Maneuvering Life and Motherhood with Twins Plus One
Karie Herring, Jeep aficionado, organic advocate and chef, details life as a reformed corporate woman, wife and motherhood to her twins and tween.
The “holidays” are officially over. Valentines marks the close of all the crappy eating, unhealthy food choices and overall gluttony in our lives. For those who didn’t make a New Year’s resolution you are considering your health about this time. You are looking for a way to kickstart your body into the healthy mode; feeling sluggish, fatigued, and just a general overall feeling of meh. Continue reading “Kickstart your Colon with Coconut Cleanse”
On the twilight of a day where I completed a fifth and successful interview with the organization that will be bringing me on board I wanted to share my joys, triumphs and excitement for where my life and career are taking me next. Truly this moment is divine, not because I have been struggling in embracing unemployment the last eight months, but because this job is in and of itself Heaven sent. Instead I find myself seeking prayer around each emotional turn, celebrating in quiet as my small triumph has been shadowed by my husband’s tremendous news. I suppose as a good wife it’s our job to put aside our girlish desires and superficial wins in order to celebrate the men in our lives. But today I want a win, I just want my humbling moment to be celebrated by my equal half, I want to celebrate the awesomeness together.
Instead I am playing the doting wife. Ecstatic for the opportunity that presents itself for my husband in his career, not mine. Selfish all the same because of how dramatic his opportunity will adversely affect our family.
Would our behavior as women behoove us to fall into medieval roles as token matriarchs that lack authority? True figureheads to the men we stand beside, trophies of their accomplishments. Today I feel like that moment. I feel as if all my accolades as a person and woman were somehow dwarfed by the crowning moment of a husband’s career defining job offer. Suddenly, my university studies, self made career as a financial guru and gift to put emotions to words are as belittling as housework. Somehow I have never felt so inferior.
Part of me is wallowing in my own self pity and anger to not speak up to my husband. Somehow I don’t know this woman who is suffering in silence. I have never held my tongue and cannot for the life of me grasp the reason for silence at a time that should be carried out in joy, for both of us. All the while I know I should say something to him in regard to my feelings. I should be exerting my feminine prowess, but I sit in front of my monitor struggling to find the words for the emptiness at such a joyous moment.
Another part of my mute moment would be due to the fact that I fear his resentment. Job of CIO is not to be taken lightly as an offer. Job as CIO that would uproot my children from their home, estranged from our family, friends, community; the comfort and solace, which is like a warming in the heart that we feel when we are at home, the warming replaced with the frigid unknown. Would I be so selfish to ask him to cast aside this offer that would take us to the other end of the nation in the name of money? With no friends. No family. No community. So part of me begs that question of what really matters? Sadly my heart breaks and tears burn in my eyes because I know what matters and none of the aforementioned feel like a factor. His decision is made regardless of my feelings.
The plan is to have the offer maker visit and speak with me about this grand opportunity. Ensure I am on the boat, arm-in-arm with my husband as the quiet supportive spouse, to be there as he needs me as I maintain a stoic appearance of strength and resolve in an unsettling time. All of which makes me want to vomit and scream. A deep desire to share my feelings, fears, triumphant challenges that I eagerly accept but resent all the same for lack of ardent qualities. If only they knew of the big picture in my small offer.
Maybe this is my own faults being played out. Falling too far into humility to never boast of my own accord as this is truly God’s work of the accomplishment, his and my own. Excited to be fulfilling the job in The Kingdom, as I seem to have this higher calling, aside from the desires of the flesh with money. Or silently I sit in jealousy for the dream I formerly had for myself to climb the imaginary ladder…to what end.
So I sit at my couch listening to the silent whir of traffic, the cool scent of the desert’s musk in the air of my open window, reminding me that spring is in the air, all thoughts pulling me away from reeling moments of frustration. Quiet contemplation of whether I should speak up or hold my tongue. Personally at an impasse. He clicks away at his keyboard unassuming of my intentions, feelings, frustrations. I chew on my thoughts like a clod of rawhide, never breaking through but continually foaming into thoughts which lead into more prayers for answers, comfort, guidance. Cursing all the while.
Our relationship has never been so uneven. Never have we chartered these waters. When did I become subservient to him? When did my needs become any less important than his? When did my dreams and aspirations become any less fruitful? When did we no longer become equals. The conflagration of emotions stirring inside my abdomen, indifference, anger, frustration, hurt, jealousy, love and hate. How can one event create such unrest.
Sober with my emotions. Drunk in my thoughts. Ever hopeful that I will find the moment to speak life into my husband and into our marriage for how life will play out next in these earthly theatrics. Ever hopeful to celebrate in my joy with my new career on the horizon, while his causes our lives to teeter off balance. For tonight I am playing the good wife for him.
Sweaty machines and unknown treadmill neighbors are a gym rat’s worst nightmare. During and after my workout I struggle leaving my phone on and around equipment as I am unable to access in an easy or smegma free fashion. I am always terrified that I am either going to drop my phone or when I walk away, to retrieve the anti-bacterial wipes, that I will forget my phone and someone swipes it. Continue reading “Hands Free Fitness iPhone Armband”
For many years I walked in shame for my faith and beliefs. Truly mortified to speak them aloud, I even went as far to recant that I ever truly believed in the first place. I thought being a Christian meant carrying this tremendous burden of shame, embarrassment, yet for years I never truly understood why. The moment was truly divine and as if God struck me across the back of the head; I was paralyzing my thoughts, my beliefs and my faith until that moment. My realization allowed me to confront that my beliefs were not about me, but about Him, my life was more than just me and that life was cool to be a Christian.
My friends of various faiths, Judaism, LDS, Catholics, were all staunch with their affirmation in their beliefs, as if they paraded like the emperor in his new clothes. I could not fathom the realism of being myself, in my own skin, with my own beliefs with all the looming disgrace of being me. I never understood, not until I was 35. I felt like Moses, having lived this long in my life with no spiritual intervention and then wham, this life. The life I love came to me. Realization came when I saw how the veil was torn. I saw His grace, love, sacrifice.
That.
That epiphany defined the genesis of shame and embarrassment. Our culture, society, those who truly do not get what being a follower of Christ truly entails, defined who a Christian was “suppose” to be, who I was suppose to be amongst my peers. The skewed and obtuse perceptions, interpretations, and teachings create this shame; finding yourself kicking a toe in the dirt, a low hung head and sheepish voice claiming, “Yeah, I’m a Christian. I believe.” You know that moment, you have felt that burning into your soul. Chills quiver through your existence that you might be rejected by your peers for loving something greater, desiring Greater. Dare you speak a whisper of your faith, the succeeding actions from your audience are of heavy sighs and a possible eye roll. Pity.
As of late I have seen such a beautiful and genuine emergence of “cool” Christians; wearing their flaws on their sleeves, these broken people shout to the heavens how much they love Him, love themselves, love others. These folks aren’t kicking the dirt, they are initiating a new breed, transcending the stereotype. Escaping the traditional fire and brimstone, maladies of classical hymns by a choir on Sunday that would showcase who we wanted to be and hiding who we really are as a people. Sinners.
I ran into a friend from church the other night while dropping the kids off for their Wednesday night life groups. Our encounter humbled me ever more. She told me, “I love your writing. Keep writing. I know very few people who are our age that get it.”
She got it. She got that I got it. Praise God. Maybe my age, our age has everything to do with faith, our faith. Relinquishing the fear of judgment from others, which is a mortal reflection of insecurity and personal fear. Grieving our former selves, loving them all the same as they have shaped us into the people we are today, bounding with love, benevolence, calm and a bit of whimsy.
As I progress into my elder years and I have accepted that life is more than just me, I want, I lust, I desire more of this life, my life, the life of and for my children. Communing with people, tendering a love the way He did, and exploiting the whimsy for life by unlatching the societal norms, the harnesses confining our being.
Some 25 years ago I was confined to my grandmothers Pontiac, the travel from her home in Eloy to my childhood home in Chandler felt like an eternity in her car. The endless stretch of desert was like a sea of beige back then, littered by the occasional eye candy of a billboard. Cruising along as a passenger I remember battling for the radio station. She had her presets, Christian music, as I say that in the most childish, sarcastic voice…possibly with an eye roll. While I, on the other hand, fought to listen to Top40 pop. I was an 80s child, dear God, anything but old hymns. I could feel the yawns and an overall feeling of sleepiness with the suggestion of the organs playing in the background.
Christian music was not what it was today. The best you could get was Amy Grant, but she was like Debbie Gibson, catchy but you would be caught dead listening to her. Yesterday’s Christian is not today’s Christian. My grandmother is a perfect example that Christians today are not as they formerly were. Grams was, is, the strongest woman I know in Christianity. A warrior of faith, love, sacrifice and selflessness; her grace for the love of the Lord has evolved so magically and enviably. Today she rocks her Christian stations, the same one’s I do, she even does so in her Ford Mustang GT convertible. She has helped me embrace the evolution of owning brokenness. Shattering my own veil that I have a perfect love in an imperfect world.
Listening to the traditional hymns and psalms in my grams’ car was reminiscent of the shame, the culture, the secret we all bore but never uttered. Our hidden heathen, God truly forbid we ever let the bastard roam free amongst all the other hidden heathens, declaring our humanity. How could we display the truth outside these ecclesiastic moments; broken people, sinners, lovers of the Lord existed as a singularity. Not today. Today’s music, I can crank in my Jeep with the top down, all windows down and never feel ashamed to be broken, to love worshiping out loud. Bands like Lifehouse, P.O.D, Jars of Clay, FlyLeaf, Switchfoot all derive their music from strong faith, religious roots and stream into our homes on traditional Top40 radio. I have even become THAT parent. While I still have my normal radio stations I find myself cringing and changing the channel when I truly hear the lyrics. These words playing into my children’s ears, minds, and then they are spouting them. Last thing I want is my seven year old daughter spouting off about menage a trois from Katy Perry while riding in the Jeep. So when they ask for “Greater” by Mercy Me…
Cool.
What is on the other side of your cool? What about your faith, what quality causes you angst? Are you in the disavowal stage? Accepting who we are and in our faith does not mean that we are, for lack of a better term “Bible thumping.” We can be who we are, be in our beliefs, and share the good Word just like we share small talk. Like breathing.
How can life be cool to be a Christian; just do these three things. Get over it! Get over what you thought you knew. Find a home that tells the story of the Bible, but be ready. The story is a romance, a love story of a Father who so loved his children he sacrificed his only son. Get under it! Serve your community, serve the way Jesus did, because you know this life is not about you. Get with it! Be with other people who love God. Do life with these people. Because what is this life if you cannot share with others? In my walk, I have found more people, friends, who have helped me redefine my cool.
Owning a Jeep truly is about a lifestyle. If you own a Jeep and do not wave to other Jeep owners, you aren’t a real Jeeper. If you own a Jeep, keep it pristine, has more chrome than a luxury vehicle, you aren’t a real Jeeper. Having a Jeep means that you can get off the road and into dirt on your four wheels, whenever and just because. As a Jeep owner, we also know how to Jeep responsibly by keeping our friends on four wheels in mind and the legacy of our environment.
Most people are not aware that driving and enjoying off-road, off-highway activities is serious business. Yes, you see lifted trucks, Jeeps and other four-wheel drive renditions, romping through the countryside. As legitimate outdoor, off-road enthusiasts we ensure we are doing so properly. In order to enjoy and continue to enjoy the vast wilderness in all her natural beauty, that most of us only view from an airplane, we obtain proper permits and licensing.
Now you might think….great, another fee to pay big brother.
WRONG.
The wonderful fact about off-highway vehicle use and proper Federal, State, and private land permits is the conservation of our natural resources. Fees paid for OHV decals, State Land and Trust Permits, private use permits and Federal Land permits are used for the maintenance, upkeep, and generation of new and existing trails for biking, hiking, off-road driving (four wheel drive), equestrian riding and other outdoor modes of transportation. What would life outdoors be like if we could not enjoy these simple pleasures.
More over if you are out on land and you come across a gate, leave it as you found it. Obey signs, stay on specified trails, and if you haul it in, haul it out. The resplendence of Mother Nature and all her glory as she welcomes you in her home, so be a respectful guest. Do not disturb nature in her perpetuity. Stop, take that photo and recall how deeply your voiceless moment effected you, your thoughts, the immense joy and calm washing over the divine moment. Now think about the inability to experience that godly moment ever again. Empty.
Proper permits and licensing allow for these gorgeous views through carefully carved trails by enthusiasts for adventurers. Stewardship of these trails means to take care of your surroundings by maintaining your belongings. In short, Mother Nature is not your mother, do not litter. Feel free to take the opportunity to use your off-road experience as a classroom with the various species of vegetation, land formations, layers of sediment in the mountainside sometimes only experienced by mountain climbers, excavators or archaeologists.
Before you head out on your next run, Jeep responsibly by having the proper licensing and permits. The fees instituted support the love of the outdoors, for those who wish to continue to further their affair exploring these vast, open, or not so open, spaces. Above all else these fees ensure that you are not fined or removed from the trails. Nothing says embarrassment and hazing from your fellow Jeepers with a ticket from an enforcement official. You can find out more information by checking out your local bureau of land management office or website and or the US Forest Service and Department of Agriculture.
Last night while trolling Facebook I couldn’t help but to comment on a status about how a cheap wedding leads to a successful marriage. Being that I can’t help my flippant self I commented about how its not about the wedding but its about the after-party and the honeymoon. Yes, I have a dry sense of humor, much like a fine Bordeaux. I digress. My husband and I just celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary and have been together 18 years. We have a secret sauce for our successful marriage; trial by fire with various traumas that require us to come together as a united front. You want to know if a marriage is successful, go from the frying pan to the furnace to see how they handle a crisis.
The Chad and I were a very tumultuous couple when we were initially courting. Fighting over the most trivial issues and concerns. We both have Type-A personalities, Einstein brilliance, and a will that won’t break. Spliced with our youth, we were a recipe for disaster. Aside from that, we love(d) each other unconditionally which prompted us to spend the rest of our lives together. Our marriage for the first years was a lot of fun. We enjoyed a great amount of freedom just the two of us. Traveling, socializing and exploring what new adventure we would take on next. The next big adventure happened to be having kids.
Crisis number one.
By all means our first crisis of having a child is not negative, but as young 20somethings having a child is crisis management because your entire life changes. Late nights having drinks are now late nights of your child taking drinks…of breast milk. Building dreams are now replaced with building dream palaces for your child. Fashion and couture are replaced by burp cloths and onesies. Adjusting to having a child can be hard if you struggle letting go of your old self, which both of us struggled with a bit. We still wanted to be “THAT” couple. We still wanted to be ourselves, but with having a child you have to evolve, which means your marriage does as well.
Crisis number two.
Evolution of self and marriage. Personally, I struggled embracing and juggling all my jobs. Wife. Mother. Woman. Food source. Business woman. Sex kitten. Karie. Suddenly my self was a swirling smorgasbord of uncertainty. I didn’t know how to handle all these people, responsibilities, who came first was my child, but I needed to make sure I was able to care for him. My husband needed attention, but I needed to make sure I had taken care of G which meant I needed to be in tip top shape. An internal argument of Darwinism, which came first the chicken or the egg. I began to get lost in myself and the search for who she was and is. Somewhere in there our marriage started to become disoriented.
Crisis again.
In all the disorientation we really complicated matters as I found I was pregnant again. Our son was barely eight months old and now I was pregnant again. The crisis threat level was now about to go supernova, but we were able to bear down. Coming together we grieved the loss of ourselves and that our dream included these extensions of ourselves, extensions of our love, our children, our new world. Just as we were finally comfortable again we were hit with devastating news that our pregnancy was doomed and I would miscarry at home. Not an ordinary miscarriage though, this was a premature delivery with labor pains, pushing in order to counteract the pain, a battle I fought alone through blood, anguish, loss and solitary despair. Yet another crisis, but one I chose to conquer on my own.
Looking back I probably should have included The Chad but I know his heart and I wanted to spare him the horror that I was experiencing. The war I waged through my loss that late night and early morning in my bathroom is not one for any human to experience, ever. I just couldn’t bear to see his pain, our pain, maybe I was selfish but I couldn’t let him have that memory. From that day forward I got lost again. I battled with postpartum depression. Somehow The Chad and I were making it through, maybe by grace.
Crisis hit again as we came to arms with my mental capacity to overcome depression and how the medication nearly destroyed my life, more evolution of selves. We then became that couple as we sought counseling. Barely married six years, late 20something, early 30s, suburbia yuppies seeking counseling. How cliche I thought. So gauche. I ate my thoughts as we discovered so much about ourselves, our marriage, our family in those sessions. We learned to become a united.
Sitting on a couch bleeding your emotions of anger, rage, hurt, sadness, brought forth so much information, elightenment and respect for each other. Though we had to get through the emotional grenades and gun cocking and firing at one another, we saw light, we saw each other. We saw we were people, with faults, with love for each other. The moment of truth came when we went to bed after a session and we said it was time to move on, too much damage was done that we could no longer swim to shore in a sinking ship. Admitting love for each other but that we might be better off without the other for the sake of our child.
Laying under the sheets, looking at each other through clenched jaw muscles and tears, breathing through the pain that felt as if gravity would crush me, I saw lifetimes pass by, almost as if on fast forward. We both took a deep breath and went to sleep, stubborn love saying goodbye.
The next morning we agreed divorce was not on the horizon, we made the commitment to work on our marriage, ourselves; we were finding a way to let the wounds heal and move forward. The path was not easy, the hurt, the pain, almost numbing. No one said this would be easy. We wanted this, we chose this life; love isn’t easy, life isn’t easy. Anything of value does not come easy but through hard work and a great deal of effort. Boundaries were set and agreements were made, compromise, understanding, and we started to listen to each other again instead of placing blame.
Progress was being made. We were at a pivotal point when we found we were pregnant again, pregnant again with twins. Crisis.
This crisis really was an eye opener as we melded as a team. Twins taught us about how two people should and can truly be different, yet so similar. G defined this ideal. For eight months I told him Seth and Sara were “in my tummy.” I understood two people. His understanding was that Seth and Sara was one entity; imagine his surprise when he saw two baby carriers the day we came home. He guffawed as he pointed at each of them and asked why there were two, we had to tell him one was Seth and one was Sara. His innocent outlook about his siblings was the definition of our marriage and how I would raise him and these two blessings. Individually plural.
The Chad and I struggled with various other marital struggles that arise as you age and life lobs softballs of challenges. The single most important fact was that we were the same people, changed by the events and environment of our experiences. Admitting we loved each other and we wanted to make it work, took acknowledging that our marriage, our family was not about us as individuals, but about the other person. Compromise was admitting when you are wrong, no matter how much damage you took to your pride. Communication was about taking out the fault, the finger pointing, having a poignant conversation about facts, proposing solutions that worked for everyone, including the kids, especially the kids, even if that meant looking to divorce.
Our most recent crisis was financial. The timing aligned with the world financial crisis. Like most couples we could have fought endlessly, but we chose to talk. We talked deeply, passionately, about our future, our family like we never had before. Setting aside differences in the goals we had, ideals we learned based on how we were raised. The Chad lost his job and I was barely making enough at the bank to keep us afloat. We were drowning, but we did not fall victim to our misfortune, we banded together, set out a plan. Family came first, the kids were our primary concern and we were making every effort to ensure this would not affect them in the least.
Only by grace were we able to survive. If we had not connected as people and respected each other through adequate communication and compromise we would have probably been divorced years ago. I am ever thankful for each of our crises, decisions, I hold no regrets. The magic sauce for our successful marriage came in the form of hard work, commitment to do what was right, even if doing the right thing meant divorce, and above all else we had love. Today I love The Chad more than the day I married him, I am more in love with him than the day we met. I could not have asked for a better man to partner with in this adventure we call life.
I loved my job at the bank. I love my beliefs, my God. The two, however, did not love one another, a constant battle that resulted in my being fired. My family began to suffer due to extenuating and unnecessary demands for my time at work. I was engulfed in my ambitions to climb this imaginary ladder to a pinnacle with no peak. Best efforts to rise above, think outside the box to improve processes and mitigate negative customer impact resulted in negative blow back. I had to pay taxes for being a woman in the corporate game where I refused to fall on my knees in an act of fellatio to the men that controlled the future of my career. A hidden blessing came from my termination, a lesson about having faith.
What I lacked was faith.
On this day one year ago I was subject to a bank sanction for my transgress questioning regarding neglect of escalated customer files. Toe-to-toe with senior leaders, respectably inquiring of laxity on such high profile reviews. My bold actions came with an expense as my career teetered with my every breath. The sanction was harsh based on my principal to forgo a meeting with my superior and his superior. As a woman I felt bullied, ganged up on and terrified to be in a closed door meeting with my boss. He was repugnant with violent outbursts, mistrust, berating actions, I feared him. So with that, the sentence was issued for 12 months where I was hamstrung to initiate any emails to anyone above my pay grade and in the event any of my actions were seen contrary to senior leadership direction I would be subject to termination.
Devastated. I held strong as I choked down the pain and a bit of my pride. Upon returning to my desk one of my employees saw me distraught and offered comfort. She stood strong in her faith and offered to pray with me, right then, in the office. Her prayer offered comfort and strength in a time where I was floundering without. Keeping my composure was out of the question. I gasped for air through tears, heartbreak and the overwhelming amount of love and kindness from my subordinate.
What I learned in that moment, in that prayer, in my retching state, was how out of control the events were and how little I could control; how I needed to have faith.
The months following resulted in frustration, anger, my patience began to wear thin at home due to my restrictions in the workplace. Struggling to deal with these frustrations, they were improperly misdirected to my family. I began to dive deeper into scripture. I sought comfort and relief in prayer to pacify my unrest and provide answers. Everyday I prayed for a new job. Praying to be away from the tyrant who I had to answer to on a daily basis. I prayed for him to gain wisdom because his doltish ways made me want to slap my palm to my face, repeatedly.
My prayers were being heard, as each day I found more strength to tolerate my job. Job interviews were rolling in and my outlook was positive and the bleakness began to subside. However, offers for said jobs were less than forthcoming. By this time I was a month into my corrective action and I attended a conference on prayer. Bold, direct prayers were what we needed and while those prayers are not always answered right away or the way we want them to be answered, an answer will one day come nonetheless. So I stayed the course and kept on with my prayers. I was a step closer to understanding and gaining faith.
Staying the course led me into the mouth of the serpent on June 19th, 2014 as my employment was terminated from Wells based on violation of their ethics policy. The policy that I so strongly upheld based on the vision of the organization. Great irony and peace was found in my termination, and on that day my faith was made stronger. I prayed to escape the confines of the misogynist who I believed controlled my future and career. Granted my release was through termination, I was able to identify my blessing; my faith was cemented in the fact that this one event would transform my entire being and life.
How deluded I was to think such horrific thoughts that this puny, mortal man would carry such a weight. My God carried more weight and power than he did. On that day I felt an amazing peace and strength as I shook my former boss’ hand and I wished him well. Even though I was the one who was terminated, I had the strength, class and happiness to accept my fate. That was faith I had felt in the Lord as He guided me through that moment.
From that day I have had nothing but faith.
I prayed each day to guide me through, to show me where I needed to be in life and with my family. Prayer for assistance through my unemployment, to provide financially. I asked to be shown what He was willing for me in my life. Pleasantly surprised by the answer of I had extra time on my hands, so I began writing again. A love I have forgotten to resort to when my brain was overflowing with words and thoughts. Think Dumbledore and his Pensieve. My writing has helped open doors for me that I had previously left dormant, my expression let me explore gifts I never exploited previously. The world was a keystroke away.
Prayers showed me how deep my faith truly was when I asked to provide for my family, my children, especially when Christmas was around the corner. So I made the struggling decision to tithe, at the ten percent, when I had so little. My meager earnings I was bringing into our home was what little I could do to honor my Father, but it was enough in His eyes. Gigs began to roll in, finances began to improve little by little, Christmas was in more than an abundance. He saw me through, God deepened my faith by showing me his great will for me, my family, my life.
Time was utilized more wisely as I began volunteering more at my church. Applying my knowledge in various capacities benefited others and I was beyond joy to help so selflessly. My nature is benevolent with every fiber, so I was eager to share my dexterity in a multitude of areas within the organization that so deeply touched my life. This is what he was calling me to do.
Fleeting moments would wave over me of panic, grief, fear. I would be celebratory with joy, overcome by anger, frustration, and then emotional exhaustion. While I would have momentary lapses and succumb to the weakness, faith is what carried me through. Praying in the heat of that moment got me through. God, carried me through. I was meant to feel the pain, to work through my feelings, I needed to learn what He was telling me. The uncertainty was all part of the learning process. Learning to have unwavering faith in the face of our darkest moments. Moments that we would dwell upon, share with others; misery loves company, but I just couldn’t share with anyone else but Him.
When I would apply for positions I was more than amply qualified for, hear nothing in response to those applications, I learned to have faith. When I questioned why I didn’t get those jobs, my daughter would come to me and beg that I not go back to work as her eyes welled with tears, I had faith. When finances began to strain, I dug in with my tithing and never faltered, I had faith and then He provided. Hebrews 11:1 speaks of faith, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” I hoped for happiness, success, freedom. All of those were provided for me because I prayed enough, believed in my bold prayers enough, had enough faith that this wouldn’t be easy, but my outcome would be the most beneficial.
I could not see that my happiness, success, and freedom was within me, God given. I just had to see what made me happy was being myself and not letting others try to change who I was, who I am. I just had to see that my success was in the eyes of the beholder; three priceless sets of blue eyes who saw that I could create in my kitchen what Van Gogh did on canvas. More so was the partial stranger who read this blog and sang praises of the raw beauty in life and the emotions I painted from writing about those moments. I found an immense faith in being fired when I learned to see. I just had to see that my freedom was in letting go, relinquishing control of a life so out of control, having faith of His greater plan for me.
As we embark into the new year many of us are gearing up to execute on our new resolutions. One of your resolutions may be to wrangle your health which means taking hold of the foods we eat. Wellness begins in the kitchen. We do not lose weight by fitness alone, our bodies are living machines that process foods for optimal performance. However, we often go on fad diets for quick results and then experience a boomerang affect where the weight returns. Continue reading “The Wellness Kitchen”
My tone has changed as of late. If you have been around me long enough, you know that the holy roller seems a bit fetched, if not out of character for me. I was likely to quote Andrew Dice Clay before I ever quoted scripture. Oh! I digress. Funny thing about character is how we evolve. Changing with the seasons, age, enlightenment of our environment, as if a light switch was turned on in a room of pure darkness. Life for me seemed to be spiraling into that room. I was not walking with God as I am today.
Walking wasn’t easy either. I tripped along thinking karma would float me along through the nethers of the universe. A magic carpet ride of listless engagement on my part, that basically if I lived a decent life and acted as a decent person everything would turn out alright. Even if I effed up royally, in the end my karma bank would be in the black.
Or so I deluded myself to believe.
The deeply human part of me was calling for something bigger, to be a part of something bigger. My purpose was far greater than anything I could imagine. Not that I would break out into a leotard jumpsuit of red and blue with fabulous hair like Linda Carter (who was friends with my grams by the way), more so that I knew my purpose in the mortal realm was temporary, there was more to life than me.
Truer words could not have been spoken to me one summer evening while visiting my brother. The Chad and I sat out on the back patio slash balcony of my brothers home in Northern Arizona in a small town called Show Low. His home is on the side of a mountain with breathtaking views. Overlooking a bluff, Show Low creek, and sprawling meadow lands with tall, wild grass, spotted with feral sunflowers, littered with sage and speckled with wild horses, elk, and an occasional jackrabbit. A view so picturesque, one could only paint with their imagination. We sat in the cool night air listening to the pines whistle in a monsoon storm as rain patted on the roof above.
Our conversations were light and airy, typical chit chat to warm up the tone of the evening. Just then, my brother fired a grenade into the conversation. “When I die, I want to know that my sister will be joining me for eternal life. I want to know you will be joining me in heaven. I love you Karie and I am concerned you don’t have salvation and we won’t be together forever.”
Sweet Jesus.
He took my breath away as I sobbed. I knew exactly what he was saying and I knew my life needed a change. We discussed the outlook of karma, living a good and honorable life, being good to others in spite of ill will or harm. Further discussion about how The Chad and I have embraced various religions and their sound beliefs. Not that anything was wrong with Christianity, but at the mention one might be confused with extremists due to media exploits.
For the years leading up to this moment I was engulfed in a rat race of desperation to grapple to the top of an imaginary corporate ladder. Hyper-focused on a goal that would offer me what? Happiness, success, notoriety within the corporate realm? Further separated from my family in order to serve the overlords of big bank. Aching in my heart, a burning in my chest, my eyes bled tears as my soul felt as if it were ripped open to expose a truth I had been denying myself.
Our discussion tripped further down Alice’s rabbit hole yet rose towards the Kingdom.
The next morning I attended church with my brother for the first time in over 15 years. His pastor spoke of living a life under the idea of karma, a life devoid of the Holy Spirit. Could he have been at our table on the balcony last night? I took communion for the first time in over 20 years, I was a small girl shortly after my baptism when I took part in this ritual to honor my Savior. Fighting tears to prevent others from seeing my brokenness as my brother and I held hands during the service and worship. I left the service that day feeling a sense of redemption, as if I came home.
The week after was a struggle. My renewal was tested as I returned to work and I struggled with situations that would push my every limit. I prayed to tolerate my boss just a few days longer. Yearning to be in the word again, to hear what my soul was craving, I needed strength.
So I found my home at Central that upcoming Sunday. I walked in alone and afraid, my uncertainty felt like a 600 pound gorilla. The message was more than appropriate and befitting to where my situation lay. After the service I knew I had found my home. Week after week I attended and sat in the seats alone. I took the time to soak in the message, but felt an emptiness that I couldn’t share my new understanding of the world. My life felt like it was moving forward but my marriage was askew.
The Chad is the love of my life, but I felt as if we were not connecting on the same plane. Mostly due to my Sunday absences. So we felt a strain, until my prayers were answered. Praying for Him to touch Chad, open his heart and mind. He agreed to attend with me, upon the condition I kept the hellfire, brimstone and flames at bay as he entered the worship center. Pft, as if I had a say with The Big Guy on what happens.
His decision was not light, but he was surprised at his lack of spontaneous combustion as he entered the worship center. We discussed at length the message our senior pastor shared and he thoroughly enjoyed the rich history that came from the simple Bible teachings. One of the many qualities that drew me to Central.
My heart was full and my soul lightened as I could share this evolving part of my life with my best friend once more. Our conversations engaged a new level, we saw changes with our children, this new life we were living was infectious. Even our best friends joined our fellowship and our relationship with them changed. A strength, peace and love we had never felt before engulfed our way of living. Transforming our professional lives. Infusing our spirits.
These changes were not without a cost of pain or death. A slow and excruciating death to the person I once was in order to envelope my life with Christ. Spiritual warfare at some level raged on between my old self and the person I was becoming. My career began to change on the most drastic levels, so much so that being fired is just what He wanted to truly ensure my proper path in life. Even then I had unrest. Bouts of darkness as I would retreat to my head with thoughts of not being good enough, a failure, self deprecation seemed to be normal. Prayer seemed in vane. Staying the course because there was no turning back. Following Christ came with a stigma that seemed to spark shame at the mention to others, hushed tongue…I am a Christian. Realizing so many had brought shame to the the true word of God, Christ; their misinterpretation would not be my shame, I would sing the praises of what being a follower of Christ truly represents.
What He was telling me taught me about faith, hope, patience, trust and love. In all of this was whimsy. Life seemed to have a bit more spontaneity and I found a new appreciation for people, community, and the richness we offered each other as a collective. Above all else he showed me that had I stayed my course I would have found more pain than happiness, more destruction than what we were building as a family, and the semblance of myself would be far from recognizable.
As a follower of Christ, walking with God has been the most rewarding and challenging transformation to my life and that of my family. With every change comes the exit, or death, of the former self. I wouldn’t change my choices for the world and am ever grateful for the summer evening on my brothers balcony.
Family is one of my most precious commodities. The holidays always seem to make me feel nostalgic and crave my family ever more. I am the oldest child and I considered myself rather close to my siblings and my parents. The Chad used to harass me about cutting the umbilical cord to my mother when she and I would partake in our monthly conversations while living in Albuquerque. Looking back, I see this was awkward for him as he was not close to either of his parents growing up, while I was close to much of my family. I see being close to my family as a way of honoring God, by honoring my family I am doing what feels right in my heart and in the eyes of the Lord.
My Mom and Dad, we talk rather frequently either on the phone, via text or I try to stop in and visit when I can. I suppose I am doing as the Lord has asked, “Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.” (Exodus 20:12) My father and I have a beautiful rekindled relationship. We were never very close, but today we are and he is such a strength and light in my life. He brought me an amazing wisdom professionally and lifts me up personally. I have found great knowledge in learning more about myself by interacting with him, learning from him and learning to be a better mother, wife.
I am rather close to my grandmother, my father’s mother. She is someone I look up to on many levels. A fighter, a prayer warrior, God fearing woman and lady. She is always well kept, adorned with jewelry, the lightest touch of rouge, and I can always smell a new perfume on her. Her perfumes are the one thing I vied for as a young girl, she hooked me on the classic Lauren by Ralph Lauren circa 1978.
One afternoon this past November I had the most priceless opportunity to spend almost an entire day with my grandmother. Her home still smelled as it did when I was a child, while the dwelling and it’s locale completely different through the years, the smell remains the same. We swapped a few stories and then I sat like I did as a young girl, entranced in her many parables of love through the ages. Tears began to sweep across my face as she spoke so candidly and lovingly of my grandfather. I could still smell a hint of my grandfather in this new house as we discussed his antics. A warm, earthy, musky scent that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The smell was comforting in spite of my feelings. I felt an emptiness as we both paused, his presence and lack thereof was so heavy and grand, the true patriarch of our family. Despite his passing I know my relationship meant that much more to visit my grandmother, to honor my grandfather, to honor her. His passing would not suggest that we have any less of a relationship.
Imagining a life without family and extended family would not behoove me. Confusion waves over me as I attempt to understand family who choose a distant life; to not have a close relationship, to be out of touch, estranged. The Chad and I have family who are not engaged in our family, they choose to not be active participants and rarely if ever keep in touch. I struggle deeply with these family members choice to be absent, more over to be absent from my children’s lives. Such a deep loss to miss out on watching these young people grow, evolve, and come into their own. I could not fathom a life devoid of generations of family, the stories, the experiences, missing their love and friendships.
I suppose had life been that way for them during their younger years, that the cycle of being with kin would be continued. Maybe I am the exception; to have had the opportunity to spend so much of my youth with a great deal of my family that I am in tune with them on many levels, through generations, and now with my children’s engagement in the same fashion.
Christmas Eve was indicative of the various lifetimes, spanning the ages through storytelling, reminiscent of my former childhood. My aunts and uncles were swapping stories of years past. Suddenly I was transported to a time where I could recall this same revelry as a child and a tremendous amount of joy filled my heart being with my aunts, uncles, cousins, my Dad and my grandmother. Memories danced in my head as the same laughter carried me to a time where we lit luminaries on this same cold evening. Moments flashed before me as I was of similar age to my children, adoring how my aunts and uncles were so in love with one another at such a joyous time. Laughing, joking, carousing around the Christmas tree and I watched in awe so hopeful to one day experience this same love and rejoicing in the name of our Father.
Which brings me back to why family would choose to be nonexistent in each others lives. Emptiness creeps in as I begin to imagine this life. I’m saddened by family who make such a drastic choice. I suppose in some way The Chad and I have made this choice. We chose to move to Arizona to be closer to my family and left New Mexico for the toxicity we experienced while living in that environment. Today we see that our choice was ours and was not malicious, healthy, but we see the toxicity even more so now from afar. So I find myself praying that one day the hearts of our family would be healed so they could see past their own pride to come visit as we have done for so long.
Family is such a funny thing. I never saw the mechanics of how the dynamics worked in a family. I just thought we were all one, and one for all. Yes, I suppose very fairy tale-esque of my beliefs, an optimist by heart.
As an adult I see the mechanics more clearly. I share these same dealings and workings with my children. I do not shelter them from the pain and suffering sometimes felt and inflicted by the ones we love. Maybe I share more for the simple fact that they should not be as I was, living a fairy tale of lies that family will always be present in our lives. Family isn’t always joyous, despite our best efforts.
I have faith. I have a hope that one day all our families will be able to share with one another once more. We can all celebrate again, together. Holiday’s can be spent together, with each other, carousing around dinner tables, experiencing the revelry as we trip through memories past. Or as I said, maybe I am the exception to see such a tremendous strength in the power of family, a legacy to pass on to our children and their children. “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.” (Proverbs 127:3-5)
For now I keep the faith. I never falter or get angry, more sad and disappointed, I make attempts to understand the point of view of these relatives who have made the choice to be estranged. I still honor family with cards, emails, texts and phone calls. I still reach out. My hope is that one day we can agree we have differences and embrace our differences as family, set aside our anger and our pride, to come together for the inheritance of our children and their children. Family is but our legacy.