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November 19, 2013 by Karin 21 Comments

The One Word I Want To Leave With My Children

Four plus decades. That’s what I am today.

On this birthday I will pack up a crew of six and prepare for the cross-country journey – back to the place this life’s story began.

The same house, the same streets, the same small red church that marks the turn.

We’ll load up our six pack, and my warrior and I will travel to the place it all started.

This time I am taking two small items I plan to use to capture memories in motion. A video and a voice recorder.

My parents, they have a million stories – about war-torn youth, Nazi evil, and the ravages of cruel governments. They have stories about siblings, and families, and grandparents. They have stories about all the people I never knew… or have only met a handful of times. These stories are the roots of us. I suppose at some point in time we all want to see our roots…

I listened to them when I was just a kid, but who really pays attention then?

And, now, I hope the memories return to a fading mind.

I want to capture every word. Wrap the words in writing and pass them on to my own little ones.

We really shouldn’t ever forget where we come from. No matter how pretty, or heart-wrenching, the picture.

It’s our stories that bring Him glory – in the end. Our stories are His story – from the very beginning. Even when we don’t see.

Their story will come… I will take the gray shades of life and etch them into black and white. The words will never cover a life, but they will leave a map.

A map for my own to follow – tracing back… in order to move forward. Never forgetting.

But, today… well, it’s my day. It’s my birthday.

And sometimes the details don’t really matter all that much. Sometimes there is just one thing you want to leave behind.

Sometimes it only takes a few words to cover a lifetime of things we wish we could do… or undo.

Sometimes it’s just one word that we want to burn into their hearts.

Sometimes the words we write… are the words we need to read.

This… this is what I want to leave with my children.

A Letter To My Children

I want to tell you it’s ok.

It’s ok if you forget. It’s ok if you don’t understand. It’s ok that you said what you said that time.

I want to tell you that I know.
I know how much you love me.
I know how frustrated you were sometimes, and that you wondered if anyone- especially mom -understood.
I know that you didn’t mean what you said that time. Or the other time, either.

I want you to see that I have felt the same way.
I have thought the same thoughts.
I have made the same mistakes.
I have wished my youth away… and then wished I could go back.

I wish I could go back.
I wish I could go back and listen to my parents all over again.
I wish I had paid better attention.
I wish I had asked more questions… and listened to the answers.

I remember some of the stories and wish I could listen to them again.
I remember the places we went.
I remember the meals Mom cooked.

I wish I could remember more.
I wish I knew where those places were.
I wish I knew the recipe for that one meal… and the other ones, too.
I wish I could sit in Mom’s lap, and listen to Dad’s stories.

I know what you are thinking.

You wish you could go back, too.
Stop.

Here is what I want you to remember.
This is what I want you to know.

I love you no matter what has happened.
I love you no matter what words and deeds you have thrown out there.
I love you even if you don’t come home enough.
I love you even when you are too busy.

I love you and it’s all ok.

This. This is what matters.

Believe.

No matter what people say to you.
No matter what they say about you.
No matter if they call you delusional, or gullible, or foolish, or wrong.

They will, you know.
They will make you doubt.
They will make you wonder.
They will tell you that God is a fake.

They are wrong.
Know this.
I have heard His voice.
He hears mine every time I place your names in His hand.

He hears you.

Believe.

Stick with the ones who believe with you.
You need each other.

Be kind to everyone.
Even when they are not kind to you.
You represent Him.
It’s a big job. He is a big God.

He can handle your doubt.
Your anger.
Your fear.
Your questions.
Your mistakes. Even the ones you make again and again.
He has you in the palm of His hand.

Believe.
I do.

So, when you begin to regret, and wish, and want to go back.
Stop.
Go Forward.

Time here is brief.
Make the most of it.
We, my babies, have forever.

Love ~ to infinity and back,

Mom

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.

November 7, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

The Longest Walk

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 26 ~

Sometimes the longest walk… is across the room.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. Though the reflection in my mirror proves it was more than a few yesterdays ago. I remember it.

The doors of that magnificent old church opened. Both arched doors revealed a sea of faces waiting for one nervous bride.

I remember my girlfriend Kim fretting over her hair as her nerves tingled in last minute stage fright.

I remember my dad, handsome, standing straight and proud holding my arm. His German accent whispered in my ear as the gates to wedded bliss opened wide.

I remember taking those first few steps as the breath caught in my throat and the tears hovered in my lashes.

I heard the whisper of my warrior’s pilot comrade to my left,

Awesome.

I smiled to myself thinking I had succeeded at pulling off the perfect Princess Bride makeover.

I peered and saw the Scottish priest in his cowboy boots. Beaming.

Overwhelming. The crowd stood like a wave surging over a small unsuspecting shell sunning on the sand.

Breathtaking. The faces of people I loved, some I barely knew, some I didn’t know I would grow to love over the years. This family of friends and relatives welcomed me into the room.

And, I began to walk.

I remember a few faces in the sea. They smiled through my blurry eyes and my heart swelled.

I walked.

Then, I saw him.

Smiling and standing proud in his mess dress. Surrounded by his brothers, my brothers, and friends who had become brothers.

My feet carried me, I think. But, really, it was my heart.

And, we met at the altar.

This walk burned into my memory. I can close my eyes and see it still.

Then, the years rush. They pull and they push and the waves crash over and over again.

The ride is up and down over the swell.

I remember a song my girlfriend Jennifer and I used to play and repeat… and repeat. Big fans of Big Head Todd and The Monsters.

Bittersweet.

The song intrigued us as the single girls. The lyrics… they are just a little bit sad. How would we avoid the bittersweet?

It’s bittersweet

More sweet than bitter,

bitter than sweet.

It’s a bittersweet surrender.

The walk that day. Nothing but sweet. Completely and wholly surrendered.

And the years keep rolling and the waves keep crashing. And the lyrics come back to me…

I know we don’t talk about it.

We don’t tell each other.

All the little things that we need.

We work our way around each other…

As we tremble and we bleed.

The song still whispers a heartache. I’ve watched it happen. So many times, I’ve seen my friends tremble and bleed.

And my warrior and I, we have trembled and bled just a few times, too.

We work our way around each other. We ride these waves. And we just want to keep our heads above the water. But, really, we want to stand on the water and walk. We want to walk this walk together. We want to meet at the altar.

The good deed.

I met a couple of new friends a few weeks ago. I asked them for good deeds and I waited for stories about heroic acts and gifts given in secret. Then, Shannon smiled and told me,

I walked across the room and gave my husband a glass of water.

I stopped and looked into her eyes.

She went on,

We had been disagreeing and I was so frustrated with him. But, I wanted to make peace.

So, I served him. I walked across the room and gave him a glass of water.

And, it changed everything.

Another brave heart I had just met, Karen, she laughed and said,

I just brought my husband tea.

We weren’t in the best place with each other and were both frustrated.

I made him a cup of tea.

I walked across the room and handed it to him. And, he melted.

I smiled at the simplicity of the deed. The simplest deed is sometimes the very hardest one.

I thought about the times my warrior and I have battled on our own hills.

Sometimes the walk across the room… is the longest walk.

This ride, these waves, the best deed… walk across the room completely and holy surrendered.

The sweet surrender.

The longest walk… our feet won’t carry us.

But, in surrender… our hearts can.

As we meet at the altar again… and again.

Ephesians 5:1-2

Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

October 24, 2013 by Karin 12 Comments

When We Begin To Get Over Ourselves

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 19 ~

I’ve been a mother for 12 years today.
Really, though, motherhood began 9 months before that (ok, we all know it’s actually 10). When you carry the weight of the future on your bladder for any amount of time, you know the exact amount of time. Down to the very minute.

What I didn’t know… the weight of the future was the very thing that would begin the release of the weight of my selfishness.

Motherhood. The vessel He uses to get us over ourselves.

We enter into this place with a million preconceived notions of how we will play this whole thing out. We step through the door holding this perfect breath from God and we think we might have a clue. This is where it all begins. We have no idea. The thoughts in our minds give way to the crashing wave of pure love. This love washes any idea of who we think we are… away. We come face to face with someone we want to die for – again and again. But, first, we have to die to ourselves. And this is the rub.

The battle – my thoughts, my ideas, my wishes, my dreams collide… with His.

Holding tightly to the holy moment of birth is just the beginning of letting it all go.

This is when our hearts begin to take residence – outside of our bodies. With each baby, over and over again, we die to ourselves… and open up to Him. Only God would begin this slow and often painful death to our selfish natures through the birth of something so breathtakingly exquisite. New life wrapped in the sweet aroma of innocence cradled in our unsuspecting arms. The best of us is yet to come.

Sometimes, though, he lets us begin our journey into selfless love much earlier. Sometimes He allows to exercise these muscles of you-before-me when we are much younger. Perhaps even as young as 11… soon to be 12.

And, sometimes He surprises this unsuspecting mama with a story of an unselfish good deed. A good deed that mama didn’t have to prompt or prod or produce. Sometimes He lets us know we are doing this motherhood thing a little bit right.

I was away on a trip (a small miracle in itself, thanks to my gold-hearted warrior). Dad decided to take our six pack to a carnival. The bravery in that task is another story entirely.

The pumpkins, rides, and treats thrilled this young crew of ours. Most of all, of course, the rides and slides were mission number one.

Tickets bought, treats ingested, it was time. The kids rode and squealed and lived it up.

Our four-year-old discovered quickly that some thrills look better from the ground up.

It’s too scary! I don’t like it!

Our red-headed summer warrior shrieked.

Sometimes bravery is just knowing what you’re not ready for. And saying so.

Tickets dwindled and energy faded.

With only a handful of tickets left to thrill these little ones, my warrior offered them one more ride.

The big kids, ready to tackle the most thrilling ride, grabbed their chance and took off.

Our normally brave little summer girl exclaimed,

But, I want to go on those swings. I’m too scared of that ride.

Daddy stood holding the baby, knowing the only way she would go was with a companion. We don’t really want to go this alone, do we? It’s always better with two.

The kids want to ride that one, sweetie.

Then, the part that bursts a mama heart. All these years of do-this-don’t-do-that-be-nice-share-love-each-other. All the refereeing of siblings. All the times of it’s-not-about-you. Then, this one time. It takes root… and I wasn’t even there. I can’t take credit (but, I can give plenty to my warrior). I can’t even begin to think it had anything to do with what I told my boy to do. He just did it. And my heart explodes.

I’ll go with her, dad.

C’mon, little sister, I’ll take you on the swings.

Now, the swings… they go round and round, not up nor down. Pretty lame for an 11, almost 12-year-old.

They spun in circles, she squealed with glee, and my heart melts.

We teach and train and cajole and plead. We bark and bellow and beg. We hold and hug and pour ourselves out… day after day. Then, God. He gives us a glimpse. A momentary whisper of,

Job well done.

The pouring out… from a big brother to a little sister. This.

This whole new soul dying to self and giving to love. And my heart wholly fills.

2 Thessalonians 3:13

And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right.

October 17, 2013 by Karin Leave a Comment

The Good Seed

31 Days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 15 ~

Sometimes it isn’t until they are gone.

It isn’t until they are gone that we realize how they changed everything.

Most of the time we didn’t even realize we needed to change something… or we didn’t really want to.

It isn’t until we look back on what was, that we realize what is. The turning point in our lives.

It isn’t until we can see pieces of life in the rearview mirror that we can see how our pieces have come together.

It isn’t until we look back that we can look Up and see the truth.

The lives we live like this woven tapestry. Threaded piece by piece… never having seen the bold thread of this person that held it all together. Until we could grow stronger.

My dear friend, missing her uncle, remembers him…

Twenty-two years ago a couple took in a troubled 18-year-old girl. They had a lot going on in their own lives; two daughters in college and high school senior still at home. The husband worked crazy shift work that eliminated any type of normal sleep and life of his own. The woman was a school bus driver at the time. She volunteered at church and played taxi to her daughter’s activities and ran all over the state trying to make the college sporting and extra curricular events.

Their niece was “lost”. Running nowhere, but constantly running. Circumstances led her to their home – it had always been a safe place – a place where the door was always unlocked. It was often left wide open; an indication of the busy lifestyle where love provoked the revolving door to remain more open than closed.

There was only liability in inviting her in. Her lifestyle was far from theirs – they knew it and opened the door and their arms. They opened themselves up to the questions and judgement from others. Why? “She should learn on her own… she’s gotten herself into this after all!”

There were no lectures or shame here. Everyday there was support, encouragement, company, and love for the girl. She continued in her life choices, but now felt a twinge of wanting what they had… a simple, steady, not so exciting, but full life. The love of Christ permeated their home and their actions – they actually believed in her and began a flicker of belief in herself.

Their kindness gave her hope. It slowly turned to motivation and value; and one day she left. She had been given wings – much like the cousins who had gone before. She didn’t necessarily go on to do great things in the eyes of the world… but ever since, she has been flying and often flies back to the home with the revolving door.

The couple has recently separated in body. The husband flew home to His Lord. His memorial celebration was filled with stories like hers – and now a question. Will the good deed live on? Can she do this, too? Can her door offer a welcome, safety, and the simple glimmer of hope? She is realizing this was an act of bravery on their part… there were no guarantees with the chance they took on her. A good deed is risky – there may not be a good turnout. But then that wasn’t their job, was it? A good deed is simply a good “seed” and all they did was sow it.

The good deed. Sometimes it is the good seed… sown in faith.

The voice that whispers,

My door is open.

You are welcome here.

Matthew 7:7-8

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.

October 14, 2013 by Karin Leave a Comment

It All Counts Here

31 Days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 12 ~

We think we have it all figured out the day they are born. Well at least some of it.

We think we know the decisions we will make and the direction we will go.

We are pretty sure the best and wisest choices will be crystal clear when the time comes.

Then, we realize… we gave birth to humans.

Not so simple anymore.

This quest for good deeds…

I joked with my husband as I headed out the door with the oldest two. He had come home early from work. Mission… orthodontist.

Look, it’s your good deed. You are staying here with the others.

He laughed,

Yea, that’s called parenting. It doesn’t qualify as a good deed.

Or does it?

My oldest girl snuck quietly into the bedroom, plate in hand. She whispered,

Mom, I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed.

The sparkling silver covering revealed the most divine piece of toast I had ever seen. And, coffee, too. Perfect.

She grinned at my reaction,

It’s no big deal, mom.

Or is it?

Hands scrubbing sud-covered pots tonight… for the 776th time. Solo mama bone weary from chasing a napless toddler while trying to de-clutter the one place my warrior can study in some sort of peace. My big boy wraps arms around my waist (when did he get so tall?),

You are the best, mom.

Kind words. No biggie.

Or are they?

Searching for these good deeds in all corners. A girlfriend sends me a message,

I cleaned my daughter’s hamster cage today. She will be so happy and I’m hoping it is a real lesson in grace. Does that count?

Does it count?

Lessons in grace.

I put sleepy, baby blue-eyed girl to bed, and whispered into her sweet thumb-sucking gaze,

I’ve tried to make all the right choices for you babies. I hope that counts.

Baby grinned. Peace enveloped. Grace to erase the stress of this day.

The good deed of grace… that starts right at home.

Home… the most challenging place to plant a good deed on many days.

Home… the most necessary place to give and seek good deeds every day.

The place that comes first in the lifting of this world. Home.

It all counts here.

Galatians 6:9-11

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers.

The One Word I Want To Leave With My Children

A Letter To My Children

The Longest Walk

When We Begin To Get Over Ourselves

The Good Seed

It All Counts Here

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