karin madden

  • Home
  • Sunrise With A Six Pack (Blog)
  • Meet Karin
    • Truth In The Details {4×4 of 4 things about me}
    • Hear My Story
    • Food Allergies
      • Recipes for the picky ones
  • 31 Days Series
    • 31 Days of God’s Promises
    • 31 Days of Good Deeds
    • 31 Days Of Walking The Path
  • Essential Oils
    • What’s The Deal With Essential Oils?
  • DIY
    • DIY Deodorant
    • DIY {easy} Facial Toner
    • DIY Liquid Laundry Detergent
  • Contact
  • Subscribe and Free e-book

October 15, 2014 by Karin 2 Comments

When You Wonder If They Will Stick Together

Walking the Path

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.

Siblings on a hike

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.

Pine Tree in the sun

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. 

Karin Madden

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Brothers and Sisters, Motherhood, Walking The Path Tagged With: got your back, growing up, siblings

October 24, 2013 by Karin 12 Comments

When We Begin To Get Over Ourselves

31 days of Good Deeds 31 Days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 19 ~

I’ve been a mother for 12 years today.
Really, though, motherhood began 9 months before that (ok, we all know it’s actually 10).  When you carry the weight of the future on your bladder for any amount of time, you know the exact amount of time.  Down to the very minute.

What I didn’t know… the weight of the future was the very thing that would begin the release of the weight of my selfishness.

Motherhood.  The vessel He uses to get us over ourselves.

We enter into this place with a million preconceived notions of how we will play this whole thing out.  We step through the door holding this perfect breath from God and we think we might have a clue.  This is where it all begins.  We have no idea.  The thoughts in our minds give way to the crashing wave of pure love.  This love washes any idea of who we think we are… away.  We come face to face with someone we want to die for – again and again.  But, first, we have to die to ourselves.  And this is the rub.

The battle – my thoughts, my ideas, my wishes, my dreams collide… with His.

Holding tightly to the holy moment of birth is just the beginning of letting it all go.

This is when our hearts begin to take residence – outside of our bodies.  With each baby, over and over again, we die to ourselves… and open up to Him.  Only God would begin this slow and often painful death to our selfish natures through the birth of something so breathtakingly exquisite.  New life wrapped in the sweet aroma of innocence cradled in our unsuspecting arms.  The best of us is yet to come.

Sometimes, though, he lets us begin our journey into selfless love much earlier.  Sometimes He allows to exercise these muscles of you-before-me when we are much younger.  Perhaps even as young as 11… soon to be 12.

And, sometimes He surprises this unsuspecting mama with a story of an unselfish good deed.  A good deed that mama didn’t have to prompt or prod or produce.  Sometimes He lets us know we are doing this motherhood thing a little bit right.

It's always better with two

I was away on a trip (a small miracle in itself, thanks to my gold-hearted warrior).  Dad decided to take our six pack to a carnival.  The bravery in that task is another story entirely.

The pumpkins, rides, and treats thrilled this young crew of ours.  Most of all, of course, the rides and slides were mission number one.

Tickets bought, treats ingested, it was time.  The kids rode and squealed and lived it up.

Our four-year-old discovered quickly that some thrills look better from the ground up.

It’s too scary! I don’t like it!

Our red-headed summer warrior shrieked.

Sometimes bravery is just knowing what you’re not ready for.  And saying so.

Tickets dwindled and energy faded.

With only a handful of tickets left to thrill these little ones, my warrior offered them one more ride.

The big kids, ready to tackle the most thrilling ride, grabbed their chance and took off.

Our normally brave little summer girl exclaimed,

But, I want to go on those swings. I’m too scared of that ride.

Daddy stood holding the baby, knowing the only way she would go was with a companion.  We don’t really want to go this alone, do we?  It’s always better with two.

The kids want to ride that one, sweetie.

Then, the part that bursts a mama heart.  All these years of do-this-don’t-do-that-be-nice-share-love-each-other.  All the refereeing of siblings.  All the times of it’s-not-about-you.  Then, this one time.  It takes root… and I wasn’t even there.  I can’t take credit (but, I can give plenty to my warrior).  I can’t even begin to think it had anything to do with what I told my boy to do.  He just did it.  And my heart explodes.

I’ll go with her, dad.

C’mon, little sister, I’ll take you on the swings.

Now, the swings… they go round and round, not up nor down.  Pretty lame for an 11, almost 12-year-old.

They spun in circles, she squealed with glee, and my heart melts.

We teach and train and cajole and plead.  We bark and bellow and beg.  We hold and hug and pour ourselves out… day after day.  Then, God.  He gives us a glimpse.  A momentary whisper of,

Job well done.

The pouring out… from a big brother to a little sister.  This.  

This whole new soul dying to self and giving to love.  And my heart wholly fills.

 

2 Thessalonians 3:13

And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right. 

Karin signature

Filed Under: A Day in the Life, Brothers and Sisters, Family, Good Deeds, Love, Motherhood, The Good Stuff, Together Tagged With: dying to self, family, motherhood, siblings

August 21, 2012 by Karin 2 Comments

Seeing the Fruit

We must have gotten something right.

We must have figured something out in this parenting thing.

I had a moment that made this mama’s heart burst… and ache just a bit… all at the same time.

A week of sleep-overs for my 9-year-old daughter.  She was thrilled to have multiple invitations in one week and her beautiful, beaming face shone as she skipped off with her dear friends.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

Then, the next day…

Mama, I stayed up ’til 2:30 in the morning!

She proudly announced this… certain that this would be a sure-fire sling shot toward adulthood.  (I’ve told her to enjoy the kid thing… such beauty and simplicity in that childhood place… to live a life backwards would be something…)

And I’m not even tired!

Yet.

The day rolls along… children mingling throughout the house… toys strewn… games played… battles fought.  A weekend day.  A daddy day.  The best kind.  Then, the golden carriage of our home ~ turns to a pumpkin.  Just.  Like.  That.  Poof.

This completely exhausted child… melts.

Why didn’t I get her to bed earlier?

I chastise myself (the mama-blame).

I knew this was going to happen…

She needs rest… sleep… peace… quiet

All the little ones are shuffled into their nests for the night… and my beautiful girl… the one who is contagiously cheerful, unquestioningly helpful… my little one with a servant’s heart.  She falls apart… completely.  This little one can withstand many things in this house full of children, siblings, and all things messy… but, sleep deprivation is not one of them (don’t know where she got this trait?  Sigh)

I wrap around this sobbing child, trying to soothe her, calm her, lull her into the dreamland.  No luck.  Daddy steps in… more calming, soothing.  Nope.  Patience wearing thin.

I can’t just let her cry…

Besides, she’ll wake the little ones.  Not an option.

Finally, I bring her into our room.  I hold her and sing to her… memories of a smaller version of this very face peek through the darkness.

I’m sorry, mama

I just can’t stop…

I know this feeling.  We women know this feeling.  That cry that overflows from the depth of all things contained… all things that have been carefully shoved and packed into a deeper place, in the hopes that they will simply dissipate.  We so often want it to all wash away… without actually doing the washing.

My daughter did the washing.  She flowed with every frustration, fear, and feeling… for an hour.

Now, she should be all better.

Ah, not so much.

You’ve got to be kidding me!?

This mom… at a loss.  Then, she asked it…

Can I go in and see them?

Our little ones have a nightly game of musical beds.  The ultimate treat?  Sharing a room with the big brother.

Can I go in and say good night again?

He always calms me down.

There it is.  The fruit of intentional relationships.  The gift of spending our days, our lives, our everything… intentionally together.  (We do have time apart… reference mom wanting to run).

Sure, go say good night.

She enters the room.  Two reading young ones lift weary eyes from bed-time books.

Are you ok?

The concern on their young faces… these faces that during the day sometimes long to aggravate one another.

I just wanted to say good night.

A little sister, only 7-years-old, climbs out of bed and wraps arms of love around big sister.  This little one lifts her sister from the ground in embrace.  Lifts her taller, bigger sister off of her feet.

A thought enters my mind.

He does that… He lifts us off of our own feet.  Picks up our burdens and carries them.  Lifts us in love… and squeezes.

Three young siblings gather on the bed.  Sharing stories, words, comfort between siblings beyond the frequency of mama’s understanding.

You always calm me down.

What?  Big brother demands.  My red-eyed, sleepy girl repeats it.

Oh!  I thought you said “You always call me dumb.”

Peels of laughter.

The pumpkin… a golden carriage again.

My heart fills with joy at the connection of these young hearts before me.  For a moment, I ache… but, for a flash, I think…

You didn’t need mama this time

I can see it.  The growing of this garden is meant to teach them to relate to each other… not just to me.  To lean into each other.  To find comfort in family.  In the family of their home.  In the family of Christ.

Philippians 2:2

then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Filed Under: Brothers and Sisters, Faith, Love, Motherhood Tagged With: faith, love, motherhood, siblings

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.

Connect With Me

  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • RSS
  • Twitter

Search the Sunrise

What I Write

Sunrise Archives

Pinning at Sunrise

Visit Karin's profile on Pinterest.

Recent Sunrise Posts

  • When You Have A Promise To Keep November 9, 2016
  • When You Are In The Secret Place April 21, 2016
  • When You Need To Hear – Do Not Be Afraid April 6, 2016
  • The One List We Need To Write January 1, 2016
  • The Dance May 29, 2015

Sunrise on Facebook

Sunrise on Facebook

Copyright © 2025 · Executive Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in