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June 27, 2013 by Karin 14 Comments

When You Can Take Everything… but the Kitchen Sink

My eyes drifted to the very back.  There is a part of the fence I can’t see from where I scrub the dishes.

They run wild out there.  Sometimes their energy takes over and they stumble out like puppies tripping over themselves trying to get to the good stuff.

Sometimes I send them out… those times that my own energy just can not keep up.  Those times I want peace with soapy running water.  Just my dishes, me, and the kitchen sink.  Strange, it’s actually one of my favorite spots in the kitchen.  The sink.

This sink has washed dishes of 1000’s of meals.  This sink has rinsed boo-boos clean.  This sink has bathed babies, caught tears, and one too many times was readily available when morning sickness (in truth, all day sickness) couldn’t wait one. more. second.

This sink has been my big screen to the world of my young ones.  The secret garden of their youth.

secret garden

I have had many conversations at the sink here.  Phone pinned to my shoulder, scrubbing circles over the parts of the pot already clean.  Scrubbing circles, listening to the voice on the other end.  Wanting to scrub away the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the fear and uncertainty, the doubt, the shame… just all of it… from so many voices I have loved over the years at this sink.

The voices of my parents have become gravelled… grown quieter.  Eight years is a long time when you are in your 80’s.  Eight years is a long time when you are 8.  Eight years is a long time… and a blink.  My eyes wander to my little girl.  She is 8.  Just a baby when we came here.  Eight years is a long time when 8 years is all you know.  And it is just a blink.

The voices of my friends have risen and fallen at this sink… just like the laughter… and the tears.

The cherries… they hang from this window to the backyard.  I put them up there 8 years ago.  I had no idea then.

She gave them to me when I left home for the first time.  The place I grew up.  She gave them to me, gift-wrapped with a bow in the parking lot on a sweltering South Carolina summer night.  That was a long time ago.  I had no idea then… she would be gone 12 years later.

A gift, you know, to have no idea.

This life as a military wife has kept me in this place for a long time.  It’s unusual to stay in one place for this long.  Ten years in one place and eight in this home.  This gift to watch our six little ones grow from flailing to crawling to sprinting legs that fly past mama.

My eyes drifted to the very back.

Just over the hill the yard slopes into woods… just out of sight.

I pulled on the rain boots.  The ones covered with hearts.  I get tired of the boring.  The black boots.  I found boots covered in hearts.  It’s on the rainy days that we sometimes need a few more hearts.

heartboots

It was actually sunny, but the boots would be just right for the lurking poison ivy.  The stuff that creeps and crawls and licks at our heels.  Only later do we know that it has touched us.  The damage can sometimes show up much later.  Sometimes the things that touch us, the ones that seem so benign at the time… they show the damage much later.  Yes, the boots covered in hearts… they would do the trick.

I had to go back there.  The big old oak tree.  The woods, the peace, the quiet.

There is a trail through the back of our yard.  The trail itself has been long swallowed by brush and trees and time.  The tree line is what remains.  You can see the line of trees stretch beyond sight.  The trail was worn thin in its heyday.  George Washington rode this old road.  From his capitol home to the harbor city. Years and years and we have no idea.  The years… a blink.

wind

It was the wind that day that caught me.  The kind of wind that whispers and names itself wild.  Just the sound of wind as the leaves turned belly up in anticipation of quenched thirst.

Eyes closed, I just stood and felt the wind.

This wild wind, blowing in all directions.  The whisper…

It’s all going to change.

You just can’t capture a moment.  I tried to capture this wind, but on the screen it just stood still.  The beauty is in the motion… and we just can’t capture the motion.  All we can do is move.  Be still… listen… and move.

I found my way to the bench.  A small clearing with traces of marshmallows melted and sticks charred.  I’ve watched from my kitchen sink countless time… I wonder if I forgot to come out here… I wonder if I forgot to move… one too many times.

The sound of squeals woven through the blowing breeze on this day.  This wind of change blowing His holy purpose through our comfortable secret garden.

The plans we make, the routines that keep us flowing in forward motion, the secret gardens where we hide from the world.  This garden where we have been planted for a decade… where we bloomed into something entirely new.  From five to eight of us.  From blindness to sight.  From stillness to motion.  From doubt to devotion.  From fear to faith.

I just don’t know.  I have no idea.  This one moment in time to the next burst of wind.  Unpredictable.

With each gust, this crescendo of hope.  This hope that His holy purposes cast our doubts to the wind.

path

I have no idea where this will take us.

The one thought in my mind… the whispers growing louder… my sight growing clearer… it’s a promise.  The number he flashes before me over and over.  This number… He has reminded me to pay attention to Him again and again.  He has a way with all of us… if we would just pay attention.

It’s 3:33 pm.

I smile.

I hear You.

I know it’s time to move.  To leave this place where our roots have grown stronger.

It’s time to move into the plan of His choosing.

I know this.  This wind of change is the one worth riding.  This wind that whispers, that beckons, that commands… this wind is the breath of Life.

The breath of life that brings me to leave the secret garden…

and the kitchen sink.

 

Jeremiah 33:3

Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.

Karin signature

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, God's Promises, Hope, Military Tagged With: when it's time to move, winds of change

September 20, 2012 by Karin 4 Comments

The eye-view from above

Airborne.

Have you ever wanted to step into someone else’s shoes?  Just for a minute to see this world through his eyes?  See what he sees.

To find the answers to questions that ripple through a mind… after a long day as mama

what takes a dear daddy from his family for too many hours?

too many days?

too much time?

The practical reasons are clear.  A living must be made.  Providing for seven more, plus self… a beautiful gift… and a precious load, all at the same time.  The honorable reasons are treasured… protection of country… of home… of us.

What if you could trade places for one day?  (I joke that his day would be tougher in the trade…)

What does he see when he is away from us?

The chance to see out… through the soul windows of another.  The eyes of the other half of my soul.

Airborne.

The steely gray bird lifts into the air, carrying all of us in her cavernous belly.

The red mesh seats folded down, oxygen packs nestled behind our heads… a reassuring pillow.

The thrill of anticipation.  This gift to a warrior’s wife.  Sliding behind a warrior’s eyes for just a short time.  Seeing what he sees.  This view from above.

Breathtaking.

I have flown many times… this is different.  The open belly, the impending mission.  Unknown to this mama of six.

I get to see what he sees.

This pilot of mine… this is why he loves it so much.

It’s odd, how peaceful, how calm the world appears from thousands of feet in the air… how slow and orderly it all seems from up there,  surpassing any possible ground speed.

The rumble of the engines, a calming tune.

Then, the words.

They are 5 minutes out.

Racing heart.

I can’t believe I get to see this!

Do this!

The windows to the sky… lying in wait.  I peer out… roads, rivers, wrapped around fields of green.  The smattering of billowy clouds break the endless blue.  Then I see them.  The jets.  The angular machines, like the beloved toys of my children… small in the distance… growing larger… towards the belly of this steel bird.

It is like a nursing mother

I had joked with my husband.  He laughed.  They call them chicks.  Following the mama.  Chicks in tow.

The boom awaits the first thirsty Falcon.  Stunned, I watch as the two merge by just one small opening.  The larger bird giving fuel to the smaller.  Hundreds of miles an hour they fly… only feet apart… then attached.  The skill of the steady hands I see… the flier, the boom operator… the dance in the sky is perfect precision.

this is what he sees

this is how the world looks to him, when he is away from us

this view ~ exhilarating

My giddy excitement at watching this… one of those moments in life, you can’t quite believe to be real.

I see why he loves this so much

I see the beauty of below

I see it more clearly from up here

To see the world as my warrior sees it… just for a little while.

My mind goes to Him… to God.

This is what He sees…

but infinitely more

The shutter clicking furiously… I do not want to miss a second of this.  I want to absorb this moment… to store it deep, for the times I wonder where he is.  I want to remember to see… what he sees.  The earth from up high, through my warrior’s eyes.

don’t forget to see with your eyes…

A friend whispers from my side… hers too, an airborne warrior.

don’t forget to see with your eyes

I lower the rabid camera… peering at the sight before me.  This time meant to live right here… now.  Be present in this moment.  His eye-view meant to be a glimpse.  A glimpse of the God-eye view.

this spectacular beauty lost in the rush on the ground

A thought… the mom-eye view… on the ground.  The spectacular beauty around me… every day.

don’t forget to see…

with your eyes.

Be present in this moment.  His glory all around.

 

Isaiah 33:17

Your eyes will see the king in his beauty and view a land that stretches afar.

Filed Under: Faith, Joy, Military, Together Tagged With: faith, life as a military wife, love of country

September 3, 2012 by Karin Leave a Comment

The Greatest Treasure Found…in the Packing Up of a Life

We walked into the room.  My friend and I.

A lifetime of stuff piled in front of our eyes.

We were here as an offering…

His hands… His feet

A timid offering in the very middle of this field of grief.

We came in service…

to honor a woman I had never known

to help a man… a friend to my warrior… a man I had just met

to serve a God my eyes have never seen

My friend and I, we stopped… breath gripped in our throats, hearts heavy… we prayed.

Help us to be like You

We looked at each other, having just wrapped arms around little ones… little ones who face this earth with a brave daddy… while a mama prepares a home in heaven.

this is hard

please guard our hearts… keep us focused… pour Your water through us

We went to task.  A mama’s work.  Sorting, cleaning, organizing, boxing, moving, trashing, saving…

The saving

She, a mama like us, saving her treasures.  Baby blankets, toddler shoes, tooth fairy secrets, photos, cards… the treasures we mamas save… the things we can’t bear to part with… fearing that parting with the things means parting with time.  This time… now.  Parting with the time of our little ones’ youth… the precious baby years… the years that our young ones run, love uninhibited, arms wide-open… to mama.

He guarded our hearts for a time.  Through hours, He pointed us to our work.

Then a memento… a smiling photograph… a joy-filled time… peeked through the piles.

It could be mine

The clothing, left on hangers, the gear of her warrior husband, the children’s clothes… in all imaginable sizes.  She, a warrior’s wife… a mother of six…

it could be my house

my stuff

my memories

These things we all love to save.  We packed her things… these memories we long to hold… into boxes.  The treasures left behind, we tucked away, to ease a heart-break at their mere sight.

I save all the same things.  I don’t know why really.  Perhaps a “pack rat” tendency inherited from parents who lost everything while a world was at war?  Life as a warrior’s wife requires the thinning of things… but, I save nonetheless.

I save every memory I can

in the hopes that I will somehow be able to come back

Come back to the same place in my mind… the place I am joyful, the place I love so much… this place of motherhood.

I save for my own.  The treasures I hope may trigger a childhood memory… tucked far beneath… only to be brought into the light… by one small trinket.

I sat on her floor… sifting through her prizes of motherhood.  I prayed for her children… for her husband.  I prayed that the memories never travel too far from their young minds… until they can see her loving mother eyes again.

I held her things… and felt my own mortality… I held it in my hands.

These things.  They do matter.  What I saw in this sifting and packing up a life…

The things stay here… the memories that they trigger are the treasure

The greatest treasure she left them?  The thing I have seen most of all… in their young eyes…

She taught them about Him.  She surrounded them with Him.  They know where mama is… where she waits for them… they know she waits with Him…

this is her greatest treasure

 

2 Corinthians 4:6-7

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

Filed Under: Faith, Friendship, Joy, Military, Motherhood Tagged With: faith, friendship, joy, military, motherhood

August 29, 2012 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Find Yourself on the Sidelines…or in the field…of Grief

Seasons of grief.

Doesn’t it seem like there are seasons in life filled with grief?  One story follows another, and we wonder…

how much more?

The grief is not always right at our doorstep…

sometimes it is only a few steps away…

sometimes we are bystanders ~ standing on the sidelines of pain

sometimes our feet cross the line… we are on the field… the sorrow is ours to share.

My season began in March.  She was one of my closest… one of a small handful… she knew the one I had been before… and the one I am now.

You know, the kind of friend who remembers who you were before you took on the titles of Mrs. and Mama.

I remember who she was then, too, before she became Mrs. and Mama.

I crossed the line onto the field of grief.  I didn’t pay much attention to the ones on the sidelines.  I knew they were there.  Praying.  My warrior, my babies, my friends…  It brought comfort.  The prayers eased the weight on this heart.

I remember the day she called me… filled with tears… fears.  They didn’t know how far the cancer had spread yet.  In hindsight, they had it all wrong anyway.  Three years she lived that life… she didn’t want to be defined by that word.

She grew in her faith.  I suppose she could have turned the other way…

I thank Him every day that she turned to Him ~ not away.

All the conversations we had once upon a time… they all turned to Him now.  By His grace ~ her faith grew… until she went home to Him in March.

Another…

A warrior friend.  We would receive words from him while he battled for life.  The amazing words from him were filled with hope, love, praises for God’s goodness.  While his body faltered… fell to the disease… his faith grew.  His spiritual strength he poured into the words he shared.  His one question… left as a reminder to us, still here…

have I served God well?

We were but spectators of family grief.  Offering what we had.  Prayer.  Presence.

Again…

A godly woman.  Wife to a God-serving, country-serving man.  Mother to a six pack of her own.  The story itself brings Job to mind.  The burdens just too much for one man to bear.  A loving wife passing into the arms of a Savior, six small children ~ a little one suffering illness herself, a loving father taking on everything he can hold… struggling to reach the top of the water… just to breathe.

The grief, the sorrow, the struggle ~ observed from the sidelines.

That’s just when it is time.  Time to step across into the grief.  That place we don’t want to be.  That season we fear.

Grief taken on… to shoulder the burden together.

If He had wanted us to be islands… He would have made us islands…

Wise words from this man, who by God’s mercy, has not crumbled under his sorrow.

I think of this season.  Puzzled by a flicker of joy.  The chance to provide help… blessed to be a blessing.

The joy perhaps a sense of His arms wrapping around?  Him using us to show His presence… His love… His yoking with us in this walk.

The thing about grief… no matter how far you find yourself from the line ~ whether caught on the field in a blur of pain, or on the sidelines, observing the swell of sorrow ~ the thing is… we are all in this.  We are not islands.

We are meant…

to be present for each other…

to provide for each other…

to pray for each other.

 

Matthew 11:28-30

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

 

 

 

Filed Under: Friendship, Hope, Love, Military, Together Tagged With: friendship, hope, love, military, sharing burden

August 23, 2012 by Karin Leave a Comment

A Question Before Dying

We slid in quietly.  Sat in the back, my husband and I.

The somber, familiar feeling overwhelmed as we gathered to bid farewell to a friend.

A husband, a father, a son, a brother.  A friend to hundreds… thousands… as was evident in the gathering.

The ceremony a comforting ritual… heartfelt words… godly wisdom.

I couldn’t stop thinking of his family.

A beautiful wife, two sons on the edge of childhood… entering manhood, a little girl… the same age as my young daughter.

His parents, his siblings, his friends… his brothers-in-arms… a collective body ~ praying.  Prayers of thanksgiving for the man he was… thanksgiving for the servant he was… thanksgiving for the love he shared with so many.

A warrior, like my own… a fighter pilot, like my own, sharing the bond of sacrifice.

The rows of people, dark-clad, muffled tears.

Then the sobs of a child

a little girl

wanting her daddy back… here

The priest spoke of love.  He spoke of Christ’s love.  He spoke of our friend’s devotion to his Lord.

Do you know what was most on his mind before he passed into the arms of His savior?  A question.

He knew God would watch over his family, he knew they would be reunited in the paradise we await.  He knew it was all just a matter of time.

His thought ~ the question he asked the godly counselor…

Have I served God well?

It was the question he repeated in the week before his passing.

The priest spoke of Romans 6… he asked us to read it in honor of our friend.

I did.

Dead to Sin, Alive in Christ

I poured over the words… drinking them in with the hope that they would finally and completely take hold.

The life I live, I live to God

The question is one that is swelling in my mind… squeezing thoughts of self out of the way.  I want the question to take hold… I want the question to be the first question in the gift of a new morning… a new sunrise with my six pack… I want the question to be the last thought my conscious mind holds… trusting Him to take care of all of it ~ of all of us.

Have I served God well?

Am I serving God well?

Will I serve God well?

That we would all embrace this thought… do we serve God well?

Romans 6:23

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

 

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Filed Under: Faith, Friendship, Love, Military Tagged With: faith, friendship, love, military

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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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