My thoughts on Karma (in 399 words)

Bigot! Racist! Idiot! Bully!

The words fly more easily through fingertips than they do through lips.

It is soooo easy to type them and even feels more powerful to add a hashtag: #bigot

I read, I cringe, and then I hide the very post that made the person who posted it feel so righteous–simply because I don’t want to see it over and over. And as I hide it, I wonder, “would they say what they just posted to that person’s face?”

In other words, would THEY want to be treated the way that they are treating that politician, that celebrity, that official, their co-worker, their fellow student or that bozo in the other car?

 see someone scream racist from my Facebook feed and I wonder if they even know the heavy meaning of that particular word? And, in using that word, do they realize that they are actually segregating, as well as categorizing, themselves? It is frightening.

These loaded words are strong. And online, there is no takey-backy!

At the very time the #bekind movement is rising, our culture is feeling more and more entitled, and empowered, to voice opinions about anything and anyone at anytime.  All of us have opinions. Few, if any of us, should so flagrantly voice them…especially in a public forum.

One day my son overheard me quip, “they’d better be careful—what goes around comes back around…”

He said, MOM!? Do you believe in Karma?”

I thought for a few seconds and said, “Yes, I do. But God invented karma: ‘you reap what you sow.’ Somehow that got a name.”

Yup, the rants that we perceive we are entitled to make, will come back around. #karma

So I have taken it upon myself to make a to consider list (simply because lists are trendy!):

Five Things to Consider before you Post and One Good Suggestion 

  1. Do you really know the true meanings of the words that you are hashtag-ing?
  2. Is adding your opinion online important enough to categorize yourself? 
  3. Would you say that wonderful quippy zinger to that person’s face?
  4. Is your rant actually unveiling a bully?
  5. Would you mind if this person posted your words about you?

Good suggestion: Read through your posts and see if (and which of) your friends are:

  • liking your post?
  • ignoring your post? (ouch)

And remember: #treatothersthewayyouwanttobetreated

Really. Even online. Especially online!

and, please, #bekind

 

 

 

I didn’t wanna do it

IMG_8850IMG_8854Nothing inside of me wanted to do it.  Nothing.  The only reason I discreetly slipped into my bathing suit was so I could later ease into the water and eventually brag, “I swam in a volcano crater lake.” (Good plan.)

And then Tom happened.

But first the back story!  During 2015 my husband and I have been coaching the World Race Fusion Squad.  This is a squad of 23 Racers who embarked on an 11 month/11 country mission trip back in January. Every few months we jet to wherever the heck they are for their debrief.

A debrief is where we spend 4-5 days simply encouraging each of the Racers via hanging out, drinking coffee, hugging, laughing, listening, crying, talking–you get the idea.  It’s a great job.

At the end of August we flew to Nicaragua.  This time, though, we went early to help the Racers host a five-day visit from their parents (the Parent Vision Trip).  Now their parents hadn’t seen their Racers for eight months, so we were really inconsequential for those few days.  All we did was tag along for the scheduled activities and chatted it up with parents.

On the day before the parents departure, we went to the Laguna De Apoyo, a deep crater lake–or, rather, an imploded volcano that filled with water!  It really is pretty amazing.

Now on this particular day several of us were seated at a laguna-side table with a fantastic view.  One of the racers, Kylene, slid next to me and whispered, “I am panicking.”

“Why?” I asked.

She quickly responded: “My dad wants to jump in the lagoon.

I quickly responded with glee:  “I think that’s great!!”

“NO! It’s not!!” she responded, not very gleefully.

“Why not?” She rolled her eyes at what seemed to be a ludicrous question. You see, her dad is Tom. Tom is legally blind. So she gave the obvious answer: “He might get hurt.” IMG_8823

I hesitated and then said, “Yes, he might.  But he wants to do it.” I turned to my seated comrades, “Hey ya’ll, Tom wants to jump in the water.  Let’s vote! If you think he should, raise your hand.” (All hands went up.)  “Then it’s decided.  Tom goes in.”

One of my lunch companions, Daniel, offered to jump in first to determine how far out he needed to jump.  Another one, Nathan, who happened to be a lifeguard in a former life,
offered to jump in with him.

I turned back to Kylene, Tom’s daughter and smiled, “then it’s all settled!  Your dad’s going swimming!

That news was not settling at all to her.IMG_8825

There were two platforms to jump from.  The tallest about 20 feet off the water, the other about 14 feet.  Tom opted for the latter. Daniel did the test ‘run and jump’ and then, with minor instructions, Tom and Nathan began to run.  The leap was picture perfect, the cheers were boisterous, and Tom’s grin was indescribable.IMG_8826

Kylene’s fears for her dad were valid.  She had seen her dad fall several times.  The former bank president began going blind only a few years prior and hated his red-tipped walking stick.  Therefore, he had walked full-face into more than one immovable structure and had been told by more than one stranger that he had blood on his forehead or running down his cheek.  She had not wanted it to happen one more time.  But today she wasIMG_8847 relieved. And proud–very proud.

And, unbeknownst to Tom, he was causing a ripple effect--no pun intended! First it was Joann.  Joann was fidgeting after Tom jumped in and then suddenly blurted out: “If he can do it, then I have no excuse!”  With that, she ripped off her hearing aid, grabbed her daughter’s hand and took off running!  More cheering!  IMG_8834

Then came a knowing glance as another couple, Rick and Carmen, stood up from their lounge chairs, took a deep breath and a few strides and then leapt.

Then, the first Racer called to me, “Hey, Mama K! When are you jumping in??”

I called back, “Uh, well, uh. I’m not a good swimmer.  I mean, I can hold my own, it’s just that I don’t like people to touch me in the water and I really don’t like drop offs and I have to hold my nose and…..”

I continued to ramble as the Racers ignored my weak reasoning.

Okay, the truth was that I was scared.  No really, I was scared.  I wasn’t scared of getting hurt necessarily.  I was scared of slipping before I even leapt and looking stupider than I felt.  And I was scared of looking dorky while I held my nose.  And I was scared of–well dang, nothing big.

And then there was Tom. Ugh.

“Okay.”

Kylene saying goodbye to her parents, Tom and Kelly.

I agreed to the lower 14′ platform that was increasing in elevation with every passing second.  My sweet husband agreed to jump with me (but not to touch me in the water).

I stood ready to run, but I was frozen. (Tom wasn’t frozen.) My husband said, “don’t think about it, JUST GO!”

I did.  I took the first step and the rest was easy.  Admittedly, it was actually fun.

Fear has made me miss too much.  But something in me shifted that day.

Thank you Tom, for helping me to see that I have unwittingly invented my own “red-tip stick” which I have been using as an excuse for resisting many adventures.  Thank you for helping me see.  

Really, thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

That place.

I was a young mom and it was one of those days. Sick kids, a dirty house, carpooling, and an impending party–among other things, overwhelmed me. I stomped through the house with a basket full of dirty clothes on my hip.

That is when I first heard the voice: “stop and get on your knees.”

I tried to ignore it. “No!” I screamed inside, “I do not have time.”

I kept moving, kept fretting, kept pushing to get ten hours of stuff done in six hours. “I can do this! I’ve got to do this” partnered with “I can’t do all of this! How can I get all of this done?” 

I felt my skin crawling, my fuse shorten. My jaw was clenching to keep from yelling at my kids who were just being kids.

“Stop and get on your knees…”

“I. Don’t. Have. Time.”

More clothes. Empty the dishwasher. Return the phone call. Wipe the nose. Change the diaper. The washer stopped. “Oh, I have to go to the store. Remember the ice. I’ll stop on the way to the school.”

“Stop and get on your knees…”

“OH, OKAY!” I said sharply and aloud. He [God] wasn’t going to let up. So I put down the laundry basket and got on my knees and dug my elbows into the ottoman.

My obligatory prayer was discombobulated:I’m just doing this because you told me to. I have no faith to believe it will help because, the reality is, I just have way too much to do in too short period of time. I get that. But, I give you my day. There.”

(I wanted to add, “You happy now?” but that seemed a bit much.)

I got up, grabbed my laundry basket and moved on.

Then, I noticed, about ten, maybe 15 minutes later that I was calm. Very calm. Remarkably calm. How did that happen? How did my day, and my head which had been in the pit, turn and become calm and completely peaceful, and, well, quite okay?

I managed a “thank You.” And I meant it.

That place. That place where, I hear his voice and I know it’s Him. That place where it truly, it is only God and me. That place where I He knows me, warts and all, and he wants me just the way I am. There is where I am safe.

That place where He transforms me without me working;

or trying;

or even believing.

The place where He not only alters me, but alters the atmosphere.

I love God. I love God because He loves me.

I love him because He shows me secrets. Secrets that even children can understand. Secrets that even dumb blondes can grasp.

I love God because He has shown me the indescribable transforming power of the secret place.

And that the secret place is found on my knees with elbows grinding into an ottoman;

or in a car when He says, ‘turn the radio off’;

or a crowd when I close my eyes;

or on a chair when I push back from the desk;

or a long line when I choose to know He is standing next to me;

or in front of the TV when I shift my eyes away from the screen;

or a park bench where I breathe in. And breathe out;

or on a bed at 3am when all the other voices are battering my brain, and I chose to whisper to Him, “help.”

 I love God because he sees me and woos me and then meets me and still loves me.

And He shows me that oftenespecially when I purpose to go to that place . . . where it’s just me and Him.