You can be free…

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God, what do you want me to know about this situation?

I was curled up under a blanket on the couch, praying for a friend who is struggling with a pattern of behavior. I felt frustrated, honestly. I’ve been praying for her for quite some time, Why is this still a thing for her? In my logical brain it seems so simple. Just stop. Right? I prayed the same things as usual, the same Scriptures, then stopped and asked the question above. God, what do you want me to know about this situation?

And then I remembered.

I remembered a time when I wasn’t free.

It feels like watching another life, it’s so remote. When I 18-20 I struggled with what we’d call an eating disorder. Both ways, falling into both ditches. First under-eating, then over-eating. And while yes, there was about a 30-pound swing from lightest to heaviest, it wasn’t the weight that was the issue. In fact, what’s hard about so many issues of the heart is we over-focus on the outer stuff, when the healing is needed so deeply within in the unseen realm.

But I remember that feeling: Why can’t I just be free? What is wrong with me? Why do I KEEP doing this thing? It was beyond frustrating. It felt beyond hopeless.

Day after day, I never felt free.

In my case, it was a slow process of renewing my mind with Scripture and slowly, bit by bit, making inward and outward choices that honored God. Getting married to Jeff was life-changing, on every level, because his human expression of unconditional love transformed my heart. But I remember even after that disordered season was over, still recognizing that something was off in my mind, and that I came by it honestly — all the females in my family line struggled with weight, food, dieting, etc. In one side of my family line, food was the go-to. It fixed things, it brought comfort, it was the answer. But in the same breath there was the desire to lose weight. Not blaming anyone, but something about that felt off.

And it was in 2012 when Jeff and I began tackling what we identified as family tendencies we wanted to change. I could see what the unhelpful go-to was for my lineage: reaching for food as a stress-release. It didn’t matter if it was a cookie or a carrot (there are no holy foods), it was that after a stressful day I would come home and reach for that, the way some people grab a beer or pour a glass of wine. It’s like Ahhhh…finally.

And to be clear, I’m not talking about hunger. It’s one thing to come home hungry and grab food because you are hungry. That’s healthy! It’s another thing to come home not hungry and grab food because it’s you’re way to cope. And the tricky part for me was it was hard to share this with anyone because I wasn’t overweight. It wasn’t like Oh I have this problem because I need to lose weight. That wasn’t it! It was, There’s something in my brain that’s reaching for this thing as my solution, instead of reaching to Christ.

At this point, Heidi was only 3, and I remember thinking, “There is no way I want my one and only daughter to inherit this. This stops with me. I’ll do whatever is takes to not hand her this thing.”

And in God’s gracious kindness, as I went to him and asked for insight, for truth, for clarity on what to do, He did it.

It’s kind of a long story how that went, and the details don’t so much matter because the prescription God gives for each situation is different, but my point is, now 12 years later, I can barely even remember what it was like to think like that.

It feels like my brain has been literally re-wired. Like I wish I could convey how completely different my brain is. God changed me.

And it happened through a renewal of my mind, slowly. It wasn’t overnight. And now, if I could tell my 18-year-old self, “Hey Kari, when you’re 44 this thing will be so gone you won’t even remember it, until God brings it to your mind” I’m not sure whether that’d be encouraging or not. 🙂 But I hope it would be.

What I’d like to tell my 18-year-old self is that these battles with our flesh, these raging storms in our minds that we face in our efforts to truly follow Jesus and live in the light, often they just take time to win.

Don’t give up because you don’t feel like you’re making progress. Where you are today isn’t where you’ll be 10 years from now. And if you make the right choice today, you are moving toward a glorious future of freedom.

This isn’t just true of phsyical temptations like food or sex, this is true of mindsets: Bitterness, resentment, negativity, gossip, anxiety, fear.

All of it starts in the mind.

And so as I turned my prayers back to my friend, I was reminded that God is not panicked by our struggles with sin. He’s not wringing His hands. He’s with us for the long haul. He’s promised to walk alongside us forever.

And even while we’re battling sin, God still graciously uses us. We’re always a work in progress, and simultaneously God works in us and through us for His glory.

So if you’re one of those still not feeling the freedom, take courage. It might be a while longer until the victory is secured, but you can be free.

Stepping into the Second Half

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I hadn’t typed in the URL for my own website since before Dad died. It’s so funny the things you avoid without even knowing it, because somewhere inside you know it’ll just make you miss them so much. Sure enough. Pulled up the site, and there is the Livesteam link for his memorial service. On the backside, comments waiting for approval: “…one of the best men I’ve ever met…”, “…how joyful it will be when we get reunited in heaven…”.

The screen blurs.

That lump. I hold my breath. Maybe just a tear-up and not a real cry? Nope, it’s a full cry. Dang it.

I just miss them so much.

And yet, in the bizarre juxtaposition that life often is, this is the sweetest season of life I’ve ever experienced. Hands down. Stepping into the Second Half.

When Dad died, two years after Mom, I remember distinctly thinking, “This will be a dividing line of my life.” Of course none of us know how long we have, but I sensed that there I’d have roughly halves.

Half of life with parents. Half without.

Half of life as a daughter. Half not a daughter.

Not a daughter.

It’s odd when part of your identity goes away. I can’t even imagine how life-shattering divorce must be (on so many levels, of course). I attended another memorial recently and the daughter of the deceased said it so perfectly: “You have a life before you have children, before you are married. But you have never had a life without a mom … until you no longer have a mom.”

My few dear friends whose moms passed away while they were young are in my mind’s eye…

I know this isn’t true for everyone, but for me, my entire adult life I’ve had a very clear, very strong sense that honoring and taking care of my parents was an integral part of my life calling. That was just what I was supposed to do. A race to run.

Getting Dad’s house up for sale felt like the last leg of that race. (Want to buy it?)

I had to catch my breath for a bit, as one does after a long run.

And now I’ve caught my breath and I am filled with gratitude that I was given the honor of running that race.

For the past few years, I remember having the thought that I wouldn’t really be able to write honestly until both my parents had died. That might sound weird. It’s not as if I have secrets about them to tell, there were the most transparent, what-you-see-is-what-you-get people I’ve ever known.

But they read everything I wrote. So I remember often holding back writing about hard things because I didn’t want to make Mom sad. After she passed, I didn’t want to write openly about how much I missed her, because I didn’t want to make Dad sad.

Nothing can make them sad now. *smile*

I have so many things I want to write about I don’t know where to begin. It feels like opening a closet filled with special things, stashed away. A special visiting guests asks to see a treasure or two. Where do I start?

I guess I’ll start with gratitude.

You don’t know how critical some habits are until you realize that without that habit, that training, you wouldn’t have made it through something hard. Like training to run a race but then one day you need that speed to outrun a bear. 🙂 Whoa, that 6-minute mile sure came in handy.

Honestly, gratitude is easy right now. We are in an exceedingly sweet season. Dutch & Heidi are flourishing and so fun to be around. The little boys are a load of work but so, so funny. All four kids are at home for this very short season. Jeff and I had a hard few years but are in a great place, truly enjoying each other more than we ever have. We love our home. We love our church family. We laugh a lot.

But I’ve also seen gratitude carry someone through the valley of the shadow of death. Incredibly, both Mom & Dad became more grateful with age.

It is well-known that as we age we become a caricature of ourselves. A slight tendency in our youth becomes an almost comically exaggerated trait as the years go by. I have seen this, so sadly, in a tendency to see oneself as a victim. This chosen perspective can take over one’s mind and become the only lens through which life is seen. All of life can become complaint.

Of all of life can become thanksgiving. In his final weeks, my sweet dad would quietly thank Kris every time he changed him. No mention of his discomfort, the difficulty of dying, the humiliation of the situation. Just, thank you.

As long as she had words my mom lips poured out broken phrases of gratitude.

The day we buried Dad I put the song Gratitude on repeat.

So I don’t know what my Second Half looks like, but my prayer is that it continues to become increasingly characterized by gratitude. And, I hope to write more. 😉 Thank you for reading.

Second Mile Quote

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Hello friends! I’m in Idaho this weekend sharing about The Second Mile with awesome ladies from Eagle Christian Church, and a number of you were wanting this quote, in its entirety, so I figured this was the easiest way to get it to you. Speaking of, if your church is looking to do a retreat in 2024, I’d love to pray about joining you! You can go to the Speaking Page to see topic options. Thanks! Here’s the quote:

Jesus evidently is speaking here especially of some person who dislikes us, criticizes us, maliciously plans against us and seeks our hurt. What he says is that our love for that person should be so great that we are more willing to serve him than he is to make us — yes, twice as willing. That no malice of his should ever reduce our souls to the level of hatred, or spoil our invincible love that pushes through all wrongs, still willing to serve him more and win him if he can … whatever comes, his hate will never ruin my goodwill. I will take his unfriendliness as my opportunity for unrequited service, and when the first ill of his unkindness has been traveled I will say, “Man, my master is Christ and Christ never let any man’s unkindness spoil his love. I am trying to follow Him and I am not going to let your unkindness spoil my love. You may not be my friend, but I am yours, and nothing you can ever do will stop it.”

Harry Fosdick, The Second Mile. 1908