The Good Stuff Archives

October 24, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

I can’t believe it’s here.

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

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

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

You know what one of our favorites said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look into my eyes and ask me,

What does matter, Mom?

Words.

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

Words.

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

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

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

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

John 1:1

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

May 1, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

The Only Way To Grow A Garden

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll show you how to live.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then. We become parents.

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

We never knew gardening was so… hard.

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

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

And we wonder if we have what it takes.

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

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

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

Matthew 13:31-32

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

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.

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.

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.

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.”

January 13, 2014 by Karin 16 Comments

When You Need To Hear You Are Amazing

We sank down into the couch.

Coffee mugs in hand and kids run amuck through the house.

It doesn’t take long to know when you’ve met a kindred spirit. The kind you can laugh with from that place deep in your gut. The one you can cry streams of mascara with, or better yet, wear no make-up at all. The one you can share stories with that are so poignant and profound, you both get goosebumps that won’t quit.

I tend to tune the kids out at moments like this… maybe a little too well. My husband jokes it’s an acquired skill. I held up my mug proudly,

Take a look at this.

The green mug inscribed with the words “You are an amazing woman.”

Etched into the lip of the cup are the words “Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all. ~ Proverbs 31:29”

She smiled and tilted her head,

Aww.

I knew what she was thinking. A gift from my warrior. I laughed,

I got it for myself.

Her eyes widened and filled. I smiled,

You know, sometimes we have to tell this to ourselves.

The mug was a Christmas present to myself. Shopping online for my warrior – who was in dire need of a Guinness hat with the bottle opener in the bill – I stumbled across the mug that beckoned from the screen. You are an amazing woman. I need to see that. I need to drink coffee from that cup.

Add to cart.

Sometimes we just need to tell it to ourselves.

We are quick to the punch when the punch is directed at our own faces.

We are quick to stamp “bad mommy” on our chests.

We are quick to beat up and bully and berate ourselves for all the little things we get wrong. And that is all wrong. We are amazing women. I didn’t make it up. The words come right from the Source.

We are amazing and good. We fall and fail and mess-up and miss it… sometimes. But, we are amazing.

The mug doesn’t say perfect. Just amazing. And that is all we need to hear – and read – today.

So, when you happen upon a Superman T-shirt in your favorite disposable clothing store – for, say, $7 – call it a Supermom shirt and wear it.

When your kids say “you’re the best mom” – believe it.

When your husband says “you’re awesome” – know it.

When your friends say “there is no one like you” – own it.

When… you don’t hear any of these words from a single soul… listen to me… you are. I didn’t make it up.

When you see the mug that says “you are beautiful” or “you are the best” or “you are an amazing woman” – drink from it.

I didn’t make it up. HE made you up – He doesn’t mess up.

He made this jar of clay that is – you.

His cup is never-ending… let Him fill yours.

You are amazing.

Psalm 139:14

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

What Really Matters – A Letter To My Teenage Son

The Only Way To Grow A Garden

Why You Are Just A Mom

Why Every Day Should Be The Third Day

When You Need To Hear You Are Amazing

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