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.