Letting Go

So I know it's been months since I last blogged. A busy summer can be to blame for that...but even though a lot has happened since my last post I seem to keep circling around to the topics of my last couple of entries, and here I am again.

Today is Tate's first day of preschool. This may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it is completely crazy, as literally a week ago I was thinking I wouldn't send him to preschool for at least another year, if at all. In fact, the option of homeschooling was definitely a front runner in my 5-year parenting plan. Yet here I am, staring at the new "cars" lunch box sitting on my kitchen counter, trying to wrap my mind around what I am about to do.

Jason and I recently went to a movie called, "Tree of Life" (SO GOOD), and in it there are several themes dealing with how we relate to God as a child, as an individual, and as a parent. I don't want to launch into a complete movie review, but this is a film that has stuck with me for many reasons. In it, a mother tries to cope with the loss of her son in a war; A man reflects back on his childhood and tries to make sense of pain, the law, and his sin nature; and a father comes to grips with the fact that he is living for the wrong things, has a warped view of God and goodness, and is missing out on meaningful relationships and grace. But the most beautiful thing about this movie is that throughout it, though you never see God, and really you only see fragments of thought, prayer, memory...you cannot deny the presence of God and the enormity of His love and care for His creation. Grace always wins. God is not just far above what we see as chaos, He is in the midst of it with us. He is teaching us, molding us, and allowing pain and suffering to refine us. He was there the first moment we were conceived, the first moment we experienced pain, the first moment we realized we could give in to the ugly in our hearts and commit willful sin, and the first moment we realized what love and grace and forgiveness were.

In my last entry I talked about how I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Last night I had to re-read that psalm (139) with my son in mind. He was recently diagnosed as having some sensory issues, minor speech/language delays, and some social/emotional and adaptive behavior issues. This is why we had to decide so suddenly to send him to preschool, where he can get services for free and be thrust in a more social environment. I read that psalm last night and was so comforted, just like I was after seeing "Tree of Life", that God is in the midst of all of this. He is orchestrating a beautiful future for Tate, and I get to be a part of it. I know for a fact that things are going to be hard for Tate. They already are. When other children get excited about hearing trains go by and making messes with shaving cream my son may be sent into a panic. But his God is the LORD and he is SO loved and cared for, beyond what I could ever imagine. And just like Tate's favorite song says, I know that "ten thousand angels will light [his] pathway...and they will surround [him] and make [his] way straight."

I am not even remotely ashamed of my son and his challenges...but I know that there will be some hard stuff ahead, and that I will have to let go again and again of MY plan, and trust that God knows what He is doing, even in the darkness. Tate belongs to Him, and I am so grateful.

I'll wrap this up by sharing one of my favorite poems since childhood...so beautiful and true.

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oftimes He weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

- Author Unknown

Wonderfully Made

The other day I was holding Jayde, and looking at her, I felt like I was looking 25 years into my past. Several people have told me how much she looks like me, but I haven't sat there and REALLY looked at how each of her characteristics seem to reflect a little of me, right down to the arches in her feet.

I may be a little biased, but I think she's quite breath-taking. She's got amazing, bright blue eyes that seem to just radiate life and joy when she smiles. She's got perfect, soft blonde hair that has a little bit of a curl to it, and that beautiful, flawless, squishy baby skin. She is the epitome of fresh, new, beautiful life.

I do love that she looks like me. But as I was looking down at her and noticing her curly hair, her high cheek-bones, her tiny feet and high arches, and all the other characteristics she obviously got from me, I couldn't help but feel a little sad. At the same time as I was admiring my beautiful daughter I was reminded of the fact that God also gave me all those characteristics and saw me as a masterpiece, more so even than I see Jayde as a masterpiece...and I so often have such little appreciation for that. Actually, appreciating my body and the masterpiece that it is is probably the biggest struggle I have on a day to day basis. Not a shocker, I know, as I'm sure many of you have had body image issues throughout your life, too. Not long after this little "moment" with Jayde I heard some statistics I thought were pretty sad too:

--Two out of five women and one out of five men would trade three to five years of their life to achieve their weight goals.

--In 1970 the average age of a girl who started dieting was 14; by 1990 the average dieting age fell to 8.

--Young girls are more afraid of becoming fat than they are of nuclear war, cancer, or losing their parents.

--30% of women chose an ideal body shape that is 20% underweight and an additional 44% chose an ideal body shape that is 10% underweight.

So, so sad.

What is even more sad is that I nodded my head and found myself fitting in to almost every one of those statistics. I remember being five years old and comparing myself to other girls in my dance classes. This has been a lifelong struggle to the point that I can't even REMEMBER not caring about how my body looked. Thankfully, this year God has been rescuing me, slowly but surely, from the bondage of the self-loathing and self-love wrapped up in poor body image.

For example, God laid it on my heart this year to give up something completely out of the ordinary for Lent. I'm not Catholic, but I do see how good things can come out of honoring the tradition of Lent, so I decided to take part this year. I was going to give up desserts...mostly as a convenient excuse to maybe lose a little baby weight and prove that I had some self control. But, my birthday is during Lent season so I couldn't bring myself to give up my birthday cake. :) I finally admitted to my husband one evening that the hardest thing in the world for me to give up would probably be make-up. "Well...there you go," He said.

"Noo!! I can't do it!" I screamed in my head. From the time I first started wearing make-up (age 12) to now, I truly cannot remember a single day when I went out of the house without a little make-up on. Especially eye make-up. I probably should have given up all make-up for Lent but I decided to take a baby step and just give up the one piece of make-up that was hardest for me, and that was eye make-up. I decided I'd only be allowed to wear a tiny bit of mascara on church days and days when I was going to work at the Crisis Pregnancy Center, but all other days I would not be allowed to wear even a little bit of eye make-up.

Some funny things happened during those weeks of no eye make-up. First of all, I was shocked at how many people didn't even notice. That's right, I was self-centered enough to think that people always paid attention to how much eye make-up I was wearing :). I was at least expecting people to say things like "oh, you look tired today" or something like that, but nope. No comments.

Secondly, I started to actually LIKE how my eyes looked without any make-up on and my husband did too. Thirdly, it was a stepping stone to me going out of the house without any make-up on at all one day, and--SHOCKER--no one noticed or treated me any differently.

That experience was good for me for a number of reasons, and has led to other break-throughs as well such as letting my hair's natural wave come out and no longer using a tanning bed. My next venture will be to try to love my natural hair COLOR and my new body shape, thanks to giving birth twice. :)

Anyway, I feel like taking these steps is so important if I'm going to raise a daughter. I want to be an example to her of someone who loves my body, not because it's a size 4 or comes with flawless skin and hair, or even because "I'm worth it" and all those other crappy catch phrases in the media and on Oprah...but because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Truly. I am God's masterpiece, scars, dimples, fly-aways, bunions and all.

A life-long struggle doesn't just melt away in one month. I know I will constantly have to surround myself with TRUTH, especially to combat the lies on TV and in magazines and, well, everywhere if I really want to tackle this thing. If you're in this battle too, be encouraged by these truths that are helping me!

Psalm 139:13-16 ESV:
For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.

Matthew 6:25 ESV:
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

Ephesians 2:10 ESV:
For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Genesis 1:31 ESV:
And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.

He's Tate, and he's three.

Once, when I was in high school, I prayed a silly prayer. It was a simple prayer, which God has decided to answer over and over and over again in my life, and, I believe He will continue to answer until the day I die.

I prayed for God to humble me.

I can't remember what exactly prompted it. Maybe it was just one of those prayers that felt like a good thing to say at the time for no real reason other than to feel more spiritually mature (which often was the case with my prayers in high school), or maybe I really did want to be humbled because I could see my pride getting in the way of who God wanted me to be. Either way, I know now, I was not ready for the answer.

There have been many times in my life when I've prayed something and God so obviously answered my prayer I almost felt like I had super powers. But this time, I immediately wanted to take it back, as literally a day later I found myself in a very humbling situation in which the entire school was watching my reaction.

Fast forward 8 years, and I find myself in daily (hourly?) humbling situations in which two very precious little sets of eyes are watching my reactions. Ironically, the little people to whom these sets of eyes belong are the very ones who are causing the humbling situations. :) My three-year-old is...oh how would you say it...strong-willed? "Spirited"? My 7-month-old is not strong-willed but I can tell we're going to have to tackle some pretty serious whining and tattling as she grows. Anyway, both of them challenge me in ways I've never been challenged before and humbled me in ways I've never wanted to be humbled, but my son especially, for right now anyway, seems to be God's little humbling agent for me. :)

For awhile it would absolutely crush me when Tate would have a full-blown tantrum in public. My face would turn red, I'd apologize profusely to the friend/cashier/grandparent/whoever and I'd cry in the car. Ok, sometimes I wouldn't just cry, I'd yell at Tate too (great example, I know). He'd be disciplined when we got home and then I'd unintentionally, but kind of intentionally, give him the cold shoulder the rest of the day, even though we'd supposedly "reconciled" after he was disciplined. But lately Tate's reminded me of something that is very important, that somehow I forgot all those times he'd have these episodes: "Mommy, my name is Tate. I'm three."

He is Tate, and he is three.

I've read many wonderful parenting books. I've soaked up all the knowledge and tips others have given and I've applied all of what I consider good, Biblical ways to parent. Of course I have messed up royally again and again and sometimes I think it's a miracle my children are happy and healthy...but for the most part, I am doing my best. And when these things I'm trying so hard to do just aren't "working" like the books say they should, I get just plain angry. But lately I've been thinking that I am forgetting the most important part of parenting, and that is KNOWING my child, and just being proud that he's mine, no matter where he's at. Knowing him, and realizing that what takes one child a day to learn may take mine six months.

He's Tate, and he is three. He is no one else.

And he's watching me so carefully when he has his outbursts of anger, to see if I will burst out in anger at him as well. He's watching to see if when he's talking rudely and acting arrogantly if I will respond with a harsh, "Don't you talk to me that way!" or if I respond with a loving rebuke, for his heart's sake.

All I can say is that I am so thankful God is still answering that prayer I prayed in high school. I hate to think what kind of parent I'd be if I wasn't humbled constantly. I am so thankful for my little man who challenges me. While he's inherited a lot of my "not-so-good" qualities, there are many things inside of him I can only believe came from the Lord: He LOVES to pray for others, he does not care one bit what people think of him, and he tries SO HARD to be good. I wish on a daily basis that I could have those qualities. I have a feeling he is going to be teaching me more as he grows than I could ever even begin to teach him. And actually, the qualities some might consider "bad" are really ones that could turn into great things some day. The best piece of parenting advice I think I've ever received came from a mom of another strong-willed child, who told me that she likes to think that our children's "spiritedness" will simply turn into crazy passion for the Lord someday.

Anyway, he's Tate, and he's three. And I love him.

Stay tuned for what Jenny will learn from her daughter some day! :)

Here's to you

I know I should love this time of year. And I do, for many reasons:

1.) I definitely prefer green grass to brown and the vibrant colors of new flowers on the side of the road to the ugly old snow of late winter.

2.) Asparagus, which happens to be my favorite vegetable, is in season.

3.) I get to celebrate my birthday AND mother's day...yay, me!

4.) My kids get to run off their crazy energy outside as opposed to practically spontaneously combusting inside.

But while this time of year brings many things sweet, there is a bitter side. This past weekend marked 3 years since my grandpa passed away.

There are very few people in my life who have really had in impact on who I am--the whole of who I am--past, present, and future. My grandpa was one of those people. He gave me the BEST childhood memories, from elaborate Easter egg hunts (which I participated in right up until he died) to simple Sunday walks, complete with ghost stories and long rides way up high on his shoulders. Though he was a little "rough around the edges" with his always present 5 o'clock shadow, tattooed forearm, and tendency to speak his mind a little too freely, he was an angel to me. He had a heart like no one I've met, and he showed me Jesus in ways no "put together" Christian ever has. And that is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. The moment he died, some balloons I had given him came loose and danced into the sky--even in his passing, he showed us the importance of being playful and free.

I miss him, and I think I always will. I wish he could meet my daughter, and I wish he could see Tate now as a little boy. I wish they could participate in his Easter egg hunts and hear his stories and soak in all the unconditional, crazy love he had to give. But my hope is that they will see some of those things through me, and that through me Val Kapustka's legacy will live on.

So anyway, I wrote a song in honor of my grandpa, or I guess in honor of anyone who has ever shown us the raw, untethered, crazy love of Jesus. They are the people who make life sweet.

I didn't know how else to share this song except through a video of me singing it, and unfortunately I seem to be having issues uploading it. So for now you get just the lyrics, until I can figure out what's going on, OR if it's possible just to upload an audio track or something. I hate to give you just the lyrics because I feel like they don't come alive until they have a melody, but alas, this is all I can do for now.

Anyway, here's to you, Grandpa. Love you, miss you, thank you.



I never saw what you saw.
To you, I could do no wrong.
With you there were no assumptions,
just raw, untethered, crazy love.

You never asked the questions--
never pushed me over any edge.
You made me believe I could thrive
and just maybe even fly.

Here's to you,
The backdrop to all my good dreams,
The reason I grew up laughing,
The push to keep on dancing
like a balloon into the sky.
You're how I know I'll be alright,
and He'll watch me through the night.
I'm alright.

You never knew what I saw.
To me, you could do no wrong.
You showed me a God I actually liked,
and just maybe He's really alive.

Here's to you,
The backdrop to all my good dreams,
The reason I grew up laughing,
The push to keep on dancing
like a balloon into the sky.
You're how I know I'll be alright,
and He'll watch me through the night.
I'm alright.

Here we go again!

A few weeks back, a very sweet lady I know was offering me decorating tips on my house. I'll admit, my decorating style is a little "schizophrenic" (I have antler chandeliers in my living room as well a modern, abstract painting and some delicate vases), but I'm OK with it. I try to decorate with things that make me happy, however odd and out of place they may seem. She went from room to room offering bits of advice and re-arranging as she saw fit, offending me only a little with her suggestions. :)


After making her way through our living room into the kitchen, she stopped short when she saw a porcelain coffee set I have sitting on my kitchen window sill above the sink. It's pictured above--white, with blue flowery designs. I found it at a yard sale and it's been my favorite piece of kitchen decor since. Her eyes widened and she asked me where I got it, who made it, etc. etc. Of course I had no answers; I only knew it was cute and cost me hardly a thing. Apparently she thought it looked like a design from some famous artist, whose sets like these go for thousands of dollars. She walked over to it, picked up the sugar bowl and looked at the bottom, only to find a "made in china" sticker. It was just a copy-cat.

After we caught our breath and laughed for a bit about my almost fortune, she showed me how to position the set in front of the window so that the silhouette stood out. Then she showed me how I could always keep fresh flowers in the little milk pitcher, just to make me happy. Then, she told me a story about her grandmother's sugar bowl. She said, "Whenever my grandmother had a request, a thought, a prayer, ANYTHING she wanted God to know, she wrote it down and stuck it in the sugar bowl. Then she'd walk away, and know that it was in good hands. It became 'God's sugar bowl'."

This was not a new concept to me--I had gone through a little Anne Lamott phase in college and in one of her books she talked about having a "God box" for the same purpose. I had taken an old shoe box and tried it for a couple of months, and sure enough, it had been kind of refreshing. Some of my requests were eventually answered, others were not. Sometimes I just needed to vent a little, other times I wrote thank-you notes. There was something nice about having a physical place to put my thoughts, and to walk away from them.

Now, I am no expert blogger. I have tried this before and failed. I may fail again. But I do think there is something nice about having a place to share my thoughts, ideas, etc. I don't, however, want this to become a diary. And I am not quite talented enough for this to be a blog solely devoted to my creative endeavors, like many of my good friends. :) And, I don't take enough pictures for this to be a kind of online photo album for my family and friends. I guess what I'm trying to say is that this blog is going to look just as schizophrenic as my decorating style. It's not going to be "God's sugar bowl", but rather "Jenny's sugar bowl", and I may leave some people confused often. But I have had to realize over the years that I tend to give up on things when I try to copy someone else, or fit into one category or another. So, similarly to how I decorate my house (or how I parent, or do ANYTHING for that matter), I'll just write about what is me, no matter how odd or out of place it may seem. If you choose to read, you're brave! And Thank you!

(Here is a picture of my living room)