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April 14, 2014 by Karin 15 Comments

When It’s Time To Live – My Messy Beautiful Truth

Here I am. Fingers poised.

I did it again. I signed up for a project, not really knowing what I was signing up for. I do that sometimes. I think if God wants us to follow Him faithfully and step out into the unknown, sometimes we actually have to. Step out into the unknown, that is.

Then I found out more about it. I have to write the real, messy beautiful truth about who I am. Argh. Not that I want to really keep it all to myself, it just seems so painfully introspective. Almost narcissistic. And, man oh man; I don’t want to be narcissistic. There are too many millions out there who don’t have the luxury of sitting at a computer playing mind-mellowing tunes while they pick apart their own anxieties and deep-seated isms. But, it’s what I signed up for. And I like to follow through. I like to do what I say I’m going to do. I think that’s a big deal. There. That’s one part of me.

I like follow through because it’s the same as telling the truth. And I like to tell the truth. But, I don’t like mean. Not that kind of truth-telling. Not the,

Hey, I really don’t dig that shirt… or hat… or purse…

Not that kind of truth-telling. It’s really not necessary. Unless someone asks. Really asks. You know, the girlfriend who wants it straight,

How do the jeans really look?

I’ve had friends like that. And I need them. I miss them.

See, in the military, you get to start over and over again. Like anything else, it carries the great and the gruesome with it. You clean your house and your heart, and you pack up and leave.

There’s an excitement and a refreshing order that comes with going to the new normal. You get to start from scratch. But, scratch can hurt. The scratch can bring cuts and wounds and tears. The hardest part, it brings tears from your kids. Those are the worst ones. You just can’t un-live some places for them. The heart places. They have to go there, just like you do. The best you can do is grab their hands and hold on. We only become warriors by going to war – by going to battle against the dark places. Outside of us – but, first, inside of us.

I’m married to a warrior – the kind who flies fighters and goes to war. I’m a mom of six kids. That makes me a warrior in some ways. Six more souls to go to battle for. It also shows me God had to give me more practice in patience than most. Each one of my littles is a hill on which I die. Another place to die to myself. And I really want to die to myself, though it took me over four decades to figure out what that means.

So, who am I? That’s the assignment. I’ll just go right to the fears. We all have those. It’s not such a tough place to start.

I’m afraid of heights. Really afraid. Like knee buckling, heart racing, dizzying fear. I’m not so much afraid of falling; more that I’ll forget I’m up high and jump. Pretty strange, I know. What scares me more is I’ll miss some really cool moments with my kids because of this fear. I already have. Roller coasters and lighthouses. I missed that time on the lighthouse. I have pictures, but they’re just not the same. What’s worse, my baby girl is more petrified than I am. And, I’m sure it’s my fault. Guilt. That’s a whole other subject, isn’t it?

I’m afraid something will happen to my kids. I know we all are, but I don’t want to be like Nemo’s dad. I want them to live. Really live. I don’t know what to do about this fear. So, I pray. But, sometimes I worry I don’t pray enough – or the right way. Like God’s giving me some prayer exam and I am one question away from failing. I want to get it right – like it all depends on me.

Which brings me to the next fear. It all depends on me (and I worry about narcissism?), and I’m going to completely mess up my kids. I had a great childhood. Good parents, good brothers, good friends. And I never had to move. Ever. Same house, same town – until I left for college. And I hardly ever went back. And that’s it, I think. I hardly ever went back. There’s the root of my fear. My kids will take off and live and never come back.

Beautiful Life

My parents still live in the same house and I hardly ever go back. We live too far away, and it’s not easy to road trip 3000 miles with six kids. The worst part – my mom has Alzheimer’s, or something like it. We aren’t sure because she’s not the biggest fan of doctors. Every phone call, I try to memorize the brief conversation. She’s my mom. It’s been called the long goodbye, but it’s more than that. Imagine your life as a time line. You cruise along collecting memories and suddenly the one who gave you life, the one who held your new baby body, the one who taught you everything about being a girl and a woman – is living a sliding scale. The memories slide to the right leaving everything to the left – your whole past – behind. The memories become yours – alone. And I hate it. That old saying,

We’ll always have the memories.

Yea, but sometimes we won’t.

Fear of man. It’s one of the worst. Being afraid of what people think. It’s almost paralyzing sometimes. We can say (and when I say “we,” I mean “I”) we don’t care what people think. But, we do. The problem with this fear? It keeps us caged. Stifled. Half alive. And the worst part, we miss the best parts of the turning pages of these passing years. We read only half of every page, which leads us through only half of the book. We miss some of the best parts, but we’ll never know it – until the end when all the pages are open under the sun. I’m not saying finding favor with man is wrong. Wise old King Solomon told us it’s a good and honorable thing to have. It shouldn’t be the goal; but it shouldn’t be the hindrance.

Love is a big deal. Love and mercy are mission number one. But, don’t you know, there’s always going to be someone who wants to shoot you down. And, that’s why we’re warriors. Because we are willing to let people shoot at us. Because we know what’s at stake – our very lives. Our real lives. The ones we are supposed to live – wild and free. Just like that rebel Jesus.

It’s funny, the more you talk about your fears, the smaller they get; and the braver you become. And, man, I want to be brave. I want to be brave for my kids every time they face the dark places. I want them to be brave in the face of angry and critical eyes. I want them to be brave when the angry and critical eyes are the ones facing them in the mirror. Because we can be brutal with ourselves. I want to show them what brave looks like. I want to show them forgiveness is the bravest thing you can do – especially to yourself. I want them to see what it means to carry a cross and to sacrifice. And I want to love their daddy well. I want to be brave for my warrior every time he steps out to battle. And sometimes love is the battlefield (thank you, Pat Benatar…). I want to show them that this is not all there is; but this is all worth fighting for. And, then I think of her.

She’s been gone two years now. The kind of friend who would tell you in her sweetest southern drawl that those jeans were just all wrong. She would smile and hum,

Girrrrl… huh-uh. Those are all wrong, girl.

Man, I miss her. Two years is a lot of life to keep to yourself. So, here’s the thing. My girl, she could stress with the best of them. We could talk in the dark of a booth in a remote restaurant, and just as she poised herself for true confessions, her ears would perk and her eyes would shift,

Do you think anyone heard me?

She pretty much cared what people thought. For a long time. Until she got sick.

Cancer will kill more than healthy cells. It will kill any inkling of fear of what your purpose here is. It will kill any thoughts about what anyone else thinks. It will make you brave and strong and grateful for this very moment, even while you are scared and weak and the moments pass by. It will make you grow up and wake up. It will make you see things you forgot to look at. It will make your eyes new again with more tears than you can count. She was brave and I want to be just like her.

I could go on. But, well, there comes a point we have to stop. We have to get a grip and stop being afraid. I don’t know how to change it all. I don’t know how to erase the fears, but I know a God with a mighty powerful pen. I am fairly certain He can write over anything we ask. In fact, I know He will.

So, I am just going to start here – with pen and ink. I’m going to ask Him to re-write my view of heights through His eyes. The places that seem too high for me are just footstools. He has higher and holier places to take us. Maybe I can just step on one of these footstools, then take the next step, and the next…

My kids. Yes – motherhood. This place He shows me how wrong I can be – while being right where I am supposed to be. I guess I’ll just have to remind them I never doubted them when I let go of their hands… or they let go of mine. And I would fight the world for them; but, that’s not what they – or the world – need. The best I can do is throw these fears onto a page to tell them, and you, we are really all in this together. Some same, some different, but we are all sweating bullets over the pages we haven’t even gotten to yet. And those faded chapters? They show us how far we’ve come.

I want to live this epic tale. I don’t want to miss any more of the story meant for me. And whatever I miss, I’ll ask Him to please have a white-washed beach for me in heaven – somewhere breath-taking, with a hammock and a cold drink – where I can finish reading the parts I missed until now.

 

Romans 8:15

For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”

Karin Madden

Messy beautiful

(This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, Click Here. And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, Click Here.)

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, Hope, Marriage, Military, Motherhood, Together Tagged With: fear, messy beautiful warrior life, time to get a grip

April 11, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

The Party You Are Invited To Join

It’s easy to hole up inside, isn’t it?

It’s easy to find a comfortable spot, close the door, and lock out the rest of the world.

It’s easy to do this when you’re tired; and it’s even easier when you have to start all over again.

It’s hard to leave your real life friends.  It’s hard when they have to leave you.

It’s hard to pull yourself together for a coherent conversation when all you want to do is hide, or sleep, or survive.

But, we weren’t made to hide or just survive.

It’s hard to get out there and be real.

Karin in Montana

But, it gets easier with each step toward the door… with each new friend.

Come meet us at the park…

4-ish?

The text lit up my phone; a smile lit up my face.

We’ll be there…

We fall into the trap believing God doesn’t care about the in’s and out’s of our days.  Those minutes in the day when we wonder,

What difference does it really make?

The truth… it is in the smallest details of our lives where we really live.  In the daily duties, routine requirements, and sometimes mundane monotony – this is where our breath meets the breath of God.  The small things matter to Him.

Skiers

The children we feed, and clothe, and teach, and adore.  The spouses we support, and battle, and love.  The places we wrestle and realize what it really means to sacrifice.  The places we carry our crosses, and realize sometimes we are someone else’s cross to bear.

The friends who carry us through care-free laughter to crying discouragement.  The real life ones and the ones we seek in the quiet recesses of late night stillness.  Somewhere behind computer screens.

The internet.  This generation’s backyard picket fence.  The way we find each other.  The place we meet, hearts on our sleeves, to remember we are not alone.

Red Barn

So, today I throw my dance card out there with a group at 5 Minutes for Mom (and, man, do we sometimes need 5 minutes… or 50). They are hosting the 2014 Ultimate Blog Party. And, we could use a good party.

If you are visiting from the Ultimate Blog Party 2014, welcome!  You’ve found the place I rise at sunrise (or something like that) with my pack of six.  I write about faith through the eyes of a mom, military wife, and woman who spent more than three decades believing in a distant God.  This is the place I re-live the moments of madness in motherhood and genuine gratitude.

I’m glad you’re here.

Thank You Boot

If you’ve been reading along with me for a while… I want you to know, I am grateful.  I am truly thankful you have taken a few minutes from your day to meet me at the picket fence.  I hope the words I etch in this place bring you inspiration and encouragement.

I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.  ~ Mother Teresa

Thank you for being part of my sunrise.

 

Proverbs 17:17

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Community, Faith, Friendship, Together Tagged With: 5 minutes for mom, friendship, in this together

February 19, 2014 by Karin 4 Comments

When We Drop The Mask

When did this whole thing start?

The whole dress up fancy and put on your best face for church thing. And I’m not talking about clothes here.

A pastor said something recently – something that made me think…

There are two reasons people don’t go to church:

  1. They have never met a Christian.
  2. They have.

Ouch. Sucker punch.

Mostly because it’s true.

Growing up I often saw the prim, proper, and pressed folks who headed out every Sunday morning.

Some of them were truly kind, salt of the earth types. Some of them… were not.

Winter Mountains

It always puzzled me, so I decided at a pretty young age that I didn’t fit in with that crowd.  I did go for a time.  I did meet some gems of this world.  It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to see beyond the sparkle and dazzle of His gems.  And sometimes we feel dull and rough by comparison.  Comparison… and that’s a whole other road block in this quest of ours.

Reflections

I did pray. I talked to God – He seemed quite distant. But, the people who flocked to His house often turned me right off. It seems awfully judgy of me, but I was a kid. What did I know?

What I didn’t know, the Owner of the House is a radical lover of all the ones we label as derelicts and losers.

The Man they were going to see flipped the temple into a tizzy with his anger.

The Son of Man hung out with the bottom of the barrel. Nothing prim and proper about these friends of His.

What I didn’t know… He can and will use anyone who is willing.

I am not saying we have to dress like slobs to make a point.

I am not saying we have to spew words that wound or shock simply for shock and spew value.

I am not saying nice clothes, good manners, and just plain decency are all wrong. Not at all. I’m a fan of all these things.

I am saying… masks are. Masks are all wrong.

I don’t know a soul who has been reached through false pretenses and pretty pictures – that are backed by nothing.

I don’t know a soul who has felt welcomed into the presence of God through shame and feeling less than.

I don’t know a soul who wants to go to a church full of people who seem perfect.

And maybe I am pointing a finger at myself.

Maybe I am pointing a finger at my own attempt to make this life seem easier than it is.

Maybe I am looking square into the mirror and wondering why in this desperate world we still think it’s ok to hide what is real. 

And maybe I’m wondering when we will finally get over ourselves…

Because there are plenty of aching souls waiting for us to stop looking in – and start looking out.

Sun through the trees

This life.

It is beautiful. And brutal.

It is exquisite. And exhausting.

It is glorious. And grueling.

It is a gift. Every minute.

It is hard, and lonely, and precious, and ugly, and surreal, and solemn, and spectacular. It touches every inch of the spectrum from left to right and back again.

And, it would be so much easier to see – without the masks.

It would be so much easier to relate – to the real stories.

It would be so much easier to touch the next soul – with the barricade lowered.

It would be so much easier to see Him in each other’s eyes – with our faces bare naked.

Shadows

There is an awkward squirm when the true face begins to reveal itself.

A nervous fear of what they might think.

A trembling step into an unknown arena.

And we wonder,

What will happen now?

Here I am. That’s it. The real deal.

And when the mask lowers and we look into the questioning eyes – the eyes that may not have seen Him anywhere else yet – the eyes that wonder what this whole thing is really all about…

Masked baby

When we lower the mask and show our faces as we really are, we might hear a sigh of relief and a small whisper,

Me too. I get you.

And when the questioning eyes begin to see a reflection of themselves, the tense muscles loosen. The doubtful face softens. This one who has been searching, but hasn’t quite filled the hole.

Mama love

When this face peers into the maskless face, and the absence of the mask reveals truth…

They just might see Someone else in our eyes.

 

Ephesians 4:25

Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are all members of one body.

 

***Do you wonder if your story matters?  Last week I had the joy of being interviewed by Lisa Buffaloe of Living Joyfully Free Radio.  Lisa is an amazing woman who, through her interviews, shares incredible God stories on her radio show.  We talked about the ways God pursues us, and in this pursuit – we all have stories that matter.   Click here to listen.***

Karin Madden

Filed Under: Faith, Together Tagged With: drop the mask, the real deal

January 31, 2014 by Karin 12 Comments

Why We Drill Holes In The Frozen Places

Sometimes I just have to write to feel my fingers dancing on the keyboard. I think it must be this way for all artists. And we are all artists.

I think about the gifts God gives us; the ones we have no idea are swimming just below the surface while we dance and skate across the top of the pond. We fly through the air and forget there are treasures swimming just below the frozen lid.

Sun over a frozen lake

Snow-covered mountains

My husband went ice fishing. Seems like a funny thing to do in Las Vegas… but Utah is not very far away. Utah with its snow-covered mountains and frozen lakes. It seems we are never very far from frozen places.

They drilled a hole through eight inches of ice to get to the liquid wonder where the fish dance a dance all their own. Makes me wonder how many inches of ice God must drill through to get the core of us… and, why do we keep re-freezing? The drilling is hard work.

Drilling the frozen places

Hole in the Ice

This got me to thinking about frozen lakes. I have never stepped foot onto a lake so thick in ice you could dance on it. I grew up in the South. One year when I was a kid, the lake we grew up on invited my dad and me for a swim on December 31. I’ve never seen a frozen lake. But, I know the frozen places…

The frozen parts – we all have them. We can step out and slip and slide in all directions not knowing where we may end up. We can skate in one direction and spin around to find ourselves somewhere else entirely. All the while, the thought tickles the back of our minds,

Will the ice break?

Will we fall into the frigid depths and sink to the unknown… a dark, murky nowhere kind of place?

Or is there something more?

Frozen Lake

One of the guys put on a life jacket while the others held a rope tied to his waist. He carefully tread onto the ice and found a spot to drill with the auger. The ice was thick enough. He called the rest of the crew out and they set up ice fishing shop. Chairs, fishing rods, and whatever else guys use when they go ice fishing…

The funny thing is, my warrior told me that the fish are slower in this murk beneath the frozen roof. They slowly drift to the lines and bump against them. No hurry. No excessive hunger it appears… just icy cruising until one gets curious enough to bite.

Three Fish

I wonder what we would find if we drilled beneath our frozen surfaces – the pieces slowly being drilled away by God. I wonder if the pace would be slower… if the dance would look a little bit different. I wonder if the treasure lies just beneath the surface.

And what about the fishing? We are all fishermen, that is… fishers of men, you know. How slowly and cautiously the fish swim around us when we are, well, frozen.

Who wants to swim to a line when the holder of the life line is chilly and cold?  Or, maybe, this holder won’t give a glimpse of what’s underneath the surface.

But, sometimes these frozen places feel just so safe.  It’s almost easier to sit frozen and still – easier than holding out a line, or a hand… or a heart.

Walking on Ice

We cast our lines through the small holes – the ones we’ve allowed God to drill. But, the rest… it’s all a slippery surface. Would knows where the icy patches are safe? Who knows what false move may cause the plunge?

Yea, and when the ice does crack, and we find ourselves submerged – down in the depths with the rest of the fish – we are told the best thing to do is… stay calm.

And maybe if we stay calm in these places where the fish slowly nudge, we may just survive.  Rise to the surface where the sun’s light blinds us all.

And here, we can breathe this deep breath of relief. We can see that the icy places are really not the safe places. They are really not the sturdy shield we have so carefully created.

When it all melts enough to bring us to this place where we have to remain calm… or sink… then, we can really become fishermen.

There’s not much that separates us from the fish swimming below the surface.  Just a sheet of ice.

Before we know it, the Son melts it all away. 

And, in the warmth, the fish begin to bite…

 

Matthew 4:19

“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.”

Karin Madden

Filed Under: Faith, Together, Trust Tagged With: fishers of men, ice fishing, the frozen places

December 10, 2013 by Karin 6 Comments

What To Do When The Guide Gets Lost

He looked up at me with those big blue innocent eyes.

We had travelled for weeks.  Traveling can do a number on your digestive system.  Especially when you are prone to allergies.  Especially when you are six.

He didn’t want to go alone.  They never do.  The bathroom still ranks in the top three for most popular mama dates.

We were visiting friends.  Friends we miss.  Friends who have captured and taken hostage pieces of our hearts.

We condensed ten years of life into two weeks.  It seemed more like 43 years of life, to tell you the truth.  That whole thing about uncovering your roots.

I primped in the mirror as he contemplated 6-year-old life.

Mama, you know what I am most afraid of?

Examining my wrinkles and tired eyes in the mirror, I murmured,

Hm, what’s that, sweetie?

His face formed that thoughtful look he gets when he purses his lips and the one darling dimple in his right cheek burrows and begs a mama kiss.

I’m afraid of when you and Daddy die.

Who will guide us?

My eyes blurred in the mirror.  Where do they come up with this stuff?  Who knows the depth of a human heart?  No matter the age.

Oh baby, don’t be afraid.

Do you trust me?

He nodded his blonde head vigorously, still perched on his throne.

To infinity and back, Mama.

I kneeled before him and took his soft young chin in my hand,

Well, you can trust God even more than that.

He’s the one guiding Mama and Daddy.

Even when we go, He will keep guiding all of you.

You will never… never… be alone.

He looked into my eyes with a seriousness beyond his young years.  He paused just to take it all in.

Then with a twinkle, he replied,

Ok, mommy.

His face went from contemplative stare to a childish grin.

I’m done.

His question caught me off guard.  I don’t know why I am ever surprised anymore.  Sometimes we find our deepest fears in our most vulnerable positions.  We find surprises and depth in the most ordinary of places.  Even the potty.

The next day was the end of this whirlwind tour.  We flew with the six pack for endless hours which seemed to multiply with each impatient shriek from the two-year-old.

Finally, home.  The for-now home.

Elated to be back in our own beds no matter the zip code.

There’s just something about Christmas time that brings all our memories and emotions to a volcanic crescendo.  Good… and not so good.

Another trip for my warrior left me solo with the littles for a short stretch of time.

The doing, and buying, and decorating, and preparing can just about do you in.  It can just about snuff out the joy… and gratitude.

The words of a new friend lingered in my thoughts… center and savor.  Amy spoke truth when she reminded me to center and savor this season.  The drive to perfection just gets in the way.  Perfection today could have just been called minimal madness.

And it got the best… rather, the worst, of me.  A complete mama-meltdown.  When in the world will I learn? How many years does it take to become that wise, calm, peaceful mother who looks knowingly across her room to see that the little things truly are the big things?  The tiny pieces of this puzzle are what make the whole tapestry beautiful.  Not a piece can be replaced.

But, me, I had a hissy fit.  A snarling, self-centered pity party.  Invites were sent to all my kids.  They were thrilled.

The tears flowed and doors slammed.  All me.  The prettiest pictures can’t avoid the truth of our natures.  Not so pretty.

Forgiving arms wrapped around mama’s neck.  Cheeks were dried and kisses lavished.

That whole guiding thing?  Don’t follow me today.  It’s a rocky road. 

Decorations resumed and moods improved.  It wasn’t until hours later that I found her note.  My little girl who watched the lava flow from her frazzled mom.

Dear Mom, I’m sorry your upset.  I just wanted to say, I love you.

Snowman Love

Just the right words

How in the world do they get it?  When a mother just breaks right down and loses her way.

How in the world do the stay on the path?  When mama gets lost in the woods.

How in the world do they know the words?  When mom spews anger from her mouth.

Unless, they have found the better guide.  The only Guide.  

The One who shows them just where to go… and what to say.  The One who whispers the truth when human words confuse the vocabulary.

Children.  They really get it so much more than we do.  God takes our best effort at mothering… at parenting… and turns it into something unimaginable.

A journey to His heart.

 

Deuteronomy 4:39

Acknowledge and take to heart this day that the Lord is God in heaven above and on the earth below. There is no other. 

Karin Madden

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Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Faith, Family, Motherhood, Patience, Together, Trust Tagged With: mama meltdowns, motherhood, Patience, together, trusting God

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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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