I can see the minutes etched into my dad’s sorrow-filled eyes.

But there will be time for those words later. Sometimes thoughts need time to simmer. The words floating around find each other and make sense eventually. But, not yet. I’ll etch those words a little bit later.

This is about the women. The ones who trickled into my life one-by-one. One generation at a time.

And this day is about the next generation. The ones my mom is smiling on this very moment. She is beaming. Every time she looked into the faces of her grandchildren, she was beaming.

This is the season of change. Graduation time.

Nieces and nephews, these delights of our hearts, are walking the stage one-by-one. Diploma in hand – beaming.

More overwhelming than the pride I take in these souls is the gratitude. The gratitude for the gift of daughters and nieces who saw the woman I saw when I looked into my mother’s eyes.

There is nothing in this world more binding than sharing this love with my daughters, and my nieces.

These are the words penned by my beautiful niece Caroline. Our Mutti is smiling on her and her sweet sister, and all the rest of us – from Heaven. This I know.

Dancing With Großmutti

Drop. Kick. Smile. Every time the yo-yo drops to the floor she attempts to kick the string. Each attempt brings a smile to her face. Drop. Kick. Smile. Drop. Kick. Smile. When her foot actually makes contact with the string, the yo-yo clatters to the floor, and she begins to laugh. I squeeze my eyes shut, hiding the salty tears that threaten to spill onto my cheeks, and I laugh with my eighty-four-year-old grandmother, cherishing this simple moment.

Großmutti suffers from senile dementia. My moments with her are rarely simple. In one moment, she will be regaling me with tales of her childhood, her eyes devilish as she remembers young mischief. In the next moment, she will not know if she’s speaking to me or my mother. My heart breaks when I see a new wave of confusion cross her face, crushing her train of thought. The flow of conversation halts in its tracks, and soon Großmutti begins jabbering at me in German despite my insistence that she must speak English. English. Was? English. Was? English. Was? The German jargon continues as do my pleas for English, but, then, as suddenly as the wave of confusion came, coherence returns, and Großmutti laughs at herself, exclaiming that she merely forgot for a moment that I do not speak German. This pattern continues. Conversation. Confusion. German. Gespräch. Verwirrung. Mehr Deutsch. Großmutti’s moments of confusion are increasing in number, but, unfortunately, I am not becoming any more fluent in German.

Interspersed with Großmutti’s instances of bewilderment are instances of sheer genius. Not even the most difficult of Sudoku puzzles stands a chance against a spectacled Großmutti and a freshly sharpened pencil. Not even the most keen, most clever, most determined challenger can dethrone Großmutti, the queen of chess. Großmutti may not be able to recall the names of the neighbors, but she can certainly name their birthdays, their children’s birthdays, and their children’s children’s birthdays. Großmutti’s true genius, though, lies in dance.

Großmutti and dancing. Dancing and Großmutti. They are truly one in the same. A visit to Großmutti’s house would not be complete without a twirl around the living room, gliding through the steps of a Viennese Waltz. She can teach me the steps to every tango she has ever tangoed and every Foxtrot she has ever trotted. Her heart pumps to the beat of a lively German polka, and her eyes shine bright with the excitement of watching her grandchildren jig the jitterbug. No medicine can make Großmutti feel the way that a good waltz can. No pesky clouds of confusion can interrupt Großmutti in her recollections of dance darling-hood.

The joy of dancing with Großmutti is infectious. No one can escape Großmutti and her polka music. If the cheery beat of an accordion does not draw you to the dance floor, then Großmutti certainly will. Whether you are marching to the music of a polka band or jiving to the music of laughter, you will be dancing.

Großmutti’s polka music has led my happy feet to a happy place – a local senior retirement home. There, I play the piano for the residents. As my fingers dance across the keys, I imagine Großmutti dancing in the audience. The same upbeat tunes that tickle the ears of my audience guide the quick steps of the dancing queen. As the familiar melodies swirl about the room, bringing happiness to my little audience, Großmutti twirls across the shiny, wooden floor, finding her own inner peace. Her white orthopedic sneakers are replaced by a pair of shimmering high heels, and her bulky wool sweater transforms into a long, flowing gown. In the soft glow of a spotlight, Großmutti glitters, dazzles, she enchants. Long after the final note of the piano rings through the air, long after the audience has vanished, Großmutti continues to dance. Step. Spin. Dance.

Caroline

Yes, sweet Caroline. Step. Spin. Dance. No longer a captive to her confusion. No longer confused about who does and does not speak German in this crowd. She is dancing. She is applauding – as you dance and spin across that stage and onto the next dance floor of your life.

She is beaming. And I can almost hear her whisper,

Remember to dance…

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted; A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up; A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance…

October 24, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

I can’t believe it’s here.

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

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

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

You know what one of our favorites said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look into my eyes and ask me,

What does matter, Mom?

Words.

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

Words.

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

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

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

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

John 1:1

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

October 21, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

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

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

His Daddy just passed away. A brain tumor.

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

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

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

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

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

How have you made it all on your own?

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

Can he come out to play?

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

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

I smiled as I squeezed his shoulders,

We’d love to have you around here.

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

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

You don’t know my mom, do you?

I grinned into his sweet face,

No, not yet.

His eyes glimmered as he replied,

You should. You two would really like each other.

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

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

But we hadn’t. And I wondered,

How have you done this alone all these years?

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

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

It’s been hard.

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

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

How do you do it?

All I can do is shake my head and whisper,

Because you do it.

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

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

makes it all worth it… love this kid. xo

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

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

Tell him goodbye.

I read the words from her daughter,

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

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

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

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

But she’s no rock star.

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

Proverbs 31:27-28

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

June 6, 2014 by Karin 8 Comments

When The Storms Gather

Here I am.

I’m not really even sure I want to be here, but I knew something was missing when I stopped showing up in this place.

It all just gets to be too much sometimes. Sometimes we have to stop and slide into the shadows. Sometimes we have to hide, or wait – I’m not certain which one is the right word. Are we hiding? Or maybe we just sense in our spirits it’s time to stop and… wait.

Sometimes when we stop, even for a moment, we find that another moment comes along – and passes. And before we know it time keeps going and going, and we wonder how we ended up this far down the road.

The phone rang. I saw his name on the caller ID and I knew a little bit how the conversation would go. His voice has become gravelled with time. In his voice I can still hear the voice that welcomed me into the world. I can still hear the voice I remember from all the days that have slipped into memory – the one who whispered warnings or laughed at the dinner table. The one who snapped for silence after a long day’s work. The voice who told me I could even when I thought I couldn’t. The one I really didn’t know very well – until I became a parent myself.

I answered though I knew the news would likely not be good. These conversations go this way when there’s only one of the pair who can remember anymore. This is what happens when the memories start slipping away, and there is only one left trying to keep them alive.

It’s getting very hard. I don’t know what to do.

And the voice is 3000 miles away. And I feel – helpless. And here I am.

The phone again. And the caller ID. Sometimes you know it’s your voice that needs to speak truth to lift a falling soul. But, sometimes all we need to be is the ear on the other end of the line. No words. No words can come in to bridge the gap between broken and whole. Just an ear to funnel the flowing words until they come out the other side – and, then, we can see. The breath of air on the other side becomes suddenly clear. And all we have to do is… listen.

I listened to her voice break time and again. The ebb and flow of an aching heart racing to the shore, and just as quickly retreating to this sea of confusion and chaos and questions. And sometimes we find ourselves drowning in it.

The words swirled around us, until they gathered in the storm cloud over our heads – and fell. Feeling like hail, until the relief of releasing every last fear and ache became a soothing rain – washing it all away. Sometimes we just have to be the umbrella in the storm. We let the downpour ricochet off our backs while we cover this soul seeking a break from the stinging rain.

It’s so hard. I don’t know what to do.

The pain and the words sometimes pelt us, but if we stand still long enough – we’ll see the sun break through the clouds.

The voice is 3000 miles away. And I hug the phone tighter. And here I am.

The phone. He walked into the other room and I drifted behind him. You can just tell, can’t you? When that voice you know so well changes its tone, and the light-hearted rhythm becomes a chilled whisper. I could see my warrior’s shoulders drop, and with it – my heart. I drew a deep breath and braced for the storm.

And if I never hear that diagnosis again – it’ll be too soon.

Cancer.

His eyes met mine, and sometimes you need no words.

I sank to my knees and prayed. It’s all I know to do anymore.

That voice on the phone – 3000 miles away. And here I am.

And sometimes God feels a million miles away.

The storm clouds gather around our craning necks, but here we are. Instead of standing our ground in the sand too soft to hold the weight of all of this – we kneel on the Rock.

It’s here on this Rock – under the gathering storms 3000 miles, and sometimes 3 feet, from these voices we love – we can hear the still small whisper,

Here I AM.

Revelation 3:20

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.

May 1, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

The Only Way To Grow A Garden

He keeps jumping around me. He won’t stop asking for the Coke. But c’mon, it’s 9 pm. He knows better.

I only allow a little bit of the caffeinated poison, and only early in the day. And only when I’m feeling a little bit more gracious.

I remember wanting that stuff as a kid. My mom would only get it on holidays. Only one holiday, as I recall. It was a New Year’s Eve treat. That’s it.

He’s up late and he’s growing up fast. And they all said it would happen, but I didn’t really listen. I was too busy trying to figure out how to grow this little guy. How to start a garden and build it to flourishing.

I was too busy trying to live on no sleep, no sanity, and no idea what the next stage would bring. I was too busy trying to figure out the rules to this game. No one gives us the perfect gardening book when we plant the first seed. We have to learn by shoving our hands right into the dirt. We dig in and get our head into the task; but, really, it’s the heart that goes first.

I can still see his face the moment he breathed his first breath. I see the bow of his lips and the blue of his eyes. I looked into his face as his heart beat rapidly against my sweat-soaked chest. Our hearts beating separately for the first time. I remember looking into his expectant eyes as motherhood grabbed hold of my soul,

I’ll show you how to live.

The rules we grow up with – they root in our minds and plant themselves firmly in our plans.

It’s where we learn how we are going to do this whole thing. We have nothing else to go on. Just the patterns set before us and the familiar footsteps in the garden. We follow the steps and know they’ll take us somewhere we know by heart.

We follow the places our own moms and dads have gone. We follow because we trust they knew what they were doing. We keep tiptoeing along and watch the garden of our youth grow into a forest.

The forest out there sometimes overwhelms us and we wonder if mom and dad actually had any idea, or is it just us who have not one clue. I’m pretty sure we all get lost in the weeds here and there.

Some of us get tangled up and choked in the weeds for a good long time.

Then, one day, a Gardener comes along and cuts the thorny and wilting places from us. We breathe deep and find we are free.

We run past the places we grew up and high-five a few lifted hands along the way. We run and think we just might have an idea what this whole thing is about.

Then. We become parents.

Now we find ourselves tending our own garden and we see all the mistakes our parents made – the same ones we find pouring from our own lips, the things we judged with our I-am-so-going-to-do-better-than-that attitude, and the know-it-all smirk fades from our sun-parched lips.

We never knew gardening was so… hard.

Ours are now the footsteps being traced and followed and watched and studied and criticized and analyzed.

Ours are the steps these young trusting ones put more stock in than the sun itself. They just trust.

And we wonder if we have what it takes.

We keep walking. We keep weeding. We keep pruning and nourishing and trimming and watering. We keep on trying.

And if we have figured anything out, we know the only way to garden… the only way to grow something right… no matter what our footsteps may have looked like…

The only way to grow our garden well – is on our knees.

Matthew 13:31-32

He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”

The Dance

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

When The Storms Gather

The Only Way To Grow A Garden

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