I.Give.Up.

Lent has really crept up on me this year.  It seems early (or maybe I say that every year) but I feel I haven't probably prepared myself to give something up for the season.  Over the years I have given up many things.  There has been candy, desserts, chocolate (specifically), diet coke.  Yes, one year I even gave up my beloved Sonic.  And as I was reflecting on all "the regulars" was when it hit me.

Lent had lost its meaning for me.  Everything listed above was really all about me.  Most every item listed had a "bonus" besides my suffering.  Forgive me, Jesus for making a mockery of the sacrifices you gave for us by my going without peanut m&m's for 40 days while I hoped to lose a few pounds along the way.  There was certainly no reflection of God's word or gaining a deeper understanding of my faith by giving up any of those things.

In the "old days", this penitent season was an opportunity for fasting.  Obviously fasting could be counted as "giving something up".   Just as it is today, fasting had a set time that one would go without food.  As you became hungry for food, the thought process was you also became hungry for God and His word.  And during that time of fasting, rather than going about all the normal activities of the day, a person would dedicate himself to reading Scripture and praying.  Remembering all the while that one doesn't need to make a public spectacle of himself while fasting (Matthew 6:16-18)

Now people didn't fast FOR God, but as an opportunity to re-focus and eliminate things that didn't have the proper place in their life.  I think about this as redefining boundaries.  It was used as a time for important decisions to be made.  Like hitting a pause button on their daily living, and as the fast begins, only then can the focus begin on studying what is important, giving thanks and praying for guidance.  

I don't know how old I was before I realized that the word breakfast literally meant break fast, but I was much older than I should have been.  And on Sunday's, I never "break the fast, until after I have heard God's word spoken and I have communed at the Altar.  It is something I have done for many years without really considering how it could be applied at other times.

Ash Wednesday, which commences the 40 days (sans Sundays) of moderation and spiritual discipline is today.  I started a devotional study for Lent by Pastor Phil Ressler entitled 40 Things to Give Up for Lent and Beyond.   It looks like I will be challenged to give up so much more than candy this Lenten season.  

And isn't Beyond what we all should be focusing on?  

Until next time,

#toinfinityandBeyond

your pal,

Kari

    

Trying to create an epidemic - of Grace!

I was talking about a program we administer at work the other day with an industry peer and I made the comment as I was describing it "the way we apply it now, there is no Grace. No one can be successful without a little Grace,"  He looked a little puzzled.

As I was leaving and driving home, I started thinking about the overall importance of Grace in our lives.  When I think of Grace, notice I capitalize it because to me, it is that important.  It is my belief, that none of us can survive the cruelties of this world without the hope of Grace.

Grace has many meanings.   As a noun it can mean a simple elegance or refinement of movement, an elegance, poise or finesse.  As a verb it can mean to do honor or credit to someone or something by one's presence.  It is also a beautiful name.  As a noun, I can claim no fame to grace, and only sarcastically do I dare use it as a verb.

But that isn't the type of Grace I mean.  As as Christian, I have learned the biblical meaning of grace with an acronym to help me remember...There is nothing we have done, nor can ever do to earn this favor (of God's grace).  

So I like to use Grace in everyday life as a favor rendered by one who need not do so.  Some may call it an indulgence but I don't think so.  I believe it is an choice that we make as a means of helping others learn life's lessons in a positive rather than punitive manner.

 

Opportunities for Grace are everywhere.  I challenge parents, kids, teachers, politicians, leaders, friends, sisters, brothers, grandparents,,,whatever title you wear; before you react to whatever circumstances are happening, is there an occasion for Grace?   

I love showing Grace (it's a beautiful thing)  I love receiving Grace (it's a humbling thing)  I love SAYING Grace (it's a joyful thing)!

I don't know about you, but Grace has saved me.  

#share it

Until next time,

#savedbyGod'sGrace

your pal,

Kari

  

Keeping one foot in reality - it shouldn't be this hard

There is something wrong with my family's perception of reality.  This isn't a new dawning to me, nor is it limited to any one generation of the four we have running right now.  It's an equal opportunity defect that tends to spread rapidly once the swan song of doubt begins playing in our mind.

Let me set a simple stage for you.  Hind sight makes it so clear that it may seem difficult to see the sinister implications as they played out.  I ask you to take my hand and step into my world.  It all started when I arrived at Madi's basketball game.  Terry was there but Tyler hadn't arrived.  I asked Terry if he had heard from him and since the answer was no, I texted him to see if he was coming.  Some time passed before Mr. French asked if I had heard back from the boy (aka 32 year old grown man).  Since I had not, I shot him another text.  NOTHING.  This is when the seed of doubt was first planted.  Let it be known that these seeds sprout into full grown plants VERY QUICKLY.

The next text was "why are you ignoring me?"  No answer.  Well, by now you can see that this train had totally jumped off the track.  After asking Terry if he had even talked to Tyler that day (he hadn't) I was thankful the game was over so I could forgo supper and head straight home (to deal with whatever tragedy awaited me once I arrived).  I prepared myself as best I could for the household accident that may have happened, the inevitable crime scene (and reviewed my afternoon schedule since I do watch Dateline and knew that the police would be asking questions).  I made it about half way home before the burden became too heavy to bear alone.  I did what any mother would do in this type of emergency.  I called my daughter.

Because she is her mother's daughter, when I explained everything to Marissa, her response was appropriate.  In my family, it wasn't "you watch too much TV or why do you respond so negatively".  No, she hopped on the bus with me and said something to the tune of "but wait, you mean you aren't home yet and don't have the rest of the story with a happy ending?  Mom, now I am all tense. How much farther do you have to go?" 

Can you imagine pulling up to that dark house and seeing his truck there?  Mentally reviewing who I should call first, how to do CPR (the new way) and trying to decide whether or not I should use my cell phone or house phone (in case I was too hysterical to get my address out), I slowly got out of my car.

When I opened the door, I was immediately hit with the strong odor of BUTTERED POPCORN.  I felt weak with relief and indignant with rage.  TYLER!!!!!!!   The rest of the story involves a cell phone that wasn't working until it was reset and a few head shakes over my scenarios.

I would like to say I will have learned from this but in reality (and that is where I am operating from now), I just think I dodged a bullet.  The next time the phone rings and the time is off; or I call/text someone and don't hear back from them in a timely manner, if my life isn't flashing before me - someone else's might be and instead of "hello" I promise you, I will answer "what's wrong"? 

Until next time,
#tryingtostayreal

your pal,
Kari

Light winds and sunny - Walking in a winter wonderland!

What a difference a day makes

I never realized how much I needed my Vitamin D naturally until I moved to Texas.  After being here almost four years, I still marvel at sitting outside to eat on a January evening.  My expectations have come to be very high (and my tolerance very low) during the five months I classify as "potentially cold".

When we lived in Kansas City, it could snow on Halloween.  That was no TREAT!  If you have a 50-60 degree day in November through January, it is a gift.  Heck, by the time January comes, a 40 degree day could feel like a GIANT REPRIEVE.  By Ground Hog Day (February 2nd for those of you who don't have a list of holidays) - everyone is desperate for an indication of whether or not the ground hog will cooperate.  March can be a cruel mistress.  I have a March birthday and celebrations are remembered as "feast or famine".  Gorgeous days or bitter gray punishments.

And then came Austin.  When I arrived in March, it rained shortly after I arrived...and then not again until November.  Only twice that first year (of any measurable consequence).  And still I was impressed with how much green this city had on the shoulder months.  I was told to buckle in for the summer, yet I still sported a sweater when it pushed 90+ because (wait for it) it was a dry heat.

I did learn to dress differently (women don't wear hose down here) and appreciate the difference in how weather was described when reported.  It wasn't just a "southern accent" type of learning but the context of the words.  Let me give you an example:  I was getting ready for church one Sunday during the winter months.  I had the news on and they broke in with a weather report saying "Everyone get your hats and gloves out for the first polar air of the season...more to come".  I quickly tuned in to see what was going on - I mean I was going out and wanted to dress appropriately. Well, the high that day was only going to break 62 and there was going to be a breeze.  Ahhhhh, all in context.

Where I walk now

Fast forward four years.  If it only breaks 60 now, I am bundled in a jacket and complaining about the polar vortex that has come too far south.  What happened to global warming??  When we have record lows at nights....grief - I am talking about close to freezing at times, I am at the store stalking up with the entire city of Austin (and surrounding areas) wondering if this is the end.  Because if we have freezing rain and it ices up, we could be home-bound until noon!

But then two or three days pass and our winter "month" is over for awhile.  And I am back outside - living a life full of sunshine and happiness.  Or maybe it's because happiness just naturally follows sunshine, I can't be sure.   My legs ache from my 12,000+ steps per day (you know I count 'em) and I imagine a healthy rose glow on my skin.

This might last until spring (or at least until Friday).  I love Texas!

Until next time,
#sunshineonmyshoulders
#makesmehappy

your pal,
Kari

This is out of order - there is no coincidence #55

Most women and some men too, have a "thing" about their hair.  I will generalize here but for those of us who have curly hair, we wish it were straight.  Women with straight hair, wish it were curly.  Brunettes are certain blonds have more fun and some people say they would rather be "dead than red on the head".  My point is, a lot of attention is paid to our hair.

He ain't heavy, he's my brother 

I have never been one to make a "statement" with my hair.  I never colored it any crazy color just because I could.  I think the most radical thing I ever did was squeeze lemon juice on it during the summer to see if it could bring out any of my naturally lighter highlights.  I have always been a brunette with curly hair that wished I could have raven hair like snow white, preferably straight.  With all that being said, I did not want that color to come out of a bottle.  I was fearful of the botched job that could result and let's face it, coming from where I was at, it certainly wouldn't look natural.  As I have matured (faced gray) I have embraced highlighting and low light techniques seasonally with no objection.

Irish twins

My brother loved to make a statement with his hair.  Nothing radical, he was more passive/aggressive.  He would not shave his head or come out of the salon wearing a mohawk, nor would he dye his hair extreme colors.  What he would do was start missing appointments.  The first one or two, one might think he was busy, but by the third one, I would ask "so, Bubba, what's going on with your hair?"  And because I was his person (reference Grey's Anatomy) he would tell me what he was mad about.  And generally, he was pissed off at someone specific who hated long hair.  He would vent and I would listen, because we each had our role.  The length of his hair would be dependent upon the depth of his anger.  Again, to the outside world, one would assume his hair choice was his style.  To others, they might think he was going through a "phase".  To me, I knew exactly what "phase" he was in.  And quite frankly, if he wanted to manage his displeasure in this fashion, it was harmless....and it was his hair.  His secrets remained safe with me.

When my brother died, everything was out of order.  All of us lost our way and were left to figure out our new roles.  There was no warning and for someone who likes order, it was very confusing.  But in this case, there was nothing to be done, no waiting things out, no changing things up.  It was simply time to face the new day and get on as best we could.  We helped each other up as best we could and said and did all the "right" things, but it wasn't enough.

So I quit cutting my hair.  And now I could make a statement.  It was an ongoing protest that I waged war with every day.  Of course, it was my own silent war. and it didn't change anything, but for someone who always needs to do something, it was enough.

Until the day came when I realized I would never be able to cut my hair....because it would never be enough.  Now I had to reconcile that.  My brother always reached a point when it would be enough.  He reached resolution, he pissed someone off long enough (that could be my brother), but I was never going to be happy with this outcome.  And now my hair was weighing heavy on me, much like my grief.

Return to curl

Giving back - locks of love

I can't give anything directly to my brother anymore - but I can do things for him.  Yesterday I let go of my silent war and gave back - donating my hair in my brother's memory to locks of love.  This 55th blog, published out of order is in honor and memory of my beloved brother on his birthday, January 25, 2015.  He was pulled out of the procession to leave our world to go home when he was 55.  #no coincidence.


Until next time,
#Heknowsourname
#Everythingisperfectinhistime

your favorite sister,
Kari

Is there a list for that?

Before I go shopping, I generally try to make a list of what I need to buy.  Don't get me wrong, I am by no means bound by this list.  There are some weeks that I find more in the cart that wasn't on the list, then was on.  My DIL Lisa has husband Mike do the shopping.  I often wonder how I would fare reversing this role.  Grocery shopping is a whole experience for me.  There are only certain times I like to go, I always park in the same general area; I enter the store from the same doors every time so I can "work" the store from left to right.  There is truly a method to my madness.  Even with my OCD, I don't feel compelled to go down every row (although I do reserve that right).  How would I know if my husband did it right, if I sent him.  And don't get me started on my preferred brands.

After some thought, I made a list of all the things I keep lists on and it is not just going grocery shopping.  I love lists.  One might say they are a main stay of my existence.  There are my daily lists, weekly lists, monthly lists, seasonal lists and lists for such thought provoking exercises as these.

My calendar (which I live by) is really just a glorified list of what I need to do on a high level basis every day.  Then once I get to work, I might jot down a few items I would like to accomplish.  But wait, don't those items need to be prioritized.  That would be a special priority list (if one is called for).  I just noticed next to my phone is my list of frequently called numbers.  On that list (which at one time was neatly typed) there are pencil scrawls of late entries ...or just doodles while I was on the phone.

I also print out my weekly calendar which is a BIG list of my week at a glance.  In respect for the trees, I tend to just pencil in additions (until the doodling gets too bad).  Out of the corner of my eye, I just saw my birthday list for the year, hanging on the edge of my computer.  Not to be confused with my monthly birthday list that I keep at home.

I love seasonal lists - that would include my Christmas card lists, my Christmas gifts bought list, my Christmas gifts yet to be bought list and who they are intended for  (a most coveted list to be on for sure!)

Did I mention my wish list?  I keep that on my Amazon kindle because I don't want to take a chance on forgetting all the books I want to read.  Now, that is kept separate from the 2015 book to movie list I track along with the nieces and sister (Daves family).  This is year two for that commitment and I have to tell you there is strategy involved.

I wish right now that I had an index of all my lists but I will have to add that to my list of things to create so I will be better organized if and when we discuss this again.

Until next time,
#checkingthisoffthelist
#Iheartlists

and fun paper!

your pal,
Kari

I want a do-over

I have been working on a new knitting project, and because I am a bit of a perfectionist, I want what I am working on to look "just right".  Notice, I am not saying perfect, I have given up on that.  But I do have standards.  I will be knitting along and do a look-back and realize, about six rows back, I made an error,  This error is GLARINGLY apparent to me.  Now, I don't know if an inexperienced knitter could pick it out, but I can.

When I first started knitting, I didn't even recognize the error.  I was just happy to be knitting.  But as I became more adept at my craft, and more daring in my stitchery, it became apparent to me when something new I was trying, wasn't working out.  That is when I began "ripping things out",  This isn't so difficult if you have only cast on 16 to 20 stitches, but some of these projects end up with well over 100 stitches on the needles and it's not only painstakingly slow to back track over all the correct work to get to the "error of your ways", it is fraught with danger.

Many times I have made a mess of things and created more mistakes by going backwards then I would have by just letting the "sleeping dog lie" (as it was).   These fancy stitches I am teaching myself aren't as easily "undone".

So of course it reminds me of life.  And the times when I have been too naive to realize I have even made a mistake.  I just merrily went on my way.  Looking back I am embarrassed by some of the chaos I have left in my path (my only consolation was - I was an IDIOT).

Then there are those mistakes that I chose not to correct.  Did I look back at the time and think "let me sleep on that" or did I just forge ahead?  And what about the mistakes I went back and tried to correct?  Was everybody worse for the wear or did the "do-over" save us in the end?

I used to tell people that once you knew of something (generally something wrong) it was yours to own.  Whatever happened after you owed that knowledge - you became a "person of interest", someone who had liability in the outcome.

Now, we all make mistakes.  Most of them we can live with.  Some of them we lose sleep over.  And some of them we think about often, especially if we can still make them right.

Like the damn cowl I am knitting.

Until next time.
#dontsleeponit
#callme

your pal,

Kari