beauty

OUT OF CONTROL 

/ jessicaivaska / 5 Comments

I checked the weather forecast. Multiple times. 

It looked like we were done with freezing temperatures – not that we had many this year. I spent a week hardening off the seedlings I’d planted in January. That means I put them outside for longer stretches each day to get them used to the elements before bringing them back in and letting them cozy up again. 

None of them wilted or withered during their lengthening exposures. 

Things were looking good. So I checked again. And again, just to be safe. 

I even looked at the long-range forecast. Nothing below 32 was expected and we were expecting a lot of rain in the coming week. Perfect! I figured the rain could water in the seedlings if I got them in the ground quickly enough. 

Afterall, they were cold-hardy varieties.

Broccoli, cabbage and lettuce. The tomatoes will have to wait a few more months, but these, I told myself, would be fine. 

A grabbed the seed trays, my garden gloves and a trowel. 

As I dug into the freshly fertilized soil with a layer of rich compost on top, I imagined the salads I’d make from the greens. I pictured myself picking tender broccoli and sauteing it for dinner. Perhaps with fresh garlic and a squeeze of lemon. 

My favorite time of year – the time of harvest – was just around the corner. I was sure of it. 

The first few days went well. The forecasted rain watered the seedlings – a kiss from God to help them settle into their new homes. 

I checked them each day and everyone was surviving.

Then, today, I woke up to snow. At least an inch by 7am. 

I could be fretting. I could rush out in my flannel pajamas with plastic sheeting to try to cover my plants. But I’m choosing not to. 

Instead, I’m tucked under a blanket inside, raptured by the beauty of the unexpected snowfall. 

The coating of white on the driveway, lawn, and trees – up to about 2 inches now – is idyllic. The frosting on my world, covering up the debris from a windstorm two nights ago, brings calm. Unexpected  – but often longed for –  peace.  

In that peace is the reminder that I am not in control. God is. 

I could have waited to plant my first seedlings. 

I could have not trusted the weather report.

But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. 

I can do my best – give my garden everything I can to help it flourish – but the growth isn’t up to me. I have no control over the elements. No control over how cold it gets, how much snow will fall, or conversely, how hot and dry the summer might get. 

And while lack of control often infuriates me (I’m guessing I’m not alone in that), today all I’m seeing is beauty. 

I think that’s the lesson I needed today, in this season of my life. 

No matter how much I plan, I’m not in control. The unexpected will happen and as hard as I try, there’s nothing I can do about it. 

This lack of control is both beautiful – because we are in the hands of a loving and gracious God – and terrifying. 

I often try to control things to avoid pain and suffering. I tell myself if I do everything just right, things will go well…or at least not terribly. And while I bear responsibly for my actions and decisions, I have to remember that I am not in control of the outcome. 

Will all the seedlings I planted die? 

Maybe. But even if they do, I still got the January Magic of watching them pop out of the soil for the first time. 

I still got to watch them grow and stretch towards the light. 

I still got to dig into the rich soil and settle the small tangles of roots into the earth.

I still got to dream about their future.

So today, as I watch the flakes continue to fall, I’m choosing to be grateful for those experiences. While I don’t have control over what happens next, I am choosing to rest in the almighty power of the God who holds all things in His nail scarred hands.

I am choosing delight and wonder.

I am choosing to celebrate the beauty of the unexpected. 

I am choosing to be out of control in the best possible way. 

Will you choose that, too? 

TRUE BLUE

/ jessicaivaska / 1 Comment

bluechair

The newest thing at my house is blue. Midnight blue. It’s hard but smooth, and has angles I’d never want to try to measure without a protractor.

And it’s glorious.

So what is this thing? It’s my birthday present. And in fact, there’s not just one, but two.

Two midnight blue, sleek, wooden (that part is key) Adirondack chairs. They sit outside as you walk up to our house, and seeing them makes me smile. And it also makes me wonder why it took us so long to get them.

I’m a person who loves being outside. I always have. I love the mountains, the ocean, parks, sunshine, and sitting outside at coffee shops. The green and blues of nature remind me that God is there and that He is good.

So when we moved to a place with a patio, you’d think the first thing I’d do would be to set up an outdoor space. But it wasn’t. Why? Because I was afraid of spending the money. So, instead we bought some used plastic chairs. Within two weeks they had cracked. Within a month they had scratched. Still, they were what we had, so I didn’t think much of it.

Until my husband told me that for my birthday he was getting me real, wooden Adirondack chairs.

We picked them out, came home and put them together and we spent the next two hours siting outside, talking, sipping on a cocktail and then eating dinner.

In the last two weeks I’ve spent more time sitting outside my little house than I have the three years combined. Why? Because I have something real and solid to sit in.

Yes, they cost more than the generic plastic chairs. Yes, they might chip or fade over time. But every penny was worth it. It was worth it for the quality. It was worth it for the joy it brings to me when I walk out in the morning with my Bible and a steaming mug of jasmine tea.

And it was worth it for what they say.

Those chairs speak loudly. They remind me that my husband he sees me. He knows me and knows what makes me smile. He knows what feeds my soul and he’s willing to spend the money to give it to me, even when I won’t spend it on myself.

And that is love. Real, true blue, stable, won’t crack when you sit on it love. And it’s pretty magnificent.

CROW’S FEET CONFESSIONS

/ jessicaivaska / 2 Comments

photo-1459609336665-6ef3866c8930

I’ve been looking at my friends faces a lot lately. Looking at their Instagram posts, zooming in on Facebook pictures, looking closely at them when we are talking. I wish I could say it was because I just can’t get enough of them. That they are all so beautiful I have to stare.

There is some truth to that. They are beautiful, and yet, I’m not looking at them in admiration. There are two other reasons—and those reasons are ugly.

1. Comparison
2. Jealousy

I know I am not the first person to compare myself to others. Sadly, I also won’t be the last. I think it’s part of the Fall. I don’t have a specific scripture in mind to back that up, but I know I could make a biblical case for it.

That said, here’s a glimpse inside how I compare—it may or may not be different than how you do. I look at someone I know or admire, and then see how I stack up. Often I do this in things that the world sees as flaws. Now that I’m in my mid-thirties, it’s taken a very specific focus: wrinkles.

Yep, wrinkles.

I have some and I hate them. So if I look at people that I love and admire and see that they have wrinkles too, somehow it quiets the anxiety inside me. Somehow it makes me feel like I’m ok. After all, if women whom I admire and love have wrinkles, then surely, wrinkles are ok. Right? RIGHT?

Once I get to the place of recognizing that amazing, lovely, awe-inspiring women have wrinkles too, that’s when #2 kicks in—jealousy.

Jealousy? “You, Jessica, are jealous of wrinkles?”

Yep. I’ve (mostly) accepted the fact that wrinkles happen, so now I want the best wrinkles I can have. In my opinion, those are the smile lines and crow’s feet. Those little creases that not only show that you’ve lived a few years of life, but that you’ve lived it happily.

Those are not the wrinkles I have. I have the furrowed brow kind. The ones that show that I’ve spent hours and years thinking, wrestling, despairing and, well, frowning.

Just the mere fact of writing that down is causing me anxiety. The next time one of you who reads these sees me, I fear your eyes will go straight to my forehead. And yet, I’m on a journey. A long journey to accept myself in the way that God made me. And part of that is the furrows that show that I think deeply, and fret, and ponder.

Do I wish It was different? Yes, sometimes I do. But in wishing things were different—wishing I was different—I think I’m missing out on what this life is really about. Loving. Not by comparing. Not by putting someone on a pedestal, but by seeing who they really are—people made in God’s own image. People He loves enough to have created and chased after. People He died for. People He still is still chasing after today.

I want to see people that way. I want to see you that way. And really, I want to see myself that way. I want to put aside the comparison and the jealousy and just be. I want to be me, and I want you to be you. I want to not care if my face has wrinkles—or what kind it has—and just be thankful that I get to breathe deeply, feel sun on my face, and live in a world full of beautiful, wrinkled (and non-wrinkled) people who were all made in the image of God.

 

TAKE DOWN YOUR MIRRORS

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see-through

We recently moved. It has been rough. We loved the place we were in before and are less than enamored with our current residence. But in the midst of feeling uncomfortable, unsettled and uncertain, I am trying to be open to what God can teach me. I have a feeling there’s a lot to learn in this season. One of the things that I’ve already noticed is how not having many mirrors has affected me.

Our old place—the one we loved—was built in the 80s with mirrors everywhere. Some of them were brilliantly placed. There were full walls of mirrors in the living room and bedroom to amplify the ocean and mountain views. Both bathrooms had a full wall of mirrors above the counters—no dainty mirrors there—and of course, the closet in the bedroom had, you guessed it, mirrored doors. Even on the elevator ride to our seventh floor unit we were surrounded by mirrors.

As someone who has spent far too much time analyzing my body, and face, and hair, and clothes, I didn’t realize how living surrounded by mirrors in some ways magnified my insecurities. If my stomach was sticking out a bit more than I would like on any given day—or all of them—there was no hiding. I saw it everywhere. Even after throwing on a t-shirt and a hat to take the dog for a walk, I’d scrutinize my appearance for seven floors, wondering what people would think—what they would see—when they looked at me. It was second nature. It always has been. I guess that’s one of the lingering symptoms of years battling an eating disorder.

Yet…and yes, there is a blessed yet, I don’t do that here. Here in this place that doesn’t feel like home. This place where we are grateful we have a six-month lease, instead of a full year. Here I don’t look at myself nearly as often. The best part is not that I don’t miss it, but that I feel better not staring at my humanity hundreds of times a day.

This new place has exactly two mirrors. One in the tiny bathroom above the sink. It’s small, only enough for one person to use at once. The second one is also small. We put that one up so that when Erik and I are both getting ready at the same tine I have somewhere to do my hair and makeup.

There are no full-length mirrors, no haunting reflections. There’s no place for me to look at my entire outfit and frown when I don’t like what I see. And there’s been freedom in it. Freedom in the lack of mirrors. Freedom in glancing at what I look like once and then forgetting about it as I go about my day.

I’ve realized, in a culture so obsessed with appearance, mirrors allow us to keep obsessing. It may not kill us, like it did Narcissus, but then again, it might already be eating away at us in ways we hadn’t realized.

What about you? How many mirrors do you have in your home? Do they help you or hinder you? I’m finding a silver lining in not being surrounded by my reflection. In fact, when we move again, I’ll keep that in mind. But man, do I miss the air conditioning, ocean view and swimming pool.