Posted by: Kara Luker | September 2, 2022

Unexpected collapse

Last month, after stuffing our car with gear until it resembled a giant, bloated tick, we set off to join a few other families for a camping trip in Malibu. Only a couple hours later, we pulled into the beautiful loop that held our campsite. Nestled beneath a host of sycamore trees with a collection of hills on one side and the gleaming Pacific on the other, we were very excited to get settled and explore.

We were also excited to use our tent for the first time; one we had purchased right after a pre-pandemic visit to Yosemite in a small tent that had us feeling very cramped. We might have overreacted since we bought this enormous, twelve-person tent with three separate rooms for our very small family of two adults and one featherweight child. But our palatial abode was glorious and went up more quickly and smoothly than any tent we’ve ever used. We then filled it with air mattresses and comfy quilts. So much for roughing it!

Our mornings were spent hiking or mountain biking or just enjoying some quiet time at the campsite. Our afternoons were spent at the beach with the whole gang where we whiled away the hours talking and playing before heading back to camp to clean up and make dinner. Apart from the perpetual presence of yellow jackets and surprisingly strong gusts of wind, it was a pretty ideal getaway.

But one evening, just before dinner, John and Chase were in the tent getting changed when a particularly strong gust blew through, collapsing the whole expansive thing right on top of them. After extricating Chase and himself from the tent’s innards, John confirmed that one of the poles had snapped right at the joint, where it could not be taped back together. Not the best news, especially with a few nights of camping to go and no desire to leave so soon.

One of our friends – our own, personal MacGuyver – took a look, got a glimmer in his eye and said, “I have an idea.” After dinner, all four men in our group, as well as a helpful neighbor, hoisted up our tent by using paracord to tie it to the large sycamore branches above. We were overjoyed by this success and enabled to enjoy the rest of our trip, yet baffled by what went wrong in the first place.

Last week, John received the replacement pole he had ordered and spent a good bit of time getting it fixed and set up in our backyard. While we were assessing its soundness, we came across a warning label we had previously overlooked. It stated, “Secure the guylines to help prevent the tent from collapsing in inclement weather. Failure to do so may result in personal injury or property damage and may void the warranty.” 

When I looked up the definition of guyline, a word I’d never heard before, I found it to be “a rope or cord that ties a tent wall to the ground, serving as additional structural support to keep the tent body anchored into the ground and upright—especially important in inclement weather, like a rainstorm, snow, or heavy winds.” The Curated author adds, “If nothing else, you want a stable shelter!” Um, yes. Yes, I do.

So it turns out that we could have prevented the unfortunate collapse if we had taken this step. The good news is that we have guylines because they were actually included with the tent and we now understand their importance. So you’d better believe will use them whenever we set up… whether the wind is blowing or not, because you never know what’s coming.

This was a first for me in regards to camping, but I have had my life collapse on me more than once. Guess I missed (or disregarded) the warning label that God’s “guylines” were there to protect me from the gusts that would inevitably blow through. I’m not the quickest learner so it took me a long while to grasp this concept, leaving me to deal with fallout far more disastrous than a deflated tent in Malibu. But that’s okay because God is patient and so very kind. He was gracious enough to hoist me up while I was broken, all the while teaching me about how much more secure my life would be if I would stake my life into His love and truth. 

I finally got it. Thank God! Because I have faced some very big, very intense storms since then. And I am happy to report that not one has knocked me down. I am still standing, enjoying this beautiful life with the brilliant sun above and the winds that come and go. And I have no desire – or need – to head home early.

If you are feeling blown about by life’s storms, near collapse – or maybe already collapsed  – and bewildered about what went wrong, take heart. There’s nothing more the Lord wants than to teach, strengthen and protect you so that you can confidently inhabit your tent and have no fear of any wind or storm. If it takes a while to accept His help or learn to trust, that’s okay too. But believe me when I say it will be so worth it when you do!

Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. Matthew 7:24

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Posted by: Kara Luker | August 26, 2022

Hold onto hope

Hello! I’ve missed connecting with you and pray you are well. I am still savoring the full, rich, people-filled summer we’ve had, but am also so happy to be here, in my sweet little writing shed, to get some thoughts down for the first time in a very long while. What I’d love to share today is a palm-full of hope to those who have experienced loss or, really, pain of any kind. 

The anniversary of Cole’s death swung around again this summer, as it seems to do every year. I’ve never wanted to make a big to-do about the specific date because I don’t want it to be forever memorialized in my heart as a bad day; one filled with sorrow and dread. Still, I know when it is. And the past few years have borne some struggle as that day approaches. This year, the fourth since his death, was different. I nearly forgot. I was reminded in the morning by an email from the Navy offering a kind remembrance, which instigated a moment of fear that I would now feel the weight of pain, but I didn’t. And the implications of that email were quickly forgotten as the day’s activities unfolded around me and then carried me off to bed. This does not guarantee me freedom from future struggle, but it was a gift that held hope.

When I first lost Cole, several people with personal experiences of loss told me that it would hurt forever. I certainly knew that it could; that it was the natural way of things. But it didn’t make sense to me in light of the God I serve. I had seen too much of His restoration in my life, from all the damage done by myself and others, to think that the damage done by Cole’s decision to take his life would be beyond God’s reach. When Jesus healed people in the Bible, they weren’t left with symptoms of their disease or brokenness or suffering. So I trusted that as God healed my heart from this loss, I would not be left with the symptom of pain.

So, when someone recently said, “You must hurt every single day,” I was able to answer that no, I don’t. Honestly, I don’t hurt most days. It’s not that I have forgotten Cole or shoved the memories of him into some far-off corner of my mind. And it’s not that I never hurt or cry or have days of longing as I continue to work things out with the Lord. But God has been so incredibly faithful in showing up in every moment of hurt, confusion and sorrow, healing me gently and expertly with His very presence, that I stand humbly astounded at the joy my life holds and at the hope I get to hold for others in their suffering. 

I offer up that hope to you today and challenge anything you’ve believed that says you’re stuck with pain for good. Because God loves to heal. There’s no pain too deep; no loss too devastating that He is not able – and willing – to pour His powerful, loving balm over and restore you to joy.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | June 15, 2022

More fully you

Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. Ephesians 1:4 NLT

My mini sheepadoodle, Sunny, recently had a terrible ear infection. The vet had to put her under general anesthesia to clean out her ear and diagnose the problem, which turned out to be a foxtail that had somehow managed to lodge itself deep in her ear canal. He retrieved the weed and cleared out all signs of infection, sending us home with a healthy dog, a hearty bill and medication to reduce the inflammation. 

Two changes occurred as a result of the three-week round of steroids. The first was that Sunny’s notoriously picky eating habits and grazing style gave way to the ravenous horking down of anything we set before her. The second was that her energy dwindled dramatically, taking with it her need for puppy playdates, her constant demands to play frisbee and her bad habit of jumping on guests. This lazy ball of fur was our dream dog!

Except not really. I mean, we thought that’s what we wanted… a mellow, behaved dog. But Chase and I decided that while this version of Sunny was decidedly easier, we missed our dog. The one with the spunk and the joy; the one that challenges us and makes us laugh. Don’t get me wrong. I am beyond grateful for the mellowing that has happened since her boundlessly spastic days as a young puppy and for the improvements she’s made in her behavior, and I anticipate the future will hold more such maturing. But the joyful exuberance that vents in some unwanted ways is the very thing I love best about her and as it turns out, I wouldn’t be willing to trade it in for an easier time. 

I sent my brother a video of Sunny’s dog beach antics this week, commenting that she had gotten her spunk back and he thought it was hilarious that we had considered her downswing “boring instead of calm.” We chatted a wee bit on the topic of our newfound appreciation for her personality and then moved on with our day. What I didn’t realize was that I would walk away with a newfound appreciation for my own personality as well.

I was a hard kid. There were some good traits tucked in there, but they were heavily affected by my very headstrong and often selfish nature. Definitely not the kind of sweet, compliant kind a parent dreams of or that most anybody wants to be. Fortunately, my parents loved and appreciated me anyway, but I always resented myself for the way I made life so much harder for everyone, including myself.

When I became a Christian, I assumed it meant all my negative traits would become so whitewashed that God and the people around me would be gifted with a demure, well-behaved version of me… you know, kind of like drugged Sunny. Would I lose my spunk? Probably. But better than being destructive, right? It was a worthwhile cost, I figured, for being “good.”

Except that’s never what God wanted from me or expected me to be. Sure, maybe I would be an easier kid, but He would miss me – the passionate, determined me that He dreamed up before the foundations of the world. Even in the thick of my worst behaviors, he knew that the same traits that let off steam in destructive ways were going to be just the thing needed to bring Him joy and glory on this earth. Rather than muting or severing them, He longs to breathe life into them and train them into fulfilling their much-needed purpose. This seems like a daunting task to me, but fortunately I serve a God who is not only up to the challenge but enjoys nothing more. I mean, what better way to show His love and power than to take someone with such “difficulties” as me to delight in and use as a messenger of hope to a needy world?

In light of this, I want to encourage you to set aside any assessments or you’ve made about your identity, worth, usefulness or lovability based on something so trivial as your bad habits or behaviors. God delights in you! You bring Him joy! He has no interest in dumbing you down or making you more like someone else who is better behaved. Set those lies aside. He wants to breathe life into you and make you fully you. The bad habits won’t stay when your heart is released into the freedom of being loved as you are, but what you won’t do is so minor a point compared to what you will do as you begin to walk in the fulness of this Love. He has the ability. He has the patience. And trust me when I say He is not going to settle for anything less.

A video of Sunny in motion….

Sunny in motion 🙂

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Posted by: Kara Luker | May 19, 2022

Mint & grief

A couple years ago, I planted mint in my herb garden. Having heard of its invasive properties, I kept it in its plastic pot, wrapped thoroughly in mesh fabric to block the drainage holes, and then dropped it into the soil. Having happily outwitted the plant, I triumphantly enjoyed its benefits for a long while. Then one day, I noticed mint leaves popping up a fair distance from where I’d placed the plant. Turns out that its roots had squeezed through the drainage holes, broken through the mesh and sent runners throughout my garden bed. So much for my cleverness! But I decided it was a good thing – a mercy, if you will – to see the leaves above ground since it helped me recognize and deal with the problem beneath the surface.

Not too long after that, this same concept played out in a different way. We had guests in town and there were some plans in the works one particular day. I’d already tempered my expectations for an outcome where everyone didn’t participate since that’s often the case, but I didn’t foresee the majority choosing to go elsewhere… without me, since the decision was made too late for me to alter my own commitment. I love these people dearly and fully understood their reasoning, but my special day felt hijacked. I usually try to put on a happy face and process my emotions privately, but my disappointment was evident to all as I headed out the door.

Before I’d even turned out of my neighborhood, a torrent of tears began and kept coming from what felt like an endless well of disappointment. A ways into the drive, I realized that this reaction seemed pretty extreme. I mean, it was a bummer, but certainly not worthy of this level of emotion. So I asked the Lord to show me what was actually going on. Out of His great kindness, He did.

The following day was the third anniversary of the death of my dear son, Cole. Not only had I wanted the outcome of his struggles to be different, but I also had expectations that it would be different. That God would rescue Cole like He had rescued me. That my surrender would result in the same beautiful way all my other surrenders had – in a delightfully happy ending. Sure, I had tempered my expectations, knowing that it had to be done in God’s timing and in His way, not mine. And I was certainly aware that suicide was a possibility. But ultimately I thought it would go in a different direction. And it very definitely did not. 

What the Lord showed me that day was that lingering disappointment from Cole’s death was planted in my heart. Because its invasive properties could not be kept in one little corner of my life, it had a life of its own beneath the surface and was now popping up a fair bit away from its entry point. I don’t think anyone would blame me for feeling disappointed and I had every right to let it stay, but clearly it was not serving me or my relationships well and I knew it had to go… every single root and runner. 

While I can’t rip disappointment out of my heart the way I uprooted my mint plant, I can recognize its destructive properties, agree with God that it does not belong (no matter how much I can justify its presence), and place it in His expert hands to uproot. This holy exchange is a powerful act of trust in God’s ability to bridge the gap between my hopes and my reality. I am always astonished at what He is able to do with this simple, but often difficult, step of surrender.

The thing that really stands out to me is what a mercy it was that my plans went sideways that summer day. While it’s not what I would have chosen, it helped me see above ground (my reactions) what was going on beneath the surface (my heart issues). Time alone in the car gave me space for cleansing tears and needed revelation that probably wouldn’t have come amidst a people-filled outing. As a result, I was able to step into more surrender and receive more healing. I can’t help but see God’s goodness in it all. 

In light of this, I want to encourage you to look at your difficult circumstances in a new light – as a place of discovery and hope, where the Holy Spirit can use your reactions to help you see what is hiding beneath the surface and hindering your freedom. As you yield your understanding and justifications, He will expertly uproot all that has been given room to roam but isn’t serving you well. I have no doubt that just as I have, you will see time and again that He does indeed use all things for our good and for His glory.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

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Posted by: Kara Luker | March 3, 2022

Stepping into freedom

Walking has been my primary form of exercise for a great many years, so it was a no-brainer to incorporate my puppy, Sunny, into my outings when we got her nearly two years ago. Several times a week during that time, we’ve made our 4 mile loop around the hills by our house, bonding, training and expending our energy. I would like to say that she is now perfectly trained and a dream to walk with, but alas no. While she has made strides, she still pulls on the leash to sniff bushes and mark mailboxes, or sometimes plants her feet because she would rather go home and catch frisbees. But that doesn’t mean our time together has been wasted.

A few months ago, instead of taking our normal neighborhood walk, I took Sunny to “dog beach” in Huntington where dogs are not only allowed on the beach, but where they are (at least informally) allowed to be off leash. At that point, I trusted her enough not to run down the beach and never come back (which would not have been true last year), but wasn’t sure how much self-control she would exhibit in this wide open world. To my surprise and delight, when I took her leash off, she clung to the spot immediately by my left leg – exactly where she is trained to be. As we continued our walk and she got comfortable, she ventured a little ways off to greet other dogs and play a bit – which was fine by me (get that energy out, girl!) – but she kept track of where I was and always returned to my side to rejoin me as I kept moving. If she got distracted, she came immediately when I called.

It is hard to describe the joy of this experience. This dog I love with me in my favorite place, with the sun shining down and the waves breaking; walking alongside me not because of a heavy hand on her leash (or because of any leash at all), but because of this sweet relationship we’ve developed and a level of mutual trust. Just heavenly, I tell you. We’ve had the pleasure of returning to dog beach several times now and I think it is safe to say that it is our favorite place to be. And while I certainly wouldn’t yet trust Sunny on a busy street, she remains far better off-leash at the beach than on-leash anywhere else. Which got me thinking about my walk with the Lord and some things He has been showing me lately.

There was a time when I desperately needed a leash – and some training. I had rebelled against pretty much all authority, hated boundaries of any sort and regularly put myself (and sometimes others) in harm’s way, nearly self-destructing in the process. When I was finally desperate and humble enough to submit to God’s authority, He lovingly took me under His wing and began to train me in His ways. We walked together each day, much like I’ve done with Sunny; nothing glamorous and certainly nothing that looked especially impressive. But a sweet relationship was established and trust grew as I came to see and know that God was not depriving me of any good thing… and that He had nothing but my very best at heart. Though I resisted some of the limitations, especially at first, I came to feel so safe with the knowledge that I couldn’t go too far because I would always sense the gentle tug pulling me back where I needed to be. 

The past couple years, I’ve been feeling a shift happening. It’s as if the Lord has driven me to the beach, taken off my leash and told me I was free to run and play. The implication is something like: “I know you trust me… and guess what? I trust you too!” Um great, but what if I don’t trust myself? I don’t think there is anything in life I’ve wanted more than freedom, but it scares me. After all, I didn’t make great choices with the freedom I had before. So honestly, part of me wants to stick to the leash and familiar paths, which feel safe and predictable. And also to the self-created boundaries, systems and formulas I’ve developed to regulate and control various areas of my life.

But control is just fear in disguise, which really isn’t something that benefits me, and God’s training was never meant to be the end-all. It was meant to foster relationship and prepare the way for freedom for me (and each of His kids). Not to run off and do our own thing as we have in the past, but to be in sync with this loving Master who delights in our company as we walk and run and play in this beautiful creation of His. It is heaven to Him to be with us; His absolute favorite place to be. So… if He trusts me enough to give me some space to run, then who am I to deny Him that pleasure? I’ll let you know how it goes 🙂

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 24, 2022

A crisis of pain

What started as fairly mild leg pain at the start of the year quickly became a searing pain that refused to let me sit or drive without the sense of being tortured. After assuming it was a recurrence of a self-diagnosed quad strain I suffered last summer, I changed my mind and re-diagnosed myself with a pinched nerve.

(Not my actual body!)

A visit to my chiropractor confirmed that it was indeed an issue with my back, not with the leg I’d been coddling, which was frankly very confusing given my complete lack of back pain. It is most likely a herniated disc, I was told; something not uncommon for someone my age as wear and tear catches up with our middle aged bodies. But that was little comfort to this interrupted version of my life when my days became centered around seeking help, avoiding pain and wrestling with discouragement over this new freedom-sucking reality.

I’m still waiting on an MRI so I can start physical therapy and learn to tend to the right body part in the right way, but after several chiropractic appointments, a fair bit of advil and ice packs and a good dose of caution, I am now feeling almost all the way better. I can sit in the car without crying – or even tensing up, and I’m hardly thinking twice about the existence of this issue. 

This is certainly something to cheer about… and believe me, I am. However, I am shocked at how quickly my passionate promises to “do whatever it takes!” waned as the crisis passed and the pain subsided. Even though I knew in my head the problem was not resolved, I felt a sense of relief that the ordeal was over and permission to return to the fairly careless way I’ve treated my back. If there is a clear path back to a crisis of pain, I’m pretty sure this is it. 

On the flip side, fear voiced itself with a general kind of paranoia (“Chase, stop slouching! It’s bad for your back!” “John, Don’t bend over while holding the microwave! You’re going to tweak something!”), as well as specific moments of panic that maybe I screwed something up again and will have to start the whole wretched process over (like the day I suffered dearly for pruning the garden).

But if I step back from the immature responses of panic and denial, I see that this has been a gift; an opportunity to humble myself before the Lord and others by admitting my weakness, my fear and my need for help. I received a diagnosis and care from a trusted doctor who was, unlike the medical team of myself and Google, actually qualified to treat me and impart necessary guidance. I received prayer from trusted friends that led me back into a place of rest and hope, and even chased away the pain, enabling me to see the beauty of asking for help and to experience God’s love in a powerful new way. And though I have only experienced a drop in comparison, I gained needed compassion for the people around me who are suffering.

These are things I want to hold onto; to continue to build on and be transformed by, rather than just breathing a sigh of relief and moving on. But I also want to do my best to keep myself from future moments of crisis by addressing this known area of weakness today… and next week… and next year. Not out of fear, but out of wisdom, so that I don’t get stuck in a constant cycle of pain and reaction. But following through on things like strengthening exercises, no matter how beneficial, is not a given, since self-discipline is a whole other kind of weakness for me. It will take more humility, help and prayer. But wouldn’t that be just like the Lord to use this thing the enemy meant for evil to grow me in an area where I’ve been longing for ages to see change?

There are so many parallels I would love to draw. Maybe I will in future posts. But for now, I would like to ask: Are you experiencing a struggle that God might want to use for your good? Are there ways you could humble yourself – maybe with a whole new level of honesty with yourself or others, or by asking for prayer or help? Is there an area of weakness that, with the help of the Lord and some trustworthy people, you could be working to strengthen so you don’t find yourself in a crisis spin cycle? Wherever you are in your life and whatever you are experiencing – even if you are in the 117th episode of the same crisis, I want to make sure you know that there is no shame and no condemnation. Just opportunity. And mountains of grace to step into it.

Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:19

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 7, 2022

The revealing light

Happy new year! It sure has been a while since I’ve been out here in my beloved shed with computer in hand to try to get some words down. December was crazy, as usual, with Christmas-related projects and gatherings, birthdays, my (10th) anniversary. My positive covid test before Christmas derailed some of our plans, but fortunately my case was extremely mild and we managed to adjust our expectations and have a very sweet, appropriately distanced time together. I have to admit, though, that I’m always thrilled when the holidays are over; when the parties are finished, the decorations are put away and we get to move into a fresh, clean, uncluttered new year. Mmmhmm just love it. 

Speaking of fresh and clean, I had thought I was doing a pretty good job keeping our hardwood floors fairly spotless. Not only was Rita (our Roomba) back in commission to help me with the daily dust assaults, but I faithfully swept every visible speck in the main areas each evening, especially the kitchen which always hosts a deconstructed version of whatever I’ve made for dinner and the constantly used back door which allows all manner of dirt inside.

I was doing my part and it certainly looked clean. But then one day, I opened the back door when the sun was in just the right spot to stream its light onto my kitchen floor. “Holy cow!,” I thought. “How could it possibly be that filthy?” It looked like I hadn’t swept in weeks. If the sun didn’t feel so good and warm and hopeful, I would have slammed that door shut and pretended I hadn’t seen that disconcerting collection of dust, dirt and random fuzzy things lurking on my “clean” floor.

Instead I decided to double down on my cleaning. Clearly, I wasn’t doing quite as great a job as I thought. So I got to business that week, sweeping far more thoroughly than before, making sure to cover every spot more than once, even the parts that already looked clean. One day I decided to make it truly spotless. Rita led the charge, followed by my broom on every square inch of that expansive floor and then a very aggressive mopping to top things off. I looked down at those planks, delighted with the results of my efforts. 

I had barely finished admiring my work when someone dared to open the back door and let that golden light shine in. Would you believe that it still didn’t look spotless? It was certainly an improvement on my previous efforts and I wouldn’t say it looked filthy, but after all that work, it was pretty darn disheartening. If I didn’t think it would be really gross to abandon all attempts at cleanliness, I might have thrown down my broom and mop right then and there. 

That’s when I decided that perfection probably wasn’t in the cards – and didn’t really need to be. After all, this house is meant to serve us, not the other way around. I will continue to do my best, which is all I can do… but it’s probably wise to do so in daylight hours, with the door wide open when possible, so there are no surprises. 

So that’s happily settled, but it made me think of how easy it is to believe in our own goodness, especially when we are doing the work of being a good person and getting rid of all the visible dirt so our lives look clean. If we are never exposed to the light, we could last a lifetime thinking our goodness is true, oblivious to all the dust, dirt and general filth thriving in the dimness… and probably judging others whose lives don’t look as clean as ours. Even though I’ve had a history that involves being as messy as a human being can get, I can still be so guilty of this. 

So what happens when the door is opened and that pure, golden light streams in to reveal the dirt that remains despite our efforts? Slam it shut so we don’t have to deal with the unpleasant reality? Slump in defeat and throw in the towel because we realize we will never be good enough? Double down on our efforts to change?

I’ve done all of these things. But I’ve begun to realize that the light of truth is the greatest gift we will ever receive. To understand that we can’t get ourselves totally clean or be truly good (except in comparison to others or to what we were or to how bad we could be) is the starting point of freedom. It is where we throw off the burden of self-righteousness with all of its performance, striving and comparison; where we lay down our pride and recognize our need for a savior; where we find rest and wholeness in the radiating warmth of God’s rays. Sure, we will continue to do our best… by living in the light of His goodness, not our own, which He has so generously bestowed upon us. I can’t imagine a better way to live.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | November 29, 2021

A path freely given

In my town, sidewalks do not run along the whole street, which would allow pedestrians and kids a consistent, safe place to travel. Instead, they start and end abruptly, without any apparent rhyme or reason, spitting those on foot and bike onto the street to contend with parked and moving cars. This is true of the first leg of our ride to school, with only one small segment of sidewalk before it suddenly ends at a driveway and remains absent for a good long while.

There are a few front yards after the sidewalk ends, though, with a patch of untended ground; dirt that can be used in lieu of a sidewalk. Since these are technically someone’s property, we try to avoid using them… unless there are parked cars which would require us to ride with our kid into the middle of the road, in which case trespassing seems like the better option. 

I noticed some landscape work going on in the barren part of one such yard and immediately thought, “I totally get it. All of our feet and dogs and bikes have encroached on your yard long enough. It’s time to reclaim your property.” And then I got closer. My heart melted and tears came to my eyes. Yes, there was landscaping – some native plants and lighting – but right in the middle of them was a beautiful, curved path, leading pedestrians safely from one end of the property to the other.

You guys, they didn’t have to do that. It’s their property. They could have extended their fence to keep people off, or landscaped it in a way that made it impossible to cross. But they chose not only to grant safe access, but to provide beauty to anyone traveling through. 

As the queen of self-protective wall-erecting, I can’t tell you how deeply I’ve been moved by this gesture. It has me questioning, what if we stopped building walls and barriers to protect what is rightfully ours from all the people trampling through and instead offered a safe and beautiful passage to bless them on their journey? What if we, like Jesus, willingly lay down our lives for others… maybe not inside the intimate places inside our “home,” for starters, but just the edges we don’t even really need? Could it be that hearts are softened and unlikely friends are made in the process? Could it be that we find more joy in the giving than anyone passing through?

This last question was answered affirmatively by a man who offered a chalk racetrack instead of resentment or judgment to a kid who frequented his driveway on a bike. Not only did he delight the kid, but so many other passersby, and, of course, himself in the process. [See the video here.] I desperately want to live more fully in this realm, where I can willingly lay down my rights and firmly established boundaries in order to bring joy to the life of another on the often hard and sometimes dangerous journey of life. That is my prayer.

No one can take my life from me. I sacrifice it voluntarily. John 10:18

…remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Acts 20:35

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Posted by: Kara Luker | November 8, 2021

Look!

Sunny, our mini sheepadoodle puppy, isn’t the worst barker that ever lived but it does feel excessive at times – and those times can drive me crazy. Mostly, her barks are prompted by something very appealing that she’d like to explore, like the dogs or bunnies she sees out a front facing window while perched on Chase’s bed. Or some threat that she wants to alert us to, like workers coming into the backyard or the terrifying sound of a kids’ wagon being pulled along the sidewalk.

Yelling “no bark!” repeatedly was proving to be very ineffectual. Though she knew its meaning, she was so focused on the object of her desire, self-restraint (or ears to hear) just weren’t there. Or maybe she thought I was energetically barking alongside her.

Then I remembered something I’d read in a dog training book. The author talked about redirecting negative energy into something positive, thus reframing the whole experience and producing a different response. His example had to do with aggressive behavior towards a mailman, but I figured the principle might work for our problem too.  

So I decided that when Sunny started barking, I would lure her away with a familiar command: “Look,” which means she looks at my eyes (or the treat I’m holding by them) and is rewarded for simply giving me her attention. And then I would keep her focus by running through some basic obedience commands: sit, touch, shake, stay, come; giving small treats for performing each one. 

This doesn’t sound like it could compete with a rabbit running by the window, but it does. Sometimes it takes an extra bark or two before it clicks, but when she hears me excitedly say “Look!,” she races out of Chase’s room or the yard or wherever she is, feet hardly touching the ground and stops right in front of me to give me her attention. Then her tail wags wildly in anticipation of the rest of the routine with all its rewards. The whole thing takes less than a minute but by that time, she usually couldn’t care less about the initial distraction.

It hasn’t solved our problem altogether, but it sure has been a fun way to connect with her, reinforce some other commands that benefit her and produce better (and far less exasperating) results. On occasion, I’ve noticed that she’s even caught herself as she’s about to bark and looked at me instead. 

It’s gotten me thinking about the way the Lord handles us. He’s not one to shout or get worked up when we’re focused on the wrong things or displaying negative behaviors, no matter how persistent they are, or to shame us for them. He knows that yelling “Don’t!!!” or “Bad dog!” just isn’t going to help our plight or draw us close to Him. 

Instead, when we are feeling a pull toward something destructive, He excitedly says, “Look!” and trains us by His goodness to come quickly to where He is – away from the noise and distractions – because He knows that if it’s even for just a minute, looking into His eyes and being in His presence is the very thing we need to break the power of our fears and temptations. His calls might not feel particularly compelling at first, especially when competing with the objects of our affections, but when we start to understand  the tangible rewards of time with Him, we too will come running from the far ends of our minds and lives, tails wagging with joyful anticipation, when we hear Him call. 

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Posted by: Kara Luker | September 28, 2021

Standing tall

Audio version available here.

A year or two ago, as I was walking through the nursery at Home Depot, the thin, elegant branches and shapely leaves of a camellia tree caught my attention. The white blooms it would produce would surely enhance its beauty, but even without them, it was love at first sight. I awkwardly maneuvered the young, stately tree into a cart and pushed it proudly through the store to purchase it, then wrangled it into my car as gently as possible. The trip home was slightly traumatic after a Prius stopped abruptly in front of me, causing a violent shift in the tree’s placement and breaking a tender branch, but I mended it as best as I could and happily planted the tree in front of my house where it would hopefully thrive and happily greet me upon every return home.

It has done just that. With or without the blooms it produces in season, it always catches my eye and blesses me with its presence. Even so, I had noticed that it was leaning, imperceptibly at first but more so as time went on. Being so young, the trunk was still narrow and it couldn’t help but bend toward the morning light that beckoned so sweetly. I would have done the same, so I simply let it be. But during the summer, I realized that it deserved better than that and asked John to stake it. So he and my brother-in-law graciously attached it to a deeply planted round stake that was so thick and sturdy it could have been used for jousting. The next time I returned from my walk and approached my home, I could not believe the difference. Standing tall and true, my tree was so stunning, it nearly took my breath away. It continues to steal my heart as its branches grow and stretch into the space around them, supported firmly at their very center.

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My son, Chase, who just turned 9, is such a great kid my heart skips a beat when I remember that he’s mine. His humor delights me. His creativity astounds me. His heart blesses me. But he has been struggling lately, trying to find how he fits, especially with other kids. On the whole, they have different interests and talents than he does; ones he has trouble engaging in. When he tries to enter in, he feels rebuffed or rejected. Though I – and so many others – love and appreciate him just as he is, it is so tempting right now for his young branches to bend into the labels the enemy is trying to place on him: reject, misfit, different. While not nourishing like the sun, these identities feel warm and alluring to his understanding because they seem so darn true.

At the same time, I am tempted to bend. Into pity for him. Into judgment toward those who hurt him. Into a desire to rescue him from productive struggle, shortcutting the process of growth. And into my own fears of rejection and the way they could be so easily projected onto Chase. I’m guessing my trunk has already been leaning in this direction for a while, even before these recent experiences made me take notice. 

The good news is that God delights in us. When He created us, it was love at first sight. Our very presence in this world blesses Him, no matter what trauma we’ve been through, how broken our tender branches are or how far we lean to one side or another. That simply cannot be changed. But He also wants something better for us – to draw us up into the fullness of our identity so that we stand tall and true, being nourished by His love and life, spreading out our limbs and leaves with beauty and purpose, and bearing fruit in season. 

The only way I know to do this is to be staked to God’s Word, which is stronger and sturdier than any of the beliefs we could ever be tempted to lean into. It is there I come to find that whether or not he feels it or anyone else on this earth affirms it, Chase is loved and he has an immovable place of acceptance and belonging. Shame has no place in him. He was not given a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind. God’s power is made perfect in Chase’s weakness and He is working all things together for Chase’s good, even the things that seem hard and hurtful, so he is no victim but more than a conquerer. Knowing these things will help me lead him with compassionate hope, not coddling pity or fear, and will help him become firmly established in who he truly is, revealing ever more of the purpose he was created for and giving more delight to the people who have the privilege of knowing him.

The same is true for all of us and is certainly a good reminder for me. What are you tempted to lean into? What verses in the Bible can realign you with the truth of who you were created to be?

I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. This poor man called, and the LORD heard him; he saved him out of all his troubles. The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them. Psalm 34:5-8

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