Krista Maurer

You Have Sisters

Posted on July 25, 2008 by Krista

I have a hilarious story about how my roommate and I got stuck in the elevator at work last night ☺ … but that’s a post for another time. Today I have to, need to, want to share a story about my sisters.

I have two amazing younger sisters. One, who at times can be the most difficult person you’ve ever met, can also be the most loving, caring, and sensitive. She’s a fighter. A scrapper. And always a friend to the underdog. She’s climbed mountains in this life. Rugged and steep. And she always makes it to the top, no matter how long it takes. I admire her. And I look up to her.

The other is our baby. And that’s what we call her. And for the most part, that’s what we’ve always seen her as. But today, my baby sister had to do a really hard thing. It may have even been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do in her life to date. And while it’s utterly impossible to love her more than I already did, I’ve perhaps never been more proud of her. Today I saw her for the woman she has become. And what an amazing woman that is.

Now for the story … A few months back, the three of us went to the Colbie Caillat concert here in Salt Lake. We were so excited about it and I was particularly thrilled to be going with my girls. We arrived early so we’d get good seats and waited through the openers. After the first act, they announced the second – Trevor Hall. The name sounded familiar to us, but we didn’t think twice about it until he came on and Kaycie (our baby) screamed “Ohmigosh, it’s Trevor Hall!” He and Kaycie had gone to school together back in South Carolina. Actually we’d all gone to school together but he and Kaycie had been in the same grade.

My sisters and I all went to a private school that included grades 2 through 12, so although Kaycie was age 10 and in 4th grade when I graduated, we were in the same school. And we loved that. Even when “we” (i.e Karly and Kaycie, or Karly and I, never Kaycie and I) fought, like siblings do, we were always super close. And going to the same school, I think, gave us each, particularly Kayc, a measure of security. If something went wrong, we knew we could find our sisters. And we were really quite an anomaly. Most of the other siblings we went to school with were definitely not as close or as nice to each other. I even remember Kaycie saying one day how her friends thought it was “so cool” that her older sisters were so nice to her and included her and hugged her in the halls. But we never thought much about it. That’s just how it was for us.

So anyways, back to the concert. Trevor finished his set (’twas fabulous). Colbie came on (’twas seriously fabulous). And after the show we waited around to say hi. When the lines finally died down and Kaycie could get up to the table, she said, “You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together …” and as she was finishing her sentence his eyes lit up and despite the fact that he was higher than a kite, he said, “Ohmigosh!” He recognized her and then added, “You have sisters!”

We all laughed and she said, “yeah they’re here!” And Karly and I waved. It was a seemingly funny thing for him to blurt out at that moment – “you have sisters!” But over the last little while I’ve thought a lot about his reaction. I’ve thought of all the things he could have said at that moment. Of all the memories from grade school he and Kaycie shared. But of all those things, the one thing he remembered about Kaycie was that she had sisters. And I love that. To me it says we three Maurer girls are “tight.” It says that the people around us know what, and more importantly, who, is most important to us. I love my girls and I love knowing that each of us has two cheerleaders in our corner no matter what. And I’m glad THAT is what people remember about us.

Kayc … I know you know that we love you most. But today especially, I hope you’ll remember that “You have sisters.” I can only imagine how your heart must hurt. I can only imagine the number of tears you’ve cried. But you are one amazing little woman. One amazing little baby. ☺ Kar and I are here. Your cheerleaders. Your safe place. You have sisters and I couldn’t be more grateful to be yours, especially today.

Tell me: Do you have siblings? What do you love about them?

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Stay in touch…

The Way

Posted on July 17, 2008 by Krista

Allow me to ask a question. I hope you’ll give the answer serious thought.

Is there anything in your life right now that you’d like to change or have different?

Perhaps you are seeking an answer? Or maybe forgiveness? Or are you holding onto forgiveness that needs to be extended? Maybe you are trying to win the battle with an addiction. Maybe you are trying to reach a difficult goal. Maybe you are seeking greater joy or peace or harmony within your home, family, or self. Maybe you are making big life decisions and are wondering which path to take. Maybe you want to pursue a different profession. Or maybe you are trying to overcome a fear. Perhaps you would like more good friends. Maybe you are wondering when the ache in your heart will finally dull and go away. Maybe you are wondering when the tears will stop. Maybe you are in a relationship that needs healing. Maybe illness and fatigue are currently a part of your daily life. Maybe you are seeking a certain blessing to come your way. The list of changes we each might like to see in our lives is endless.

When December 31, 2007 arrived, I sat down to write my New Year’s resolutions just like I always do every New Year’s Eve. I’d been thinking about them for a while, and there were lots of things about my life that I wanted to be different. But when I sat down to write them there was only one resolution that mattered. I had examined my life much in the preceding months and I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t who I wanted to be. I wondered where the bright-eyed, idealistic college graduate had gone, along with all the plans and goals and ways I was going to change the world. I couldn’t see the perfect-faith-filled returned missionary anymore. By no means had I become a horrible person, but I wasn’t who I had been in years past, and I hadn’t become who I thought I would once I “became a grown up.” Life had happened. I’d gotten a real job with real stress and heavy demands. I’d accumulated bills and responsibilities and busyness. And the busier I got, the less I seemed like me. And it seemed like the farther I got from “me,” the farther I got from heaven too. So come January 1, things were going to change. But like I said only one resolution mattered. And so I wrote:

This year I will know the Savior better.

In the weeks that followed, I tried to put a dedicated emphasis on that goal. I reimplimented habits like daily scripture reading, regular prayer, and reading the lessons for each Sunday. And I felt better about life in small measure. But I still felt as though I was far. The intensity of the Spirit wasn’t permeating my life like it had just a few years before. And so – I continued to clean out the cobwebs. I identified things that had crept into my life which were making it difficult for me to always have the Spirit – things like sins, weaknesses, imperfections, and grudges. I began to offer them up to heaven with the humblest heart I think I’ve ever had. I was so saddened by the weeds I had let overtake my heart.

I think I knew I needed change for a long time, but when I’m honest about why I didn’t do it sooner, it was because I was scared – scared to give the Lord this tattered, broken life. I was afraid piecing it back together would hurt beyond what I could bear. And I think I was also ashamed. He’s the perfect God of the universe. How could I ask the Lord to fix me, change me, remake me? How could I offer Him anything less than perfection? And so for a long while I tried to rid my life of the busyness and weaknesses on my own, while trying to add back in the joy, service, and dedication – again, on my own. But with the approaching New Year, the pieces began to come together – I couldn’t do it on my own anymore. And I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to know the Savior more. It’s never mattered more. And I think that’s because I’ve never been more acutely aware of my need for Him. And I told the Lord so. I would do whatever it took. I didn’t care how badly it hurt or how long it would take. I wanted my life to be different. And I would do whatever He asked.

And as I did so, I felt things changing little by little. I found myself happier and more peaceful. Less burdened and more fulfilled. But something was still not right. Like I had hit another wall, where I had offered everything up – my desires, my sins, my weaknesses – but I still wasn’t feeling complete in the process. I kept praying, “What else do I need to do? What is the way to finally achieve what I’m seeking? I’m so close I can feel it. But I feel like there is one last thing. Is it just that I need to give you more time? Do I need to be patient? Or do I need to do something else? Just tell me and I’ll do it. You know I will.”

Now, you must know that I have always been my own worst critic. And, though I would never allow another person to believe this about themselves, I’ve always thought that I needed to do more, work harder, run faster in order to receive the blessing or find forgiveness. I think many of us feel this way simply because we’re so much more aware of our own imperfections. We tend to be hardest on ourselves.

In fact, I’ve often been known to say in prayer, “I haven’t suffered enough for this. If you need to punish me a bit more, I understand.” Or I’ll think to myself, “I need to do this and this and this and this, before I ask for help because certainly I can’t kneel before God if I haven’t read my scriptures, served my neighbor, gone to the temple, and completed my visiting teaching.” And in regards to this resolution as of late, I think I’ve been telling myself that the way to get past the wall is to read more, serve more, try harder. I kept asking, “What more do I need to do?”

But in preparing for this talk I’ve found myself reminded of the lesson the Lord has tried to teach, and re-teach me my whole life. And I think it’s probably the lesson He’ll continue to have to teach me, as I’m obviously not very good at learning it.

Thomas asked, “How can we know the way?”, as he sat with his fellow apostles and their Lord after the supper on the memorable night of betrayal. I revisit the question I began with: Is there anything in your life right now that you’d like to change or have different? If so, “how can we know the way” to do so?

“Christ’s divine answer was: ‘I am the way…’ (John 14:5-6). And so He is! He is the source of our comfort, the inspiration of our life, the author of our salvation. If we want to know our relationship to God, we go to Jesus Christ. If we would know the truth of immortality of the soul, we have it exemplified in the Savior’s resurrection…He is the one Perfect Being who ever walked the earth; the sublimest example of nobility; Godlike in nature; perfect in his love; our Redeemer; our Savior; the immaculate Son of our Eternal Father; the Light, the Life, the Way” (David O. McKay, Teachings of Presidents of the Church: David O. McKay, 2003, 3-4, 5).

And so it is. At both the beginning and the end of my long list of “look what I’ve done Lord to change my life” there stands One. And ultimately, only He can change it. When I face the wall in front of me, it is He who says, “Thy walls are continually before me” (1 Nephi 21:16).

When we are lonely, it is He who says, “and lo, I am with you, even unto the end” (D&C 105:41).

When we are burdened, it is He who says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:30).

When we wonder which direction to go or choice to make, it is He who says, “Trust in [me] with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge [me], and [I] will direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6).

When we are seeking greater peace in our homes, families, and hearts, it is He who says, “Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23).

When we are saddened, faced with fear, hurt or illness, it is He who says, “I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you” (John 14:18).

When our world swirls around us, it is he who “arises, and rebukes the winds and the sea; until there is calm” (Matt 8: 26).

When we don’t feel strong enough to handle what we’ve been given, or face what is ahead, it is He who is our “strength and [our] song” (1 Nephi 22:2).

When we are out of breath, it is God who “breathed … the breath of life” into Adam (Moses 3:70).

When we feel dead, it is He who said, “I am the life” (John 14:6).

When we want, it is He who says, “Ask and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you” (Matt. 6: 7).

When we feel condemned and ashamed, it is He who says, “neither do I condemn thee” (John 8:11).

When we feel we need to suffer more for our sins, it is He who says, “I have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer” (D&C 19:16).

When we hunger, it is He who says, “I am the bread of life” (John 6:48).

When we thirst, it is He who says, “whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst” (John 4:14).

When the present seems dark, it is He who says, “I am the light” (3 Ne. 18:16).

When we don’t know the way, it is He who says, “I am the way.” (John 14:6).

“Considering the incomprehensible cost of the Crucifixion and Atonement, I promise you He is not going to turn His back on us now. When He says to the poor in spirit, ‘Come unto me,’ He means He knows the way out and He knows the way up. He knows it because He has walked it. He knows the way because He is the way” (Elder Holland, “Broken Things to Mend,” Liahona, May 2006, 69-71).

There is a journey we are all making. Some of us have the ability really run it. Others of us are slower. Sometimes we walk. Sometimes we’re frozen still, not knowing how to get to the end, or maybe scared to get to the end. But I testify that there is One who stays beside us. He knows the way because He is the way.

His life He gave, once for the world.
Collective majesty.
But today, in quiet moments,
He gave the world to me.

That little poem came to me as I contemplated this Man, this God, my God, my brother, my breath, my light, my life, my way. At every moment of our lives, and I truly believe that it’s every moment, we simply have to let go. We can clean out our lives. We can organize our homes. We can speak kind words. We can pray and read our scriptures and be good people. But at the end of all that, when we stand in front of the wall, or just before the finish line, at those simplest and truest places, it’s He who gives us the world. And He gives it over and over and over. And He loves that! He is the author and the finisher of all things. He is the way. And all He says is, “Come.”

I hope today we can all Come to Jesus … quietly and honestly. That we can bring our fears and our baggage and our sins and our broken lives and give them to him and not take them back and just … believe. Believe that He can not only fix them, but that He wants them.

There is a song I love that says:

Broken clouds give rain
And broken ground grows grain
Broken bread feeds man for one more day

Broken storms yield light
The break of day heals night
Broken pride turns blindness into sight

Broken souls that need His mending
Broken hearts for offering
Could it be that God loves broken things?

Broken chains set free
Broken swords bring peace
Broken walls make friends of you and me

To break the ranks of sin
To break the news of Him
To put on Christ till His name feels broken in

Broken souls that need His mending
Broken hearts for offering
I believe that God loves broken things

And yet, our broken faith, our broken promises
Sent love to the cross
And still, that broken flesh, that broken heart of His
Offers us such grace and mercy
Covers us with undeserving

This broken soul that cries for mending
This broken heart for offering
I’m convinced that God loves broken things
Praise His name – my God loves broken things
(Broken, Kenneth Cope)

I am broken. And I am His. However imperfectly I do that, and believe me, imperfect it is. But I am broken, and I am His. And I know He loves broken me.

Tell me: You thoughts?

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Stay in touch…

One Good Thing

Posted on July 14, 2008 by Krista

Two years ago this month, my best friend (and roommate) went to Zambia, Africa for three weeks to do humanitarian work. It was hard work, physically and emotionally, and especially spiritually. When she came home, I was able to read her journal (with permission!) and cried much as I learned about what she saw, and experienced, and about the people she came to love. Someday I will go back with her, but that’s a post for a different day.

Each night, her group met together to process what they saw and did, and to regroup for the coming morning. And each night they had to share “one good thing” about the day. Sometimes the “good things” came easily. Other times it was excruciating to try and find “one good thing” in a place that seemed, at times, to be so God-forsaken. But eventually, “one good thing” was always found.

Kim brought a lot of things back from Africa — stories, trinkets, lessons, a heart forever changed — but this tradition of “one good thing” has perhaps become my favorite thing she brought back. It found its way across the ocean into our nightly routine.

At the end of every day, we each share “one good thing.” Sometimes those “good things” are simple like coming home from work at the end of a long day, or seeing an elderly couple holding hands while crossing the street, or maybe just a great hair day. Other times they’re huge like a family picnic or a grand accomplishment at work. Either way, there is always a good thing. And it’s this tradition I want to share … cuz today I have “one really good thing.”

And I mean “one really good thing” in addition to the “other mini good things” that happened today — like the fact that The Bachelor had a “Where Are They Now” episode tonight (YES!) or the fact I’m drinking some delicious chamomile tea in bed while I’m writing this. But this “one really good thing” … well, it is really good. And I have to share it, so that I learn it.

For a few years now, I’ve been telling Heavenly Father, “I want my life to change.” And then I list all the ways I want my life to change as well as my game plan for how I’m going to make those changes happen. Well, to say the least … not much has changed. Sure there have been some changes, some pretty significant ones in fact. But not “change” in the sense that I really feel like my life has progressed and become something it’s supposed to be.

Now I don’t know what clicked tonight. But as soon as the click happened, the processing of thoughts came at a rapid pace. I was driving home telling Heavenly Father again how “I want my life to change.” But I stopped, and something made me ask HIM what He thought I should change. I realize that for most this is not a major epiphany. But for me, tonight, it was an huge mind shift. And one that brought a huge answer.

I’ll be honest. I’m still not quite sure how to accomplish what He wants me to change. It seems almost impossible, and I do realize that “with God all things are possible,” but sometimes even in knowing that, hard things still seem impossible. But that’s not the point tonight. Tonight the point is that He answered. That’s it. My “one good thing” is that He’s there. Listening. Loving. And answering. And I know He’ll answer again when I have the courage to ask, “How?”

May we all be blessed with answers and “many good things.”

Tell me: What’s your one good thing today?

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Stay in touch…

My 5K Marathon

Posted on July 8, 2008 by Krista

“You’ll be glad I stayed,” she said.

“No I won’t,” I replied indignantly. “I gave everyone strict instructions. Remember? ‘Don’t run slower than you usually do just for me.’ I’m slow and I don’t want anyone holding themselves back just because they feel bad leaving me. So go. Please. I know you run faster than this.”

She didn’t answer. She also didn’t increase her pace.

I gave up. Mostly because I can’t talk, breathe, and run all at the same time, but also because I didn’t have energy to waste on arguing. I knew the mountain I had to climb and I didn’t have stamina to spare.

So we ran. But I was annoyed. I didn’t want to hold anyone back. I also didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I know I run slow – about as slow as the 70-year-old walkers in front of us. But that’s fine. My only goals were to finish in less than forty-five minutes and to run the whole way. Not one step of walking.

At the quarter-mile mark the police officer cording off traffic danced and clapped as we passed. “You go girls! You can do it!”

“I’m gonna need you again in about a mile,” I laughed.

“I’ll be right here on your way back,” she said.

I was keeping an even pace. An even, slow, pace. I knew if I wanted to finish having run the whole way I couldn’t go any faster. But she was still beside me – even as slow as I was.

At mile one we started seeing runners already on their way back. Every so often we’d pass a member of our group and I’d smile, straighten my back, and add a bit more bounce to my step, trying to make it look like I was enjoying this and holding up well.

Why I decided to do this was beyond me. I hate running. But I said I was going to do it. So there I was. Running as best I could. And she was still beside me.

We made it to the half-way point and I was oddly happy to be on the return side meeting people still headed for the turn-around. Not that I was glad they were behind me, but I was just grateful not to be last. I looked to my right and the ocean spread far beneath a cloudy sky. It had seemed crazy to drive so far for such a short race, but now – looking out over the California coastline – it was worth it. Maybe.

I could see mile marker two ahead. I was tired but okay. Two miles was as far as I had ever gone before. I said a quick prayer that I’d be able to go the last mile.

Mile two and a quarter. The mind-talk begins.

I’m really tired. I really want to walk. I don’t think I can do this. I have to walk. Just one step.
No Krista. You can’t.
Heavenly Father please. Help me.
Please …
Please …
Please …
Please help me finish. Help me just do this one thing. Help me do what I said I would do.

I was breathless. “Help me remember why I love this? Tell me again why I’m doing this?”

She began to rattle off the why’s, legitimate or otherwise. I just prayed. And we kept on running.

I don’t remember anything about the space between two-and-a-half and three miles but I know my body gave up and something else took over. My mind perhaps. More likely my spirit. But I was still running. And she was still beside me.

Only one-tenth left. The crowd along the streets got thicker the farther we went.

“You can do it!”
“You’re SO close!”
“The finish line is right there,” they yelled.

They didn’t even know me. And I was practically last. I didn’t know it would feel like this. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I just didn’t know it would feel like this.

I could see the finish line up ahead and my legs voluntarily pumped faster. I couldn’t slow them down. Audible sobs escaped with every gasp for air. Heart racing, I kept pounding forward. She reached over and put her hand on my back.

“I have to stop crying,” I laughed. “I can’t breathe and I can’t see! But I just didn’t know it would feel like this.”

I had never run this fast, or this far, but there I was – three steps away. Three. Two. One. Runner 663: Forty-four minutes and fifty-nine seconds. And there she was – right beside me.

For a minute I was lost in the euphoria and the finishing ribbons and the commotion of it all. But then I heard my name. I looked to my right and there was my group. Four girls jumping up and down, smiling, laughing, cheering as though I’d just finished a marathon. In a way – I had.

I really wasn’t prepared for how it would feel to finish. Truthfully, I wasn’t really prepared for any of it. And I needed a minute alone.

Run slowed to walk and I didn’t stop until I reached the wall by the cliff. Shuddering, I collapsed into a fit of uncontrollable sobs.

Heavenly Father I did it. I finished and I ran the whole way. I did it.
Thank you …
Thank you …
Thank you …
I did what I said I would do.

And I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

Looking back, that race was the most excruciating physical experience I have ever had to that point. I’ve never pushed my body farther or relied so heavily on my spirit. To some it’s only a 5K – a mere 3.1 miles. But to me it represents the depths of my ability and the wellspring of strength from which my soul draws. I’ve done hard things before – but I’ve never reached a point where I was certain I couldn’t go on. I’ve never felt the moment where body ends and spirit transcends. Until that day. May 20, 2006. The day I did what I said I’d do.

***

“You’ll be glad I stayed,” she said. And she was right.

She’ll probably never know just how glad, or how grateful I was – and am – that she stayed. She’ll probably never understand how both she, and those three miles, changed my life for forever. And the funny thing is – the race is over. But she’s still here. Still matching my pace. Still running beside me. Helping me do the things I say I’ll do.

Tell me: Who’s running beside you?

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Stay in touch…

My Island Home

Posted on July 8, 2008 by Krista

I come from an enchanted island, and thus had an enchanting childhood. Surrounded by the Atlantic and kept from the mainland only by a wildlife refuge and a pair of bridges, it was a place I clamored to escape as a teenager. But now, with my rearview in focus, I see the dream-world I grew up in.

Come. Sit with me … you in your rocking chair and I in mine, and I will tell you of these dreams over a tall glass of lemonade. Close your eyes. Drink the heat. A symphony of crickets and frogs will serenade, and these stories of oceans and skies will rest between us like the glistening air on your skin.

***

I am five. Maybe six. Sunbeams stream through a canopy of oaks kissing everything golden. My bony legs step lightly on the dusty path, fighting the urge to run. I don’t like getting dirt in my shoes. The dock is behind me and the red barn as tall as the pines surrounding just ahead. I look down at my left elbow and run my fingers gently over a little brown birthmark. It reminds me of her, and her name. Again I fight the urge to run. I know she is waiting.

Big, and black, and beautiful, with a lap you could get lost in, Bertha is there just like she always is with my special plate. The same plate she always sets aside just for me. Extra cornbread. She knows it’s my favorite. I eat every crumb. There in the bigness, and safety, of her lap.

***

I am eleven. Leah is my best friend because we both love to paint. Today we decide to sneak through the fence and explore under the bridge. The woods don’t seem as treacherous now that we’re eleven. Tiny drops of sweat trickle down the middle of my back. Finally we make it to the bridge and the water passes in and out over our toes.

All afternoon we pace up and down the shore, combing the broken oysters for jewels. We laugh, and talk the way only eleven-year-old girls can. The world speeds by in cars overhead and time wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for our stomachs. Dinner will be ready soon, so with sun-pinkened noses we head for home. Running fast, holding tight to my treasures, this has been the best day of the summer. I have a jar full of shark teeth and mermaid fingernails.

***

I am twenty-one. Standing beside my dad. We’re on Bertha’s island again – but she’s not here anymore. I secretly wish for her cornbread. Behind us streams the chatter and laughter from the barn. This place is a novelty to them, the tourists. An island lost in time. But for us … it’s the essence of our home.

Flaming orange, the sun shoots blazing pink heat across the sky as it disappears into the sea. Seagulls fly overhead and a pair of dolphin swim lazily in the Sound. Fiddler crabs scurry underneath a warped dock and to our left an oak tree dripping with Spanish Moss reaches her bony fingers out over the marsh.

“This is what you’ll miss when you’re gone,” he finally says.

He was right.

Tell me: What memories do you have of your home or childhood?

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Stay in touch…