Walking The Path Archives - Page 2 of 2

October 5, 2014 by Karin Leave a Comment

The One In The Mirror

I knew I would need it today. I grabbed my armor and headed toward the door.

We all need it really. The Superman shirt.

I grabbed the long-sleeved one a year ago. But it’s fire hot here, so I quickly realized the short sleeve version was a necessity.

It spotted me from the rack and screamed my name,

Take me with you! You are going to need me.

Less than ten bucks. You can’t beat that for full armor.

Today became a grocery day. There are only so many times I can hear,

We have noooothing to eat. Nothing.

I opened the pantry and have never seen nothing look so plentiful. But, like every dedicated Supermom, I grabbed the keys and tried to sneak away.

Fat chance.

Kids streamed out the door wailing,

Take me with you!

Because the grocery store is just that awesome. And off we went. Supermom and a handful of Supermoms-to-be.

We skidded through the store with two carts in tow. This rattling train with straggling passengers who seem to spy all the goodies on those low shelves. Brilliant strategy placing those kid magnets at the three-foot eye level. Brilliant. We cruised through the store these helpers and I.

I smiled at their grinning faces and mused,

It’s nice with you here.

Kids seem to find happy places in the most unlikely locations. Like the grocery store, or the waiting room, or the back of a grocery laden truck.

Kids just seem to find happy places. And I just want to be around them.

We crawled our way to the checkout and in the rush to help mom. help mom. help mom…

The containers dropped. Both of them. And green salsa splattered my jeans, my shoes, and my tear-filled five-year-old,

I’m so sorry, Mommy…

I drew a deep breath as the clerk and bagger eyed me closely. Grinning, the bagger uttered,

Supermom.

I exhaled and put my arm around my sweet teary girl,

Yea, that’s right. Supermom.

My frazzled nerves whispered in my mind,

More like Surviving Mom. That big S for just plain old Survive.

Times like this are when all the mommy practice is put to the test. And I’ve flunked that test a time or ten. Patience and forgiveness. I looked into those sweet brown eyes and thought,

If I’m going to wear the shirt…

We cleaned the mess, loaded our stash and headed out the door.

After unloading the goods and the exuberant re-entry into our hungry home, my oldest girl smiled at me,

Good thing you wore your Supermom shirt today. You really need the super powers. You know… patience and forgiveness. Moms really need those super powers.

And she’s right. Not just because of spilled salsa or grocery store disasters. Not because the clamoring and whining wreak havoc on our frayed nerves. We need them for ourselves.

Because no one is tougher on a mom, than Mom herself.

So, today, I will use the super powers where the oxygen mask must go first. On myself. We can practice patience and forgiveness on the ones who watch our every move, but we have to start with the one in the mirror.

Carry on SuperMoms. You have done enough for today. You can rest now.

Genesis 2:2

By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.

October 4, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Don’t Get To Say Goodbye

She tells me she won’t get there to say goodbye. She’s too far away and being a military wife flying solo right now doesn’t lend itself to quick getaways.

I can feel her heartache even in the tiny black and white font popping up on the screen.

They just found out and it’s not a matter of if… but, when.

The cancer has ravaged her body and this woman she has known all her life – this mother to her own father – is leaving soon.

I know she wants to see my Grandpa again. They married when she was 16. They had an amazing life.

This dear soul in my friend’s life is going Home. And missing the goodbye is hard.

And then there’s a wife. She’s burying her husband today. He was too young, and they have young daughters.

He got up one morning and went to work. Just a simple sortie that day. An out-and-back. But his Eagle slipped the bounds of earth. And he went Home.

She didn’t get to say goodbye. And it’s crushing our souls.

Another friend. A wife. Today is his birthday. I see his face scroll across my screen and smile as she sends him birthday wishes. They have two daughters and it was years ago. A sortie, a plane crash, and that knock at the door. I think of that jet going down – as his spirit went up. Suddenly gone.

She married again and had more beautiful children. Because this life keeps going, even when we don’t get to say goodbye. The world keeps spinning and we keep walking. We walk our paths and try not to faint.

It’s been two and a half years. My girl went Home. I think of the last breath she drew and then let go. Here. Then, suddenly gone. She suffered and when I heard the news a wave of sorrow and relief washed over me at the same time. She told me,

It will always be ok. Even when I die… it will be ok.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. I saved her last message. I scroll past her name, but don’t push play. Hearing her voice scrapes the scab from that wound, and I know where she is. She said it would be ok. Her husband married again. They combined two families of hurting children to make a whole again. And I sink to my knees in thanks. She said it would be ok, and it is.

Another dear friend told me about her best friend. It’s been six years today. A tragedy. Another life lost too soon. And it wrecked her. I think about how she collapsed in the airport when she heard why her friend didn’t make the flight. She died on impact. Here. And suddenly, gone. Their reunion wouldn’t take place. She didn’t get to say goodbye.

We hear it all the time.

You just never know.

We don’t know when the hour is upon us, until we look back in gut wrenching sorrow and whisper,

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

And it slices right to our core. Our souls take a hit and we wonder if anything will ever be ok again.

But, it will.

It will because my girl knew something I suppose a soul facing death comes to know. This isn’t the end.

Not in an I-just-want-to-say-something-to-make-you-feel-better way. No. Not that.

The Truth doesn’t need our approval or belief to be true. It stands on its own. It just is. Truth.

It is not the end. This is the beginning. And our aching hearts and burdened souls have to hold onto this like it’s life itself.

This is not the end. The departure isn’t the end. It is the beginning.

A celebration awaits. A party we can’t begin to wrap our human minds around. And we will join in when that hour arrives.

This is not home. The Truth whispers to our aching souls,

I am here.

The Truth doesn’t have to scream or cry or convince or cajole. The Truth simply waits for our eyes to open and our hearts to know,

I am here.

The separation aches in our bones, but we can know this – goodbye is,

Welcome Home.

John 14:1-3

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.

October 3, 2014 by Karin 4 Comments

When You Think It’s All Going Too Fast

I’m shuffling from room to room dragging pounds and pounds of dirty laundry.

Actually pounds and pounds is an understatement. It’s more like tons. Six kids can crank out a load of dirty.

But, I’m not complaining. I actually enjoy the sanctuary of the chug-chug-churn-churn in the cozy room tucked past the kitchen. The kids aren’t very interested in that room. A nice refuge for Mama.

I remember shuffling from room to room thirteen years ago. I was full-up swollen to the rim with a new life waiting for his entrance. I thought I’d be pregnant forever. Vomiting and all. We pregnant women tend to believe the hefty weight of new life will never leave our bladder; but we are wrong.

The day arrives. The tiny gift from God emerges, sucks lungs full of life, and screams. For about three more years. Well, there is some peace and rest in there, too. And the long days stretch into short years. Before we know it, that baby prancing on our bladders and wriggling for the freedom found only in Mama’s arms… that baby, grows up.

And this is where our hearts burst and ache all at the same time.

I look over at my boy and can’t help grinning. This boy who thought he would be little forever and,

When will I get taller?

I can’t contain the smile, because I’ve told him time and again,

Just wait. You’ll grow taller than me. You’ll be big before I can stand it.

He sees me smiling and ventures across the room for a hug. They still do that, you know. Even at almost thirteen. I wasn’t sure if the big boys would still want those Mama hugs, but they do.

We are nearly eye-to-eye and that familiar dread creeps into my mind.

We don’t have much more time. I don’t think I can bear letting them go.

We see our friends and family send kids to college, while we nostalgically watch our young friends bring new life home.

It all goes too fast. Our parents and grandparents said it would. But, we didn’t really believe it – or want to hear it.

The faster the downhill snowball of parenthood, the more we dig our heels into the ground trying to stop the momentum. But we can’t.

And, I’m tired of being sad about it. And dreading it.

I remember the hope my sister-in-law gave me years ago when I asked her what her favorite age was with the kids.

Every age has been the best age. I’ve loved every year. It changes, but it’s amazing to watch them grow… to see the people they become.

We bring home these babies and before we know it the babies have deep voices, and whiskers, and look us right in the eye.

I’m done with the dread and the wondering if my heart will be able to take it. Because I know it will. Dreading the journey because we think it will end is like dreading the gift before we’ve opened it. The journey IS the gift.

My boy wraps his arms all the way around me and suddenly I realize…

The tiny arms were just a glimpse of the whole picture. These long arms with the hands as big as mine have been waiting to find their way full around my shoulders.

We have an eternal journey down this road. Shoulder to shoulder. There is much yet to see.

And the Light shines brighter than I realized all those thirteen years ago…

Isaiah 42:16

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.

October 2, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

That One Mistake We Make

Stories get me every time. I could listen over and over again. The thing about living in a place where darkness seeps into corners and engulfs lives before our very eyes is this – the light shines brighter in the darkness.

I listened to my beautiful friends share their stories of darkness and destruction. I listened as they revealed how the Light changed them – how He changed them.
Stories. The real ones. This world desperately needs our stories. This is for you – the one with a story. We need to hear it.

And we all have a story…

I know what you’re thinking.
Maybe not right this minute. But I know you thought it this morning, or maybe last night. And probably a few times last week.

I know you.
Because I know me.
And in a certain light we all look the same.

We’re not cut out for this. Whatever this is – today.
We don’t measure up.
We can’t hack it.
It’s too much.
We are not enough.

I know you’ve thought it. Because I have. We aren’t so different – you and I.
I know the other thought, too.
The one telling us – we know better. We are better.
We don’t need a thing, because we’ve got this. All. On. Our. Own.
I’m not sure which one is worse.
Not enough? Or too much?
Either way.
We’re both wrong.

Do you know someone needs to hear you?
Do you know someone needs to know your story?
Do you know someone is waiting for you to know – you are enough?

Our stories weave and collide, and somewhere along the way we bought the lie that it doesn’t matter.
The lie that someone else can tell it much better than you, or I, can.
Or worse, the lie that no one wants to hear it.

We waste our stories.
We wrap them into air-tight containers, shove them in the dark corner, and name them Unimportant.
We waste the pain, the joy, the suffering, the victory, the horror, and the delight.
We waste all the tears shed in glorious happiness… and heart shredding sorrow.
We waste it all – when we don’t tell our stories.
We waste it all when we tuck ourselves into the file labeled Irrelevant.

Nothing is irrelevant. Nothing. And no one.
Every breath from our lungs has a purpose – no matter how minute.
You have a mighty purpose on this earth.
You know that, don’t you?

Remember the soul you passed in the store the other day?
And the one at the red light?
Or the one who lives right down the street, but you throw a wave into the air and move on?
Remember that one guy at work or the young mom with the tired eyes?
The are just like us.
They are thinking the same thing.
I am not enough.

Here’s the truth.
We. Are. More. Than. Enough.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made.
You and I are not a mistake – and neither are our stories.

There is one mistake.
The one we make when we keep our hearts and our stories to ourselves.

We hear it all too much. All the ways we should be something different. Somehow different. Someone different.
Younger. Older. Thinner. Prettier. Smarter. Quicker. All the ways we should be more put together.
And we get tired. We stop trying. We avert our eyes and go on our way. Because surely no one needs anything from our less-than-enough selves.
And we get it all wrong.

Love spoke life.
And Love spoke you.
Love expects something in return.
Love leans into the wind and releases the truth – we are more than enough.
We are necessary.
This story can’t go on without us.

You are enough right where you are.
Keep going.
Tell your story.
This world needs to hear it.
You have a purpose.
Go find it. And do it.
Love has been spoken.
Let’s pass it on…

Psalm 119:87-89

They almost wiped me from the earth, but I have not forsaken your precepts. In your unfailing love preserve my life, that I may obey the statutes of your mouth. Your word, Lord, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens.

October 1, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

Walking The Path

It’s that time of year again.

Every October writers across the web link up at The Nester’s place for 31 days of writing. It’s a cyber kick in the pants for writers. I participated in the challenge in 2012 and 2013. Both years I lined up my plans and my words, and went to work.

Recently God’s whispering Spirit told me to lay down my plans. In everything. I thought to myself,

Oh no! But those are just so good…

Time and again, day after day, He has shown me His plan is better. I know it is. I believe Him.

This year, I am joining in the 31 days of writing again. But, this time, I am going to let God drive. He gives us the first breath in our lungs when we open our eyes. His mercies are new every morning.

Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. ~ Lamentations 3:22-23 (NKJV)

This month I am going to open my eyes to what He has to give. Every. Day.

I will spend this month, and every other after, just walking the path…

Join me over here for 31 days of Walking the Path. Thank you for joining me on the journey.

Psalm 16:11

You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

The One In The Mirror

When You Don’t Get To Say Goodbye

When You Think It’s All Going Too Fast

That One Mistake We Make

Walking The Path

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