Living Out Loud

Just Breathe

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 16:00:00 +0000

About eight years ago, I was sitting in an exam room at The Advanced Pain Management office. I was there for obvious reasons, I needed my legs waxed. Not really, I was in a major amount of pain from a herniated disc in my neck. I couldn’t sleep in my bed and the recliner just wasn’t cutting it for the long term. I was hurting and exhausted 24 hours a day.

I’m not the most patient person at waiting and intense pain makes me feel restless. So, while I impatiently waited, I fiddled with all the lights, dismantled the spine model, and peeked into every drawer. I began reading all the wall literature, aloud, just in case my husband was bored too. There’s the standard “Rate Your Pain” sign, and the “Patient’s Rights” sign, and the “Breathe” sign, it was actually an acronym “B.R.E.A.T.H.E.” Of course, each letter stood for something different; each one with the same basic advice to “remember to breathe” and to “think of something else,” this sign irritated me. I turned to my husband and said, sarcastically, “Look, I’m breathing in and out right now and guess what? It isn’t helping!” The lack of sleep and the horrible pain made me a little more than crabby. Pain is an insidious enemy; it has a way of crushing a person’s will.

That night the pain became almost too much to bear. Along with the pain came something I’d never experienced before, a full-scale panic attack. The air in the kitchen felt like it had been completely sucked out and I was suffocating. The pain was like a white-hot knife jabbing me, I couldn’t focus and the room began to dip and sway. I felt terrified and needed to escape. I ran for the door and stumbled onto the front porch, and I clung to a pillar for support. The cool October air was just what I needed, it felt refreshing as I drew in a deep, calming…breath (yes, the irony wasn’t lost on me either). After that point of concession, I began gulping the air into my lungs.

It seemed like I stood on the porch for hours, even though it was probably only minutes. I stood there weeping and feeling utterly defeated. My husband came outside too, he didn’t know what to do or say; he just stood there with me. I began praying, but I was at such a loss for words that all I could get out was, “God, I need you.” After that I just let the Holy Spirit do the rest of the talking (Rom. 8:26-27). Everything seemed very still as I looked at the broad expanse of the sky, but even in the stillness I felt God’s presence surrounding me. A gentle breeze brushed my face. It was as if that cool breeze was sent just for me, a breath from heaven sent to dry my tears, to let me know that He cared about what I was going through.

It’s been eight years and some months since that night, and even after a cervical fusion, I still deal with the nerve pain, which is a roller coaster ride of highs and lows. I can sympathize with Paul when he had pleaded with the Lord to remove the thorn from his flesh. I would love my thorn to be removed, but I know that my pain and the continuous pattern of good days and bad are here for the duration of my life. The reason I can come to terms with this is because, like Paul, I know that God’s grace is indeed sufficient and that His power is made perfect in my weakness (2 Cor. 12:8-10).

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. I don’t believe in misfortune or even luck (good or bad), I believe in providence. God is working things out for the good of those who love Him. He is working out His goals in my weak flesh. God’s decisions have a purpose, if for no other reason than to strengthen my character, to fine tune me into the woman He needs me to be (Jam. 1:2-4; Rom. 5:3-5). I’m not trying to sound noble or like a martyr; I just don’t want to miss the lesson because I’ve focused on the wrong thing.

When we are focused on the wrong thing we find ourselves looking down, literally and figuratively. Charlie Brown described it best, “This is my depressed stance. When you're depressed, it makes a lot of difference how you stand. The worst thing you can do is straighten up and hold your head high because then you'll start to feel better. If you're going to get any joy out of being depressed, you've got to stand like this.” I spent my fair share of time mimicking this stance. If we look up though, that's when we can see what the Lord wants us to see, that the world is filled with hurting people (in one form or another). We can’t give a hurting and dying world Jesus if we’re looking at our own feet.

Here’s a little encouragement for those that have decided to live life looking up, instead of down. Pray that God will make you aware of those that are hurting and alone, to see clearly those that need building up. Ask God for the strength to push past the walls that they would erect; walls that they think shield them from the pain, the loneliness or even rejection. “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up…encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone” (1 Thes. 5:11; 14).

I like to read through the Book of Psalm, it is filled with so much motivation and hope. I can reach in and find so many passages that offer comfort in times of distress and fear. Have you ever noticed a sentiment that is repeated quite frequently? It’s “Praise the Lord,” we are to Praise the Lord in the midst of our fear, we are to Praise the Lord in the midst of our joy, we are to “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thes. 5:16-18, emphasis mine).

The Book of Psalm begins with the exhortation to delight in the law of the LORD and it ends with, “Let everything that has breath praise the LORD” (Ps. 150:6, emphasis mine). So, with every breath that is within me I will Praise the Lord.

**For my mom, who has faced her pain for over thirty years with bravery and dignity and for a sweet friend who is battling cancer; who in the midst of her own aches and pains wants to blog her experience so that others might be encouraged.

But God...

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 22:16:00 +0000

“Don't tell God how big your problems are; tell your problems how big your God is!”

Great quote, right? I have a huge fondness for great quotes. I have journals and word documents stuffed with them. I have some that are witty, some that are silly, and some that make profound observations in just a few short words. Such as this quote by John Henry Newman, “A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault.”

I have one quote, one phrase that is probably in my top three, maybe even top two, and it is, “But God.” These two little words choke me up because of their significance. These two little words speak volumes. At times it isn’t even a direct quote as much as it is the theme of every event in the Bible. Allow me to illustrate…

In the beginning there was darkness, but God said “let there be light”…

   The intention was to cause harm, “but God intended it for good”…
        He only had excuses why he couldn’t speak, but who God calls, He also equips…
            The enemy was a giant of a man, but God used a boy to defeat him with a stone…
                  The people were to be slaughtered, but God gave great wisdom to a young queen…
                        Satan would try and crush him, but God’s reward was to bless him greatly…
                  They were to die for not bowing to an idol, but God saved them from the flames…
            He was surrounded by lions, but God shut their mouths…
        She was young and insignificant, but God chose her to carry the Christ Child…
   He asked if the cup could pass from Him, but God’s will would be done…
We were dead in our transgressions, but God provided a way for us to be saved…

The word ‘but’ shows two things that are different by contrast, it represents the exception. God is the one that makes the biggest difference in our lives. He is the exception to everything that we see as impossible. When all seems lost and we can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, when the pain and the hurt seems crushing, and when the temptation seems too powerful, we can place a “But God” on the end of all of those things. God steps in and does for us what only God can do.

We get our selves turned around and lost, but God is there to show us the way…
   We feel weak in our present battles, but God gives us strength that only He can provide…
        We feel the pains and aches of this body, but God renews us inwardly day by day…
            We do not know how we ought to pray, but God sent His Spirit to intercede for us…
                  We are hurt and betrayed, but God gives us His Spirit, to love and forgive…
                        We feel the draw of the temptation, but God provides the way out…

He sent His son, the Way, the Truth, and the Life and Jesus offered himself as a sacrifice, to take the punishment and condemnation that we deserved. God initiated, God provided, God obligated himself to man. He didn’t have to, but God did.

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8

JOHN 3:16

     For God: The Greatest Lover
        So Loved: The Greatest Degree
           The World: The Greatest Company
             That He Gave: The Greatest Act
                 His Only Begotten Son: The Greatest Gift
                    That Whosoever: The Greatest Invitation
                       Believeth: The Greatest Simplicity
                          In Him: The Greatest Attraction
                             Should Not Perish: The Greatest Promise
                                 But: The Greatest Difference
                                        Have: The Greatest Certainty
                                              Everlasting Life: The Greatest Possession!

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Adventures in Camping

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 16:36:00 +0000

We may not get to experience the lighter side of life every day, but I love those moments when they happen. It’s as if I’m given a chance to take a breath or at least get some perspective…..

I love the great outdoors. My favorite vacations have been spent camping, hiking, sitting around a campfire, and the time spent bonding as a family. This is not everyone’s ideal, but it is mine. Although my husband calls me ‘Nature Girl,’ I’m probably not as hardy as a true, die hard ‘Miss Rough It’ because I like a bathroom to be within at least a quarter of a mile. To date I think that’s about the farthest we’ve tested our abilities to “hold it.” Guys have it so easy, don’t they? If you don’t know what I mean, just move on.

One of our adventures happened when we were camping near Mt. Rushmore. This campground was very beautiful and scenic. It was truly my ideal, very large and spread out, wooded, lots of amenities within walking distance, bike trails, etc. The campsites themselves looked well kept and set just far enough from the road to be private; they actually dipped down from the road to really add to the privacy. Now, you know you’re a seasoned camper when you drive by a campsite and say excitedly, “Honey that one looks good, it’s near a porta-potty.”

I have one reason for being excited about finding such a nice location to set up camp, besides its proximity to the portable facilities, it was very large and flat. We happen to own a 10-person tent and this particular tent is a monster; it has a ‘living room’ in the middle with three ‘bedrooms’ off of that, it really is quite large. Next to that we put up a large gazebo, to cover the picnic table and cooking area. It’s comical to see because it looks like a circus has come to the campground, but even though it looks complicated; Ken and I can set up camp in record time (sorry about the bragging, but come on, it’s tent assembly, I’ve got to have something I know I do well).

No matter where we go, we pretty much follow the same routine after setting up camp; first we go in search of the showers, then we’ll look for the swimming pool and park, the game room, laundry room, hiking and biking trails, etc. This time though, the first stop was the porta-potty, Raquel was insistent. I came out of the facilities with her and gathered everyone to me; they gave me odd looks because of what I wanted to show them, but they played along. We can be very easy to please, probably because Ken and I have a “low to no technology rule” on our vacations, so anything cool or disgusting will suffice. We all stared in wonder though because this had to be the absolute cleanest porta-potty we’d ever seen, it even smelled nice, if that’s possible.   I wanted to weep with joy a the thought that this camping trip was going to be perfect, great location, clean, tidy; it was so nice (we found out later that they cleaned out the porta-potties every morning. It’s done really early and they’re hosed and wiped down to boot).

After two or three days of settling in, we’d already gone on a few outings, chief among them was to see Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Memorial, we had also toured a cave and a gold mine. So after spending a couple of days driving all over creation, the timing of a “Rain Day” was perfect. Rainy days are a great time to get caught up on the laundry and play in the game room, things we don’t like to do if it’s nice out. I usually meet some really nice women while doing laundry; we’ll swap camping stories and talk about our favorite vacation spots.

All morning, and most of the afternoon, the rain was little more than a drizzle, but later in the afternoon that all changed and the drizzle became a downpour.   We had to wrap up our clean clothes in garbage bags so that my morning’s work wouldn’t end up being a wasted effort. It was also getting close to suppertime, so we needed to figure out a way to stop the rain from coming in the meshed sides of the gazebo. We ended up rigging a tarp over two of the sides, effectively stopping the rain from soaking everything.

The temperature had dipped a little, so Ken set up the portable heater.   The kids sat at the picnic table and played a game and I started getting things together to make supper. The gusts of wind were really strong at times, so we’d watched as some poorly secured tents blew by us, I felt bad for their owners. The ground was beginning to feel squishy underneath my sneakers and I think the temperature was steadily dropping. The kids were much younger at the time, so the combination of heavy winds, pouring rain, setting sun, shivering cold, lightning and booming thunder, it was starting to get to them. Ken and I decided to rescind the technology ban and started a movie for them in the van, they could warm up and I could get supper going without worrying about them.

Ken helped the kids, while I went digging in the tent for sweaters and such, but I found that there was water in our tent from a ‘window’ that had been left unzipped, so now our “warm” clothes were cold and wet. I was starting to feel a little defeated, so I set my mind to the task of trying to fix this mess. I could probably send Ken down to the laundry room to dry our sweaters and sweatpants, the heater was running in the gazebo and warming things up nicely (I was being overly optimistic about the heating potential of that one little heater), and I figured once we had a warm meal we’d all feel much better.   I was determined to do this thing and I don’t give up easily. I grabbed my skillet and spatula and pressed on, determined to be the gutsy pioneer woman.

Ken had the kids all settled in the van with a movie and a snack, and of course, he had done what daddy’s do best, he’d brought their fear factor way down. He was heading towards the gazebo when a particularly high wind came through our campsite. I’m sure from the outside it looked like the gazebo was flattened; actually it felt flattened from where I was standing on the inside too. Ken does an amazing job of making sure our structures are secure, so it bounced right back when the wind let up. Unfortunately, our rigged tarp had slipped and rain was pelting my back, I was starting to feel like a drowned rat (by the way, why is a drowned rat the term that fits best, there’s got to be something else that gets really wet and is possibly cute)? A thunder clap echoed all around us, it was so loud and powerful that I was pretty sure the campsite was going to be destroyed, everything around me shook. I looked over at the van to see if there were any little worried faces looking out. I think the movie had effectively claimed their attention. Ken came into the gazebo, fixed the tarp, and gave me a big hug (I think the hug was to help counter the hypothermia).

Ken had this look on his face, I knew what he was about to say and he knew it was hard for me to hear. When he wants to be tender and convincing I get called ‘Baby’. So, he lifted my chin, looked me in the eye and said, “Baby, enough is enough. The weather is making this impossible.” I felt cold, tired, and beyond damp, but it was hard for me to give up, pride and determination were driving me. Ken also knew the battle that was warring inside of me. He took the utensils from my ice cold fingers, laid them on the table, and hugged me close and said into my ear, “It really is okay. You have nothing to prove. I’m proud of everything you’ve done.” See? He’s good, he knows me so well and I could feel myself caving fast. Taking over and taking care of his family is something Ken does really well. He cinched it when he said, “Let’s go into town, buy some warm, dry clothes and find a place where we can sit down and have a relaxing meal.” Done! I’m sold.

We ran around battening down the hatches as it were, making sure that our things wouldn’t blow away and the rain wouldn’t ruin anything in the tent. By the time Ken and I climbed into the van, my teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking from the cold. It was a shame that it would be a half hour or more before we would have on warm clothes. I put my hands on the vents in front of me, the heat making my cold fingers sting. Our little “driveway” was very slick and muddy at this point, I was hoping and praying that we weren’t stuck, please, Lord, don’t let the van be stuck here. With only a few moments of spinning tires, we were off, Thank You Lord!

Just as we pulled the van up onto the road from our site we saw something shocking, some would define it as horrifying. Ken brought the van to a halt and we just stared. I knew I’d heard a loud booming sound, but I’d assumed the noise was just the thunder. Nope, it was the sound of the porta-potty being blown over. We watched, in shock, as blue water ran down the hill towards our campsite. If you’ve seen The Money Pit with Tom Hanks, this is the bathtub scene. We must have been beyond tired and/or caring. Ken and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We laughed so hard that the tears rolled down our cheeks, this had to be the most comical thing we’d ever seen (I can’t be sure that it wasn’t a titch demented laughter, it really had been a long day). There was nothing else we could do though, so we just let the laughter loose. It’s probably not a memory I would have chosen to make, but it happened all the same.

Ken put the van in gear and said, “Let’s get warm and go eat.” I’m not sure, but I think we shouted “Yay!” We raided Wal-Mart, changing our clothes in their bathroom; it felt so good to be warm and dry. We lingered over supper. It was still raining, so we sat back, talked, and laughed about the events of the day. It is worth mentioning that Rachel prayed over our supper that night and one of the things that she was thankful for was that the porta-potty had just been cleaned.

Laughter can’t fix everything, but it can take our minds away from harder things, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Nothing shows a man's character more than what he laughs at.” ~JohannWolfgang von Goethe

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The Letters of Love

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 19:02:00 +0000

How do you say ‘I love you’? With poetry, flowers, acts of kindness? A few years ago I did a bible study where we learned about the Five Love Languages written by Gary Chapman. It was interesting, but I found myself being caught up in worrying and wondering what someone else’s love language was and if I was speaking their language. Those love languages are interesting to study, but there’s a greater point that I hope no one misses and that is, that no matter what you do or how you do it, let the people around you know that you love them. Sometimes there isn’t any better way than to utter those three little words, or string those eight letters together and write them out.

Have you noticed that the written word is becoming more and more obsolete? We don’t send too many handwritten letters anymore. In fact, not too long ago a friend of mine commented about the joy of getting a handwritten card. There’s just something so personal about this way of communicating. When my husband and I were first married I asked him to write me a love letter. I think he actually paled at the thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me; it’s that the thought of putting his feelings down on paper took him way outside his comfort zone. He knew this was important to me, so he caved and wrote me a letter. It is incredibly sweet and I cherish what he said, so I’ve carried it with me for the past 18 years.

Talk about tough cases of self-expression, my father ranks right up there. When I was young my friends would ask me if he was mad. I would turn to look at his face and reply (every time), “No, he just looks that way.” Even though his expression seemed stern, I never once doubted that he loved me or that I could crawl up into his lap at anytime and he would hold me tight. When I was very young, he would invite me to go to the barbershop and then take me to the DQ afterwards, which was his way of letting me know he liked my company. As his years have advanced he has become a much mellower person, I credit the grandchildren and my mother. My mom was always nudging him, and whispering things like, “give her a hug,” “tell her you love her,” and so on, she knew I needed these things from him (Mom gave out hugs and I love yous in abundance).

Knowing that my father wasn’t the most demonstrative man will help you appreciate the fact that fourteen years ago, when I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, I received a letter from him. Being pregnant is fraught with emotional highs and lows, so what a beautiful gift I received in the mail that day to help me through the last few weeks. If you could only read it, you would be able to feel the emotional depths he went to, as he tried to express to me how much he loved me. With his bold and almost illegible handwriting, he put his feelings on each page. It brings tears to my eyes even years later because his words meant so much and I knew what it took for him to write them. His letter is kept right beside my husband’s; they both go with me wherever I go.

Taking this as my inspiration I decided then to let people know, this side of heaven, what they’ve meant to me because if my dad and my husband can do it, then so can I. Too many wonderful things are said over caskets, things that should have been said before, but for whatever reason silence reigned. One of the first letters I wrote was to my mother. I told her how much I loved and appreciated her and all the wonderful memories I have growing up. My first letter was probably my easiest to write, but a girl has to start somewhere and writing a love letter to my beloved mom was a great starting point. Of course she loved it, she’s a good mom, but I also could have scribbled on a piece of paper with a crayon and called it art and she would have framed the thing. That’s what great moms do.

I decided to write my next letter. God had settled a name on my heart, my grandmother’s. Now, my father’s side of the family is wonderful and I love them dearly, but showy displays of affection are not their most prodigious quality. So, keep in mind that this is my father’s mother and that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. At the time she was about to turn 82, and I didn’t know how much longer she would be with us (I’m pleased to announce that she is 98 and still going). Pushing aside any fears of how my letter would be accepted, I forged ahead. Uppermost in my mind was that I wanted her to know what she meant to me. Did you get that one word? I wanted her to know. I was a little apprehensive about it, so I let my dad read the final draft before it was sent. He sat quietly for a moment and then told me he loved every word. He also told me, “Don’t over think it. Just send it.” By the way, I get told this a lot because I have a terrible tendency to overthink situations and will talk myself out of doing whatever it is I was thinking about doing.

Maybe my dad could sense my uncertainty, so he proceeded to tell me the story about a letter that he had written to his father. A letter filled with tender emotions, full of love and respect, letting his father know how much he had meant to him. This letter was written to my grandfather as he lay dying of cancer, his body becoming frailer by the day. My father, so stoic and reserved, second guessed himself, he overthought things, and never sent the letter. Grandpa passed away a short while after that and my dad said that it will be one of the few things that he regrets not having done. His encouragement to me to "let the living know how we feel" seemed even more profound.

I was reminded this past Sunday that God’s Word is His love letter to us. Amongst those words of love Jesus asked His believers to love each other, even those that are difficult for us to love. If Christ can love His enemies from the cross how can we do any less? Weren’t we all, at some point, an enemy of the cross of Christ? We deserved His wrath, “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.”

So strike out boldly, praying that your words will be well received “For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline” (2 Tim 1:7).

“‘If only’. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.”

I guarantee that someone needs to hear from you…

Treasure

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 22:42:00 +0000

I have boxes and boxes of extra stuff. Every time I’ve moved there are always these extra pictures and wall dumijobbies (that’s a technical term for my collection of wall sconces, knickknacks, etc.). In my previous home there was the perfect place for that thing, but the new home just doesn’t have the same accommodations. So, I stare at that box of stuff, having no idea what to do with it and relegate it to the basement. It’s where all good things and stuff go to die. It’s sad.

Oh, well, moving on, about twelve years ago my family and I moved to Illinois. Just like every other move, my basement started filling up with the stuff that I couldn’t find a home for anywhere else. The basement became an overflowing mass of cardboard. Some people are awesome at getting everything unpacked and their homes decorated in record time. I’m not that person, I’m missing that gene.

Unfortunately, the downside of my not having unpacked in a timely fashion is that I invariably need to find something hidden deep within one of those boxes. So, I mounted an expedition into the scary basement to unearth the treasure that I sought, in this instance it was a book. Would you believe I couldn’t even remember the name of the book? I could only remember what the front of the book looked like. That meant I had to dig through box after box of books, looking at their covers. I had a general idea of where to begin, so I took my trusty knife and started cutting. I cut open boxes that I don’t think I had unpacked from my previous move. If I’d had a marker I would have written “Donate to Charity,” but the markers where packed in another box. So, I kept setting aside box after box, my book in its box tomb was being elusive. I was becoming discouraged. I spied a box on the top of one of the storage shelves, it was marked “BOOKS.” I can’t always trust the label because it might have been a box from another move, but I decided to chance it anyway.

I’m not all that short, but I am by no means tall, so boxes, etc. on the top of shelves are still a stretch for me. On my tiptoes I started working the box off the shelf. I got the box to a point where I thought I could let it drop into my arms. Yikes! The box and its contents ended up being a lot heavier than I had thought and it slipped out of my hands and onto the cement floor. The horrible crashing sound left me with no doubts that my book was not in that box. In fact, at the point I would have guessed correctly that the box I just dropped didn't hold one single book. I didn’t want to look down to see what that box was actually labeled.

I stood there for a few minutes staring at the wall ahead of me. I slowly looked down at the box at my feet and a cold chill went through me. A sadness that seized me, no tears or screaming, I just felt incredibly sad. I decided to cut into the box, to actually see what the damage looked like. As I pulled back the flaps and unzipped the special carrier inside, I saw my china shattered into pieces, china has a way of looking like shards and dust, there were a couple of survivors though; two luncheon plates and a couple of cups. I just sat down and stared at the contents.

As I looked at the damage, the Lord reminded me of a verse, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matt. 6:19-21, emphasis mine).

I folded the box flaps over the top of the carnage and said out loud, “Thank you Lord, this is not my treasure, this is just a thing.” With a deep sigh, I set the box aside, and continued my original mission. Wouldn’t you know it, the box I was looking for happened to be sitting about two feet away. I burrowed down and found the book I was so desperate to find. My feet took me to the stairs and I glanced over to take one last look at the box marked "China" on the top and "Books" on the side, turned out the light, and left it's shattered contents to deal with another day.

Holman Illustrated Bible Dictionary describes treasure this way, “Jesus Himself used the term [treasure] frequently. He contrasted earthly treasures to those of heaven (Matt. 6:19-20). What a person treasures or values determines one’s loyalty and frivolities (Matt. 6:21). Paul marveled that the treasure of God’s revelation of Himself in Christ had been deposited in an earthen vessel such as Paul himself (2Cor. 4:7)."

One of the definitions of treasure is the accumulation of wealth and riches, but it can also mean “to regard or treat as precious; to cherish.” Vine’s puts it even better, to put in “a place of safe keeping.” I’m thankful for the treasure stored in my own fragile jar of clay and for the safe keeping of my treasures in heaven.

Paul ended his first letter to Timothy with this: “Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life”
(1 Timothy 6:18-19, emphasis mine).

I feel assured that I am God’s treasure, never to be relegated to the dark corner of some basement. I will always have value and worth to my Lord, no matter where He moves me.

A Cup of Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 15:33:00 +0000

Proverbs 18:24 “There are “friends” who destroy each other, but a real friend sticks closer than a brother.” (NLT)

One of my favorite questions to be asked is, “Can you meet me for coffee?” My reply, “Yes, as a matter of fact I would love to meet you.” I have some very dedicated coffee buddies. We are like coffee drinking/coffee house professionals. We can sit and sip like no one else.

Over the years I don’t think there’s an emotion that hasn’t been shared. We’ve talked a blue streak, we’ve laughed until the tears rolled, we’ve cried over the hurts in our lives, we’ve shared our hopes and our fears, we’ve prayed together, we’ve read the Bible together, and the list just keeps going. I love the comfort and the camaraderie. I love the hand that covers mine when my heart is breaking; it lets me know I’m not alone. I love the indignation on my behalf when I’ve been slighted. I love the accountability when we’ve talked it out and enough is enough; we need to get over it and move on. I love these ladies and I love every minute of the time we’ve spent together.

I remembered an email that one of my coffee buddies sent me. Have you ever heard the story of the mayonnaise jar and two cups of coffee? Let me tell you…

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now,” said the professor as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things, your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car. The sand is everything else, the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.”

One of the students raised her hand and enquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

A Simple Call - Conclusion

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 15:19:00 +0000

Everything just came out in a rush; it wasn’t a sentence as much as it was one big long word. “I really miss you and I’m done missing you. I love you and I know you love me and I think we should get married.”

I think the term ‘pregnant pause’ might have applied here, although, I’ve never understood that phrase, does it mean the pause was big and uncomfortable or that one pause gave birth to another pause? “Uhhhhh, Karla?” I was tempted to say, ‘Duh,’ but I held back, really, who else would call him and say that? After affirming my identity, he continued, “Well, I'm not against this idea, but can I ask what’s happened from the time I left this morning?”

I told him about my evening and everything that was said, the questions, my answers, Chris’s advice, all of it. After all that he only made one request.

“Karla, I’m going to be back there next weekend before you can overthink this and change your mind. Pick out the ring that you want and I'll go buy it. My request is, can I please be the one to ask you to marry me?" By the way, Ken is yet another person who consistently reminds me to stop overthinking situations.

My tension suddenly popped and his question pulled the first laugh out of me. I told him, “Of course you can.” We talked for a long while. The whole situation brought out the highly animated me. Neither one of us could hardly wrap our minds around what had just happened. I know I kept thinking, ‘this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy,’ but I couldn’t have peeled the smile off my face if I’d tried. Ever since then Ken says living with me is like living life on a roller coaster, but he says it with a smile on his lips and love in his eyes, so I’m good with that.

I tried desperately to get hold of Chris that night, but I couldn’t get an answer at her hotel. The next few months were beyond hectic for me, but I still kept trying to contact her. I can’t remember where I got the information, but I heard that she was in the southeast part of the country, helping with yet another disaster. Chris didn’t have a permanent address anywhere, her personal life tended to be in a constant state of upheaval. It was frustrating. I really wanted to tell her the outcome of that one simple call I made that night.

It’s amazing how time can go by at the speed of light….

In the spring of 2002, my phone rang and with another simple call I found out that Chris had died, she had succumbed to cancer a short while back. I had never met the woman that called me, she told me she was Chris’ partner. I guess Chris had talked about me to her, enough so that she thought I should know what had happened. I talked with her for a little while, reminiscing and laughing about Chris and her life and what she had meant to each of us. The term bittersweet definitely applied.

After I hung up, I sat on the floor in my bedroom, with my back up against the bed and I just stared out the window. I felt the grief well up in my throat and a hiccup kind of sob escaped my lips. I felt the tears stinging my eyes, and then begin to spill unchecked down my face. I was filled with such a horrible sense of regret. I hadn’t talked to or seen Chris in years, not since that night. I felt at that moment that no matter what had happened, no matter how busy I had become, I should have worked harder to find her, to tell her what our evening together had meant. I should have told her that three months from that night, Ken and I were married. I should have told her that in the years to follow Ken and I had three beautiful children and that Ken had adopted my son. I should have told her what she meant to me. I should have told her that with her encouragement, on that night so long ago, I made a simple call, an event that was the catalyst for a lifetime of change.

**Author’s note: I hate the idea of having regrets. Combined with other events that had happened I decided that the people I love would know how I felt about them. I wouldn’t hold back my feelings, my admiration, and so on. I resolved to let my friends and family know, on this side of heaven, that they made a difference in my life.

Proverbs 12:25 “Worry weighs a person down; an encouraging word cheers a person up.”

1 Thessalonians 5:11 “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up...”

A Simple Call - Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Sat, 03 Mar 2012 23:04:00 +0000

Where should I begin? How much did I feel like dumping onto Chris’ lap? Would telling her help at all? Or would she be just one more person who knew the sad details of my life? Would I have to listen to hours of discourse about her life and trials? I looked at my watch, you know, I’m sure it’s past my bedtime….somewhere.

As if she could read my mind, she broke through the silence and asked me, “I don’t know what you’ve been struggling with, but can you at least tell me why you’ve been looking so sad?” I didn’t think I’d been ‘looking’ any particular way, sad or otherwise.

I looked around and wondered how long it could take a person to pee. At this point though, I really hoped her friend would be making herself scarce for a while longer. I knew I was going to be opening up the door to my private life, even if it was the most microscopic of cracks. I wanted to share my life with as few people as possible.

Her question was easy enough to answer, so I explained that a very close friend of mine had taken a job in Denver and that he had just left that day to head back to Colorado. Her eyes grew a wide, her eyebrows rose, and there was a little smile playing around her lips, all at the suggestion that there might be a 'he' in my life. Good grief.

“He?” she asked, “Who is ‘he’”?

I sighed. “He’s a very good friend. We’ve been friends for a long time.” Great! The one thing I didn’t want to get into is the one thing she honed in on. I don’t know if there’s a word for the look on her face, maybe ‘knowing’ would be accurate. I wanted to roll my eyes so bad that it actually hurt not to.

Chris continued, “Am I sensing more than just a friend? And does ‘he’ have a name?”

“Well, his name is Ken and, he's a very close friend, probably more, I don't know. We've spent a lot of time together this summer and we've really gotten close. I just don’t think I’m in a good place to have a relationship right now.”

“What could be stopping you from being as close as you want to be?”

“I don't know," I said, letting go a heavy sigh. "It's like I said, the timing is wrong.” I combined my response with a dismissive shrug; this subject was too unsettling for me. He was hundreds of miles away living his life and I was here living mine. For heaven’s sake, he had also just left.

Silence fell between us. She sipped on her drink. She didn’t exactly whisper, but her question was a little softer, “Can you please be straight with me? Who is this guy, really? He obviously means more to you than just a friend. Tell me a little about him.”

I propped my elbows on the table and perched my chin on top of them. I had leaned in, she had leaned in, and the whole atmosphere at the table shifted, it became more intimate. It was time, time to share with someone on the planet how I felt about this man.

I told her that I’d met him quite a while ago and that somehow, someway, somewhere he had always seemed to be in the background of my life. Recent events had shoved him forward in my life and brought him out of the background and into the fore. I told her what I saw were the obstacles to us ever being together, chief among them was my constant companion….guilt. I have spent hundreds of hours fretting over situations where I think I might disappoint someone or make someone unhappy. Side note: Please do not refer me to your therapist; I have quite unsuccessfully dealt with this issue and I good with it. I've summed up in a paragraph though what took me an hour to tell.

I sat back in the booth, feeling drained. I hadn’t cried, but I knew that my emotions had made my voice quiver at times. It’s hard to want something so badly, but feel convinced that it will never be yours. Love does funny, mixed up things to people.

Chris also sat back, she let go a loud sigh, and took another sip of her drink. She sat looking at me for what seemed like an eternity. I sat pensive, waiting for what she had to say. I really hoped she would share the wise, sage type advice instead of the fortune cookie brand.

“Karla, I’m going to ask you a question. I don’t want you to think about your answer. I want you to just blurt out the very first thing that pops into your head. Can you do that?”

“Sure.” This was a strange approach, but I’d play along.

“Ready?” She asked. I nodded my response.

Chris looked me in the eye, “Remember, don’t analyze your response. Just say the first thing that pops into your head." She waited a second for me to clear my mind, like that could ever happen. "If you could have anything you wanted right this minute, what would it be?”

Oops, I started thinking, putting a stop to my thoughts I let my answer have its freedom, without too much analysis. “I really want to be with Ken.” Another side note: I would not recommend this method for any or even most decisions, but she knew that I was way overthinking this thing, which was what I usually did.

She reached across the table and held out her hand. I slipped my hand into hers. She squeezed it gently. “Then what are you waiting for, just go make it happen." Maybe she say my skeptical look, because she said, "Yes, it is just that easy.” As if on cue, her friend appeared at the table. She knew that I wasn't going to argue with her now. Wow. She is amazing.

The evening seemed to come to an abrupt halt. Chris paid the check and we were heading back home. I realize now, looking back, that she knew that if I had too much time to think; I’d most likely think myself into a paralyzing corner where nothing happened. I know it's disturbing, but I really do like the voices in my head....usually.

When she dropped me off she got out to give me a hug. She looked me in the eyes one more time and with as much intensity as she could she said, “Don’t hesitate. You go straight in there and call him.” On more squeeze, then, "Call me later and let me know how it turned out."

I didn’t hesitate, with the exception of taking a really big gulp before I dialed the phone. With each ring my stomach tightened. I was fairly certain that Ken wouldn’t be against this idea, but sometimes there’s no predicting what some people will think or feel. My whole body was so stiff with tension that I’m sure I could have been snapped like a twig.

He was home, he had answered, “Hello?” I heard his oh-so-familiar voice ask.

(To be continued........tomorrow.....)

A Simple Call – Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 21:23:00 +0000

Once in the car, we started chatting animatedly about the past. I don’t think we hardly took a breath until we arrived at the restaurant. The restaurant we chose was packed with people; we were like so many sardines in a can. The wait was usually very long, but well worth every minute. Chris made her way through the crowd to give her name to the maître d’. I told her friend that it was a good thing Chris was with us because I was really hungry. Her friend gave me a puzzled look, but was even more surprised when Chris waved us over to her. I don’t know how she manages it, but Chris had a way of getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. If that meant not waiting two hours for a table, then she didn’t wait. It’s just like being in one of those movies where the lead character has some kind of pull no matter where they go. I wish I had this skill; maybe it takes money and connections, neither of which I had or have.

We sat in a quieter part of the restaurant, away from the main part of the dining room, especially the crowd at the door. We could at least hear each other without shouting. Throughout dinner, the conversation was light, no advice doled out nor were there any probing questions. I was still tense though, it was a little like being led slowly to the electric chair, but praying that any minute the governor would call and stop the proceedings. Extreme? This is how I viewed talking about the intimate details of my life; rather torturous and better left unsaid. I worked hard to keep the conversation centered on their work with the Red Cross. A lot was happening in the country and that summer relief workers were being kept busy.

After the meal was cleared away, the three of us just settled in, no one seemed in too big of a hurry to rush off. I also figured that if I’d made it this far, then I was just about home free. Chris sat back and ordered a cognac. My eyes popped over the cost of that one little glass of liqueur, but that’s the way Chris was, whatever she wanted, she wanted it to be the very best. I liked the relaxed pace of the evening, my life was somewhat chaotic, so the slow unwind was just what the doctor ordered. Of course, looking back I realize that she was waiting for me to drop my guard. I told you she was good.

Her friend excused herself to go to the restroom and I caught the look they exchanged. I wanted to ask her if she couldn’t possibly hold it a little while longer, but I sat there silent and watched my buffer walk away. I looked at Chris and knew from the look on her face that the lighthearted banter and slow relaxed pace had come to an end; the interrogation portion of the evening was about to begin. I wondered if Chris and her friend had previously worked out a signal for her to leave. I wanted to let a deep, long sigh escape my lips, but I held it back.

Chris leveled this look at me. “So, honestly, how are you? What’s going on in your life?” Remember I said Chris had a booming voice, well, I could feel the other diners glancing my way. I slunk down in my seat, I suspected that those around us were leaning in to catch my answer, not that I’m particularly interesting, but I think some people are just that bored.

Hoping she’d catch the hint to talk softer, I replied in very low voice, “I’m doing okay. I hate being a single mother, and money can be tight, but otherwise things are fine.” My response seemed to come out in a quiet rush, but I felt that I had successfully encapsulated my life into one succinct statement and hoped she would be satisfied. If I were texting this story I would have to add an LOL at my being naive.

She eyed me speculatively, took a sip of her drink, “You’re hiding something, spill it.” Chris usually started with being very straightforward. I happen to admire the blunt approach, not rude, just direct. I like to ‘call a spade a spade.’ In some ways we were birds of a feather, no beating around the bush, just cut to the chase. That didn’t mean I was going to give her any more information though.

“I’m really not hiding anything.” I tried to affect the most wide-eyed, innocent facial expression I could. Somehow I think she could hear my inner dialogue, but how do you make the voice in your head shut up? My little, small voice was screaming to escape the confines of my skull.

Chris’ eyes locked with mine and without words she seemed to be saying to me, ‘I see deep into your heart and I know you want to talk to me about something.’ She didn’t say that though, instead she said, “I won’t press. I know you. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” She shrugged and put her hands up, as if to signal defeat. “Can I ask one favor? Will you give me just a glimpse of the unabridged version?” She reached over and patted my hands that were folded on top of the table.

I stared down at my hands. How does she do this to me? She could make my resolve crumble like a sand castle in the waves of her genuine concern. I could feel the emotion squeezing my chest; it was getting harder to hold back. What was happening to the brick wall I’d so successfully built around myself? Maybe if I caved a little it would be okay, she’d back down and I’d get some relief by sharing some of my burdens.

(To be continued........tomorrow.....)

A Simple Call - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 22:20:00 +0000

Have you ever noticed how quickly life can change? In a matter of seconds, a person can go from laughing to crying, from anger to relief, from relaxed to tension filled. Life can seem like it’s in no particular hurry, but in a flash things spin out of control. Sometimes that change can begin with a simple phone call. As I look back in my life, maybe the phone calls weren't the time at which the change occurred; maybe they were just the catalyst for events to come.

I didn’t feel like my life would change in any particular way that Sunday afternoon. I received a phone call from an old family friend; she was in town for the week and wanted to take me to dinner that night. I was living in Kansas City at the time and Chris worked as a disaster relief supervisor for the Red Cross. By Labor Day weekend of 1993, the bulk of the Mid-West was under water. She had a limited amount of free time, so her dinner plans had to be made at the spur of the moment. I wasn’t going to pass up a free steak dinner, so I eagerly agreed.

Chris was one of those people that you never quite knew what to expect. She lived life by the seat of her pants. Chris’s heart was always in the right place, even if her head wasn’t. As a result, she had made some really bad decisions; when I think about it, her life up to that point would have made a compelling reality show. Chris was warm and compassionate and she had always been a great listener, which was great at times when my teenage self really needed a different perspective. Although she was a good listener, she loved to hear herself talk even more. She liked to give out this really deep, sage advice. Sometimes her advice would be dead on, but other times, I felt like she was just doling out fortune cookie wisdom. Chris did have one trait though that stood out above all others; she was one of the most generous people I had ever met.

Generosity may have been her gift, but being a detective should have been her calling. She was good, too good for my peace of mind. Butterflies started to churn in my stomach as I prepared for the evening out. The preceding three years of my life had been very complicated and I really didn’t want to delve into that mess, but I knew in my heart that at some point I would be interrogated about what had happened. Like I said, she was good and if I didn’t prepare in advance, I’d find myself blabbering on about things I didn’t really want to discuss. I was determined to enjoy the evening and to stay resolved to not disclose anything. I kept chatting with myself in the mirror and the mirror had the nerve to waggle her finger at me, warning me to keep my mouth shut and just smile and nod. I think the mirror was skeptical about my listening skills.

Chris arrived late in the afternoon. She had a friend with her, someone whose name I couldn’t even begin to remember. As Chris stood in my living room, the thought struck me that she seemed to be timeless. She was this tall, slim, imposing woman, whose voice just boomed across a room. She hadn’t changed a bit and oddly I took great comfort in that fact. Her hug was warm and friendly. Between the warm welcome and the equally warm hug, I felt guilty that my thoughts had been somewhat traitorous. I wanted to stay in that hug for a while; it felt like a safe and protected place. Some good things must come to an end and if we were going to get to the restaurant in time we needed to be on our way.

(To be continued........tomorrow.....)

In A Moment

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 08:10:00 +0000

A couple of years ago I watched as my children left for their first day of school and I was reminded of an Abba song:
"Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning/ Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile/ I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness/ And I have to sit down for a while/The feeling that I'm losing her forever /And without really entering her world/ I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter/ That funny little girl/ Slipping through my fingers all the time/ I try to capture every minute /The feeling in it/ Slipping through my fingers all the time/ Do I really see what's in her mind/ Each time I think I'm close to knowing/ She keeps on growing/ Slipping through my fingers all the time..."

I've heard people make the comment that they would love to freeze time. I can certainly relate to that feeling. Although, I think I would rather have the ability to step back in time. I look at pictures of when my children were little and I just want to step back into those moments, to recapture their sweet innocence, to hear the funny things they would say. I’ve tried to write down as many of those funny things as I could, but so many others slip by, I couldn’t possibly record them all.

As time has rolled by I hope that I’ve learned some things. I heard this saying not to long ago and had to commit it to memory, “The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention,” or in my words, be truly present in every situation, in every moment. As a mom that’s tough at times. I look down through my planner and this one has to be at dance, this one at football, this one at volleyball, then there’s dinner, dentists, doctors, cleaning up the cat’s “accident”, laundry, etc., etc. Be present with them? I’ve felt as if I’m barely present in my own life. There have been times that I’ve seen my husband coming down the hall and have said, “Hey there stranger,” then gave that cutie a wink and a smile. Time is such a rare commodity that we’re spending it as if we’ve got an endless supply of it. I better stay focused, this posting is about moments in time, maybe I’ll write one about time management later…when I have some time.

I’ve decided that I need to make sure that I’m present in every moment. I might be trying to do ten things all at once, but somehow, someway, I need to be right there, listening, laughing, and enjoying the moment. The thing about kids, is that’s how fast those funny, sweet times happen, in a moment. It’s not something planned or contrived, it’s them racing around the island in my kitchen trying to tackle someone to the ground, then suddenly everyone collapses in a heap of laughter. I don’t care if they’re underfoot, I want them to keep going (just don’t break anything, please). I drink all the chaos in, the sounds, the scents, absorbing every detail, so that, well, I can write about it later and I'll smile at the memory, at that precious moment of time.

Talking about parenting moments and building a memory (good enough segue?), when our children were little Ken and I shared the responsibility of bathing them, we established quite the evening ritual. He dunked and scrubbed them and I dried and groomed them, that really sounds like dog grooming, but actually I think my kids could make a bigger mess. It was a huge family event most nights. I sat in the hallway, right outside the bathroom door, combs, brushes, a blow drier, detangle spray, and other various implements of hair and body weapons. I didn’t realize that I was creating such a memory until I heard my kids talking about it recently. Those precious moments, the half hour or more of time that I spent getting them ready for bed, those times weren't just spent lotioning them up and tugging at tangles, we spent time every night talking, laughing, and enjoying each others company. I wish I had been even more present than I was in those moments, but the memory is there, and it’s such a sweet one.

Fallout usually has negative connotations, but it more broadly means "the results of a situation". So, there’s fallout to being present in the moment, there’s fallout to spending time together, through good times and bad. Here's the "fallout" of bath time and grooming rituals. By the way, I love the scene I'm about to describe, I love to watch the interaction of my daughters when my oldest fixes my youngest daughter’s hair. It’s so sweet. I’d like to think that I helped establish that in their lives, that desire to help someone look their best, to want to spend time with that other person, laughing, talking, brushing and combing. Here’s another example, my son, Blake, announced that he was going to go out to eat with his new girlfriend and that she was going to introduce him to her parents. Oh, my goodness, that brought this reply from my oldest daughter, “Blake! You are not wearing that.” Both my daughters marched their brother upstairs to pick out a new outfit and to do his hair. Ken and I laughed as we listened to the frenzy of activity going on upstairs. I recall the girls talking to each other but not consulting with Blake about his wardrobe or hairstyle. To their credit, he did look pretty sharp when they were done with him. "Fallout"... they love each other, they want to help each other to be their best and to look their best. The "after the dinner briefing" would make another funny story on the differences of male and female perspectives.

Although there are times that I wish I could step back into a moment, I look more forward to future moments. I sometimes have to remind myself to be present in this moment and to stop looking so much to the future. As a mom, I couldn’t hardly wait for my kids to talk; I would stare into their beautiful little faces and wonder what they were thinking. I couldn’t wait to sign my kids up for dance; I wanted to see them twirling around on the stage. I couldn’t wait for that first football game; I wanted to see my son take someone down or do a victory dance in the end zone. Letting my imagination run ahead and making plans for future moments has at times left me disappointed. I think that’s exactly why we are disappointed with future moments; when we finally arrive there, they don't live up to our previous expectations. As a result, I don't put much stock in future moments, they're but dreams in the mist, I will just let the future come on its own.

I can look back and be nostalgic about the past moments, but being present in the now moments has helped me be more engaged and happy about this moment, this moment right now. I can have more influence right now, this moment, than any other moment, it's the only moment I'm guaranteed to have. So, what am I or what are you doing with your moments? What could or should I do....Could I love more? Probably. Could I forgive more? Definitely. Could I do more for others? Yes! Could I give more? Whatever it is, it's not mine to hold on to so tightly anyway, so yes, I could and should. Right now, this moment, the world is full of endless possibilities.

I think that’s what God wants from us too. He wants us to be fully engaged and present in this moment. I need to ask myself, am I letting my attention be drawn away, so that I'm not fully engaged in this moment with my Savior? What can I do in this moment, to know Him better, to serve Him more fully, and to be a better reflection of His glory? God already created the space and time in which you now find yourself, so show up every moment of everyday, fully prepared to love, to give, to forgive, to serve, and on and on.

Have a Blessed day! Have a blessed moment!

Life Is Out Ahead of You!

noreply@blogger.com (Karla) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 06:46:00 +0000

Recently I was talking to a friend about my oldest daughter and her boyfriend. They are both hugely enthusiastic about serving the Lord as their vocation and they both want to just get out there and do the thing. Rachel is willing to go anywhere and minister to anyone who'll listen. She witnessed to someone at the mall a couple of months ago, she felt led to talk to this person sitting in the food court, so she did. She wasn’t daunted or scared, she approached with boldness, of course, my petite teenager comes across as anything but threatening. The person was receptive to what she had to say that afternoon. She may not have seen this person come to to know Christ, but she definitely planted a seed that day.

I love my daughter's and her friend's energy, it makes me feel exhausted just watching them, but I know how easily that energy can begin to ebb, so it’s a challenge to guide them to find a balance without killing their enthusiasm. I just wish that in my own life I'd not held back as much as I did. Their view of life right now reminds me of a line from the movie Secretariat, "This is about life being ahead of you and you run at it" (as a parent I just need to be great jockey and know when to really give her some lead and when to rein things in because she’s still learning/training). Isaiah 30:21 says, "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it." I have a very active (over-active) imagination and someday I can just picture the Holy Spirit urging these kids with that gentle, but unwavering voice, “It's time, this is the way, now....GO FOR IT!" It will be a very exciting moment to see them running such a magnificent race.

I’ve been watching race footage of Secretariat and Man ‘O War (and not the movies, the actual horses).
When Secretariat won the race at Belmont Stakes in 1973, he won by 31 lengths, it was amazing to watch (catch it on YouTube). The jockey could have taken it easy when he saw that there wasn’t any threat to his winning the race, but instead he gave Secretariat his lead and he set a record. Paul urges us to fight the good fight, finish the race, keep the faith (2 Timothy 4:7, paraphrased). I want to urge my children, and even myself, towards the same goal, to not hold back, to run with perseverance the race marked out for us (Hebrews 12:1, paraphrased). When the race is over, did we have anything left? Or was it all poured out like a drink offering (Phil. 2:17; 2 Tim. 4:6)? Erma Bombeck wrote “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, "I used everything you gave me.”

Praying for all to run a good race!
Karla Butters

“They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Isaiah 40:31