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.