Hope Archives - Page 2 of 7

February 7, 2014 by Karin 11 Comments

The Real Fairy Tale

Not what she expected.

My sweet ten-year-old looked up at me from behind the soft covers. With tears in her eyes she mumbled,

Maybe your next anniversary will be better.

I cocked my head to the side,

Better than what?

She went on,

Maybe you and Dad will be able to go out and have dinner… I don’t know.

I smiled into her innocent eyes. These young recipients of endless princess tales vividly displayed on wide-screen. The princesses who get clothing lines and figurines and jewels. The ones who sing like angels and fight like brave hearts. The ones who struggle through adversity and end up in a life that’s – perfect. With a theme park thrown in.

I laughed,

Sweetie, this was a good anniversary. I got to see my honey… you know, Dad. I was able to hang out with all of you. We are healthy and fed and in a home – all together. That IS a good anniversary.

She looked at me suspiciously,

Ok. But, it’s your anniversary.

I went on, trying to convince this young girl of the beauty of simplicity,

Well, and maybe we can go out to dinner someplace really nice… really soon.

She smiled and hugged my neck,

Ok, Mom, that sounds great. Maybe you can drive to the mountains or something.

(I’m fairly sure she wanted to add… in a horse-drawn carriage)

I tucked her sweet innocence into bed, blew kisses, and turned off the light.

I looked at my warrior,

You know, she wonders why this wasn’t more romantic. She’s watching and wondering where the fairy tale is.

He and I both chuckled, knowing the fairy tale in this chapter is six sleeping children. That is a good anniversary.

Fairy tales. The funny thing is, I grew up hearing my mother’s German fairy tales, and they were far from the story we show our own kids. The original versions involved pain and healing, life and death, beauty and horror. I have books my mother saved – the old hardback German books from our childhood. The characters are running around with hair on fire and thumbs cut off. Pretty morbid stuff. And I didn’t fall apart… as far as I remember. The real stuff of real fairy tales… was real. Or at least not glossed over and fluffed up.

The beauty in the reality of it all… was the end. The redemptive stories intertwined with mayhem. A little bit more like… life.

The fairy tales on our screens today might just bring our princesses (and our princes) crashing down – to reality. There is romance, there is true love, there is charm and beauty… but, it’s not perfect. Not yet.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a beautiful ending all tied up in a bow. There is no Disney-deficiency anemia in our home.

I love that Pocahontas had a heart-gripping romance with John Smith – even though in real life it wasn’t true. In real life, legend has it, she was a brave soul who saved the neck of John Smith and married a man named John Rolfe. She was baptized a Christian and given the name Rebecca.

I love that little red-haired Ariel marries the prince, grows feet, and has a fabulously explosive wedding. Even though the mermaid fairy tale of my childhood told how the mermaid not only longed to be with the prince, but also deeply desired the eternal human soul. This eternal soul – mermaids don’t have. The story in our old German book ended in her death. It made me sad as a kid.

Yes, I love the glossy new versions, but I wonder if they really prepare our little warriors for the real deal? The battle in this life for faith and hope and love. And, it is a battle. The battle worth living for.

Hans Christian Andersen said it well,

Every person’s life is a fairy tale written by God’s finger.

Not the glossy versions, but the real, raw stories of recklessness and redemption… of doubt and deliverance… of fear and freedom. Of life and death. And, Life.

Maybe I’ll pull those old fairy tales out and read them to my kids. I’ll read the German version to the sound of giggles and translate the stories to English. The real versions, as they were really written. Maybe kids can handle the messy tales – knowing the glory is coming in the end.

The important part is the ending. It doesn’t always end well… here. The real ending hasn’t come yet. The best part – the real ending is the real beginning.

A confession. I already read the last page, and… spoiler alert…

Love wins.

Revelation 22:17

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.

January 16, 2014 by Karin 16 Comments

Why Every Day Should Be The Third Day

I wrote this on the third day. The third day of this new year – and here it is – already the sixteenth.

And I’m learning to rise… eyes open a little more with each sunrise…

It’s the third day. He rose on the third day.

It makes me think that maybe I should rise, too.

It makes me think that maybe I should have risen earlier this morning.

Maybe I should follow through with the P90X re-do I have promised myself.

Maybe I should have cooked eggs and bacon – their favorites – instead of cereal… again. Maybe I should finish putting away the Christmas decorations, even though I feel like I am closing another book – and the books that are left in this life are getting fewer.

Maybe I should clean the den, sprinkled with cheese hardened on a coffee table – left by tiny hands.

Maybe I should wash another load filled with messes of memories from the day and the week before.

Maybe I should fold the piles strewn across the love seat – piles that are preferred for climbing much more than folding.

Maybe I should clean the dishes from yet another storm of grilled cheese, pancakes, and mac ‘n cheese.

Maybe I should take out the brimming trash or ask my 12-year-old to do it. Then I see him head out the front door with a grin – there’s nothing quite like 12-year-old buddies. And I remember being 12, and 22, and 32, and 42…

Maybe I should clean the bedrooms, or vacuum – though it scares the baby – and maybe she doesn’t hear the vacuum quite enough…

It’s the third day and I’ve come to know that the third day becomes the third month in a flash. Then the tenth – and before we know it, it’s another year.

One more chapter – another book closes.

It’s the third day and I wonder why I freeze in time and turn around – trying to hold to the second day, and the first…

It’s the third day and I remember He rose on the third day.

Maybe it’s time to rise. Not to fill the list of to-do’s, the I-need-to’s, the we-really-ought-to’s. Maybe it’s just time to wake up and see that every day brings in the new. The new that is born from yesterday’s new.

Maybe I should just remember that He rose. Whether it’s the third day, or the last.

There is always a new one to follow. Just because He rose.

The books that have closed are just part of an endless series. Endless.

Maybe if we just remember that, we will wake with new eyes – a new hope.

This day, and every day after this one, is just the beginning…

Alexander Graham Bell said it well,

When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the one that has opened for us.

Maybe it is just because of the third day that we have open doors.

Maybe we just have to rise.

And it’s now the sixteenth day.

And I’ve since begun to rise a little bit earlier.

I’ve started the exercise re-do I promised myself… after all, the new P90X3 is only 30 minutes – surely I can find thirty minutes.

And I’ve cooked eggs, but not the bacon.

I’ve cleaned the messes left by tiny hands, but you wouldn’t know it.

The laundry has since been washed and worn, and has returned to rest in the pile of dirties.

The vacuum has once again scared the baby, though she’s starting to sort of like it.

Christmas has been put away and the book has been closed.

The new chapter is open – and it includes three tooth fairy visits since the third day – and the tooth fairy is going broke.

The door is open and the sunlight streams in. The rising sun beckons.

The risen Son holds true to His promises, and with bent knees the day brings new life.

And, maybe every day should be the third day…

Lamentations 3:22-24

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

October 29, 2013 by Karin 6 Comments

When You Meet James

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 21 ~

I knew better this time.

I remembered the woman with the worn skin, sunken eyes, and faded flannel.

I remembered the whispers of the Voice that beckoned. The One I had forgotten to listen to a time or two.

I remembered the way she looked at me with her wry smile and the glimmer of gratitude in her eyes before she disappeared into the sea of cars.

I knew better this time and waited in anticipation for the breath of His instruction.

Be prepared. There is someone waiting.

The thing is, there is always someone waiting. Waiting for a hand, a word of truth… a hope. There is always someone who needs to hear,

You are not alone. You are loved.

It’s our job, you know. This is what He asks from us. I didn’t want to miss it this time.

I checked my wallet,

Good to go.

Another day of shopping for the small army in our house. Another day of scanning, searching, and surveying the aisles. Another day of hunting and gathering. This time, my view of this mob scene changed.

We’ve got it made.

There is more than enough for every one here. Yet, there are some who can’t get in the front door.

I packed up the supplies and headed for the exit. The intersection was jammed with cars and the left turn would take me home.

There he was.

Sitting on the right side of the road.

He was different, though. He didn’t even look up.

His face was buried in the back of his rough hands as he held fast to a cane. A cardboard sign sat propped against his bent legs. It simply stated,

I’ve lost everything, but my faith.

I wonder how much we have to lose before faith fades to memory.

I wonder why he held tightly to faith while sitting lost on a street corner, while I struggle with faith in a truck full of groceries.

I scrambled for my wallet trying to grab anything I could give to him before the light changed. It was too late. The light turned green and the rush of traffic propelled me forward. I had to turn, you know. Can’t keep people waiting.

That’s when I heard it. The whisper I had been waiting for…

Turn around and go back.

My stomach churned and I could feel my skin prickle with the sense of His presence. I peered into the rearview, and thought for just a moment,

It seems crazy to turn around.

Hands grabbing the wheel, I turned a U in the road and headed back to where the lost soul waited.

Ok, God, I’m going back. This seems a little crazy, but I’m going back. Please keep the traffic off me while I stop.

I turned and veered through the congested lot as my truck found its way to the right turn lane. A lane that would take me miles off course with no chance of a turn around.

Don’t we just want to get to a place where we can’t turn back? A place where we have to move forward in this blind faith, following the whispering and urging Voice.

I sat three cars back and saw him. He had not lifted his head from his tired hands. I could see the back of his sign now,

You can at least smile.

The man with nothing but his faith wanted a hand… or at least a smile.

Why do we do that? Drive by, averting our eyes, not offering the slightest smile of kindness. Those are free. Why is it that we greedily hold those close, only to share them with someone who bothers to share first. Just a smile.

I held up the money in my hand just as he lifted his head.

Then, I saw.

His leg, partially covered in white bandaging, was a mangled mess of broken skin. As if the man had begun to crack wide open, leaving nothing to be seen but the oozing pain that he carried with him.

He shuffled slowly to my truck and stopped short at the car in front of me. They handed him a dollar and he nodded in thanks.

He winced in pain as he proceeded toward the money I held in my hand. My heart nearly bled as I watched him stumble in my direction.

He was worn and tired. His eyes squinted with each step. I wanted to get out, but I was sandwiched in this red light place.

As he reached my car, I rolled down the window and handed him the twenty dollars,

I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to walk this far.

He didn’t hear my words as he turned his eyes upward and murmured,

Praise Jesus.

I looked into his blue eyes, aged with pain, and could see that he was not as old as he appeared.

What is your name?

He looked at me, his eyes soft and wet, and replied,

James.

James. The book I have studied twice in the past two years. The brother of Jesus. The man who wrote of good deeds and patience and taming the tongue. The book that convicts us to open hands and hearts to the poor. The book that wrecked me for good. I remember weeping over that study, as my eyes went to the faces of children on my screen. The book that grabbed me by my comfortable shoulders and said,

…faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. (James 2:17)

The book that opened my sleepy eyes and exclaimed,

Wake up!

James. Of course his name was James.

I looked into his tired face,

James, I am going to pray for you.

His eyes lit with understanding,

Oh, yes! Please. Pray for healing and deliverance.

God bless you.

God bless me. Yes. He already has. I smiled at James,

I will, James. I will pray right now. God bless… you.

The light turned, the traffic pushed, and I drove away.

I am just learning to be bold. Bold in faith, that is. Here is what amazes me. A disheveled and wounded soul sitting on a street corner knows just exactly what he needs from God. Healing and deliverance.

Too often my prayers are vague, unsure, nondescript, rote. I am learning. This art of conversation with God; it begins with listening. Listening to the Voice that pushes and urges. Listening to the souls who have lost everything, but their faith.

Listening. And responding. This art of a relationship. A dance, really.

I drove away. The sense of His presence overwhelmed me. I felt Him in my breath as I prayed for James. Healing and deliverance.

I prayed the words of James as God enveloped me in His presence. His voice hung in my words as He whispered,

I am here.

And, we danced.

James 2:14-16

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?

October 22, 2013 by Karin 8 Comments

When We Put Our Feet On The Ground

31 Days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 18 ~

I can almost see his house from here.

The water snakes just around the buildings, under the bridges, and presses hard against the dam. The trees carpet the landscape. I can’t make out trees from bushes from fields. It all looks lush and quenched from up here. I miss the green in the rugged beauty of desert.

Like a drink of water before entering the parched land of jags and cliffs and red-painted rocks.

I can almost see my brother’s house. And it feels like home.

It’s not my home or my town or my state. But, just the proximity to him feels like home. Funny how that settles the nerves of a pilot’s wife in the air. Funnier still that a pilot’s wife feels oddly misplaced up here though I know this air feels like home to my other half.

You can sense the whispers of home in places that aren’t home.

You can feel close to a brother, sometimes even a brother you don’t know.

This story is from a friend. A woman I met by God’s circumstance in the most unexpected place. He orchestrates these meetings, you know. It still blows my mind.

My friend is a musician. She shares her gift with my girls. The music from the piano and the seasoned voice leading the tentative new voice cover the air like white wash over the dull. Music brightens and brings light to the landscape.

She told me a story. A good deed…

They turned into the parking lot of the grocery store and saw him. She and her young daughter. His sign didn’t ask for money. Just food. Strategic positioning right outside this store filled with enough to feed more than enough. I wonder if our attempts at strategy ever really amount to much… without His positioning?

Her little girl exclaimed,

Mom, we should bring him some food!

She nodded agreement,

We’ll get him a sandwich and a drink.

After checking out, supplies and sandwich in hand, they pulled their truck to where the man had waited. He was gone.

Man, we were all ready for him.

My friend drove to the main road and that’s when she heard it. That Voice that whispers. The same Voice that prompted me to pocket a twenty just weeks before. This Voice, it beckoned,

Go across the street. Go to the Wal-Mart parking lot.

It’s when that whisper comes to you so specifically that you wonder,

Seriously? Am I imagining this?

It’s when the Voice whispers so specifically that it’s most imperative to listen.

My friend listened. She laughed to herself,

I don’t know what the deal is, but ok.

She drove across in anticipation. The anticipation is the best part. And, sometimes it throws us off.

Nothing.

No great sign. No homeless man waiting for his sandwich. Nada.

Really, God? Here I am. I’m not sure where to go.

There was nowhere else to turn, but toward the exit. All prepped and nothing. This is sometimes when it happens. We lose our direction. We question the Voice. We wonder what kind of stuff we are dreaming up anyway.

And, this… this is when we have to keep going. The Voice doesn’t lie. Our doubt just begins to seep into the ear trying to play over the melody of that Voice.

That’s when she saw him. He rolled along in a chair, oxygen tank in tow. He wasn’t the same guy. Not the one she saw at the store. This one was the one she was supposed to see. He orchestrates these meetings, you know.

The older man waved arms at blind passersby. Not one soul stopped as the man rolled and waved and tried to get anyone to see. The best of us can be blind sometimes, can’t we?

She pulled her truck alongside,

Hey there, what do you need?

His voice, gruff and worn,

I just got out of the hospital. I’m a diabetic. I just need something to eat because of my blood sugar.

She answered,

Well, I’ve got your sandwich right here.

City traffic doesn’t stand still for good deeds, so she pulled to the side and climbed out of her truck. This is what gets me. She stopped. And, got out. She stepped feet onto the ground next to the weary soul in the chair.

They talked for a short time. The street side conversation went to God and faith. She told him about the hungry man she had bought the sandwich for, but that God pointed her to him instead.

He responded to her kindness,

I’ve helped people all my life. I’ve always tried to do good for others.

He motioned to his legs and whispered,

Now look at me. I’m wondering, where is God?

Then, you gave me this.

His eyes went to her face,

You’ve got the Spirit. I see it in you.

She hugged the man,

Where are you going to go?

The man in the chair replied,

I gotta get to the shelter before they close. I don’t have any bus money. If they close the doors, I can’t get in tonight.

The good deed kept on giving. My friend answered,

Well I have $5 that you can have for the bus.

She handed him the money and climbed back into her truck.

He called to her by name,

Hey, be good to your husband. Stop arguing with each other. He’s doing the best he can and he’ll never leave you.

Then, he paused as tears welled in her eyes,

From the looks of your face, I can tell that means something to you.

And, he was gone.

We don’t have to go very far to be near a brother. Or a sister. We don’t have to go very far to feel close to home. We don’t have to look around and wonder in anticipation when we will go home again. We just have to get out. Put feet on the ground. Feet on the ground next to our brothers and sisters. He orchestrates the meetings, you know. The Voice whispering in our souls,

Follow me and I’ll show you Home.

Mark 10:29-31

“I tell you the truth,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”

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.

The Real Fairy Tale

Why Every Day Should Be The Third Day

When You Meet James

When We Put Our Feet On The Ground

The Good Seed

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