Karen Foster

What Do You Hope For?

My youngest child left for college a month ago. With the exception of some furniture, his bedroom is empty as a conch shell lying on a beach.

The occupant left. There’s nothing but a hollow space where there once was life.

View bigger - Conch Shell FREE for Android screenshot Gone are most of my son’s clothes, his laptop computer, his Bible, the scent of his cologne. Even his lava lamp traveled East to get plugged into a college dorm.

So I decided to renovate the room. I stripped posters off the wall, and removed the camouflage curtains that I hand sewed.

Then I patched the holes in the wall with caulk…as if keeping myself busy with a room makeover could fill the empty spaces of my heart.

If only moving into the next season of my life was as simple as replacing the fan blades in the ceiling fan.

Years ago, when our two older children left home at the same time, our nuclear family of five was subdivided. The sensation was like ripping a plant out of the earth, and then tearing the entwined roots apart to create three separate, smaller plants.

Transplanting my last child across the country feels like an amputation.

I’m still a mother, but there are no longer any children beneath our roof. I’ve severed my apron strings that held them within reach.

Those thoughts hovered in my head while the ceiling fan stirred the air which brushed my cheek like a child’s butterfly kisses.

This room never looked so good. But new paint won’t bring this room to life.

People make a house a home.

What happens when they’re missing?

I tell myself, come Christmas vacation, my son will return and this room will look lived in again—an unmade bed, socks scattered on the floor, the closet door ajar, a cup of water by the bed.

Family reunions, that’s something to hope for, right?

Isn’t hope hinged to every goodbye? If not this world, then the next….we’ll be together again one day!

“Faith is.the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)

I pull the brass chain hanging from the light fixture as the fan blades spin round the globe like planets revolving round the sun.

Who’s the center of my universe? The light of my life?

Have my children and house become the center of my attention…my affection?

If faith is the assurance of things hoped for….what am I hoping for?

Am I hoping my children will move closer? Visit more often? Stay safe? Be happy? Grow strong in the Lord?

“God Himself must be the one object of our hope and trust in our work, our needs, and our desires.

“Just as God is the center of the universe, the one guide that orders and controls its movements, so God must have the same place in the life of a believer.

“With every new day, our first thought should be: Only God can enable me this day to live as He would have me live.” ~~Andrew Murray

When will I learn, its indispensable to meet with God every day in prayer, and allow Him to renovate me.

I can long for the past or fret about the future, but my time is best spent praying for those I love.

So I pray for my children. I pray for my husband of 35 years who walked beside me during the child-rearing years.

And “I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in our hearts as we trust in Him.” (Ephesians 3:17)

Even in this…..season of life.

Ever Feel Lukewarm?

Empty nest and letting go was the subject of my previous post. Granted my home is quieter, but the house doesn’t feel as empty as my soul.

It’s like God moved away and didn’t leave a forwarding address. And I can’t muster the energy to seek Him.

empty white room backgroundnovember 2011 recruiterpoet blog xeh5ufu5 November 2011 Recruiterpoet Blog Tell me you’ve been there too because admitting I’m spiritually lukewarm and lethargic isn’t a piece of cake.

After all, I write about seeing the Lord in my everyday circumstances, and wanting more of Him. So how can I write when I’m unable to experience the reality of His presence?

More important, how can I live well and be in God’s will without seeking His presence?

I know that nothing can separate me from the love of God.

I’m not depressed. I’m not bored. If anything, I’ve allowed busyness and frivolity to fill the void of God’s absence.

And yet, what did I expect would happen? Who moved away from whom?

Earlier this year, I had a forever friend who gave me the silent treatment. She didn’t return my phone texts. She was unavailable to meet with me. I finally confronted her, “What have I done to make you pull away?”

Her response, “I’m hurt. I don’t want to be somebody you meet on occasion before you’re off to the next person or thing. When did I become an obligation instead of someone you want to be with?”

Her words struck a chord. For I was guilty of indifference; taking our friendship for granted.

Perhaps I’m guilty again.

Have I taken my relationship with the Lord for granted? Or do I remember I’m not my own. I was bought with a price, Christ’s precious blood. (1 Corinthians 6:20).
Is my worship of God, Almighty a morning discipline or my heart’s desire?
Have I’ve neglected to meet with the Lord because I’m pursuing other things: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life? (1 John 2:16)

I only know I can’t go for very long before I miss the Lord.

He alone can restore to me the joy of His salvation (Psalm 51:12).

For in His presence is fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11).

I know because I have been there. I’ve tasted and seen the Lord is good. (Psalm 34:8)

And I’m selfish enough to want to go there again.

You Can Go Now

I wrote this in 2014. School just began and all the feelings I wrote in the blog come flooding back. I’m still learning to let go of the people I love.

ON the first day of school, student laughter drifts across the street like melody to my ears. And along with their glee, three grown children unknowingly pluck my heart strings from afar.

How long does it last…this forlorn desire to rewind time? Or must I remain tethered to the memory of my children the way they were?

My mind’s eye sees them standing on our front porch. They’re dressed in new outfits, their backpacks filled with freshly-sharpened pencils, colored markers, and wide-ruled paper.

I fumble with my camera while they moan, “Hurry up, Mom! We don’t want to be late!”

Within two weeks, I’ll have to shoo them out the door, “Hurry up, you’ll be late!”

While my voice vibrates like a helicopter…helicopter mom…

ü “Do you have your homework?”

ü “Did you remember your lunch?”

ü “Don’t forget to hand in your permission slip.”

Last evening, for old time’s sake, I sat at the playground and remembered my youngest child’s first day of kindergarten.

Grasping his hand, we weaved through timid children and zealous parents until we found his cubbyhole. It was marked by a laminated sign decorated with a red apple and his name written in bold print.

Then he sat down with his classmates at one of the round tables. I squatted beside his dwarf-sized chair, hoping to provide moral support while we waited for the bell to ring.

Only, he had enough confidence for the both of us.

“You can go now.”

I did not expect my son to cling to my skirts like crazy glue. After all, he had older siblings on campus and was eager to join their ranks.

And yet, his matter-of-fact tone threw me off guard.

I left the room like a Butler dismissed from service.

Lord, why is it so hard to let go?

Thirteen years later, I’m still learning to let go.

Recently, we flew across the nation and left our son at college.

I postponed my torrent of tears by remaining agenda-oriented. However, Sunday morning ushered in the dread of saying goodbye.

Sitting at church, between my husband and son, I pressed that moment into my heart like rose petals in a book.

Thank you, Lord, for my family. Thank you for Your goodness.

Other moments, including my son’s first day of kindergarten, flooded my memory bank. Only this time, it was the Lord who said,

“Karen, YOU CAN GO NOW!”

I blinked back tears while God spoke as though He were talking in my ear. “Are you willing to trust Me with your child?“

My head nodded though my heart balked until I remembered,

The Lord loves my children more than I do.

And if that’s true, I can let go and go now because God will never leave nor forsake them….even in this circumstance.

“For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)

Still Thirsty?

In my last blog, I encouraged folks with a bone-dry spirit to come and drink the Living Water.

So why are there days—even after a long, quiet drink—when my spirit resembles a parched plant whose leaves curl inward in a fetal position?

I read my Bible, but nothing soaks in.

I pray, but my words seem to fall on deaf ears.

What’s wrong? Is it me?

I search my heart the same way I examine my automatic drip sprinklers when my plants aren’t getting enough water. Sometimes I find a leak in the hose. Other times, a grain of dirt clogs the pipes.

Perhaps my bone-dry spirit reflects an open wound? I meditate on scripture, but my thoughts wander aimlessly like a leaky pipe.

Perhaps, like that dirt clog, hidden sin prevents me from hearing God’s Word?

No, you might say, my conscience is clear. I’m focused, and hungry for the Lord. So why this ongoing spiritual drought that sucks me dry?

During these times, the enemy loves to wag his finger and hiss, What’s the point of seeking God? If He were real, or really loved you, then where’s the victory?

Pick up the shield of faith and shout, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

For when my spirit feels bone-dry, I’m tempted to listen to his lies.

And sometimes, I’m my worst enemy.

Fatigue and stress becomes the incubator for heightened emotions until they reach a crescendo: Where are you, Lord? Don’t You care?

That’s why the Bible says to “live by faith and not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7)

I would add, Live by faith and not by feelings.

Which means, even when the spirit feels bone-dry, we seek the Lord and ….

Ø Come expectant, because reading God’s word does not return void. (Isaiah 55:11).

Ø Come in faith, because God hears a soul-thirsty cry even when we don’t sense His presence. (Psalm 116:1).

Ø Come in obedience, because Christ bids us to come. (Matthew 11:28)

Ø Come surrendered, because inevitably there are spiritual seasons of drought that stretch our faith. (Psalm 35:22).

During her own painful desert, my friend, Loretta once told me,

“Trust is fundamental to the Christian walk. It can’t be imitated.

Learn to trust God now because when you’re feeling hopeless, and God appears silent, the only thing we can do is trust God and wait.”

When Spirits are Bone-dry

This is my yard in the summer.

And this is my yard.

Both patches of earth are inches apart, and have access to the same water running beneath the ground. Why the difference?

Part of my yard is tapped into the underground irrigation system; the other is not.

Duh, tell me something, I don’t know, Karen.

Tell me what to do when my spirit is bone-dry.

How do I smile and pretend life is great when one dog-day somersaults into the next, and the horizon seems to flat line into nothingness?
How do I avoid feeling jaded when I strive to live right while the other guy reaps the rewards?
What if this is good as life gets?

Daunting questions when the spirit is dry on an August day.

By 8:00 a.m., the air is already thick as a wool blanket.

I’m parched as the squirrels that guzzle water from my birdbaths. Plants droop despite the drip lines that watered them a few hours earlier. My cat is stretched out on the warm grass, her lids half closed.

My motivation to pull weeds evaporates like the water drops clinging to my ivy. I plop on the bench swing. I need more than a glass of water or the hum of an air conditioner to chill my mood.

Stuck on Self, I need to tap into the Living Water. Lord, please evict the melancholy from the tenant.

I know, same old Christian song and dance, right? But some things never change.

Meeting with the good Lord is the surest fix for a bone-dry spirit.

Not talking about flipping through Bible pages like I’m hunting for coupons.
Not talking about randomly pulling a verse out of context to choke down like a vitamin pill; hoping I’ll have a feel-good day.

I’m talking about camping on one passage. Laying down my burdens, and allowing God to to excavate my heart.

Lord, you want me to become more like you and bring you praise? Then use even this…

Use my melancholy and the dog-days of life to teach me how to smile, and truly be glad in this day.

Rid me of spiritual indifference that blinds me to the Light or makes me lukewarm.

Lift my chin heavenward like the ivy vines that stretch up my pine trees towards the sunlight.

Jesus told the woman at Jacob’s well, “Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.” (John 4)

Whenever the spirit is bone-dry: “Come and drink.”
Whenever life appears hopeless: “Come and drink.”
Whenever we’re sweating the small stuff: “Come and drink.”

Drink until your thirst is quenched, then drink some more.

Drink until the Living Water springs up and bubbles over into the lives around us.

Have you come to Jesus?

Are you drinking regularly?

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