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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.)

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

December 16, 2013 by Karin 12 Comments

When The Rogue Waves Threaten To Take Us Down

That tooth popped right out.

Mama, it flaps when I drink water.

Will you pull it out?

I took the small trusting hand in mine and lead him to the operating room, aka the bathroom.

Tissue wrapped firmly around this dangling tooth; and I yanked.  The chipped memory of a toddler falling face first onto wood flooring popped out without resistance.

Beaming, my boy squealed,

The tooth fairy is coming!

I grinned as I looked into that sweet face, gaping smile more holes than teeth.

Go show Daddy.

I couldn’t help but look at the chipped pearl and remember the day his face hit the floor and nicked personality right into that tooth.  It was daddy and uncle’s watch, of course.  Not that anyone has ever chipped a tooth on my watch, or gashed a knee, or knotted a baseball-sized lump onto the head.

Today is his birthday.

I remember now… a time that was on my watch.  That day, five and a half years ago.  A day we almost lost this beautiful, toothless face to the sea.

A storm brewed just off the coast.  It wasn’t enough to keep us from digging feet into warm sand.  We had just arrived.  The ocean beckoned without letting up.  We had to go down there.

The view, mesmerizing and soothing as the ocean whispered its strength.  Deceiving – those waves that lull and slide onto the shore only to quickly disappear into the murk and mist.

Wild Waves

My older ones, only seven, six, and four-years-old, jumped the teasing ocean as it licked the shore.  My warrior held fast to hands and stood as an armed guard between them and the hungry sea.

My parents joined us for this vacation.  Dad had hurried to the sand as quickly as we had, while Mom stayed behind to prepare a meal that only a grandmother could craft.

I remember meeting a woman.  She stood as a watch tower over her own little ones, while we laughed that our children had the same name.  I rubbed my expectant belly and breathed deep the salt air.

It came out of nowhere.

This beast of a wave roared, reminding us of the grains of sand that we really are.

She looked at me and yelled,

It’s coming in!

I saw my toddling 18-month-old wander toward the greedy water.  My dad, eyes wide, moved his 81-year-old legs faster than I had ever seen.  The wave, it was just  too much.  That surging force of endless ocean powered to the shore, grumbling and snarling at everything in its path.

Rogue Waves

It came out of nowhere.  Nowhere.

All I could do was run.  As dad and I enveloped my baby like armies strategically flanking its prey, my dad snatched up his small, unsuspecting body.

It wasn’t enough.  Dad held him tightly, but the surge of the wave and the power of the retreat was just too much.  The tide tore and pulled and ripped my baby from his arms.  I screamed for my husband to help my father as he was pulled into the ocean.

I still don’t know how it could have ended this way… but, I am eternally grateful.

I reached them before the water could pull me down.  My little boy’s body was completely submerged.  The only glimpse of him was a sparkle of his blue and white swim shirt.  The UV protection could do nothing to keep him safe.  I saw his shirt and his face, eyes open wide, peering up at me from underneath a film of murky sea water.  The wave taunted and pulled as I lifted my  baby to open air.  Pulling him toward my chest, I felt as though I would squeeze him right into my soul.

But, he didn’t even cry.  He didn’t even suck for air.  He breathed a steady calm breath as if he had been floating in peace, just waiting for mama to save him.

It was my dad who saved him.  But really, it was our merciful Father who saved him that day.

The almosts, the could-have-beens, the what-ifs… they haunt sometimes.

This rogue wave of parenthood brings us face-to-face with time after time of…

I saved your life.

And, He does.  Here and the hereafter.

Time and again He saves our lives.

And I am grateful for His mercy… most especially on the days that that rogue waves threaten to take us down.

 

Matthew 8:25-27

The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”  He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?”  Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.  The men were amazed and asked, “What kind of man is this? Even the winds and the waves obey him!”

Karin Madden

 

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Mercy, Motherhood Tagged With: rogue waves, the what-ifs

December 12, 2013 by Karin 8 Comments

When The A Falls Right Out Of Your PEACE

She just wouldn’t stop.

You know, one of those days when the two-year-old replaces peaceful playing and a rejuvenating nap with endless shrieks and crazed tantrums.

Propped on my hip while the casserole cooked far too slowly, she twirled her hair, sucked her thumb and retained the death grip on my shoulder.  The one she’s held all. day. long.

That’s when we heard it.  The crash.

No one seemed to be phased.  Tinkerbell on TV offered much more intrigue and excitement than a jingling ruckus from the front room.

What in the world?

She and I – attached at the hip – shuffled around the corner to see.

There it was.  The perfectly placed PEACE… wrecked.  Silver jingle bells and all.

PE CE with the A

The A in our PEACE had just about enough for the day and decided to plummet straight down.  Right onto my keyboard.  This keyboard with the question mark already missing.  Who needs more questions, anyway?

Damage done

Jingle Bells

The damage caught my eye immediately.  The perfectly smooth space bar now resembled a ski slope.  Eh, who needs space?  Ski slopes are so much cooler.

The V appeared to have taken a ding.  V.  What’s it for?  Vengeance, villains, vultures.  No thanks.  What about victory?  That one has already been written.

Very.  Nah, it’s overused anyway.

Further investigation showed a hit to the tab key.  Tab.  It’s really just a quick jump ahead.  There really are no quick jumps ahead.  It’s best to go one step at a time.  Don’t want to miss a thing.

So, there it was.  The A in our PEACE had fallen.

No more A game.  No more plan A.  Now what?

What if there is no plan B?

What if we put all our plans and hopes and dreams into one basket; and plan B never has a chance to form?

We’d better have a good plan A.

I held her on my hip.  Of course, the crashing jingle stopped her whining.  Wreckage always seems to entertain us.  We can’t seem to take our eyes off it.  But, then, we want to know what comes next.

Our PEACE was missing its A.

All we have left is PE  CE.

This picture of decoration perfection crashed and burned.  Leaving in its wake a hole.  No A.  Instead, an F.

And it stopped her crying.  And it stopped my fuming.

It crushed the keyboard and its unnecessary strokes; but, I can still type.  Ski slopes are cooler anyway.

PEACE.  When it’s the kind we strive for and insist on.  When it’s the kind we try to emulate from magazine shots and pinterest.  When it’s the kind that just sits on a shelf and sparkles pretty… but doesn’t really permeate our hearts.  What good is that kind of PEACE?

Perfection.  Expectations.  Anxiety.  Chaos.  Exhaustion.

It’s not the kind of PEACE we want.

PE.  Separated from the CE.

Perfection and Expectations – by our standards – are best far removed from the CE.

Christ and His promise of Eternity.

Christ.  Eternity.

She and I looked up at the dangling remnants of a mama’s plans gone wrong.  Yet, there was just something right.  

Her crying stopped and mama… laughed.

Leave it behind

Maybe the best way to find our peace is by leaving our A’ss behind.  Anxiety, anger, arrogance, aggravation, agitation.

Maybe the missing A will leave some space… space to breathe.

Space to find the real peace… in the joy.

JOY

There are no A‘s in JOY.

Just. One. Yahweh.

May we all find PE CE this Christmas… without the A‘s.

 

Isaiah 9:6

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Joy Tagged With: Christmas joy, peace

December 10, 2013 by Karin 6 Comments

What To Do When The Guide Gets Lost

He looked up at me with those big blue innocent eyes.

We had travelled for weeks.  Traveling can do a number on your digestive system.  Especially when you are prone to allergies.  Especially when you are six.

He didn’t want to go alone.  They never do.  The bathroom still ranks in the top three for most popular mama dates.

We were visiting friends.  Friends we miss.  Friends who have captured and taken hostage pieces of our hearts.

We condensed ten years of life into two weeks.  It seemed more like 43 years of life, to tell you the truth.  That whole thing about uncovering your roots.

I primped in the mirror as he contemplated 6-year-old life.

Mama, you know what I am most afraid of?

Examining my wrinkles and tired eyes in the mirror, I murmured,

Hm, what’s that, sweetie?

His face formed that thoughtful look he gets when he purses his lips and the one darling dimple in his right cheek burrows and begs a mama kiss.

I’m afraid of when you and Daddy die.

Who will guide us?

My eyes blurred in the mirror.  Where do they come up with this stuff?  Who knows the depth of a human heart?  No matter the age.

Oh baby, don’t be afraid.

Do you trust me?

He nodded his blonde head vigorously, still perched on his throne.

To infinity and back, Mama.

I kneeled before him and took his soft young chin in my hand,

Well, you can trust God even more than that.

He’s the one guiding Mama and Daddy.

Even when we go, He will keep guiding all of you.

You will never… never… be alone.

He looked into my eyes with a seriousness beyond his young years.  He paused just to take it all in.

Then with a twinkle, he replied,

Ok, mommy.

His face went from contemplative stare to a childish grin.

I’m done.

His question caught me off guard.  I don’t know why I am ever surprised anymore.  Sometimes we find our deepest fears in our most vulnerable positions.  We find surprises and depth in the most ordinary of places.  Even the potty.

The next day was the end of this whirlwind tour.  We flew with the six pack for endless hours which seemed to multiply with each impatient shriek from the two-year-old.

Finally, home.  The for-now home.

Elated to be back in our own beds no matter the zip code.

There’s just something about Christmas time that brings all our memories and emotions to a volcanic crescendo.  Good… and not so good.

Another trip for my warrior left me solo with the littles for a short stretch of time.

The doing, and buying, and decorating, and preparing can just about do you in.  It can just about snuff out the joy… and gratitude.

The words of a new friend lingered in my thoughts… center and savor.  Amy spoke truth when she reminded me to center and savor this season.  The drive to perfection just gets in the way.  Perfection today could have just been called minimal madness.

And it got the best… rather, the worst, of me.  A complete mama-meltdown.  When in the world will I learn? How many years does it take to become that wise, calm, peaceful mother who looks knowingly across her room to see that the little things truly are the big things?  The tiny pieces of this puzzle are what make the whole tapestry beautiful.  Not a piece can be replaced.

But, me, I had a hissy fit.  A snarling, self-centered pity party.  Invites were sent to all my kids.  They were thrilled.

The tears flowed and doors slammed.  All me.  The prettiest pictures can’t avoid the truth of our natures.  Not so pretty.

Forgiving arms wrapped around mama’s neck.  Cheeks were dried and kisses lavished.

That whole guiding thing?  Don’t follow me today.  It’s a rocky road. 

Decorations resumed and moods improved.  It wasn’t until hours later that I found her note.  My little girl who watched the lava flow from her frazzled mom.

Dear Mom, I’m sorry your upset.  I just wanted to say, I love you.

Snowman Love

Just the right words

How in the world do they get it?  When a mother just breaks right down and loses her way.

How in the world do the stay on the path?  When mama gets lost in the woods.

How in the world do they know the words?  When mom spews anger from her mouth.

Unless, they have found the better guide.  The only Guide.  

The One who shows them just where to go… and what to say.  The One who whispers the truth when human words confuse the vocabulary.

Children.  They really get it so much more than we do.  God takes our best effort at mothering… at parenting… and turns it into something unimaginable.

A journey to His heart.

 

Deuteronomy 4:39

Acknowledge and take to heart this day that the Lord is God in heaven above and on the earth below. There is no other. 

Karin Madden

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Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Motherhood, Patience, Together, Trust Tagged With: mama meltdowns, motherhood, Patience, together, trusting God

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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.

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