God Loves You & Deja Brew! Christmas 2011

From the outside looking in, it’s an artsy, community-centered coffee shop where you can get a great cup of coffee with a smile.  But if you’ve spent much time inside those doors you already know that it is so much more than that.  At first, I thought I was the only one who had come to need this place far more than I needed that caffeinated, mid-morning pick-me-up.  But I have come to learn that there are many who flock to this haven for far more reason than a great cup of Joe.  To be perfectly honest, this last year or so has been one of the most painful and challenging years of my life and I found myself withdrawing from underneath my supportive umbrella of friends and family, partly to spend some extra time alone with God and partly because it’s just what I do sometimes.  There were days when I felt like there was no place on this earth where I truly belonged – except here. 

The owners (Tom & Lisa Nichols) and amazing staff of Deja Brew Coffee House, as well as so many of the regular customers have become a treasured family to me and I have walked through those doors every day (yes, I go there on a daily basis – don’t judge, just come see for yourself why) feeling like the people behind the counter are genuinely happy to see me - not because I am handing them my debit card or putting a tip in the jar – but because I matter to them.  I have been treated like a family member from the very beginning.  They notice when I am not myself, no matter how good I think I am at hiding it and they are quick to offer an encouraging word or a comforting hug when I didn’t always have the courage to ask for it.  If there was ever a time when I would be in such need of that kind of a welcome on a daily basis, this year would be one of those times. 

I have shed many mournful and joyful tears inside those walls and prayed many a prayer with a variety of people – sometimes people I had just met.  I have laughed until I thought I might cry and cried until I laughed (and been laughed at as well).  We have exchanged “back in a day” stories and current battles that we only wish were behind us and walked away shaking our grateful heads over how it is possible that we are all still smiling and breathing today! 

As lovers of art and music, my family and I have enjoyed many a Saturday night mingling with some very talented and fun musicians and spectators at Open Mic Night.  It was here my daughters found the courage to sing in front of a crowd and received so much encouragement and support for doing so.  What a gift to a mother who deeply desires for her daughters to find and use their talents and to make no apologies for exercising the personal freedom required to share them with the world! 

Because of a foundation that Lisa & Tom started, we have had the honor of seeing a community rise up and rally around a remarkable young man and his equally remarkable family to raise funds that would help propel him to a position of command and triumph over a condition that has a grip on his physical body but is no match for his brave heart.  My daughters and I have been changed and inspired by this delightful young man’s courage and determination through an uphill battle that would discourage most.  But this is no ordinary boy and what he and his family have accomplished as a result of the support that was so freely given through this local coffee shop is nothing short of a miracle. 

This same community of exceptional people of all backgrounds and ages has supported me and a cause that means everything to me.  They have selflessly offered their time and skills to raise funds and awareness for how we can better serve and protect the youth of our community and help those who have already suffered unthinkable abuse and neglect.  As if that were not enough, my own daughters watched God exceed their expectations last Christmas through the support of Deja Brew when they welcomed us to use the coffee shop to display homemade gifts and chocolates that they worked hard on to raise funds to provide a well for a drought-stricken village in Kenya.  They originally set out to raise $200 for a water pump, but God was calling us to take him out of the box and to believe He is who He says He is, so we asked for a $2,600 well instead that would provide much more water and freedom for our neighbors in Africa.  He showed my daughters that He is a God who does exceedingly and abundantly beyond what we ask through Deja Brew and so many cherished friends and family who supported that effort.  By early spring, a check was on its way to World Vision for $3,900 because He is God and because God blesses us, His children, with more of the same – His children.   

He often shows up to comfort or pursue us with His fierce, crazy love through the people He puts on our path.  He knows I sometimes fall off the radar and withdraw from people, but even my pitiful coping strategies cannot stop His love from finding me.  So He used my latte-lust to lure me right back into His comforting, healing arms.  That is exactly what this coffee shop has been to me – every time I walk through that door, it is as if He is reminding me that I am loved, that He sees me and that He wants to bless me.  Every time my “Deja Brew family” greets me with a needed hug, includes me on some inside joke, shares their “Twinkie Rap” songs with me, invites me to a special event in their life, flaunts their soft hair for all to touch, blesses me with their creative/musical gifts or whatever else it may be, I am hearing the whisper of God sweetly saying “I love you and you are never alone, so keep going.” 

Oh and did I mention that they have outstanding coffee?

  

Merry Christmas and may your eyes be ever-seeing the many ways that God pursues you with His love and

wants you to know that you are never alone.

NOT FOR SALE!

The breath of Autumn blows about

And plays beneath her skirt

While rainbow-colored toes

Are gliding sweetly through the dirt

She spins and bends and reaches out

To touch the setting sun

While silencing her critics

Who have kept her on the run

And perched upon a lofty vine

A lone bird watched her dance

And sang the sweetest melody

That captured her in trance

And lost in perfect rhythm

She took hold of its wings

But as the bird took flight with her

She felt the bitter sting

Of sharp and fiery fingertips

That carved into her flesh

Then pulled her from the sweet bird’s wing

And sold her off to DEATH

And now she waves her shackles

In that heartless, barren vale

While one bird weeps to all who pass

“NO, SHE IS NOT FOR SALE!”

How Karen Got Her Groove Back!

It started out as a nice thought, but it seemed so distant.  You know the kind I mean:  When you think to yourself “that would be such a perfect thing, BUT”.  That “but” tends to come in and crush dreams.  “But it will take too much time/money/etc.”  “But I’m just not ready for that right now.”  And so on.

I can find all kinds of reasons not to follow my dreams and this was headed toward the same lame excuses.  A while back I had taken a dance/fitness class called GROOVE (The Groove Method).  The concept is to provide a class that helps participants express themselves through their own unique style of dancing, using simple moves that can be expanded on for creativity.   The moment I started grooving in the class, I felt like it was calling me.  I have had a passionate love affair with dance all of my life and this was something I could do – teach this class and give women and girls permission to express themselves through dance and leave feeling like they’ve experienced something more than just a good workout.  I especially felt a longing to bring this class into the lives of women and girl survivors of trauma and abuse.  I saw a true value and healing power in what a class like this could provide.  BUT . . . I was still healing from my own trauma and didn’t feel ready to throw myself out there.  The risks seemed too great.  So, I let the “but” convince me that “later” would be a better time, knowing that “later” would not likely present itself without my willingness to say yes to it.

I watched a couple of opportunities to get my facilitator training come and go and was about to pass up another, when a turn of events just days before the training let me know the time was now.  I could not believe how it all came together and I went for it.  I felt like I had already conquered so much just by showing up.   But my blessings had only begun to pour out!  Before the class even began, I had already made passionate connections with several of my fellow classmates.  We were women of different ages and backgrounds who shared a love for dancing and a desire to celebrate life and the people we experience in it.  It felt so good to be there.

As we started dancing, I literally poured out sweat and tears from way down deep in my soul.  Somewhere between the music, the movements, the expression and the presence of beauty and passion in the women dancing around me, I found myself.  So many parts of me that had been lost came rushing towards me, embracing me like a lost child who had finally found its mother.   I was at home in my body and enjoying a moment when I felt completely comfortable in my own skin – like I belonged there and deserved to enjoy being there! 

As if that were not enough, I received another important gift that I have struggled with all of my life.  Most of us as women desire to feel beautiful and sexy, however that may look to us, not so much the world and culture around us.  I can’t speak for other women, but I personally have struggled with fear over what the consequences might be if I desire to look and feel beautiful and sexy.  I don’t mean dressing provocatively to attract the wrong kind of attention or putting the emphasis on my hair, makeup, clothes, etc.  I simply mean doing things and creating my own style that I can own and feel attractive in for my own personal satisfaction.  We all need that as women and when it is missing from our lives, we don’t feel our optimal selves.  Being able to move my body in a way that feels good to me in my soul in a safe environment, without being judged allowed me to leave any shame or fear on that dance floor and that is where I intend for them stay.  I just needed permission (as many of us often do without even realizing it) to embrace it instead of fear it. 

I received so much healing and my soul has experienced a revival.  I am ready and willing to pass it on, even though the teaching part is still very much out of my comfort zone.  As always, whenever I seek out a way to connect with and help others heal, I receive the most healing.  I don’t know what kind of impact I may have on people with this class, but if I can give back even a fraction of what I have received from it, I will have done something to be proud of.   So, to those of you who helped give me that extra push to take the risk and offered support and encouragement to sustain me through the self-doubts and fears (you know who you are) and to my God, who created me with unique gifts to glorify His name, thank you for helping me get my groove back!  

Waiting on the Juncos

It was one of those days when the pain was overwhelming and making it through the everyday tasks would require every ounce of strength I could muster.  I’ve had more of those days than I care to look back on over the past year or so, but they haven’t come without their hidden gifts.  I reached my breaking point as I pulled into the carport.  Everything that I had been holding back behind my smile came rushing forward demanding to be freed from its holding place.  As soon as the car stopped, I dissolved into the steering wheel and the dam gave way.  I was fighting a deep sense of emptiness that was hungering to be filled and I hadn’t the slightest  idea what to do with it.  The only thing that I could think of as I sat there bathed in loneliness was to call out and ask God for a tangible reminder of His love and tender care for me.  Without even thinking, I cried out to my heavenly Father “Let me just see one junco today so that I know you are there!”

I love birds.  Watching them has brought so much beauty and comfort into my life and it always seems like they show up in some special way just to send me a message – that Heaven sees me and that I am not alone.  It might be the purr of feathered wings in flight so close they nearly graze my hair or a show of color in shades of cardinal, bluebird, and purple finches against a backdrop of sparkling snow.  Every year around this time, I wait with anticipation for the juncos to return for the winter.  They are not the most beautiful birds, but they bring a source of joy to me when I see them show up at my kitchen window every year to announce that Autumn is in full swing and the fresh beauty of winter is soon to follow.  I love this time of year and find so much beauty and peace in its splendor. 

So when I asked God to show me the juncos, I knew He would hear me and delight in my request.  I expected to see a junco that day.  I was constantly looking out my kitchen window and hanging around outside, watching and waiting.  Later that day, I was in my art room and I heard chirping outside my window.  I looked out and smiled at what I saw:  It was a sparrow poking the ground for scraps from the birdfeeder above.  Immediately, I knew he had heard my cry.  I asked for a junco, but he gave me something better.  Now, if birds had a caste system, a sparrow would be just a notch above a crow or a buzzard.  They are not the favored bird of the winged creatures.  How often I have felt like a sparrow when I longed to be a cardinal. But our Maker favors us all.  As soon as I saw that sparrow I thought of two things:  1) That we need not fret over our needs because God takes care of even a lowly sparrow and we are of more value to Him than many sparrows (Matthew 10:27-31).  And 2)  The privilege of being present several months back to watch an amazing teenage girl I have known and loved and who has suffered many torments and trials sing “His Eye is on the Sparrow” in front of an audience.  She has known some dark days, but was able to stand up and use her voice to let others know “I sing because I’m happy, and I sing because I’m free!  His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches over me.” 

That gift alone was more than I asked for!  As if that were not enough, the very next day, He gave me (and yes, that snow was just for me) a rare and early snow that brought birds of every color to surround my house.  As that first snow fell softly and peacefully on my soul, the birds and I traded gifts of sustenance.  I was more than satisfied but my Father wasn’t finished lavishing His love on me.  I also had the assurance that the juncos would be coming any day, and while I waited, I could cling to the reminder that, not only am I not alone but that I am here to come alongside those who have also felt like a worthless sparrow and sing the truth of who they really are into their souls!  I can’t do that if I forget who I really am and shrink into something less.  That has been a relentless battle for me over the past many years.  Abuse and lies have left a cloud of shame over me that I hadn’t truly recognized until more recently and the enemy is breaking out the heavy artillery now that I am aware of that cloud.  I know this and I know that there will be more days when I find my face planted into my steering wheel, wanting to wave my white flag and let my inadequacies consume me.  I expect them.  But I expect the juncos and I know that God is saving their arrival for a time when I will need to see them even more than I did the day I asked for them.   Glory!

“Now to him who is able to do exceedingly and abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.  Amen.”           -  Ephesians 3:20&21

Journey Into Spring

She’s waiting on the juncos

In the coolness of the day

While autumn leaves are trickling down

Like glitter on parade

And there upon the frosted soil

A blanket fused in color

To quiet nature’s precious babes

And nurture like a mother

How sweet these quiet pleasures

That croon and captivate

Her senses lost in luxury

A gift to she who waits

And who, but her Creator

Would think of such sweet things

To lavish on her weakened soul

While Autumn climbs to Spring

And even as the last leaf falls

And the juncos take their places

The countenance of winter’s sting

Has taken on new faces

She’s clothed in brazen layers

That offer firm protection

Now only beauty touches her

As snow falls like affection

In twilight’s sparkling silence

The snowflakes tell her stories

A balm for all her fears of Spring

That steal the season’s glory

And now the tulips poke their heads

Up from the sleepy ground

Her heart laments with violent beats

Yet cannot make a sound

Then colors new and delicate

Undress her deepest fears

As she makes love to Beauty there

And rains victorious tears!

- Karen Davis King

Dear Weakness . . .

Dear Weakness,

I am writing to you to apologize and beg your forgiveness.  I have a confession to make.  I have harbored a special hatred for you all of my life because I misunderstood who you were and what your purpose and intentions were.

But today I finally understood.

I always felt threatened and afraid of you because you made me feel so inadequate and useless.  You were always in my face reminding me of all that I couldn’t do.  I thought you were taunting me and that you enjoyed seeing me paralyzed by fear, but today I saw you with new eyes.  I saw you as a loving mother sees her innocent, growing child.  Right before me, you became a precious thing to be embraced.  I no longer need to hate you or ignore you in order to like myself.  I know who you are and therefore, I know who I am.

I’m sorry for all of the times I slandered you, beat you into a corner, ignored you, belittled you, and every other way I have mistreated you.  I didn’t know that you came bearing gifts in Love.  I didn’t know you had been sent as a messenger from God to keep me close to Him.  I didn’t know then all of the good things that would come from the “unwanted” gifts you brought.  But today, I know and I approach you with my white flag.  I come in peace and I surrender. 

Beauty for Ashes,

Your Stronger Self

The Perfect Parent

My day had begun much like other days.  I fueled my spirit with God’s word and a lively conversation with Him about all of my concerns, joys, sorrows and fears, followed by a heart-pumping workout to send me into my day with energetic vigor.  These two things – time with God and physical exercise – breathe new life into my mind, body and soul.  When my day begins this way, I feel ready for anything.  And, like many days that get off to a powerful start, I grow weaker and less energetic as the day wears on.  How often I have left my home and arrogantly looked out at the world around me with a daring sentiment: “BRING IT!”  And how often I have found myself humbled by lunchtime! 

This day was no different.  I went into it feeling especially equipped to handle whatever my ever-changing tween was going to throw at me.  I had been struggling to understand and “cure” her more recent behavior and attitudes and I had prayed for everything from patience and wisdom, to enough common sense not to be outsmarted by her (again).   I was lifted up and I believed firmly that God was going to guide me through the mine field and that my daughter and I would come out unscathed, having “done it right” this time.   I was ready to do God’s will, confident in His direction and fully equipped for the battle . . . and then she came home from school.

Everything I had pictured in my mind flew out the door when she came through it.  As our brief conversation about school, friends and other topics moved to homework and practicing guitar, things quickly changed and progressed into a downward spiral.  I left her alone in her room to engage in her more recent sulking ritual that seems to take up more time than actual homework and at some point during that process, I heard the thumpings of a temper tantrum coming from her room and that’s when I snapped.  I did not stop to consider what was going on in my heart to make me react so strongly to her behavior, nor did I allow myself any buffer time before I threw open her door and joined her in her tantrum.  She had thrown around a box that her sister had bought for her and the beating had broken the top clean off.  It pains me greatly to admit what happened next.  I did not hesitate to follow her example instead of leading with the maturity and patience she needed.  I simply asked if she was sure she was done with her tantrum as I flung the box across the room for one last flight . . . right as her sister stepped into the doorway to witness the whole ugly thing.  At that moment, I was engulfed in the aftermath of Hurricane Karen with one child crying and one child looking at me like I was the grim reaper coming to collect her soul.  A blanket of shame swept over me and I was poised to give myself a brutal inner beating.  I suddenly knew what Adam & Eve felt when God came calling after they had eaten the forbidden fruit.   I was exposed and ashamed.

I knew I couldn’t just stand there, so I apologized to both of them and told them that I needed to regroup so that the situation would not worsen.  They were more than happy to oblige.  I wanted to hide from God because I knew He saw it all and He was calling for me . . . “What went wrong, Karen?”  I took off running – literally.  I ran through my neighborhood, listening over and over again to the same song – How He Loves Us.   The song kept pouring the truth about God’s grace into my heart until I was completely drenched in it. 

In addition to those beautiful words and music, I was hearing God tell me that I lost sight of Him in that exchange and that He loves me with a fierce love no matter how many times I get it wrong.  He was telling me to try again – that the day isn’t over and neither is His work in me.  God knew that I was never going to be able to make it authentically right without first receiving His grace.  Once we had taken care of that, I was able to approach my girls with humility, minus the hovering cloud of shame that typically accompanies my apologies.  There is one line out of that powerful song that puts it all in perspective for me:  “I don’t have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way He loves us.”  It drove home the point that if we are focused on His love for us, our regrets lose all their power over us and we are free to move forward without dragging the weight of our mistakes behind us.  I am finally coming to “believe” what I’ve always known.

Looking back, I am grateful for this particular parental fowl because it gave me an opportunity to share with both of my daughters what grace looks like when we are truly able to “accept” it.  We cannot pass it on to others if we don’t first accept it for ourselves.  As always, my heavenly Father has brought much fruit and beauty out of my failures, ugliness and inadequacies.   Oh How He Loves Us . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxTOsQ3LDE4

Mercy's Call

I thought I had already been down that road.  I had taken that journey back to that awful place, despite my fear and hesitation, and returned from it knowing that I had been forgiven.  I had confessed my sin and moved on.  What I didn’t understand then was that I had left something important behind and years later, God would call me back there to finish what we started. 

I first felt His whisper through a friend who mentioned in passing that she facilitated abortion recovery weekends through an organization called Mercy’s Call.  I admired her for her desire to help others heal from such deep wounds.  I knew all about those wounds and the hurts and shame that bled from them.  But that was then and I was on a new path of healing from wounds of another kind.   

At some point over the next few weeks, this same friend and I were having another discussion about Mercy’s Call and she said something that turned my soul inside out.  She mentioned that she still mourns the loss of her unborn children.  Mourn?  Now, that was something I had never considered, much less allowed myself to do.  It was in that very moment when the word “mourn” hit my heart that God’s whisper became a (loving) punch in the gut.

It wasn’t long before an opportunity arose to attend a weekend and I jumped at the chance, knowing that the process of healing I was currently in had everything to do with this particular process of healing.  I was terrified of all that I would be facing going into it, but yet I went with the expectation that something big was going to happen.  I just needed to show up and trust and God would take care of the rest.  “The rest” indeed.

He took my hand and walked me back through many of the dark, painful places of my life that led up to and surrounded my abortion.  I was barely 16 when I made that decision but God, my Healer, took me back even further to show me that there was more to my story than what my original version portrayed:   My version was still rooted and steeped in shame, despite God’s forgiveness.  He showed me how abuse had carved self-hatred, unworthiness and dozens of other insecurities into my soul and how it stole my vision of who I really was: His beautiful, treasured daughter.  He showed me how these events drove me to seek out love and affection in harmful ways and though I had my own responsibility for that regretful choice, there were other influential people and factors involved who shared that responsibility with me.  He showed me that I was still paying penance for my early years of life, thinking that if I punished myself enough and withheld enough good things from myself, I could get to a point where I would actually be worthy of the forgiveness that God had already granted me willingly when I first confessed it to Him.  That burden grew heavier and heavier over the years because there was no punishment I could inflict upon myself that was ever going to be enough to atone for taking my own child’s life.  I had made my bed and was wrapped up tight in a blanket of lies that continually reminded me that every last bit of that heavy load was solely mine to carry for a life sentence.  And then God reached out His mighty, yet gentle hand to me and whispered “Give it all to me.”

He wasn’t asking for my repentance or confession – I had already given that.  He wasn’t asking for self-vindicating works or for a promise to sell all my belongings and become a missionary across the globe as an offering.  He just wanted all the ugly stuff.  He wanted the beastly burden I’d been lugging around for so long.  He wanted my sin, my shame, my terror, my losses, my anger, my traumatic experiences and all of the rage and unforgiveness (towards myself and others) that was still in my heart as a result.  And last but not least, He wanted . . . my trust in what His intentions were with it all.  Still leery, I searched and questioned and saw no fine print.   I had come to a place of “the rest” and just in time.  I was so tired of carrying that shameful burden that I could not take another step with all of that weight bearing down on me.  So, I lifted my hands up to the sky (literally) and in faith, I let go!   And in return for all that unsightly mess, including all the times I rejected Him, He lavished me in His comfort and love.  But He didn’t stop there.  He also gave me the son I never knew!  Through the amazing women who facilitated this weekend, my Heavenly Father reminded me that I am a mother of THREE, not two children and that my first child is alive and well in God's kingdom and he waits for me there!  He allowed me the space to mourn the loss of never being able to hold my son or know him.  He allowed me to wrestle with questions like “Did it hurt him when the machine took him from my womb?”  What would he look like now?”  “What if . . ?”  And then my wise and wonderful Father brought my attention back to His grace. 

As the weekend came to a close, one of the facilitators placed before me a little white box with a cross inside that represented God’s forgiveness and asked me if I was willing to receive the gift of God’s Forgiveness.  I went after that gift like a ravenous beggar clawing at a divine feast.  It was the first time in my life that I had ever allowed myself to “receive” what I knew (but only in my head) had already been given to me.  I accepted it without shame and there were no strings attached . . . only grace.

We ended with a ceremony to celebrate and honor my first child, Austin Isaiah Davis.  During that ceremony, a facilitator read a conversation that God was having with my unborn son, who wanted to know things about me.  He wanted to know what I look like, when I would be coming home and if I would recognize him when I arrived.  Then he asked God “Why is she still there and I am here?” and my gracious Father replied “You know, my son, I don’t remember (Hebrews 10:17).”  This was “the rest” that God had planned for me in a single weekend.  I can only imagine what more He has for me (and you) in these remaining days on earth and in the hereafter. . .

The Gift (In Honor of Austin Isaiah Davis)

You made your Glory shine

In that sacred, secret place

And though I turned your gift away

I could not stop your Grace!

You were there when I rejected

The child you made for me

You saw it all and still, you used

My sin to set me free!

O only you, Jehovah,

Could take my blackest deeds

And snatch them from my blood-stained soul

To cast into the sea

O, thank you, Abba, Father

For the grace to mourn & grieve

For peeling off my burdens

That forbade me to receive

Behold, the former things have passed

And I no longer cower

From that painful place of loss

But celebrate your POWER!

Today you do a brand new thing

And I cry out with joy

To tell the world, despite my sin,

“I have a little boy!”

He waits for me at Heaven’s gate

And cheers me as I go

And once we know our first embrace

I’ll never let him go!

Yes thank you, Lord, for ALL OF IT

The terror and the shame

For only you, O Great I AM,

Can do all that you claim!

To learn more about Mercy's Call, visit:  http://www.mercyscall.org/

In the Dirt . . .

In the dirt, she waited

With worms and crawling creatures

Covered up and smothered

Were all her sparkling features

But tucked away from sunlight

And choked of proper air

She held a dormant treasure

Completely unaware

For no one ever told her

That she was born a seed

And so she took her place in life

As but a lowly weed.

But deep beneath the muck and mire

Love had found her still

And loosed the soil that captive held

A purpose yet fulfilled

It could’ve yanked her free from threads

Of roots which held her down

But chose instead from there on high

To stoop its knee to ground

While toiling in the same dirt

She’d worn for all her life

Love drew her out with nourishment

Of water, breath and light

Now slowly, she emerges

From the pit of bitter Hell

As Love sings ever sweetly

Of the seed He knows so well

And though she’s been cut open

And all has been exposed

What once was called a worthless weed

Is now Love’s priceless rose.

The Watchman

“Nice”, “Kind” and “Pleasant”

Were once deep compliments

But naked in the light of day

She’s taken great offense

For somewhere down that darkened path

What Virtue aught proclaim,

A mark of woman’s glory crown,

Instead clothed her in shame

She learned to play the fool

And how to look away

When Evil showed its colors

On the backdrop of the day

But deep beneath the surface

Of that naive countenance

A clever Watchman tallied

Every hint of false pretense

He saw beyond the flattery

And counterfeited smiles

And left no room to wonder

If they carried hidden wiles

But when the warning shots were fired

She rarely paid attention

And fell into a trance

That stripped away all apprehension

No matter what they took from her

It didn’t change the truth

Her Watchman saw it coming

And was quick to give her proof

But she mocked him into exile

And thought it for the best

And since that fateful day

She’s never known a night of rest

Now, after all these years

She hits the streets where he was shunned

Calling to a Watchman

Whose forgotten where he’s from

Longing Risen

I was made with a Longing

In my heart

Fierce and beautiful

I wore it proudly

Like pigtails on a little girl

Until

Darkness showed up

And brought the cloud

So I put my precious Longing in a bubble

And promised

I would return for it when it was safe

But the cloud grew

darker with time

Every now and again

Longing wrestled inside of its prison

stirring

disrupting

The cloud didn’t like that!

So it sent a sword through the sky

And angry gusts

carried it away

to a deeper

darker

place

Where no one would

EVER

find it . . .

EVER.

Longing lost its will

in that darkness

and I watched it

sink

out

     of

         sight

         

And yet

The same violent sword

That drove the Longing under

Sliced that cloud

And light shown through the slivers

Leading the way

for the Longing to follow

that light

through swamps and forests

through cemeteries

through mine fields

and mazes

   Rising

      Rising

         Rising

Like a soldier

Rising up to fight for

Freedom

Because she is worth fighting for

The Longing has found its way

and now sits in my throat

And I just know

it will either choke me to death

or BURST into a new song

Survivor In the Wilderness

August 19, 2011:

It is morning and everyone is still asleep.  It is my family's last day at the beach and I have been sitting on our balcony for the last hour or so having a conversation with God that I don’t want to see come to an end.  He has been speaking sweetly to me through exquisite sites, sounds and smells and even through the luxury of drinking in the richness of a good cup (or three) of coffee.  I have been telling Him about all of the people in my life I am concerned for and want Him to bless, even though He already knows and is far more troubled by their trials and heartaches than I ever could be.  I have been praising Him for all that He has done and NOT done in my life.  It has been a most treasured conversation between the two of us but soon enough, the kids and my husband will be awake, wanting to get into the day and I will be thrown into overdrive.  We will cram as much fun into this last day of vacation as possible, while cleaning and packing for tomorrow’s ride home and through it all, I will be anxiously awaiting my next conversation with God.

As a mom, I often feel pulled in so many different directions and it seems I am always longing for more time alone – alone with God, alone with myself, alone to write or create with no interruptions.  Never has this been more true than in this current season of life I am in.  For reasons I have not always appreciated, my heavenly Father has called me away from some of my usual responsibilities that I happen to be very passionate about and has lured me to a cave in the wilderness so that He may get my attention and breathe new life into me.  I did not want to go at first and I resisted Him with every excuse I had.  But He persisted in His whispers to me:  “Arise and eat because the journey is too great for you.” (I Kings 19:7)   

Being a full-time wife and mom in this world has a tendency to poke at all of the sensitive places that give a woman a false sense of value.  I did not want to give up any of the extra responsibilities I had taken upon myself.  They are so important to me, but they had become too important and the only worth I could see in myself was dependent upon what or how much I could do for others – especially those in the greatest need.  Little did I know that, somewhere along the way of serving and encouraging others, I had become one of those in greatest need. 

Though I did not go quietly, I have finally allowed the fierce winds of my pride to subside and have accepted the fact that the journey is, indeed, too great for me.  My Father has my full attention and I know that He has brought me to the wilderness to prepare me for what lies ahead.  I am not certain about what He has planned and there is no doubt that I am in the scariest, most challenging territory I have ever been in, but I know that I am not here alone.  Like the prophet, Elijah, who God nourished in the wilderness, I am being revived and sustained for the next part of my journey.  And in the same way that Elijah searched for God in the strong winds, earthquakes and fire, I have searched for Him there also.  I expected a  nuclear explosion of some sort – overwhelming, but quick.  Then my wilderness experience would come to an end and I could return to civilization and get on with my busy life.  That is not what God had planned.  He chose to use His still, small voice, giving me only little morsels of nourishment at a time instead of a gluttonous feast.  I was too busy waiting for Him to bring the big boom down on me that I didn’t see or hear Him in the quiet messages He was sweetly singing to my soul every day.  Instead of giving me everything I needed and watching me ride off into the sunset without a backward glance, he left me waiting and hungering for more each day.    He knows me so well! 

This morning has been another of many healing gifts from God.  Though I am still in the wilderness, there is much work to be done.  I often feel guilty & even ashamed that I am not doing more and I have to remind myself daily that this is not a retreat – this my episode of “Survivor”.   The business of true healing is not for the faint of heart and it requires more than I ever realized.  Though I don’t always FEEL like I am doing much, I know that WHAT I am doing is important to God and to His plan and that He is preparing me for more.  A GPS won’t be necessary for this journey.   This journey can only be taken by faith. 

Beautiful, Fallen Chains

 I have often wondered what I would see if I could look at some of the people I am often quick to judge through the pure lens of God’s eyes.  We all know what it feels like to be under someone else’s microscope and not one of us would say that we enjoyed being there.  We are wrought with weaknesses and experiences that leave scars.  It reminds me of those awful mirrors that magnify every pore, age spot and facial hair (especially those that keep visiting my upper lip) that we didn’t even know we had.  It is bad enough when we, ourselves have to look closely at all of our flaws we try so hard to cover, but when they are exposed and magnified for others to see, we crack under the weight of our shame.

As a child, I was always drawn to beauty.  I wanted to capture all of the beauty I saw around me and carry it with me wherever I went.  I went out of my way to tell every lovely lady I saw that I thought she was pretty and I meant it.  I did not fully understand beauty, but I wanted desperately to be beautiful.  And I was; only I didn’t know it.  What I also did not realize was that few others knew it either.

Fast forward another 10 years or so to a teenage girl who, in her quest for beauty, was now defiled by promiscuity (not always of my own choosing), wrestling with an eating disorder and numbing her pain with alcohol and drugs.  A lot happened on that hunt for beauty.  Some wrong turns were a result of my own poor choices, but there were many times when I was not given a choice which road I wanted to take.  Most people didn’t see or understand WHY I was behaving the way I was, but paid more attention to WHAT I was doing.  I never felt so far away from beauty than in those years, nor did I ever need it so desperately.  I knew what it felt like to be under a foggy microscope that only told part of my story.  I felt like a freak and I reached out to other people who the world treated differently . . . less than.  Instead of being drawn to beauty, I gravitated toward mayhem and darkness.  Where there was pain, there was I.

Little did I know that I would find beauty there as well and out of my pain and struggle, I was given gifts of compassion and understanding.  Yet, I can still find my insecurities kicking in now and then when I am quick to label a beautiful girl by her lack of clothing or assume that a man’s bad behavior a year ago has rendered no fruit or growth today. 

Over the last several years, God has given me a new microscope with a much broader lens and has gently encouraged me to let Him fill in the blanks that the lens doesn’t reveal.  He is showing me that I need to look both closely and from a distance if I am to understand anything at all and even then, I don’t hold all the pieces to the puzzle.  Someone else’s puzzle is not for me to partake in.  We all have our own puzzle that we are continually working on together with God.  It is a sacred mission between us and our Maker.  We are all working toward the beautiful end product.

As I began to look with a new lens, I saw things that shattered my heart.  I never believed that I could be strong enough to carry the weight of the things I have seen and heard in these last few years.  Some of this disturbing knowledge is engraved on my soul and has changed me forever, but I wouldn’t give it back if I could.  It is often easier to see a disruptive, violent little boy as a “bully” and a much harder thing to ask “How did he get this way?”  Even if we get that far, we are quick to blame the parents (which can often be legitimate), but what if this boy has an unexplained issue that his struggling, loving parents have given everything to uncover?  What then, when the entire family is shamed and judged by their community?  And what about that middle school girl who everyone calls “trash” because she is sexually active with her older boyfriend?  I now know more fully what drives a girl to believe she has only that to offer and we will miss the mark completely if we assume it is because she is a “bad girl”.  We look at teenage girls on the streets whose bodies are being sold and we believe they chose that life, but too often were never given a choice and were always lacking the security and maturity to even make such a choice.  I have seen teenage girls locked up in juvenile detention centers for prostitution while the adult men who paid to use them went home to their families and the pimps who beat and sell them daily walk away counting the cash that someone else made for them – someone who is still a child.  We walk past people like that and think we are somehow better when the truth of the matter is . . . we are really looking at ourselves if our circumstances had only been a little to the left or to the right.  We are looking at Jesus being crucified and we are joining in with the crowd, chanting “Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!”.

Little did I know that when God called me to open my eyes, it was not for me to save those trapped in the darkness as much as it was for Him to save me from my own dark blots that have held the better part of me in chains for most of my life.  As I break free from the remaining chains of my past, I can see that God is preparing me for more and equipping me to show others the way out of darkness as well.  But now, I have no illusions about who is leading the way.  I am not strong enough, nor do I have the vision for this journey.  I am calling out to the downtrodden to walk with me in faith toward freedom.  On the way, we will leave our chains lying on the path behind us.  Now and then we may go back and get them, try them back on and drop them again, but we will keep moving forward, delighting in the beauty around us.  But the most beautiful sight of all will be those fallen chains that whisper victory into the hearts of the weary travelers who make the trek behind us.  Keep walking beloved.   Keep walking. . .

The Greatest Generation

Before my daughters were born, I worked in nursing homes doing activities.  Those years made a better person out of me.  No - the residents I worked for made a better person out me.  I heard their amazing stories and saw how hard they worked and how much they sacrificed to provide a better future for the next generations.  I kept a journal of some of the conversations and exchanges we had over those years and kept photos so that I would not forget their faces/names.  Some are forever etched into my heart and no photos are even necessary.  Like Russell Miller - who is still one of my best friends (I love you and miss you) and Dillie Dixon (my fiery friend who shared in my thirst for mischief), Charlie Stoneburner (I still have the ornament - always will) and Agnes Schwartz who lived to be 104, but it wasn't long enough for me).  I have the utmost respect for every one of them and they all taught me so much about life, love and even death.  I strive for a fraction of their character and heart.  This poem is a little bit of all of them - it is all true of one or more of them and they were true legends of their time.

Mr. John Doe's Room

It’s just a meager taxi ride

From your home sweet home

Where extraordinary people live

Yet spend their days alone

And if you were to wander in

On some fine afternoon

I’d urge you to come take a look

At Mr. John Doe’s Room

And you will find an old, frail frame

That once stood “ten feet tall”

Whose legs became a wheelchair

Just after that last fall

But look beyond the telling lines

That lead to humbled eyes

And you may see a different man,

A Hero in disguise

Look closely at the pictures

Of his all-adoring kids

Their faces singing praises for

What kind of dad he is

And please don’t miss the stunning quilt

That warms his standard bed

The one his dear wife made with love

Just after they were wed

The quilt alone will tell you

Of her diligence and care

But speak, it won’t, of all the trials

And hurts they’ve had to bear

Like going without food for days

So that their kids could eat

In the days of the Depression

When life was bittersweet

And the time she lost the baby

After two hard days of labor

And nearly lost her own life

Had the Lord not chose to save her

He’s watched those tender, loving hands

Grow weary with disease

And as he once proposed to her

He said “Good-bye” upon his knees

And over in the corner

There’s a shoe-box filled with stars

That he had earned in Normandy

Along with battle scars

And that’s not all – there’s so much more

That you will never see

Unless you look with brand new eyes

At each biography

So let each face that your eyes scan

Be as a precious flower

Whose beauty far exceeds your own

When in its latest hour

And as you leave this “Garden”

Of wisdom in full bloom

You’ll find a living Legend

In every John Doe’s room

A B*TCH Named Shame

Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve been filling up my ears

With insults and convincing lies that bring my soul to tears

You come over uninvited and you sprawl out on my floor

I’m tired of stepping over you to reach my own front door

This house belongs to me and yet I let you drive me out

And stand out in the rain so I don’t have to hear you shout

I’ve looked in from the outside like a vagrant seeking shelter

And watched you vandalizing as my blood began to swelter

And all those raging parties that you threw at my expense

Inviting rapists, liars, thieves and “friends” with ill-intent

They made themselves at home and I, afraid to come inside

Lingered in the yard where all the flowers choked and died

I’ve watched you rearrange each room and I no longer see

The things that made this house a place that felt like home to me

And all these years I’ve stood out on the wrong side of this door

Believing that, without a key, this house is mine no more

But righteous rage came knocking and I saw you load your gun

And I knew then that you were making plans to fight or run

Well sister get your running shoes and put that rifle down

I’m kicking down this door to run this party out of town!

There’ll be no one left standing to protect you from the truth

From there, I’ll drag you up the stairs and throw you from the roof

But not before I mark you so that all will know your name

“Here lies a double-crossing B*TCH, but you can call her SHAME.”

by Karen Davis King

Welcome!

Thanks for visiting Talitha cumi!  I have been doing a lot of writing over the past several months and just feel the need to share it in hopes that some of the things I write may bring hope, comfort, inspiration and encouragement to others.  I have always found art and writing to be healing and empowering and that has never been more true for me than in the past year or so.  Some of what you will see on this blog is a little on the dark side, some posts will be full of hope and others are somewhere in-between.  Whatever you find, I hope something speaks to you. 

To give you an idea of who I am and what you may see me write about, I am a lover & follower of Jesus Christ.  I don't consider myself a democrat or a republican, nor do I believe that God supports one or the other. I love America and our troops and their families (past and currrent) who have sacrificed so much to protect everything it stands for.  I know our nation has many problems, but I wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the world and I consider almost daily what my life would be like had I simply been born on another part of the earth - it's not a pretty thought.  Even still, there is always work to be done and I try not to complain unless I intend to also do whatever I may be capable of to be part of the solution.  One of the most important issues for me at this juncture (and has been for the past 3 1/2 years) is the issue of human trafficking.  I have felt most passionate about dealing with the issue of sex trafficking in the US (and YES, it happens in the US to our daughters and sons, even in Prince William County), but there will be more to come on that because I have much to say.

I am a full-time mom who intensely loves her family and yours and wants to see all families thrive.  I treasure children and teenagers and I feel we (our world) are failing them and that most systems in any country, state or neighborhood (some worse than others) just do not protect them or value them enough to make them a priority.  I volunteer in the local juvenile detention centers and other places where I see struggling youth, abused, addicted, neglected and nowhere safe to go.  We as adults are too quick to judge young children - we see their behavior and mark them as "trouble", "bullies", "promiscuous".  We look at the "WHAT" instead of the "WHY".  I say "we" because I have been guilty of those judgements far too many times.  No I am asking God to let me see others through His eyes.  Most of us don't know the nightmares that some kids are living right under our noses.  It could be your next door neighbor, your straight-A student or the teenager who is always cracking jokes in your church youth group.  AHHHH, see there I go - you can tell what I am most passionate about.  I didn't intend to make this a loooong introduction, so I'll save the rest of my thoughts for another time. 

Again, thanks for visiting and please know that you are important to God.  He has a special place in His heart reserved for only YOU and only YOU can fill that particular space!   

Beauty for Ashes,

Karen