Footprints

I was folding blueberries into the muffin batter when I felt the shard pierce the skin of my left foot.  Fussing, I hopped over to the sink to remove the piece of glass.  I knew it would find me sooner or later, after a glancing blow knocked a segment off the rim of a mason jar an hour previous.  Meaning to sweep the floor, I instead moved from one thing to the next while I set to baking a cake and muffins at the same time.   I was thankful I stepped on the wayward object and not one of my children.  I berated myself and kept mixing batter because if you leave blueberries in batter for too long without baking them, the batter  becomes an offensive off blue colour.   If baking came with colour swatches soggy blueberry muffin batter comes in somewhere in between “this looks like blue mold” and “my grandmother’s blueberry muffins were never purple.”

It’s a baking thing.

Onward I went, a valiant warrior, adding baking soda and flour to different bowls, spraying muffin pans and scooping mix until I slipped and about fell over.  “Why is the floor wet?” I asked in a most exasperated tone to the empty kitchen.  People with baking shows don’t slip on wet floors, why must I suffer so?  I assumed a guilty child had splashed water on the floor and left me to slide to an uncoordinated yet impressive manner.  I groaned, put down the muffin pans and looked at the floor. 

Then I screamed. 

Then my daughter, sitting in the next room came running into the kitchen and looked at the floor.  She groaned.  Regaining her composure she looked at me, “Mum what the heck?”

“Clearly, I’m bored and bleeding out,” was my snotty reply, which was entirely unfair.  All the poor kid did was show up in order to help her me and I was being bloody and grumpy.  Sighing, my dear girl marched upstairs, rummaged under the bathroom sink, came back into the kitchen and wordlessly handed me a Band-Aid. “Do you need Dad?”   “Nooooo,” was my civil reply, Dad didn’t need to witness this kind of skill set, he knows who he married; best not remind the poor fellow.  

It was all quite exciting really, if not a bit gross.  But it was interesting because it got me thinking about the foot prints we unintentionally make when we are hurt.    

Three days later I was having a seaside moment with my youngest when a woman walking down the beach caught my eye.  She was older, dressed in a black coat and dragging an umbrella in the sand.  Wandering the beach, she pulled her umbrella, leaving squiggles and swirls behind her.  The thought of leaving a mark came to mind once more.  I reflected that when we have first been hurt, it is easy to make a mess as we navigate crisis.  When the suffering is protracted, we can leave a bloody trail of anger, frustration and despair as life takes us to places we never imagined.  Pain marks a soul and without intentional actions to heal, it will mark our footsteps as well.

I followed Umbrella lady down the beach, thinking about the difference between the lovely swirls she left and my bloody footprints the kitchen.  Why is it when pain comes into a life that some people are able to rise above it and leave a legacy of beauty, yet others bleed and never recover from their wounds?  I was getting all church about the issue, thinking about the role of faith in suffering when Umbrella Lady stopped walking. 

You realize my friend, that when I recount a story it is often more clear in hindsight than it is in the moment.  At this moment thoughts were floating through my mind and I was trying to make sense of suffering with grace versus suffering without it.  I walked up to where Umbrella Lady left her scribbles in the sand, wondering what a 70 year old writes as she doodles her way down the beach.

I was not disappointed.

And with this message in the sand, I found some peace for I believe that it is a grateful heart that can and does make all the difference in our walk.

I’m praying for you this week,

xoxK

Monday Monday

Things that happen on a Monday

Well it was definitely a Monday.  I generally post on Sundays but last night I hated the entire planet and today I’m angry enough not to let Monday get the last word. See the picture?  Yep, my car doing magical breaky things again, but this time I’m pretty certain it isn’t my fault.  I’ll call my mechanic tomorrow and see if I’m right.

While driving without any rear left shocks, I stopped at my girlfriends in order to borrow her pickup truck.  I had a bed and nightstand to acquire thanks to some Craigslist fandangling.  After pulling up at the correct address, I exchanged pleasantries with “Tony” and he helped me load the furniture in the truck.  I arranged things a bit and figured popping the drawers out of the nightstand would be a good idea.  When I did, there was a mess of papers that had slipped to the back of the night stand.  “Hey Tony, I have some papers here!”  Jogging over he apologized and waited as I pulled the bundle free.  “Wow, your daughter’s lucky day!” I exclaimed.  Tucked in the back of the nightstand, amidst the unused car wash tickets was $55.  “There you go sir!”  I chimed, handing them over, “Keep half as your finder’s fee.”  A smile and a wave and we were off to stash our treasures in our incredibly full garage. 

“That was lucky wasn’t it?” my little chimed from the back seat.  “Yes, it would have been a hassle going back to return that stuff, although they still would have been pleased.” I agreed.  “Returning money that isn’t yours is always the right thing to do.”  I tacked on a moral because it seemed like a teachable moment and somewhere in the back of my head a Veggie Tale tune had started playing.  Those guys had a song for everything. 

As my psyche threw things at Larry Boy in order to get him to shut up, I contemplated what would have happened if I had found the money while at my house, instead of Tony’s driveway.  I like to think that I would have returned the money. But what if I wasn’t able to run back to Tony’s right away?  What if I had to put it off for a day? Would I have been as likely to return the money after 24 hours had passed?  It seemed like a test I didn’t have the opportunity to take.   

All this got me to thinking about other tests I don’t get to take.  Right now, I would very much like to test my character by speaking to someone who has treated me like a troll for the better part of a year.  Upon occasion, I imagine being able to confront this person and speak my side of the story, but strangely, I have never been given the chance.  Rest assured, in my imaginary confrontation I am utterly loving and the thought of running them over with a minivan never even enters my mind.   Truth is, I am likely being spared a confrontation because I would fail miserably. 

Have you ever spent time contemplating what God spares us from my friend?  The lack of opportunity to speak your mind, the social visit that never transpires, even these things can be hallmarks of the hand of God over your life.  In ignorance and presumption, I assume if I had my way, I would get the relief I seek, not understanding the hand of God saves me from myself as much as those around me.

So I’m praying this week, we might see closed doors as blessings; those things that do not transpire as coming from the same heart.  Praying that you keep standing through all trials and temptations. 

And praying for my car…

Have a good week,

xoxKaren

Awesome Possum

I live with mice: hamsters actually, but what’s the difference?  Essentially, they are well fed vermin.  Opossums are sometimes viewed as vermin too, even though they are a lot bigger than hamsters.  I saw my first live opossum on Friday.  It was early, my hubby had left for work and I was in the kitchen making my tea when I caught sight of something in the back yard.  Wondering if it was my neighbor’s evil carpet duster dog**, I went outside to take a closer look.  Checking the fence to see if the critter had escaped, I realized the creature was walking strangely and scooted closer for a closer look. 

I backed up just as quickly when realized it was a large (if not ginormous) opossum out for a stroll.  Not having met an opossum, I was unclear of the protocol of first contact.   I figured waving was a good start.  Mr. Opossum ignored me.  It was not the cross species encounter I envisioned.  Staring at him as he sauntered across the moss I was struck with how weird looking he was.  I can understand why people dislike them; they aren’t the most handsome creature in the forest.

However, I was determined to love my new friend and chatted with him as he walked away through the ravine.  I texted my girlfriend to brag on a new relationship and she cautioned me that too much interaction with Mr. Opossum could mean the destruction of my house.  She is not as enamored with North American marsupials as I.  This was after I suggested feeding him sweet potatoes.  Though I wouldn’t actually feed the fellow, she has good cause to worry considering the whole mice issue.

When my youngest got up, she was thrilled to learn the woods behind the house held a new animal.  I showed her the video I took and we marveled over Mr. Opossums’ shape and size.  Taking to the internet, we had an impromptu biology lesson and discussed if Possums were as menacing as their reputation.  We decided that they get a lot of disapproval because they are ugly.

Life has a way of bringing you both beautiful and ugly experiences.  The beautiful ones are like Reddit aww videos, I love to watch them and bask in their loveliness.  The ugly seem to me unredeemable and intended to provoke outrage.  Like opossum, I approach them uncertainly, unsure how their ugliness could bring me benefit. 

Last week I had the opportunity to talk to a woman who is in the middle of trial by teenager.  A kind and devoted mother, she has to practice tough love in the face of rebellion and rage.  It is not easy.  I asked her, “How is your heart?  How are you managing to stay above the hurt of it all?”  Her answer was different, “Really Karen, it can be so painful but when it is, I just encourage myself in the Lord.”  She said the entire phrase like it was a pleasant verb, as if she were informing me she was going to eat chocolate cake.  It was striking.

If you are familiar with scripture you will recognize the phrase from the story of David.  I Samuel 30 tells the story of David’s men turning on him in bitter disappointment and proposing to stone their leader.  In response, David strengthens himself in the Lord.  As a verb the word clearly implies an action, that of becoming strong, but what does that physically look like? Getting on your knees and praying? Reciting scripture out loud?  Standing up to the negative voices in your head by speaking truth?  My guess is yes, all of the above. 

The vexing thing about growing stronger is that you have to lift heavy things to gain strength.  The problematic part about overcoming trials is living with problems long enough to get to the overcoming.  It isn’t our natural inclination to put ourselves in adverse circumstances in order to improve our character.   Though my friend didn’t say it directly, there was a level of positive fellowship she was experiencing in prayer through her trials. I felt a deep admiration for this woman and ashamed of my own weakness.  She looked at trials as a means to spend time with the Lord; she dwelt in the negative but was able to experience something positive in the pain of it all.  I have no doubt that she is the type of person that would view a hamster as a pet and not freeloading vermin.  She would probably feed a possum a sweet potato too… given the right circumstances.

There is much we can learn from these types of folk.

I do hope there is someone in your community my friend, from whom you can glean a bit of wisdom: someone who can inspire/embarrass you into withstanding trials with more grace.   Perhaps pick up a biography of someone who has overcome in order to see how, over time, blessing can come from hardship.

I’m praying this week, that we might be able to find peace in the face of pain.  That by standing in a place of hurt, we will be able to find moments of strength and learn that not all ugly things are vermin to be eradicated.

Have a good week,

xoxKaren

PS. sorry for the lame video, by the time I met Possum, ran away from Possum and got my phone this is what was left. 

***Yes, dogs are wonderful. Blah, blah, blah… this one has evil in its soul.  Don’t be offended.  If you met him you would agree.