Author: krinvan

Krin Van Tatenhove is a writer, visual artist, and spiritual adventurer. His 40 years of professional writing experience have led to countless articles and 17 books. You can freely download most of his work—including art collaborations—by visiting krinvan.com. Currently, he is the fiction editor at Story Sanctum publishing. He is married, has four children, and lives with his wife and disabled adult son in San Antonio, Texas.

Pass the torch of faith to the next generation!

We all have favorite teachers who taught us more than subject material; they imparted lessons about life. Yet parents remain our earliest, most impactful tutors. Their words and actions mold our outlooks from infancy.

Clearly, this can be positive or negative. In decades of working with people, I have seen both kinds of parental legacies. Learning to claim the best (and leave the rest) from our families is a healing journey many of us have taken. Some of us still need to.

This Mother’s Day I think of my Mom. Our relationship hasn’t been easy. Thankfully, over time, we have discovered the grace born of our faith in Jesus Christ. This faith has been my mother’s greatest gift to me, a priceless heirloom. Let me share a memory that highlights this.

My childhood neighborhood swarmed with kids, evidence of the Baby Boom. Like typical children, we often took sides and fought with each other. One day the conflict moved from taunts and posturing to rock throwing and BB guns. On the other side, I could see one of my “enemies.” His name was Gentry and he was a Goliath, heads taller than the rest of us. He was also mean as a snake, channeling anger from a troubled family.

Under a bright sun, we lined up in two gangs and advanced toward each other like fronts in a medieval battle. When fists started flying, Gentry singled me out. He had a board with rusted nails that he hurled like a lance. It struck my head, leaving a gash that gushed freely down my neck and onto my shirt.

The sight of so much blood drained the fight from us. We halted and scrambled back to our homes.

That night, my stitched head wrapped in Ace bandages, I lay under the sheets. My mother came to my bedside for prayer, a ritual she kept with all her children.

“We have something special to pray for tonight, don’t we?” she asked.

“We sure do,” I replied. “That God would take the pain from my head.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” she said. “We should pray for Gentry, that God would take the hatred from his heart.”

I felt resentful. Why pray for that jerk? He was the guilty one. He was my enemy.

But as I thought about the daily dysfunction he endured in his family—the lack of love I took for granted—my resent morphed to compassion. My mother waited silently, hoping this would take root in my heart. Finally, I took her hand and we prayed for Gentry and his family.

One of the core teachings of Jesus is to love our enemies. Do not return evil for evil, but pray for those who persecute you. That night my mother illustrated one of the greatest elements of the faith she was passing on to me. I carry that torch to this day.

Mothers and fathers, your influence is incalculable! Raise your children with love and encouragement. Most importantly, pass on your faith in God who calls us to a higher plain.

And Mom, if you read this, I can’t thank you enough!

by Leave a comment

Miracle in Cuzco

It’s mid-morning in the Plaza de Armas, Cuzco, Peru. Thin sunshine gilds the Cathedral of Santo Domingo, a monument to Spain’s colonial domination of the Incas. Pigeons coo, preen, and strut on nearby lawns. The mountain air is crisp and bracing, a tonic deep in my lungs.

My beautiful daughter, Hanna, stands in front of me, smiling. We have just concluded a week of travel, a torrid tour of Lima, Marcahuasi, the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu. Hanna has been in country for a year, and because she’s an intrepid explorer, she guided me not only into the heart of Peru’s geography, but the heart of its people. Who else would have led me to share an evening cup of yerba with an Incan Shaman?

Now it’s time to say goodbye; my plane is at the airport. We embrace, and suddenly both of us are crying – warm, healing tears that flush out reservoirs of hurt so deep only God understood them.

“Dad,” says Hanna, “I never thought we would get to this point, not just father and daughter, but friends. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I answer, “More than you know.”

It’s a long hug, one of those moments with power and longevity far beyond its duration, an experience that engenders the word eternal. I don’t want to leave, but finally we let go and I climb into a taxi idling at the curb.

As we pull away, I can see Hanna in the side-view mirror. She raises her arm to wave goodbye and shouts, “I have the best dad in the world!”

The taxi driver glances sideways at me and gives a thumbs-up sign.

“Muy bueno,” he says.

“Si,” I answer. “Muy bueno. Un sueno hecho realidad.”

A dream? Yes. And a hope and a prayer. You see, both Hanna and I know full-well I was not a model father. My addiction and restlessness blunted the other side of me – the man who tried, and often succeeded, in loving his family. Then came the seismic upheaval of divorce, painful to everyone involved.

For years I carried the shame of my failures, wondering if I would ever find relief. One day, my new wife, with her customary folk wisdom, said, “Krin, God has forgiven you. When are you going to forgive yourself?”

Gradually, I received the peace of my pardon, transmuted by grace. Sometime after that, Hanna came to visit, and during that stay she vented on me – pent up anger that had long needed daylight. I had been waiting and praying for that instant, a chance for new relationship.

I listened without defense, absorbing every syllable. When silence settled, I said, “Hanna, I am truly sorry for my mistakes. But I have learned to forgive myself, and I hope someday you will be able to do the same. Until, or IF that happens, just remember this: I will always love you more than life itself.”

Now do you see how that moment in Cuzco was a miracle?

Friends, if you are praying for healing in any relationship, let me tell you something I steadfastly believe. God can heal the deepest wounds. God can redeem the time of our lives, giving us precious new beginnings.

I am living in the center of this truth. Shalom!

by Tags: , 2 Comments