The Good Stuff Archives - Page 5 of 6

October 4, 2013 by Karin Leave a Comment

How To Really Be Brave (one for the kids)

~ Day 4 ~

I remember her face. I even remember her name.

Katie.

I didn’t know anything about her, but I remember the way people treated her.

She appeared awkward and shy. It was mostly the boys, but there were a few girls, too. The ones who weren’t picking on her stood back and laughed.

I just watched. I mean, what else could I do?

I was only in 7th grade. It was a big school and we all know that junior high isn’t a confidence builder. It’s a tough age. Those middle years.

Most of us just watched.

We watched while they poked and picked and laughed. I knew Katie was in the slower classes, but I didn’t really know much about what that meant back in the early 1980’s.

I felt sorry for her. I wished they would just leave her alone.

I see now. Instead of leaving her alone… I wish someone would have not left her alone. I wish someone would have stood next to her.

I wish I would have been brave.

I wish I had stood next to her.

This story is for kids like Katie.

I pray my kids will learn to stand. Not watch.

Thank you, Joan, for sharing this beautiful story…

One summer day while doing some gardening in the front of my house, there were several children playing out in the street. A little red hair, freckle-faced boy came along and wanted to join them. Most of the kids started laughing at him and calling him names. He started to cry, and I was going to go over and say something to the other kids, when I noticed one of the boys who was playing picked up the ball. The red-headed boy sat on the curb and just cried. The boy with the ball said something to the other boys and then walked over to the red-headed boy and sat down. Since they were sitting on the curb right in front of my house, I could hear what they were saying. This is what I heard…

The young boy with the ball put his arm around him and told the red-headed boy not to cry. But, the red-headed boy said, “They called me ugly and won’t play with me.” The boy with the ball wiped the tears from the red-headed boy and said, “You’re not ugly. God doesn’t make anyone ugly.” Then he hugged the red-headed boy and said, “I will always be your friend and we can play ball together.”

I had tears in my eyes and went into my house and got each of them an ice pop. I lived there for a long time, and watched those two boys grow up to be best friends. Amazing. That happened over 30 years ago and those boys, now men, are still friends with families of their own.

May we learn to defend the weak.

May we learn to stand.

God doesn’t make anyone ugly.

Psalm 82:3

Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed.

(Day 1 is here)(Day 2 is here)(Day 3 is here)

October 2, 2013 by Karin Leave a Comment

Let Your Light Shine

31 Days of Good Deeds

~Day 2~

This story, posted by a friend of mine, is the story that prompted me to look for more good deeds.

Most of the time we like to retaliate. Repay unkindness with some other type of unkindness. This isn’t the way we are called to live. This isn’t the way that makes us happy. This isn’t the way we find peace and joy.

I tell my kids,

Be nice.

Over and over again. Sometimes, it isn’t that simple. Sometimes, it takes making a decision that feels quite unnatural.

Sometimes, it takes hearing a story about someone who made the right decision… and deciding to be more like him.

And, in the end, more like Him…

Here is my friend’s story.

I just had an interesting experience at Starbucks. The drive through is set up in such a way that you can enter two ways. It is customary to take turns approaching the order area. Anyway, I waited my turn and could tell the next car in line didn’t want to wait. They quickly cut me off. I gave the two college-aged boys a what’s going on expression and asked them to roll down their window. They proceeded to cuss me out and say it was their turn and they had been there 10 minutes. Well, this is not the first time someone has done this to me this week, and I’ve had enough with people. So, I seriously considered getting out of my truck, pulling the guy out of his car, and breaking his face (sorry mom). But the thought of going to jail and leaving my wife with 5 kids over Labor Day stopped me.

Just then I seriously thought what would Jesus do. So, I let them go ahead of me and when I placed my order I told the lady I wanted to pay for their coffees, too. I could tell they were stunned when they pulled up to the window. I hope that made a bigger impact on their lives, and maybe taught them a little about courtesy and how to treat others. Hopefully they will remember this long after they would have forgotten their broken noses.

Yes. I want to be more like this.

Matthew 5:16

In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.

(Day 1 is right here…)

September 25, 2013 by Karin 2 Comments

Why We Should Tell It Like It Is

It’s hard to find your voice, isn’t it?

There are so many thoughts spiraling through our minds, but putting them into words isn’t so easy.

Most of the time, my most profound, eloquent statements come out a little bit like…

uh. hey.

We trip over words. We trip over opinions. We trip over I-don’t-want-to-offend-but-that-is-just-all-wrong. Or maybe, I am… all wrong. We trip, stumble, falter, and flail. The best of our intentions can step right out in front of a bus… and become road kill.

It’s hard to find your voice. You know, the voice you are really supposed to have. The one that is buried beneath proper decorum, benign pleasantries, and vacuous blather. I don’t mean small talk. I don’t mean pleasant conversation.

I mean… the stuff we really mean. The words we battle between our mental gymnastics and our vocal release. Lack of tact and crass ramblings are not the answer.

It is hard to find your voice. It is hard to be honest.

Not the don’t-tell-a-lie kind of honest.

The honest that reaches into the depths of our souls. The words that murmur in our spirits and long to be released. Not hurtful, rage-filled spatter. But, instead, words stirred in us by the Spirit that drives us.

I wonder why it is so hard to tell the whole truth. I wonder why we can’t own up to all the painful insecurities and just call them out on the carpet. We could then take that carpet and pound the dusty mess right out. Until the flittering specks of our dusty insecurities vanish into a forgotten mist.

We could just say,

I compare myself to you and it makes me feel like less.

I think I have it figured out, then I slip; and I just want to quit.

I want to be a good mom and wife, but I am worn out.

I feel like so much depends on me, and I just fall short.

I am plain old sick of my own voice.

Kids have it all figured out. They say just exactly what they mean. They mean just exactly what they say… until we tell them not to.

It’s just not polite. Don’t say that.

Oh, hush, don’t let them hear you.

But… it’s the truth.

Mom meltdowns sometimes bring a beautiful truth to light. Sometimes it gives these little ones a chance to step up and voice life-giving words,

You are a great mom.

Everyone gets tired and stressed out.

Mom, you’re the best.

I wonder why we can just get it right?

I know, it’s that whole fallen world thing. It is, you know. Fallen.

Why don’t we just step up from the dust with our God-given hearts and speak truth, love, and honesty into the souls we pass. We are all suffering. In one way or another. We pull that heavy old worn security blanket over our heads and stifle the life-giving words of truth.

Sometimes, we should just tell it like it is. With kindness. With grace. With these sincerely broken souls that have been given the most sincerely priceless gift.

The gift of words. The gift of the Word. The life-giving, soul-healing, love-drenching gift.

Words.

Maybe we should take a cue from these little ones who speak truth without a thought to lie. We could stop covering the screens with illusions of I’ve-got-it-all-together.

We could whisper,

Me too.

My little baby blue-eyed boy climbed into my lap. It was bedtime and mama was well past any patience that could be mustered.

I need you to go to bed.

He ignored my frazzled words. Clinging to my neck, face nuzzling in tighter, his words…

Mom, it’s all about the love.

It’s just all about the love.

How is it that they just get it?

I smiled and squeezed.

A delay tactic, maybe. The truth, definitely.

It is all about the love.

Simple words.

Maybe we don’t need to dress up our big adult words. We could just remember to say the simplest of things.

You are not alone.

I know it’s hard for you.

I will pray for you (and do it).

Remember who you are.

I think you’re a really cool person.

I love you.

We are in this together.

God loves you. Yes, even when you don’t.

It’s all about the love.

Maybe I should just forget about finding the right voice. Stop talking… and listen to my boy.

It’s all about the love.

Philemon 1:6-7

I pray that you may be active in sharing your faith, so that you will have a full understanding of every good thing we have in Christ. Your love has given me great joy and encouragement, because you, brother, have refreshed the hearts of the saints.

August 30, 2013 by Karin 4 Comments

When You Want to be Brave

I suppose I can be tough. Tough in the sense that I can bear the weight of a military marriage and the weight of mama-hood.

Tough seems like a rugged, almost steely term. Makes me sound like I am a pioneer woman or something.

I actually did refer to myself as a pioneer woman the day I came home from the hospital with my 6th baby and my husband returned to work the following morning to prepare his squadron for the impending deployment 2 weeks later.

Impending sounds a bit like doom. It felt like a bit like doom as my brood of 5 little ones ran around me while I sat very, very still in my chair holding my newborn. I felt like a pioneer woman, sent back into the fields. Tough sounds pretty rugged. Strong might be a better word. The truth is, if I have any strength, it comes straight from Him. It’s not my own.

Tough, perhaps. Strong, maybe. But, brave? Now, that I am… not.

I am not a risk taker. Not really.

You know, the kinds of risks that brave people take, like jumping out of airplanes, flying fighters, hiking to the top of Everest, or scuba diving to murky depths. Or roller coasters. I am actually kind of a wimp in those terms.

If you define brave as someone who vomits endlessly during pregnancy and then decides it might be a good idea to try that again… and again… six times, then I am brave.

But, not really. I am just a tad bit like Nemo’s dad as I recall the wisdom of bugged-eyed Dory…

I promised I’d never let anything happen to him… (Marlin)

Hmm, that’ s funny thing to promise. (Dory)

What? (Marlin)

Well you can’t never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun for little Harpo. (Dory)

You know, when a part of you is driven by fear… or worry.

This is not the best way to live in freedom. Fear is just all wrong. But, it is mighty difficult to escape.

Until you are forced out of your big, comfy chair… or house… or life.

Fighting fear, worry, and uncertainty, I keep asking Him for the answer. Then, a thought…

Be spontaneous.

Spontaneity is more difficult than it seems when you are loading a car full of kids, cups, diapers, and all things pertaining to road trip survival.

I don’t mean the kind of knee-jerk reaction that is foolish or inconsiderate of others.

I mean that whisper of an idea, the fleeting thought that makes a u-turn and tickles your thoughts again.

I mean the dreams that nudge, the hopes that tug, but you brush them aside and think…

nah, maybe later.

Not now.

That couldn’t possibly work. Could it?

Living is something I have wanted to do with my family for quite some time now. Living. Not surviving.

We all go through the survival stage with growing babies, but living has been placed in the closet on the top shelf. Just behind the box of fear and worry.

It’s time to rip off the band aid.

It’s time to open the top of the box and let it all go.

Unwrapping that carefully packaged box, I am finding treasures that had been foolishly stored away.

Treasures slowly unfolding from the dusty wrappings.

Moving from the comfortable, the regular, the staid and worn spot is showing me something…

Leaving the comfort can be lonely, but it can make you brave.

Letting go of the regular can breathe new life where you thought fresh air had been suffocated.

Moving from the worn place can open your ears to the still, small Voice.

This new place. I don’t know where it will take me. I don’t know what it holds for my family. I don’t know what adventures lie before us.

I do know that I hear Him. He whispers in the stillness.

The gentle tug I had grown accustomed to dismissing, to reasoning away, to (forgive me) ignoring has become more of a shove.

A shove to be bold. Brave.

Wonder where it will take us?

Have you felt that shove? Do you want to be brave?

I do.

Now that I have etched it in ink… I guess I’ll have to.

Where do you need a boost of brave?

We can hold each other to it…

Joshua 1:9

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

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August 15, 2013 by Karin 4 Comments

Just When You Think They Don’t Hear You

It’s that time of day again.

You know, the time when mamas with young ones brace themselves.

It’s bedtime. It’s this day that we have to go there. It’s bath day.

Ok, yes, you caught me. We don’t bathe every day… or every other…

There is no humidity here. How dirty could they really be?

But, it’s time.

I laugh to myself remembering the words of my dear old friend. She voiced the complaints of our 7th child. Actually our hearts have more than that even… 7, 8, yes… even more than that. You know how it is when your love grows to that unexpected place of loving your friends’ children like your very own…

She chuckled over the phone,

He said that the Maddens only bathe once a week!

I told him that if we had 6 kids, we would be lucky to bathe that often.

I laughed aloud, knowing that the hustle and bustle in our home looks like madness to the naked eye. Only occasionally does a little one run through the house with high-pitched joy…

Naaaaaked!

The tush disappearing around the corner.

It’s only madness… sometimes. Usually on bath night. (And, it is more often than one time a week… but it’s a good story for 11-year-old boys. Almost, bragging rights).

Tonight, is the night. And mama is solo. Bracing for impact.

The blur, the suds, the squealing, the shrieking, the it’s-my-towel, the filth running down drains, the smacking of towels intermingled giggles and wails.

Step two of my favorite time of day… brushing of teeth and brushing of wet, tangled, matted hair.

More squealing, shrieking… more myyyyyy-tooos-brush from an exhausted toddler.

More. More. More.

Usually the joy of bath time is followed by prayers with mama and ninja-fast lullabies and blanket tucking.

Not tonight.

When is the last time I stopped to read you a story?

I thought to myself as I quickly gathered a disaster pile from the path I would tread in darkness to kiss sleeping heads.

It’s been too long.

I grabbed an old favorite. The Giving Tree. That story… that story could cover novels on what it means to be a mother. That book about giving and giving until there is nothing left to give… except for the last bit of yourself. The stump of you that is left. And you give it away. And you give it away. Because nothing makes you happier than giving every last ounce to the little ones who have no idea. Not yet.

To them. It’s a story about a tree. And a boy. That is ok for now. That is all it really needs to be for now. Just giving. And loving.

They will understand later. The giving and the loving.

Silence. Every little face riveted by Shel Silverstein’s words.

Every face… except for my oldest boy. My first-born. The one I bought this book for when he was 6-years-old.

He was quite riveted by something else entirely. His iPod.

When did that happen?

How did I miss that?

The young faces, melting into the warmth of sleepiness…

Please mama, one more.

Who can say no to that?

Ok, I’ll pick one more.

Another favorite. Guess How Much I Love You. I think we would go clear past that big old moon for these little ones. Clear to the moon and right past it into the space of something much more uncertain. A place just a little scarier… and more exhilarating… motherhood.

That place we think we can figure our because we have read books… because we have younger siblings and watched our own moms do it… because we started babysitting at age 11. That place we think we can figure out because we think we know love. But, we have no idea. Until we are there. And then, we have no idea where it will take us. I’ll take this over any ride into space. This place that puts us in the most uncomfortable space. The space of you. before. me.

I read the words of Big Nut Brown Hare and his Little Nut Brown Hare.

I get you.

I thought of that big old rabbit tucking his baby into a pile of leaves.

I get you.

Finding myself flanked by two with two on my lap. Baby sleeping. Big brother… tuned into his own space. Somewhere else in his thoughts. Ear buds tuning out the sound of familiar mama cadence as I read the words.

When did this happen?

My hand patting bottoms to bed. Night time kisses. Hugs. Whispered I-love-you’s.

You didn’t listen.

I whispered to my boy. This unknown space of growing up. When do we ever really prepare for this?

Mama, I’m sorry.

He smiled sheepishly.

I know those stories. I’ve heard them so many times.

Remember?

I smiled and kissed his soft hair.

I know. I know.

Good night boys.

I love you.

Light switched dimmed the room to a memory.

A whisper…

Mama, I love you to moon and back.

That space. That space between a mama and her growing boy. In an instant… it filled. Love.

Just when you think they don’t hear you… just when you think they aren’t listening. Just when you think the space is growing too big, too far… just when you think they have forgotten. Just when you think that they might understand the giving… and the loving… sometime later.

They surprise you… and fill the space between.

John 17:24

Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.

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How To Really Be Brave (one for the kids)

Let Your Light Shine

Why We Should Tell It Like It Is

When You Want to be Brave

Just When You Think They Don’t Hear You

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