Homecoming

My heart is so full, I will just have to it pour out.

There will be water and blood and wine
pouring from this glass of mine.
I do not suggest you drink it,
simply see it,
soak into a dry land
leaving my left hand

It started on a Thursday closer to the beginning of this month of September.  My mom shared with me.  “Oh, Mom!  That’s is so hard.”  Her sister called.  The son of a long-time friend…gone…suicide…he left a seven-yr-old son.

Later that day, a call from my mother-in-law.  “Oh, Oma, No.  Please. No.”  Her best friend’s releative…gone…suicide…in his thirites…gone.

The next day.  “No. No!  NO!”  I had just met him a few weeks ago.  “Hi, you are new to Springdale.  Welcome to our city!”  Gone…new job…in his twenties…suicide.

And the stories keep rolling in.
And I cry and ache and spin
They may not be my kin
but I see the pain they’re in
I feel the need to win

WE WILL LIVE!  Please, please, live with me.  Be alive.  Live.  Live!  LIVE!  Have life.  Life!  LIFE!

Stay alive.  Keep breathing.

You see me smiling pretty much every day.  I have a great smile.  Do you know why I am often smiling?  I like you.  I like people.  Your beauty and creativity and uniqueness…it makes me smile.

You do not see me in my closet alone
rocking and crying,
fighting demons trying
to destroy my mind.

I am the smile and the the wail.
I am the skip and the vale.
My fist will beat the tile
My tears will stretch a mile

Your story is worth sharing. Your life is worth living.  We are listening.  We do care.  We do understand.

Lie:  You are not worth it.

Truth:  You are worth dying for.

If you are truly, deeply honest, you want someone to die for you.  To love you that much.  I want this.  I have this.  Christ died for me.  He loves me that much.  It hurts that he did this for me, but he said it was the only way.  Ha!  If you don’t help yourself, keep yourself from dying, is that still suicide, or is it sacrifice?  I don’t care.  He already did it and he beat death and he is my LIFE!

By the way, I believe he loves you that much too.  He is just that kinda guy.  Loves everybody.  Understands everybody. That’s my Jesus.

I live because he lives in me.  So I live and fight and laugh and cry…and write.

Listening and loving,

MessyKaraoke

Meet My Dad – part 2

When I was a budding teenager, my brain did not love me and it demonstrated its hatred through fits of terrible temple throbbing – ok…that was just my melodramatic way of saying I used to get bad headaches.

My mom was a nurse. She is the best at helping anyone who is ejecting any type of body fluid. It is a gift. She struggles with helping internal pain.

One night, I had a whammie of a migraine. No whammies, no whammies…stop! It didn’t. Mom felt so bad because she just couldn’t make it go away for me. So…she got Dad. I was crying and rocking and moaning. She told me Dad would be able to help because he understands this pain. He gets severe headaches too. Okay, Mom. Get Dad.

Would you like to know what my Dad did for me?

He could not take away my pain, but he knew what would help me endure. He walked with me up and down, up and down the street of our sweet Springdale neighborhood all through the night. He just walked beside me. Walking. No talking, no fixing, just walking.

I remember with tears and laughter. It is so bittersweet, but I cannot complain. After all, that is my favorite Graeter’s topping.

I love you, Dad. Always!

your daughter,

Kara

p.s.  Only you could make Ellie smile like that at one day old.  I am impressed.

Meet My Dad

I say, “I miss my dad.”  I don’t know why I say that.  I did not miss him. I met him.  I laughed and cried with him. I walked and sat with him.  I have two stories about my dad that I want to share with you because they are two of my most precious memories of him and I want them to be out here in the open getting sharper with time, not fading.

The first memory I want to share involves my intense teen drama.  I honestly cannot remember what I was so very upset about, but picture lots of tears and sobs and possibly even a little flailing of scrawny thirteen-year-old limbs.  It was late and I was in the living room pacing like her royal moodiness while my dad sat quietly on the couch listening.  At one point I plopped down next to him in a heap of hysterical hormones.  I would have liked a hug and some insightful words of inspiration, but that is not what I got.  He started cracking jokes.  JOKES!!!  I was infuriated.  He missed the memo.  I was not acting out a comedy.  I was in the most volatile scene of my very own Shakespearean TRAGEDY! This was betrayal. Is this man’s name Bruce? I think not.   et tu, Brute is more like it.  How dare he make light of my pain and turmoil.  Who does he think he is?  Oh…right…my dad…and then I started laughing…and crying…and laughing.  I was so mad at him for making me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. It is hard to stay angry at someone who is making you laugh.  I cannot remember what he said.  I can only remember how I felt, and I know what I feel now…Loved.

I ran out of time for my second story, but it involves my intense teenage pain.  I will try to share it in the next few days.

Thanks for helping me meet my dad again in my memories.  He really is a great guy!

With sweet tears,

MessyKaraoke

p.s. Here is one of my favorites…my son, Joel, is the baby boy.  In the background is my daughter Leona in a hat, some random beach toddler, and my mom.

When the Tree Finally Sings

I grew up with a song about trees clapping their hands.  I love that song.  I recently discovered a passage about trees singing.  I love that passage. So, how about a poem?

Trees rock
a steady beat
with the heat
of the sun

They follow the baton of the wind
They feel the rhythm of the river

Keeping perfect tempo
From adagio to presto

They are not thrown off
by the intricate melodies of the birds
or the harmonies of the crickets

They sway
conmodo to vivace

Their kairos is rooted
Their chronos is rings
But time will stand still
When the tree finally sings

Enjoy your Tuesday!

MessyKaraoke

It Takes a Village

We call this little guy Red Snapper because he plays center on his K-1 football team.  He loves being on a team and I love seeing him out there with his friends working hard and playing hard.

Imagine 30 boys in scarlet and grey, filled with purpose and passion as they run, hit, spin, dive.

These little boys will grow into strong men.  They will understand the value of discipline, teamwork, sacrifice. They will know in the deepest places of their being that they belong… to a team, a family, each other.

Sure, I am being an idealist here, but I don’t even care.  I have seen these boys play. I have seen these boys cry and laugh and fight.  No one and no thing can take away what they are being given right now.

There may be no crying in baseball, but there sure is crying in football!

MessyKaraoke

p.s. Thank you to my friend, Mahesh, for taking some of these photos!