TANGLED

August 27, 2015August 27, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 2 Comments

There he was. Or maybe he was a she. Either way, I saw the grey little dove standing on the sidewalk as I walked to my car. He was a little rumpled. His feathers weren’t lying flat, but that’s not what caught my eye. What I noticed was a thin, translucent piece of fishing line.

It moved every time the bird did.

I stopped. I looked again. His leg was tangled in fishing line. I slowly tried to move towards him but with every inch I moved, he moved away.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I said quietly. “I want to help.”

Apparently I don’t speak bird because he continued to waddle quickly away. I sighed and turned to open the car door and climb in. But as I did, I couldn’t help but think: How often do I do that? How often do you? How often do we run away when someone wants to help untangle us from the mess we’re in?

There’s no shortage of fishing line in our lives. Heartbreak. Sin. Selfishness. Betrayal. Pride. Addiction. It can be so easy to get tangled that often we don’t even realize we are. We drag around extra weight, letting it impact our lives and keep us from fully living.

Why? Because we’re afraid.

We’re afraid that getting free will hurt more than being tangled.

We’re afraid that if people get close enough to see what’s weighing us down, they’ll see our flaws. They’ll see all of us. How many of us stay tangled by fear?

How many times have you run from someone who was trying to help? How many times have you turned away from God because you thought if you kept a big enough distance he couldn’t really see you?

How often have I?

What have we lost in the process? What has our running cost us?

The dove was created to fly, but with fishing line tangled around his leg, he could no longer do what he was created to do. Have you been running? Have you been drinking wine every night just to numb the pain? Have you been pushing away people who want to go deeper because you’re afraid of what they’ll discover? Or have you been putting on a slick coat of lipstick and a smile, trying to look like everything is ok when deep down your heart is broken?

What would happen if you took a risk? What if you stopped running and let someone help you get untangled?

YOU’VE BEEN LIED TO

August 13, 2015 / jessicaivaska / Leave a comment

I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been lied to. By people you love and by people who love you. By society. In ways you’d never expect.

Now I could go all deep and meaningful on you here, which maybe what you’re expecting because I usually do, but today, just for now, let’s keep it light, shall we?

My case in point about being lied to: Cats in trees.

Pretty much my whole life, I’ve heard that cats get stuck in trees. As far as I can tell, it’s common knowledge. As a child, I actually believed that part of a fireman’s job was to rescue pet cats who accidentally wandered high up into maple trees.

But recently, I’ve realized that’s just not true. Not only do firemen have much more pressing crises to take care of, cats actually like to climb trees.

I’m not sure what took me so long to get to this realization. I mean, the clues are all around. People buy cat trees for their houses, for goodness’ sake. That in and of itself shows that cats like to climb.

Lately I’ve been observing the colony of feral cats that live in the hills behind my condo. One of their favorite things to do is climb trees. They don’t just climb them and then freak out with loud meowing, desperate for rescue. Nope. They hang out there. Literally.

Usually, up on the hill there are several cats in trees, their bodies draped over limbs, their paws and tails hanging limply. They aren’t in distress. They’re relaxed. They’re content. They want to be there.

And you know what? Never have I noticed a cat up a tree, and seen it there days later. This shows me that they can, in fact, get down all on their own. What I think is more likely then them getting stuck is that they just don’t want to come down. I mean, have you ever met a cat? They’re not pushovers. They do their own thing, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not likely gonna get a cat to do anything they don’t want to do.

So there you have it. My very scientific research proves you’ve been lied to.

In all seriousness, though, as I’ve thought about those cats, and my accepted beliefs about them, it’s made me wonder: how many other things have I just accepted? I’m trusting enough to hope that there’s not too many things I’ve wrongly believed, but I’m realistic enough to know that no one is always right.

It’s got me thinking. Are we afraid to ask questions and seek the truth? Are we afraid to push back a little bit to see what’s behind the curtain? Why? What would happen if we did?

DO SOMETHING

July 17, 2015July 17, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 1 Comment

I know you’ve done it. I have, too. In fact, I’ve done it more than I can count. I always thought it was a good thing. That is, until I realized it could be better.

Phrases like, “Let me know if you need something.” And, “Is there anything I can do to help?” roll out of our mouths when friends, loved ones and church family are hurting.

It’s a way we show compassion.

I think most of the time when we say it, we mean it. Truly and deeply. We want to help, but we don’t know what to do. That’s where I’ve often landed in those situations. But now, having been through enough difficult times in my own life, I realize that saying something is a great start — and if that’s all you can do, that’s ok. Do that.

But if you really mean it, if you really want to make a difference and show someone they aren’t alone. Don’t just say you’re willing, actually do something. (Check out James 2:15-16.)

If you’ve ever lost a loved one, a job, a home, or a relationship, you know that grieving is complex. It hits you when you least except it and stays with you like the damp air of Seattle winter rain.

It also paralyzes you. Even if you’ve had 11 friends say, “Call me if you need anything,” you feel abandoned. Picking up the phone to ask for help seems impossible. You just can’t do it. Or maybe you won’t. When you’re hurting, when you’re really in the thick of it, asking for help feels like a step too far.

So I have an idea: Do something. Ok, so that idea isn’t really mine. But it’s something I believe we can all work at.

If you hear of a friend in crisis, show up. It’s that simple.

Don’t just say you are there for them, be there for them.

Stop by Starbucks, order a drink you know they’ll like and take it to them. Bring them flowers and stay to talk for half an hour. Better yet, bring a meal – enough for their family and yours.

Separated by the span of an ocean or mountains or miles of freeway? Don’t let that stop you. Call them. Don’t text, call. Set up a Skype date. Write them a letter. Be with them. Grieve with them. Show up for them. Don’t just say something, do something.

Actions really do speak louder than words.

Oh, and one other thing. Don’t put if off. Grief and pain don’t expire, but are most raw at the beginning. Don’t tell yourself you’ll call later and drop a meal off. Make a plan and then do it. Everyone is busy. Everyone has other things to do. But if we’re too busy to love each other in the most practical ways, where does that leave us?

I’m going to work on being better at doing something. I hope you’ll join me. Imagine how different our lives and world could be.

I’ve been seeing it in action at our new church and it’s amazing.

JUST DUCKY

June 30, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 2 Comments

While walking my dog Jude the other day, I saw a duck. Just one.

That might not sound unusual, and to see a duck usually isn’t. But this one was different. This was a baby.

I’ve seen plenty of baby ducks. They nest near the drainage canal across the street from our condo. The canal smells when the tide is out, a little like garbage that’s baked in the sun followed by a whiff of sewage.

Why the ducks have chosen to make this their home I don’t know. Maybe they can’t smell, but whatever the reason, we have lots and lots of ducks around. Which means we often have lots of fuzzy yellow and brown baby ducklings. They are adorable. The kind of adorable that you just can’t argue with. I don’t know anyone who could look at them waddling on their too-big black feet and not smile.

When I’ve seen these babies before, they’ve been in a group. A sort of safety-in-numbers type thing. The brown and white mother is usually hovering near by, ready to squawk if you get too close.

I’ve seen gaggles of five, seven, even nine. And that’s the thing. When they are little, they are always together.

This one was alone.

All alone.

He was on the other side of the street, a far waddle from the safety of the canal. He looked lost and confused, standing on spikes of grass with a drooping banana leaf over his head. I wanted to help him. I wanted to scoop him up and take him home, but I didn’t. I knew he must be there for a reason. Or maybe I hoped he was. That his aloneness had a purpose. That it was part of some greater plan.

Because you see, I often feel like that baby duck: Lost.

And when I’m lost, I want there to be purpose.

I want it to be for something better — something that I can’t see yet because I’m staring at the thick blades of Bermuda grass instead of up in at the huge sky above me.

TIGHT PANTS

June 17, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 4 Comments

Several years ago, I met one of my closest friends for coffee. As we sat outside to take advantage of the rare Seattle spring sun, she looked at me with eyes that said she knew I was hiding something.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently.

“My pants are tight.” I replied.

I’m not going to debate whether or not I should have let my pants fitting too tightly have such an impact on my day. I’m just going to tell you that’s where I was at.

I allowed the pants that used to slip on smoothly and be a little loose ruin my day because now, they were tight.

Then she said it. Words I was shocked by.

“I’m going to pray they never fit again.”

“What?” I had to be hearing things. What kind of friend would say that? I wanted to scream out “NO! Don’t pray for that!” Like it was the worst possible prayer in the world.

But then, she told explained herself. She knew my heart. She knew that if I kept putting my hope in my pants, and my pants suddenly fit again, I’d have less need for Jesus. It was a control thing for me and she knew it. In that moment she could see that I was distracted and my hope was grounded not in Him, but in myself and who I could make myself become.

I’ll admit, I still wanted my pants to fit better, but I realized she was onto something.

If I keep putting my hope in other things, I won’t fully give my heart and my life to Jesus. This works for just about everything in life. Jobs. Marriage. Friendships. A new house. Even your church. If we put our hope in anything other than Jesus, we’re going to be disappointed.

To this day, my friend’s words are some of the most unexpected and loving words I’ve heard. I still struggle with that twinge of despair when I pull on a pair or jeans that fits a little too tight, but I have friends and an amazing husband to remind me that my hope isn’t in a pile of denim. It’s in the God of the universe.

LOOSE ENDS

June 3, 2015June 3, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 6 Comments

One of my aunts is a tapestry artist. Another aunt is a seamstress. My mom sews, quilts, knits and crochets.

These women have all influenced my life in deep and lasting ways. One of the things I learned about from them has to do with loose ends.

If you’ve ever looked at the back of a weaving, you know there are no loose ends. Every thread—every piece of yarn—is neatly tucked into another. It looks like chaos, but it’s controlled. Those loose ends are necessary to create the perfect image on the other side.

But there’s more to it.

In knitting and crocheting one loose end undoes the entire project.

A hanging string downgrades an elegant dress.

During this season of uncertainty, I’ve been thinking about loose ends. I’m finding comfort in the idea that God doesn’t leave loose ends. He has a plan. He won’t let one loose string, one lost job, one overseas move unravel a whole life. That’s not who He is.

I was reminded of that this last week while I was on vacation on another island with my parents. You see, as a little girl we came to Hawaii regularly. It was our sun-filled escape and vitamin D fix to get us through the grey Seattle winter and tide us over until summer.

I’ve always loved Hawaii. Loved. Loved. LOVED. It felt like my home away from home. I loved the beaches, the water, the fish.

So when Erik surprised me on a family vacation and proposed in Hawaii, it was fitting. The place I had come to love collided with the man that God had given me. It all tied up so beautifully.

And then, years later, when Erik found a job here, even though I never imagined living here, I was ok with him applying. The seed God has planted in my heart as a little girl was growing.

So we moved. We plugged our sun-deprived selves into the sands of this little island and have loved it. But now that we feel unplugged, I’m trying to cling to the truth that this is not a loose end. God doesn’t do those. This will lead somewhere. It’s all part of His plan. I’ve seen it over and over again in my life.

When you are dangling, it’s hard to remember. It’s hard to believe. But I’m going to chose to.

I’m going to choose to believe this is part of the tapestry of our lives. This will get woven back in and it will be beautiful. It has to be. Doesn’t it?

WEEP AND HOPE

May 26, 2015May 26, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 1 Comment

Yesterday was Memorial Day. Erik and I went to the Lantern Floating Ceremony near Waikiki.

At the ceremony, people are invited to light a candle on a boat-shaped lantern and launch it out to sea to remember their loved ones. Over 50,000 people were there. Some floated lanterns. Others, like us, came to see the beauty of candlelight dancing on the ocean.

By the time the lingering twilight finally disappeared, there were thousands of lanterns floating on the ocean. Each one was lit for someone who was deeply loved while they walked this earth.

Death is a strange thing. Especially for Christians. It’s bittersweet. We know that the one who has left, if they have accepted Jesus as their Savior, is with Him in a MUCH better place.

And yet we still mourn.

We mourn because there won’t be any more memories. We mourn because we don’t get to be with them, and we mourn because death was never supposed to be a part of life.

We were created in God’s image. Adam and Eve — male and female. We were created to love and serve God and to love and serve one another. We were given the gift of life and it was supposed to be eternal. The tree of life was there to offer never-ending health and, well, life.

But then sin entered into humanity, and with it, death.

And so as we weep and mourn the loss of loved ones, we not only grieve the loss of their life, their love, their hugs and laughter, but we grieve the fact that our world is broken. We are sad because sin exists and because of sin, death exists.

But thankfully, there is hope. God saw the depth of our pain and was filled with love for us — His broken, sinful, evil children. His justice and goodness made it impossible for our sin to be erased, so he made a way for it to be redeemed. He gives us new life not only in this life, but in the one to come.

It is a life that will never end. A life without sin, a life without death. Life as we were created for.

Until that day, we weep and we hope.

SIZING YOURSELF UP

May 13, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 2 Comments

I have spent much of my life trying to get smaller, both literally and figuratively.

I’m afraid of taking up too much space. Of being a burden. Of being too needy. I want to be small and petite. Cute and beautiful all at once. There are times when I want to fill a room, but I want to fill it with laughter and joy, love, fun and connection. Those things, the essence of goodness in life, are far too difficult to come by. And so instead of chasing after them and creating a way to embrace and enjoy the bigness of life, I focus on being smaller.

I want to avoid conflict and discomfort. That takes up too much space.

Yet at the same time I want to be known. I want people to look in my eyes and know me. To know what I need without me having to ask. I don’t want to have to take up their space, I want them to want to give it to me. I want to create bigness together.

So what would it look like to get “bigger”? What would it be like to tell people what I need and ask for help so that they can get to know me? What would it be like to take up space in their lives? Isn’t that what connection is all about?

One of my deepest desires is to be connected. To have friends and family and community blend together so well that you can’t tell one from the other. To have a life that’s bigger, and fuller. But to do that I think I have to get bigger. I have to take more chances. I have to put myself out there. I have to share my needs. I have to risk being seen and judged as too much, too big, and tossed aside.

And that risk — the fear of what could happen — keeps me longing for smallness. I know it. I can manage it.

The truth is, in some ways I know what it’s like to feel too big. To have people look at you and to tell you you’re too much. Too depressed. Too introspective. Too sensitive. Too emotional.

Too big. Too big! TOO BIG.

Some people in my life have shown me that they don’t have time for me. “Maybe if I was smaller,” I think. “If I could squeeze myself into a little part of their life, maybe then they could still love me.”

But what about the other side? What if I am just the right size? What if I am fearfully and wonderfully made and perfected in Christ just as I am? What if you are too?

What if we all stop trying to get smaller — or bigger— and just learn to be?

WHEN YOUR CHURCH IS SCATTERED

May 6, 2015 / jessicaivaska / 2 Comments

My husband and I recently left the church where he has been a pastor for the last three and a half years.

It’s been hard. Heartbreaking and gut-wrenching. This church, these people are our community. They are the people we have worshiped with, laughed with, cried with, prayed with and counseled. We have eaten with them, sipped coffee with them, gone on hikes with them and loved them.

Leaving the church has felt like our community has been ripped away. It has left me reeling. It’s not that I don’t think our friends still love us and want to be a part of our life, but it will be different. It is different.

On Sunday we’ll be surrounded by the faces of strangers. We no longer have a church. My husband is a churchless pastor.

As I have been grieving this loss and wondering what God is up to, it hit me how wrong I am. We do have a church. Our church is just scattered.

Our church is in Seattle, Vashon, Kirkland, Gig Harbor, Hawaii and California. It’s in a small town in England and the frozen tundra of Canada — and everywhere in between.

The phone calls, FaceTime sessions, Skype calls and emails remind me that we are not alone in this. We cannot all meet together on Sunday morning, but we are still united.

We are united by the blood of Christ and our love for one another. And we are in good company. The early church was scattered too. The New Testament epistles remind us of this. They are letters, not scripts. They were written encouragements, not whispered in the quiet of a shared song or a long talk over lattes. Paul was far away from people he was ministering to. That’s why he wrote letters. And thank God he did, because now we have them.

I am not saying that there is no purpose or beauty in the local church. Far from it. The book of Acts shows us how important it is to gather together in person. To share prayers and meals. To live life together. I long for the day when we have a local church again. One where we feel like God has called us. One where we belong. But until that day, God is teaching me that church won’t always look like the “church” we are used to.

I have a church and I am so grateful for my church, scattered though it may be, one day we will all be together for all eternity. And until that day, there are text messages, emails, Skype calls, FaceTime sessions and letters. Those things have a beauty all their own. Today I am choosing to be grateful.

NEVER THERE

May 5, 2015May 5, 2015 / jessicaivaska / Leave a comment

While I was on a run this morning, an older man walking his shaggy, gray-haired dog looked at me, smiled and said, “You’re never there.”

I smiled back and tossed out a “hello,” as I kept trudging onward. I was almost “there.” My house was just around the corner. My run almost over for the day.
As my feet carried me a few more steps the realization of what he said hit me. I hadn’t understood him at first, but as his words sank in, I got mad.

“Who does this guy think he is? He doesn’t know why I’m running. He makes it sound like I’m running to something–-or from something. He doesn’t know me. Grrrrr.”

But then after few steps more and a gentle nudge in my spirit, I realized maybe he was on to something.

Maybe this guy has lived enough life to know that no matter where you’re going, once you’re “there,” there’s always somewhere else to go. The “to-do” list never ends. You never actually “arrive.”

Maybe in this moment God was speaking to me. Was this the quiet whisper of His voice, telling me that it’s ok to slow down? Reminding me of the lesson He’s been trying to teach me for decades?

It’s ok to enjoy the ride. Not only is it ok, but I SHOULD.

If i’m never gonna get “there” in this life, then there’s no rush, right?

What would it be like to be in the moment? To breathe deep because I want to, not because I’m out of breath from rushing from one thing to the next.
What if living itself is all the “there” we get this side of eternity? Surely it’s enough. I just don’t let it be.

I’m going to keep running, but hopefully I will do it because I want to, not because I’m rushing. I want to look around more. Walk some. Take in my surroundings and know that wherever I am, I’m already there. And so are you.

Thanks old guy, for the reminder. Maybe you were right after all.

Jessica Ivaska

Because Words Matter

Author: jessicaivaska