Walking The Path Archives

October 21, 2014 by Karin 6 Comments

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

I can remember his baby face like it was yesterday. Only two years old.

He sat on my neighbor’s lap as she sighed,

His Daddy just passed away. A brain tumor.

I stared into his gentle face as he gazed up at the wind-blown trees. There was a serious look for such a young child. As if he knew his whole life had changed in this last breath of his father. And it had.

What I didn’t know is I would see his face again four years later.

He ran past me in the gym to join his team in basketball practice. My warrior was the coach. Our oldest son’s team.

I looked at the long six-year-old legs as they flew past me and noticed the glimmer in his eyes as he raced to the court. There was a lightness in his step.

That’s when I noticed her. She brushed past me with eyes focused on her boy. I watched her as I wondered,

How have you made it all on your own?

A few more years passed by until I found that tall boy grinning on the front step as he beckoned,

Can he come out to play?

My boy ran through the door and off they went. These friends like brothers. He came around almost every day. His eyes smiled as he told me,

My Mom had to go back to work full-time.

I smiled as I squeezed his shoulders,

We’d love to have you around here.

He spent his after-school days with my neighbor, but really he found his home-away-from-home in our home. And our hearts grew. This boy who became another one of our pack.

One afternoon he swung his shag hair from his eyes as he mused,

You don’t know my mom, do you?

I grinned into his sweet face,

No, not yet.

His eyes glimmered as he replied,

You should. You two would really like each other.

And he was right. What we didn’t know is she would become my soul sister. She, her daughter, and son would become family to us.

It didn’t take long. You know how it is when you meet your people. It just fits. No planning, or thinking, or long drawn out get-to-know-you. Family. Just like that. As though we’d been a part of the picture since the day their lives changed from four to three.

But we hadn’t. And I wondered,

How have you done this alone all these years?

And I’d like to say she’s a rock star because she looks like one. I’d like to say she’s a rock star because I don’t know if I’ve ever met kids quite like hers. I’d like to say she’s a rock star because she has mothered and fathered those kids for ten years – and has blown the single mom story out of the water.

And she would shake her head at all this and tell me she’s no rock star. Her eyes would fill as she tells me,

It’s been hard.

And ten years is a long time to do this parenting thing all on your own.

She has been my cheerleader during endless deployments and has asked me,

How do you do it?

All I can do is shake my head and whisper,

Because you do it.

But she’s no rock star. Because rock stars have an entourage. They have staff, assistants, planners, organizers, managers, and more go-to people than I can wrap my mind around. I like some rock stars. But my friend is no rock star.

Then, a few days ago, she sends me this message,

makes it all worth it… love this kid. xo

I scrolled down and wondered what made all these ten years of holding sick babies, cooking meal after meal, balancing tight budgets, carpooling, tears, stress, strain, loneliness, and every other day-in-day-out task of parenthood worth it – all alone.

Then this. A letter from her daughter. She was six-years-old when her mother held her next to her father and whispered,

Tell him goodbye.

I read the words from her daughter,

so we had to do a survey for this recommendation letter thing and one of the questions was like who’s the most influential person in your life in a positive way, and how has it made you different and I wanted to share my answer-

The person who has had the most impact on my life in a positive way is of course my mom. I wouldn’t be here without her…literally. But she has shown me what it means to be independent, hardworking, caring, and successful all at the same time. She has been a single parent since my brother and I were young and I can’t admire her more for it. She’s a rock star plain and simple. She has done everything for me in life and helped me grow into the young woman I am. She showed me how to care for myself and be independent. She taught me how to think for myself and taught me to always do my best no matter what, which I am sure everyone says, but it really stuck with me in my teenage years. She has never had to tell me to do my homework or schoolwork and it’s because of her example that I did everything on my own. She is always hard at work to make our lives better and it inspires me to do the same. She taught me that hard work pays off and not to take crap from anyone. She showed me that being caring and loving is just as important as being hardworking. She has made me who I am today and I can never thank her enough for it.

Being caring and loving is just as important as being hardworking. This from a sixteen-year-old girl. She made me who I am today…

This. This is what every mother wants to hear. And she did it by herself. This daughter of hers who is like a daughter to me just made every minute of these ten years worth it.

But she’s no rock star.

A rock star couldn’t hold a candle to her.

Proverbs 31:27-28

She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed…

October 15, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Wonder If They Will Stick Together

I can see it like it was yesterday.

The scene in the back seat of my truck. A screeching baby and a fidgety toddler.

It was dark and after a long drive to I-don’t-even-remember-where, we were nearing our home. Our home for the moment anyway.

The wails from the backseat can grate on the very last nerve you have left when you are sleep deprived and trying to relish all the parent-of-little-kids moments. And our nerves were shot.

I tried every trick up the mommy sleeve, but baby girl wasn’t going to fall for it anymore. She was plain mad, plain tired, plain done. Just like her parents.

The kicking legs of toddler boy against our seats was the only rhythm we could seem to find. Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk. Little legs kicking to remind us the journey wasn’t over yet. We faced the joys of bath and bedtime after the long trip. Our night wasn’t over yet.

My warrior and I stared into the distance, worn weary by our little charges. And who would have guessed such small packages can fill your heart and drain your body all at the same time? Onward we drove. Ker-chunk, Ker-chunk. And the wailing resumed.

I don’t remember where we were when I noticed. I don’t recall what pulled me from my mama trance. But suddenly it was quiet.

Oh, maybe they fell asleep!

I whispered to warrior Daddy.

I craned my neck trying to avoid eye contact. You know, eye contact is just asking for more,

Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…

That’s when I saw it. The snap shot burned to memory.

My toddler boy had taken his baby sister’s hand to calm her. Sucking away at his binky, he grinned from beneath the round blue plastic pacifier. His dimpled fingers clutched baby sister’s small hand as he turned his gaze to the window. And baby stopped crying.

I wish I had a photo of this moment, but it was long before iPhones were a glimmer in our moment capturing minds. I stared long at the small hands clutched together in comfort. And I think the best memories are the ones burned on our hearts. I rotated to the front and smiled in the peaceful silence. I was sure it would always be a little like this.

But time passes and babies grow. Big brothers find joy in tormenting little sisters, and siblings spar. Giggles and jabs turn to tears and anger before we can get to the kitchen. We watch as they grow and know that part of growing up is learning to battle, and find peace – under one roof. Part of growing up is standing our ground and finding new paths all at the same time. Part of growing up is growing close, then growing apart, and praying to God we find each other again. I have big brothers, too.

Through the sparing and battles with the ones who share our blood we find a new branch on this rapidly growing tree. A place to sit together a while. And sometimes Mom gets to watch.

It’s been ten years since that ride in the car and the paths have been winding. The sibling peace has intertwined with sibling feuds, and sometimes I’ve wondered if my boy would ever reach for his little sister’s hand again.

And then he did.

She had been crying. It’s not easy sometimes – this military life. Just when we feel at home, just when we fall in love, just when we find that perfect friend – it’s time to go again. And my girl misses her home. The one that feels more like home than this one. More than that, she misses her bestie. The one who lives states away. I suppose we all miss at least one good someone in our lives. Sometimes more. So, she cried.

And it doesn’t matter how many times Mama’s arms wrap around her neck, or how many times I whisper,

It will be ok. It will get better. I understand…

Sometimes it takes more than Mom. Or Dad.

She hunched her shoulders and drew her knees to cover her eyes. The shaking shoulders gave way to wracking sobs. And this is when a mother’s heart breaks. Because there is nothing I can do about it.

Baby sister, only sixteen months younger slipped over and touched her leg,

I know, sister. It’s hard sometimes.

Funny to hear those words from a ten-year-old. And I watched the scene unfold.

That’s when I saw his face. His eyes softened as he slid next to his not-so-baby-anymore sister,

It’s ok.

Not another word came from his lips as he pulled my girl into his arms and squeezed.

And just like all those ten years ago. She stopped crying.

Because here is the thing. There is a bond between siblings that is stronger and deeper than we can put into words. These branches from the same roots – spreading to the skies before our very eyes.

When we look closely, we can see – the branches reaching for their freedom find each other and touch. Blown by the same winds of change.

Even when decades pass and we wonder if any roots remain; we dig our hands into the common soil and find our roots have only grown deeper and stronger with the trials.

1 Peter 3:8-9

Finally, all of you be of one mind, having compassion for one another; love as brothers, be tenderhearted, be courteous; not returning evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary blessing, knowing that you were called to this, that you may inherit a blessing.

October 13, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When The Answer Is No

He looks at me as his eyes fill with tears,

I know it’s a dumb thing to ask for.

I pull him close noticing that he can now put his head square on my shoulder. I squeeze his shoulders and remember when these long strong arms barely reached around my neck. The once dimpled hands pressing against Mama’s neck. His shoulders slump as he goes on,

I feel guilty for asking. I know it’s too much. There are bigger things in the world. More important things to be upset about.

I don’t know quite how we got this far down the road. And, really, why does it have to go so fast?

I hold his face in my hands,

It’s not dumb. You can ask for anything. It’s just that as we get older we realize we don’t get everything we ask for. And it’s a tough thing to swallow.

He nods as his head drops.

It doesn’t matter how many times our mothers tell us this. It doesn’t matter how many times we hear the stories. This growing up thing is just so hard; and watching it is even harder.

My mother-in-law told me years ago as we chased my little ones with our hair on fire as they ran amuck through mini disasters,

It’s physically tough right now. The sleep deprivation. The messes. But, it becomes mentally difficult when they get older.

But what did I know? I was sure the baby Mommy phase would never end. The swirl of sleepless nights upon sleepless days, and finger painted diaper messes. The permanent hip jut carrying a whiny toddler while the baby screamed in the ten ton car seat.

The physical strain I was sure would last forever and a remnant still lives in mothering a little one of three. But, she was right. The mental part aches far deeper.

I want you to know you can ask for anything, but sometimes the answer will be no. I don’t want you to ever feel guilty for asking. Guilt is the lie.

And don’t you know, sometimes when you speak to your kids, you can hear God whispering right in your ear,

Ditto.

I look into his eyes and my heart aches. From the moment our eyes meet the deep blue newborn haze of their eyes, we want to give them everything. But we can’t. And we shouldn’t. We bleed and tear and ache for them, and maybe this is meant as foreshadowing. There’s a fresh pain when we watch their hearts ache, and there’s not one thing we can do about it.

I brush the hair from his forehead,

Sometimes the answer is no. And I wouldn’t be doing you any favors by teaching you anything else. But, son, I want you to know this. Believe me… believe Him. Behind every no there is a better yes.

And there is. There is a better yes behind every discouraging defeat. Even when the better yes waits far down the road. Even when the best yes is on the other side of the veil. We can’t give them everything. We want to more than we long for our next breath, but we can tell them the only truth that matters. Sometimes this path is rocky and rough, and sometimes we think we might just crumble before we can make it one more step. But we won’t.

We can teach them this; when the no is blinding us – the best yes waits in His open arms.

Numbers 11:23

The Lord answered Moses, “Is the Lord’s arm too short? Now you will see whether or not what I say will come true for you.”

October 8, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

The Monsters We Can’t See

Her brown eyes met mine with the look only a child can muster. She searched my face and whispered,

It’s like a monster. And it’s hungry.

We walk the same floors day in and day out and we think we know everything there is to know about them. But, even these little ones have thoughts hidden from us. Thoughts they think are wrong, or strange, or different. Thoughts they become too ashamed to mutter – even to mom.

Their young faces are like open books. But you know what they say – never judge a book by its cover.

The look on her face uncertain. A hint of worry.

I took her face into my hands,

Tell me what it’s like. Tell me what is in your mind.

I couldn’t take my eyes off this face I have watched grow breathtakingly beautiful with time. I noticed things here and there. I saw, but I really didn’t know the ways a mind can become enslaved. Sometimes the worst demons are the ones we don’t see.

The flood gates opened as she poured the details of every obsessive worry, every compulsive act. My mind went to the light jokes we toss around about our OCD ways, but the joke of it is lost in the reality. It’s no joke.

She described in detail every little thing I had noticed along the way, and too many things I had never seen.

I squeezed her to my chest and stroked her hair,

I’m going to take you to see a lady doctor this week. You know, when you have allergies, you go to an allergist. When you need help, you ask for help.

You are not OCD. You have it, and you will tell it to go away. And we will ask for help.

The relief on her face broke through the clouds beginning to shadow her trusting child eyes. In a moment, she seemed older,

Oh thank you, Mom. Thank you for noticing. I thought I would have this forever. And it’s exhausting.

Suddenly aware of the monsters trying to grip her life. And sometimes we just need one soul to tell us it’s ok to ask for help. Someone to whisper,

Shame is the monster. Silence is the monster. Secrecy is the monster.

Sometimes we have to pry our eyes open, and then pry open the eyes looking into ours. Eyes pried open is the only way to see the sun rising at dawn. And sometimes is really is darkest just before the dawn. The encroaching light whispering,

Wake up.

The sun peers through, warming these souls chilled by uncertainty.

There is nothing new under the sun – and nothing to hide from the Light.

It’s in the light of truth where we can finally see the monster for what it is… a lie.

You want to know the secret about secrets? It’s this. The secrecy is what will eat you alive. The secret itself has no power over you. Once you whisper the truth –

you are free.

Ephesians 5:8-10

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord.

October 6, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

What We Find When We Look Back

Sometimes we have to look back.

We have to look back to see just how far we’ve come.

Sometimes the only way to know we are walking this path well is by looking back at the times we couldn’t see the stretch of road before us.

We have to look back at faded footsteps to see the lifting fog. Only then can we see this dimly lit world through different eyes…

I remember the splintered, worn deck that wrapped around and fed into the yard. This yard teeming with little children. Running wild, all exuberance. Fingers sticky and dirt-stained, eyes peering curiously into mine.

Giggles and shy grins bashfully covered by these small tender hands. Their arms couldn’t be satiated with enough hugs. It was as if they knew the next time would be quite a while. I was seventeen. This was a children’s shelter in my hometown. I volunteered for a time. I don’t remember if I saw them again.

I remember the old wooden cribs. The kind of wood that lost its shine years ago, if it ever had any shine to begin with. The cribs were shoved into a corner. There were just so many of them. Crying babies reaching up. Small toddlers with smudged faces prying at my hands.

I sat in the yard and the brave ones clamored for a snuggle. So many kids. I was eighteen. This was a home for children in my college town. I volunteered for a class. I was silent on the ride home. I never saw those faces again.

I remember the way she smiled at me. She was eight-years-old. Her sky-blue eyes shone beneath the blonde silk of her hair. Her mouth curled the way it always did when she had something to tell me. She told me about the day it happened. The day her mother went to the store and she stayed home with her older and younger brothers. They were three, four, and five-years-old. They heard the blast of the shotgun. Only her older brother went in to see what Dad had done.

They waited on the driveway for Mama to come home. She could barely remember her dad. I was nineteen. She was a little sister to me at the boarding school ranch where I worked my summer job. I kept in touch with her for as long as she would. Her mother often told me what it meant to her. I was twenty-eight when I discovered the pain never left her alone. She went just like her father. She was only seventeen, and her name was Faith.

Where was my faith?

I remember his young face, dark against the crisp, white hospital pillow. He giggled when we joked, trying to remember anything that may have happened yesterday or the day before that. The memories were starting to return. I asked him if he remembered what happened.

The curly hair was just starting to grow back on the left side of his skull. That one spot sagged slightly as a reminder that the surgeries weren’t over. The skull had to be replaced. A scar zigzagged across the side almost resembling a part. It was where the bullet pierced his nine-year-old mind and exited without a care to the damage it left behind.

They asked him several times if he remembered who had done this. His dark eyes clouded as he shook his head,

No.

We hung out together sometimes for a little while after therapy was over. It was a few weeks and tears began to fall. I hugged him and prayed. I knew there was a Father somewhere listening to him.

I had no idea.

Where was my faith?

I remember the bow of his perfect lips and the most beautiful face I had ever seen. I was thirty and he was my first-born.

I remember the faces of each one of my six beautiful babies as they came into this world. And my heart burst beyond any beating it could contain.

Isn’t this the way it is with mothers?

It was years later, when my oldest asked me,

Who is God?

The pat answers just weren’t enough this time. The truth? I didn’t know the truth.
Where had my faith been?
Somewhere between dimmed memories of conversations into dark nights. The words I whispered to Him as a child. I knew He was there. I just did not know Him.

Who is God, Mama?

My five-year-old whispered from the perfect bow of his lips.

I leaned into his soft blonde wisps and murmured words that would change the rhythm of these beating hearts,

Let’s find out together…

I remember all of their faces. And I remember their names.

I have to stop on this path. Stop for just a moment to look back at the faces I’ve passed. These young faces. The arms that have wrapped around my neck hoping for someone who could make this whole place make sense to them. And I couldn’t. Because it didn’t make any sense to me, either.

But He is relentless. And I fall to my knees in thanks. I look into the six beautiful faces I rise with every morning and thank Him for never stopping.

Because He never stops. He pursues us down our path and when we stop to breathe it all in…

We find He has been walking with us all along.

Luke 18:16

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

Why You Are Not A Rock Star

When You Wonder If They Will Stick Together

When The Answer Is No

The Monsters We Can’t See

What We Find When We Look Back

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