Category Archives: love

Loved

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February 14 gets all the attention when it comes to love. No shade, but I’d argue that another day outshines Valentine’s Day for celebrating love. And not the fleeting kind, but the steadfast, love-you-even-if-you-act-a-pure-fool kind of love.

There’s a type of love that knows no end or beginning. Love that is secure, unchanging. A sacrificial love that doesn’t do one-ups, I-told-you-so’s, or you-owe-me’s. It’s pure and proven. And, best of all, it’s available to everyone.

God’s love, y’all. And, especially today on Easter Sunday, I’m reminded of how much He loves you and me.

Now, I love my fellow human beings as much as humanly possible. Buuuut, we all know how hard that can be. This world can be rough. Folks can be incredibly cruel and make us feel insignificant, uncertain, and alone. If I’m being honest (and I am), I cannot begin to imagine giving up any of my children, God-style, to save the rest of the world. It’s why I’m glad God is God, and not me.

So, any reminder that we’re all His children also comes with the reminder that we are all loved. A grace-filled two-fer. And Easter is the icing on the cake, the ultimate remembrance of how deep God’s love runs for each and every one of us.

So, take heart. Be encouraged. And know that today, of all days, is a day to remember you are so very loved.
xoxo

P.S. Click here for one of God’s love taps. (I don’t own the rights to this goodie … just sharing it.)

Still Here

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Dad slipped away quietly one year ago today. And, oh, how I miss him.

I remember that day in vivid detail. The steady rain. The chill in the air. How I knew he’d passed when hospice’s number appeared on my phone screen. How I let it go to voicemail because I was taking our teen to school, and my mama heart knows when to delay hard moments.

I hesitated before calling because I knew that, after 12 days of incredibly gentle and beautiful hospice care, Dad was gone. Calling hospice would – and did – make it all real.

In that moment, I felt so many emotions. I remember feeling heavy loss and sadness, but also humbled that I would be the one to see Dad and stay with him until the funeral home arrived to help us with next steps. I remember answering the kind hospice worker’s questions, pausing ever so often to hug another staff member at the memory care home who came to say goodbye to Dad and offer condolences. I remember being comforted by staff and comforting them, too. How I stroked Dad’s snow-white hair one last time and kissed his forehead.

I miss Dad and will always miss him. Yet, I’m very, very aware that he’s also still here, with us.

He’s with me every time I cook his sweet potato pie. He’s in my kindergartener’s mischief, my teen’s mathematical graphing with perfect lines, my daughter’s creative expression. He’s in the work my sister does so beautifully on behalf of schoolkids each day. He’s in every single one of his grandchildren’s smiles.

We all had to let go of Dad’s physical presence with us. Yet, these moments remind me that he lives on in all of us. That he’s still here. And that, even in missing Dad, he’s really not far away at all.

xoxo

A Fond Farewell

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As 2024 peeks around the corner, the optimist in me hopes for a kinder, gentler year ahead. After all, this year arrived with its fair share of Goliath-sized mountains to climb. Only a few weeks into 2023, Dad passed away. COVID-19 flanked our family, making me so ill I missed his funeral. Friends and loved ones visited the hospital a lot this year, and some are no longer here to see 2023 end. And, when the autumn leaves began taking over our yard, a health concern found me lying on a biopsy table.

Yet, this year also brought mountaintops, blessed moments of rest and joy after navigating life’s ups and downs. Hubby and I celebrated our 25th anniversary. Our kiddos are healthy and holding their own, in and out of school. Gatherings found us surrounded by love and joy with family and friends. That health scare I had? Thank God, I’m A-okay. And just this week, Hallmark Mahogany featured my writing as a guest post.

As the youngins say, life be lifing. But, it’s still life. And, this year often reminded me that life is such an incredible gift. Understanding this is how Dad could genuinely say on Day 3 of hospice, “I’m blessed. We’re blessed.” He knew, and was forever grateful, that life itself is a blessing. And especially because he’s now flying high with Mom, I’m clinging to the wisdom in his words a little tighter as this year passes the baton to the next.

So, farewell, 2023. Even when it hurt, thank you for reminding me of how precious life is, each day. You made me climb some rugged mountains that brought me to my knees … and, you lifted me back up with mountaintop moments that brought greater peace, strength, and gratitude for God’s blessings in my life. Because of you, this is my warrior song* as I look to the new year ahead.

2024, you’ve got next.
xoxo

* I do not own the rights to this song. I just adore it.

Papa

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This time each year my heart takes a rollercoaster ride. We’re shaking off the busyness of summer. The kiddos go back to school and grow up some more on us. And our family celebrates at least 15 birthdays in September.

And this year’s heart rollercoaster ride is right on time. Our oldest is starting her third year of college; our middle is starting his third year of high school; and our youngest is starting kindergarten (first-time readers, that’s not a typo). I’ve smiled and laughed and shed my quiet mama tears as always, when I think of how much they’ve all grown and how blessed my hubby and I are as their parents.

This year’s ride is also different. While back-to-schooling, I usually would have planned something special to celebrate Dad’s birthday, too. Today would have meant simply being with him and enjoying colorful balloons, yummy cake, and lots of cards and gifts from loved ones near and far. Dad and I would have talked about the kids heading to school, inevitably sparking wonderful stories about how much he enjoyed his years as a teacher and principal.

My sis has often said that our parents were “little people people,” and she’s right. They marveled in the innocence and magic of children. Mom and Dad invested their lives not only in raising us, but also in positively impacting children they taught professionally, inspired at church, and loved in our extended family and community. And the grandkids? Spoiled generously by “Grammy and Papa Booker.” Dad would often tease me and my sis by saying, “If I knew grandkids were this much fun, I would have had THEM first, and then you girls.”

Children were such a joy to our parents. So, on what would have been Dad’s 93rd birthday today, it especially feels fitting to remember him wearing his Papa Booker hat with love. Here’s Dad in action, taking a break from his artwork to enjoy our youngest as a newborn. Volume up.

Happy heavenly birthday, Papa.
xo,
Karin

Both/And

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Since losing my dad a few weeks ago, I’ve been living in the Land of Both/And. It’s where two diametrically opposed feelings co-exist. Both gratitude and disappointment, both acceptance and sadness, both peace and grief. I’m feeling it all.

Dad was blessed with 92 amazing years. His heart and mind were as beautiful as his good looks. And, his legacy of kindness and love impacted so many. He was my buddy from Day 1, joking how I’d hang onto him as a little one and refuse to let others hold me. His sense of humor, sometimes sprinkled with naughtiness, kept us all giggling. A master storyteller, he shared the most fascinating, inspiring stories of his life. Dad was my first role model of love in action as a Christian, husband, father, and so much more.

When Mom died, I had a difficult time accepting it. Her death was unexpected and shocked us all. I wasn’t ready, and I fought the grief. Dad’s death was a completely opposite experience for me. I could see him slowing down, ever so slightly, over the last few years. Most recently, his 12 days of hospice care prepared me well for what was to come. I got to love on Dad each day and say goodbye. So, although I really miss him, I’m okay knowing that he’s okay. Both/And.

I wish I could end this post right here – that I’m fully at peace, even in my grief. But, there’s a plot twist: I missed Dad’s funeral. Had no idea that COVID would be the culprit that literally put me on my back minutes before heading to his service that day.

My hubby, kids, and I were all dressed and almost ready to leave for the funeral with the rest of our family. Just before our meet-up time, I suddenly became extremely warm and sick to my stomach. I couldn’t keep anything down. I eventually collapsed back into bed, completely weak, sweating. Just sick-sick.

I cried hot tears, realizing my body would not cooperate. My hubby and sister tag-teamed me and insisted I stay put, that my health was first. I disagreed, but it didn’t matter. I was so weak that I couldn’t even open my eyes to view the service online on my hubby’s phone. I could only listen, catching bits here and there. I was miserable, inside and out. Later that day, an at-home test confirmed it was COVID. I thought, “Really, Lord? I’ve. Never. Had. COVID. And it shows up now like a raging bull, of all days, TODAY?!?”

Once-in-a-lifetime moments like funerals never offer do-overs. I lay in bed, heartbroken I wasn’t celebrating Dad’s life with my family and community. I wasn’t there to comfort my teenager at the church and cemetery. I missed hugging Dad’s sisters, Mom’s sisters, so many cousins who traveled near and far to be with us.

And, while I see — and am even grateful for — God’s wisdom in keeping me from spreading COVID to countless folks at the funeral, it still hurts. I feel sad, even shame and guilt. How could I – the one who cared for Dad for so many years – not be there? It just feels all wrong.

My siblings and I were always a tight team when it came to supporting Dad after Mom died 15 years ago. As his needs changed, I became his primary care helper, eventually moving him in to live with us. During his final years in a memory care residence nearby, I saw him regularly. And when he received hospice care, I was with him twice a day.

I share these details not for accolades, but for context. To miss celebrating Dad’s life after being there with and for him so long, front and center, feels like a cruel joke. It’s like I ran a marathon with Dad all those years, but COVID didn’t let me cross the finish line. It stole my ability to honor his beautiful, extraordinary life with our family.

God gave me time to say goodbye to Dad, and I’m grateful. And, I know he’s happy with my mom, brother, and so many loved ones in a Far Better Place. I have peace knowing all of that. I just don’t have peace missing our family’s farewell moment, our celebration of Dad’s life together.

Both/And.

Yet, even as I wrestle with peace, I’m choosing to lean into Both/And. I’m relying on James 1:2-4 and remembering Mom’s wisdom that “time takes care of everything.” James and Mom have been right many times in my life. I’m trusting that, down the road apiece, this experience will be one of those times, too.
xo,
Karin

Expecting the Unexpected

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For November 2017 Blog Surprise Gift

My hubby and I are ardent planners. Over the last 19 years, we’ve come to value having a roadmap for our journey together. Buying a one-story home we can easily maneuver later in our golden years? Yep. Having two kids, 3 years apart so “they could play together?” Uh-huh. Career moves that let us balance work and family time? Check-check.

But, are we also learning flexibility because plans can change in a split second? You bet. My mom’s sudden death. My brother’s bout with cancer. Moving my dad in with us after a fall in his home. And so, so much more. We get it. Continue reading →

True Love (3-min. read)

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feb-2017-love-heart-drawing-pic

My hubby gets me.

On Valentine’s Day, he surprised me with a funny greeting card and a heart-shaped box of miniature Kit Kats.

No jewelry. No shopping spree. No flowers.

And I loved him for it.

Why? Because it was the icing on the cake after countless moments he’s helped my dad up and down stairs. Covered kiddie activities all day on a Saturday so I could meet work deadlines. Washed a lot of laundry. And so much more.

He knows my primary Love Language, and he loves me by honoring it as much as he can. And I love him all the more for that. Continue reading →