Renovation

 It's been quite a whirlwind the past two weeks. I've been working on renovating our basement, and yes, my husband and I do our own work. It's highly rare for us to hire work out, so this means I roll up my shirt sleeves and bust out the buckets, washcloths, ladders, various tools for dismantling and reassembling objects, and don't forget the paint and brushes and drop cloths and tape and .....

I'm a "begin with the end in mind" sort of gal. I envision the end product, and then I begin working through the process deciding what needs to happen in which logical order. There is a clear vision in my mind, but seeing the results as we progress is very rewarding. 

We are now to the point where hubby has several jobs to do with the finishing touches. It's things like cutting and mounting trim, plumbing, and caulk. While he works on this, I'm laundering new bedding and adding decor. 

Watching the transformation come to fruition is like icing on the cake. It's so fun to see my vision become a reality. 

So, as I sit here writing this, I'm reminded of how these processes reflect on life. I consider the way I envisioned my family when we were all young. The years of labor and toil, laughter and tears, plans and surprises; and now, I see all of our work in beautiful results. Adult children raising their own children, and doing a wonderful job of that. Our grandchildren are growing and thriving. 

Just as our basement renovation will continue to need maintenance and care, so do our families, our lives, our spirits. We are never truly finished with projects whether they be home remodeling or building families. It's all cyclical. We just have to decide how much time and energy we are willing to invest.

Hashimoto Nightmare

 From those moments of exhaustion living with Hashimoto's disease. 

It's the same - every time I awake in my cocoon of blankets, exhaustion continues its stifling grasp on my mind, body and soul. I'm doomed before I begin the day; the endless chant engulfs me.

    "Death to your mind."

    "Death to your thoughts."

    "Death to your art."

    "You're worthless."

    "You're lazy."

    "You're incapable."

    "You lack inspiration."

    "Death to you."

    "Death to your heart."

    "You speak too much."

    "You speak too little."

    "Your words mean nothing."

    "You mean  nothing."

    "What makes you believe you should mean anything to anyone?"

I drag my lethargic body from my bed. I make a cursory pass by my studio, glancing in and turning away. The chanting continues. Chanting, chanting, chanting.

And, I shrink by degrees, by days, by weeks, by months. Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking. Until I'm invisible to me, to me, to me.

Is there a me? The chanting . . .

    "Death to your mind."

    "Death to your thoughts."

    "Death to your art."

    "You're worthless."

    "You're lazy."

    "You're incapable."

    "You lack inspiration."

    "Death to you."

    "Death to your heart."

    "You speak too much."

    "You speak too little."

    "Your words mean nothing."

    "You are nothing."

I strain my head back and cry out to the ceiling, "Wake up!"

Bucket List

 What do I want from this life? What is important to me?

If you had asked me as a child, I would have responded with hopes for a real family. I would have expressed a deep longing for a mother, a real mother. One who would make it her aim to keep me safe and enfold me in love. Kiss me goodbye in the morning with wishes for a wonderful day, and open arms of greeting upon my return home. I would tell you I wished for a real home. One where dinners were on the table with family gathered around, the air filled with the delicious aroma of the day's cooking and baking, and a dad who came home from work and kissed momma and the children. I would be one of those children. It would not have mattered to me how many children, only that we would be safe and loved and wanted. These would have been the bucket list of my young self, my child self.

As a young woman who made bold choices of her own at the tender age of fifteen, and questioned about my hopes for the future, I would have responded that I longed to create a family of my very own. A family where my husband loved me unconditionally and held me close to his heart. I would have expressed my desire to become a mother, and not just a mother, but a good mother. A loving mother. A mother who would be there for her children, love them, teach them, and hold them close to her heart. A mother who builds a home that offers safety for any who enter.

I never aspired to greatness, not in the sense that the world would recognize. I simply wanted to move from surviving life to thriving in life.

I did all that, and more. I married the man who stays and commits to his family. We had two children that I love and enjoyed raising. Once they were both in school, I too returned to school. I entered our local branch of the Ohio State University where I completed both a Bachelor's of Science in Education and a Master's in Education. The mother's heart and soul within me reached right into the classroom for eighteen years.

And now, here I am at sixty, still wife, still mom, and now grandmother to six wonderful children. My heart is full of gratitude and thankfulness.

So, ask me now what my life goals are. Here they are . . .

I want to maintain a grateful heart. Always. I have so very much for which to be thankful. Thankful for saving grace and rescue and restoration. A restoration so deep and complete that chains were broken, cycles of abuse and neglect were abolished, paving the way for future generations to thrive in life.

Now, I'm thankful for my own personal growth and maturity and confidence. Confidence to step out of comfort zones and truly experience this glorious life. Maturity that holds a heart of passion and compassion, joy and joyfulness, a heart that loves and holds the ability to receive love in return, and the wisdom to know when to say goodbye and always ready to say hello.

I want to leave footprints of bravery and courage to take on new challenges while maintaining my family and the love that enfolds me there. So that my children and grandchildren know that life is worth living. Really living, not just surviving.

I want other to remember me and say,

Kari really knew how to live. 

I saw her mother her children, even though she was learning as she did so. 

I saw her love her husband and build her family. 

I saw her love her Lord, where she found amazing grace.

I saw her work for her dreams for a future.

Her eyes were always focused upward and outward. She appreciated the beauty of nature and often pointed it out to others.

She caught hold of her dreams, and with boldness, set out to capture those dreams.

She grew from a child and young woman stifled in fear, to a strong and courageous individual.

To know her was to love her, and if you didn't, you missed out. Because Kari, well, Kari lived and loved and embraced the glory of living and of life. 

Kari

Earthworm

 Walking along with the dog, I saw a plump, long, and quite mature earthworm working its way across the concrete driveway. It was at a standstill, whether in fear of me and my canine friend, or simply wearing out, I do not know. My first instinct was to reach down and grab it and place it in the moist grass. And then, I wondered. How many people stop to save an earthworm?

I do. One might ask me why I would do this. It's simple really. As a gardener, I know the value of a beautifully matured earthworm such as this one I moved. It will aerate and fertilize the ground. It may even produce more earthworms to continue its essential work in my yard and garden.

Then there is also the simple case of seeing such a life-filled being facing the dangers of drought or the demise of being eaten by one of the many birds hanging out nearby. That worm would not stand a chance against those birds without being able to tunnel its way into the safety of the earth.

It knew this, I'm sure, because as I reached my hand out to it and touched it ever so slightly, it began rolling itself into strange shapes and angles, wriggling about. It did not know that my intentions were pure, and that I was only acting on its behalf.

I think about this worm and what I may have in common with it. I wonder about the times the Lord has reached down and moved me, whether physically,  mentally or spiritually. I know there have been sudden changes in my life where I, too, have wriggled about in an attempt to free myself of sudden shifts in mind or life. In these times, it's not always easy or enjoyable; however, more often than not, I find that I land upon soil that offers new opportunities that I otherwise would not have experienced.

I wonder about that worm. Did I return it from whence it came, or did I help it advance forward to where it was heading? Does it matter? Is it possible that the worm will simply make the best of its new situation, learning to adapt to its environment? Will it become an active member of its new community, or will it return to the pavement and the perils that lay ahead there?

And my response?

    

You Follow Me

I was reading from the book of John Chapter 21, verses 22-25. Verse 22 especially captured my thoughts. 

"Lord, what about this man?" Peter asked. 

Jesus replies, "If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow me."

Peter and others ponder this, but John recalls that Jesus said, "If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you?"

YOU follow me.... regardless of the choices others make or the paths others choose or are given. You follow me.

Our paths are unique. God gives us each our own journey. Now, these journeys may intertwine with others, but we each have a daily, weekly, monthly, yearly and life-long purpose before our Lord.

It's so very interesting to see how God works thing out in us and through us. If only we are willing and yield to His command, "You follow me."

Hope

 Emily Dickinson wrote, “hope is a thing with feathers.” A thing with feathers. I like that analogy. I think of feathers and hope. Our hopes are in a continuous cycle of flight and renewal.  They can be lifted and carried on the smallest of dreams or dashed by the winds flying from the mouths and bodies of others. Hopes can transport us from here to there (wherever there may be). 

I also consider the feather. A feather has one main vein running through it with many wispy offshoots. The feather sheds moisture, picks up air, offers protection, and when working together, makes flight possible. 

And, so our hopes are quite similar. We may develop one hope that spans out toward others. That one hope may serve as the bloodline or source of strength to other hopes that follow along. Our hopes can be strong and resilient to the elements. They can offer safety and strength of mind and spirit. And, yes, when we put our hopes together, why they become stronger and able to endure so much more from outside sources. Hope can give flight to our dreams and goals in life. 

I wonder about the poor soul whose hopes have been plucked. Sometimes this is visible through the eyes and actions of a person. I wonder at our ability to help or hinder the rebirth of hope.

I’d like to believe that more often than not, that I spread hope, encourage hope, and bolster it up. We can do this through our words and our actions. At times, even a simple smile or just the presence of a friend can reignite the spark of hope. 

Jesus said that we could move mountains if we just had the faith the size of a mustard seed. I believe that faith and hope are interchangeable. So, think about this. What mountains in life have you moved that began with just a tiny bit of hope? 

Well, then, go move some mountains.

💗 Snow

 Today it snows,

and blows.

The wind has turned our rain to solid white crystals of flurry.

Swirling, spinning, and floating up, down, and sideways.

Curving around trees and buildings and vehicles before finally landing and sticking.

Then building itself up, rising ever higher in mounds of fresh white powder.

A covering.

And the white of the snow matches the white of the sky and the rooftops and treetops and even my outdoor tabletop. I peer up through the clouds and note that even the sun is shining white as it peaks from a small opening far above.

It presses against the window screens trying to peek inside. Each flake vying for the best view. 

Some even sneak through the screen and land on the ledge of our screened porch where they rest snuggled and happy to have reached the inside of somewhere.

Reaching for somewhere.....

These swirling individual flakes of frozen moisture, each one an individual with its own unique design causes me to think of us humans. We are each uniquely designed and carry our own dreams and ideals. Our own thoughts and motivations. And, I would suppose that when we are viewed from afar, we too, may appear to be drifting, turning, floating until we land. Pressing our faces into the lives we've attached ourselves to. Gazing in and around and mingling with our peers. I suppose there are times of our lives where we flurry about feeling as though we are independent of one another. But then a gust of wind blows and many of us are tossed about in a united front. 

Then we face the turmoils of life in a forced and united battle, yet we still continue to run from or toward, turn away or towards each other, and often collide into one another unexpectedly. No time to plan or focus or chart a course. Just what, at the time appears to be a random storm.

It's only in the after. That place where calm settles itself, peace returns, and all is quiet, and then we look back on the paths we've taken. We examine our landing site. And, because we are resilient and strong, and desire to move forward, we purposefully look for the good. We look for what is true and whole and make that our new focus. We see with the scope of hindsight, the new possibilities, and we smile and go and even embrace the life set out before us.