Wednesday, December 22, 2010

i get to marry Stephen Kump? you're kidding

Over the last year, I have spent my time, not only with infants, toddlers and 3-year-olds, but with Stephen Kump, the man who will be my husband in just 94 short days. To say I have not learned from interacting with him would be one of the greatest lies of my life. Quite the contrary, it is changing everything about me. But as it is with my pre-K friends, Stephen is not truly the one shaping my heart. He is not worthy of worship or even credit for the ways my soul is changed. But he does reflect brilliantly and submit obediently to the Author and Perfecter of my faith. For that I am grateful, and for that I am changed.

For the purpose of these thoughts, our story started almost exactly one year ago, but one must know that we had previously been friends for four years and arguably "more than friends" for the third year of those. On December 17, 2009 I left my parents' house after a healthy but painful break-up and returned to Woodley to join my roommates and our friends in Christmas caroling around the neighborhood. My arrival was tardy and my heart was begging numbness to afford a happy face. Only my closest friends knew what my past three hours had entailed, so I braced myself for sociability and genuinely made the best of the rest of the evening.

No sooner had my heart gasped for the first breath of "life will be more than fine" than Stephen Kump reentered my world after at least a six-month leave of absence. I truly cannot recall when I saw him before that, but certainly not while I was in a relationship or even considering it for several months prior. All of a sudden I found myself in his friendly, affectionate hug, remembering what a faithful friend he had always been. Red flag.

Our interaction was minimal as I recall, but any woman can testify that a freshly broken heart does not need much. We made eye contact during a game of charades later in the evening, and I immediately knew that my defenses needed bolstering. That night I would tell my best friend, Katie, "Question me relentlessly on anything that has to do with Stephen Kump." I knew that if I were to rebound, it would be in his direction (which may or may not have happened previously), and I knew I wanted to avoid such a response with all my might.

Two days later two of our closest friends were married. I did my best not to look at Stephen on the dance floor or be conscious of where he was at all times. I tried not to notice how handsome he was in a tux or how my heart twitched anytime my eyes met his. Just as I reached around to pat myself on the back for a day well-played, my roommates planned the annual trip to his house that he and I have sustained since our freshman year at Tech. Clearly, I was going.

Three days after the wedding I headed to Columbus by myself. My roommates had bailed on the trip they instigated, but I found myself driving down to see Katie Jones as she and her brother were the only other two going. As a means of reconciliation for giving me directions that landed me briefly in Alabama, Stephen bought my movie ticket that evening and gave me two hugs as I tried to leave for Peachtree City later on. My heart felt as though it were under a siege. I cried much of my drive home. I cried because my heart was still hurting from the recent break-up. I cried because I knew Stephen Kump knew me better and cared for me deeper than any man on earth. I cried because the distance between us seemed too great to be bridged. I cried because I knew no one else would ever come close to who he was.

When I sent my thanks for the movie ticket in a text message back at home, he responded by telling me, "You're very welcome!!! You deserve to be treated well!!" For anyone who knows Stephen Kump, and I certainly did, his enthusiasm is near explosive if he ever considers using so many exclamation points. I opened the message and groaned, already exhausted from the battle against my feelings for him. Fortunately, the next few days of Christmas distracted me for some period of time and I had a reprieve.

For whatever reason, though we had not seen much of each other in the past year, 2010 began with several good reasons for getting together or at least sending a text or two. The final season of 24 started up, and that could not go uncelebrated. Georgia Tech had a swing dance, and though we both invited a good crowd to join us, we danced more together than not (much to my frustration). Stephen turned 23 late in January which warranted a "happy birthday, old man" text. And his invitation to accompany him to the Army National Guard Ball sparked a series of awkward, confusion-revealing, emotion-sensitive text messages that we could no longer avoid.

He asked me to coffee on the first Thursday of February. I went with knotted stomach and anxious heart, fully aware that we still had feelings for each other just beneath our otherwise calm exteriors. But I was also aware that my heart was still in full rebound mode. We made small talk and discussed a few ministry opportunities, but he ultimately steered the conversation into one for clarifying our relationship potential. For the first time in five years we were perfectly honest about our feelings (mostly his) and our reservations (mostly mine) in considering a relationship with each other.

As far as I can recall, I spent the entire conversation in silent prayer, something to the effect of "Oh Lord, what are You doing? Will You please just give me words? All I need to know right this second is what to say next!" He waited about seven months to really show His hand on the first question, but He told me two things to tell Stephen that night. One: I would need at least one month before I even wanted to think about a relationship due to the state of my heart. And two: I wanted my dad to be much more involved in all of my relationships in the future because he had just read Voddie Baucham's "What He Must Be...If He Wants to Marry My Daughter."

We said goodnight, I tucked the conversation away, and went on with life for the next month without giving it much thought.

Mr. Kump, on the other hand, had walked away with an unintentionally given assignment. Read that book. Call in a month.

I was only momentarily surprised when I received a text message EXACTLY one month later to arrange a coffee date for the first Thursday in March. For the entire month I had assumed that Stephen might call sometime in March, you know, if he happened to think about it or if he still kind of liked me. It only took one second after seeing, "I suppose it's about that time. You open for starbucks later Thursday evening?" for me to remember who I was dealing with. Stephen Kump thinks about everything. Apparently, especially me.

Not surprisingly, I did not have many new thoughts for Mr. Kump at this meeting. He said the Lord was leading him to pursue this relationship. I told him that was fine but that I was not interested unless my parents thought it was a good idea, which was not currently the case. In hindsight (and from hearing it from him later), I came across quite standoffish, nearly abrasive? That was not my intent, but I knew that my heart was still not quite ready and I knew that both of our hearts could easily have feelings for each other. It had happened before; I knew it would happen again as soon as we spent any amount of time together. For both our sakes, I did not want to entangle hearts unnecessarily.

I cried myself home from that meeting as well, frustrated and confused and, if I am honest, a little put-off by Stephen's pursuit. I had no idea what I wanted in life relationally or occupationally, but I did not like what was going on. Not one bit.

Stephen left frustrated too, but not without determination. He called my dad. He made plans to visit Peachtree City. And he did.

Now, in the weeks between coffee date number two and his trip to see my dad, I became thoroughly confused. I thought the meeting with my dad would close the book on "us" with finality, but in the days leading up to it I found myself wanting it to go well, wanting Stephen to be given a chance. I could not see that being possible, but my heart had made a drastic shift away from every other relational bent and toward Stephen. As I prayed, the Lord moved my heart.

But his visit to my dad left us all astonished. He did not ask permission for us to date or even go on a few dates. He asked if he and my dad could get to know each other. He would not initiate any communication with me, but he and my dad would get lunch every few weeks. How could Daddy say "no" to that?

The next month and a half that Stephen spent "dating" my dad felt nearly tortuous at times (at least on my end). We only saw each other on a handful of occasions, but each one left me flustered and eager, somewhat twitter-pated even. My dad was a steal vault full of thoughts he was (wisely) unwilling to share after each of their meetings, and I was left to wrestle with the Lord over where He wanted my heart to be.

And this is where I first began to learn my role as the future bride of Stephen Kump and the Bride of the coming Christ.

Knowing how much Stephen Kump cared for me was undoing my heart. In an effort to protect and respect him, I spent those months praying fervently for the Lord to show me His will and not let my heart's desires be deceitful. The very last thing I wanted on earth was to allow Stephen to pursue me, enjoy his attention for a while and then realize I did not truly care for him.

But as I prayed a prayer of frustration one night after seeing him at our Cinco de Mayo party, the Lord stepped in. I was realizing that Stephen's love for me was irresistible, and it was driving me CRAZY. The look in his eyes, his willingness to help, his investment in building a relationship with my dad, his restraint in not talking to me, all made me want to be with him infinitely more than I ever imagined possible. As I poured out my heart to the Lord, He said,

"You were made to joyfully reciprocate boundless, extravagant love. I made you to respond to my overwhelming, uncomparable love for you. This is not the first time you have been loved into loving Someone. I did this first. This was my idea, not Stephen's."

The truth of the realization leaves me in awe even now. It is absolutely impossible for us as human beings to resist fathomless, costly, steadfast love. The need for it was the founding structure of our DNA as we are made in the image of God who is, in Himself, Love. And yet if He did not love us with abandon, if it were not for His love that initiated pursuit when we were far off, we never could have turned to Him. Sin has too devastatingly marred our ability to respond to God except for the passionate cross of Jesus that reaches to the depths of our depravity.

Stephen's love for me has not rescued my life in such an extreme way, but the concept is the same. That while I was resisting, mourning the loss of less devoted pursuers, and frankly discouraging to the point of all-but-complete-rejection, he made up his mind and his heart, he graciously ignored my feelings at the time, and he set his sights on making me his own. He decided ahead of time that he would do whatever it took. If not for his decision to love me, he could have easily given up with discouragement from me or the magnitude of the obstacles between us.

"Jesus, Faithful King,
Lord, with grateful hearts we sing,
How great is the love,
How great is the love of our Savior.
The weight of the cross,
The curse of our shame,
You carried it all and rose from the grave,
How great is the love,
How great is the love of our Savior."
-"How Great is the Love" by Meredith Andrews

His love is limitless.

Stephen and I were given permission to go on dates on Monday, May 10. We did so almost every other night for the remainder of the month. We began courting on Tuesday, June 1, and we knew we were to be married over Labor Day weekend in September.

The big give-away in knowing the Lord was calling me to be Stephen's wife was in his seemingly infinite knowledge of my heart. His birthday gift to me in mid-August revealed just how well he knew me and how deeply he valued who I really am. No one else on earth had figured me out so thoroughly as this man. And it is truly life-altering to be known so honestly and yet loved so genuinely.

This is why the incarnation of God was so crucial to our salvation. Jesus left heaven to come to earth so that He could really know us, know our pain, know our hearts. Not that He was lacking in any knowledge prior to His glorious condescension, but He limited Himself to the form of a man in order to know us and our depravity experientially. Yet in all of this, He loved sacrificially and intentionally.



Stephen proposed on Saturday evening, December 11 in such a way that only the love of Christ could be seen. Unaware that we were on a schedule to get to our engagement party, I was incredibly frustrated and ugly toward him for rushing through a nice dinner at the Sundial in Atlanta to make me pray on top of a Georgia Tech building in the dead of Atlanta's coldest recorded winter. Because I was not informed of Stephen's recent job offer, I was incredibly irritated that we were doing such proposal-esque things on a date that could not possibly include a knee and a ring.

I continued in my funk as he asked for the chance to lift my spirits. What I was wanting was for him to realize that he had hurt my feelings, apologize profusely, promise he will try to never let it happen again, and...I don't know. What I wanted was to be right. I thought that seeing him sorry would bring satisfaction. I was ugly, horrible, just wanting to be sure he knew that he had hurt my feelings.

But what was Mr. Kump doing? He had decided to love me and marry me. So he did what it took to get me to the place where that could happen. Kicking, screaming and nasty as I may have been on the inside, he lovingly asked for permission to love me through it all for the rest of his life.

As he read to me of love's patience and kindness, as he told me he loved me for the first time in words, and as he knelt before me to ask for my hand in marriage, every crusty crevice of my heart was washed pure by humility in the light of his love. Gratitude, love and joy replaced self-centeredness, wrath and dirge.

And so it is with me and my Savior.

When I get a true glimpse of the contrast between my filth and His radiance, His death and my life, His cross and my Hope, I cannot remain unchanged by His love. I love Him all the more because I do not deserve His in the least.

And one more thing I am learning from loving Stephen Kump.

My imagination is hardly difficult to entertain when it comes to our honeymoon destination. If he will be there, I am happy to go. (Ok, in all honesty, I would pitch a fit if he tried to drag me to Canada in March, but he knows that, so we're good.) Two things here:

1. (and this applies to many other things, most recently, my ring) Stephen wants to bless me with far more than just "what works." He has far better ideas about what is special and worthwhile than I do. When I was thinking Florida's panhandle, he was checking flights to Maui and Aruba.

and 2. Because I love him, my heart is automatically disposed to jump wholeheartedly into whatever will bring him the most joy. (I know this will not always be the case because I will always have a self-centered streak, but I pray love for him wins more often than not.) My knowledge of tropical destinations is remarkably limited, making my preferences very much the same. I really could not have ranked the Caribbean versus Hawaii if my life depended on it, but seeing Stephen's excited desire to go to Maui for the thrill of whatever adventure awaits us there was enough to take my heart their too. If that will bring him joy, count me in.

My Heavenly Father wants to give me far more than I would choose for myself. And I pray that my heart will always joyfully follow Him into what brings Him most joy and fame.

I feel quite certain that I will look back on all of this in 50 years and laugh at how much I think I have already learned. In light of what is to come, this is hardly the beginning. But I am grateful for the Lord leading me in such loving lessons right now, and I pray that my heart will be soft and teachable in the years to come, both pleasant and trying, even more-so than in this season of delight.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Rene and Brandon's Save-the-Date

Rene and Brandon are thrilled to announce
The date when they"Man and Wife" are pronounced.
They met at Toyota in Fall of 2007
When God crossed their paths with a purpose from heaven.
At first sight, Rene thought, (clearly more than a whim)
"Now I could marry someone who looks just like him!"
Brandon was smitten and would later admit,
He just couldn't resist Rene's spunk or her wit.
Their friendship developed as did love for the Lord,
And Brandon marked with a diamond the one he adored.
Thus began love and now ends their long distance,
Please save their big day and plan your attendance.
Choosing Peaches or Derby was a tough one to call,
But we look forward to sharing our day with you all!

messiest day EVER


Do not let the wide-eyed, so-fresh-and-so-clean-clean-in-my-jammies look fool you: today was, by far, mine and Juliet's messiest ever. Between a GINORMOUS POOPY DIAPER and her newfound carrot craze, I did 2 loads of laundry (in addition to what her mom did last night), gave her a bath, changed two onesies and two pairs of pants, and came home with formula crystalizing in my sleeve and carrots crusting in my jeans.

Lovely, huh?

But I learned something again (round 5,843,052) as I was feeding her carrots (round 2).

She got so excited about that next bite that she destroyed it on several occasions. She was either so caught up in the frenzy that her flailing, enthusiastic little arms knocked the spoon onto my lap or the carpet, or she was far too distracted by reaching for the bowl that contained the carrots for me to be able to feed her. She is quick and her fingers grip tightly (ask my scalp), so I realized that the bowl needed to be out of sight, and I reminded her frequently that the process works better when she does not try to help me get the spoon to her mouth.

With the bowl hidden from her view, she was able to calm down, focus on the spoon, open her mouth at the right time, and enjoy her meal. It was also far less stressful for me.

The Lord knows I can only handle the task of eating one spoonful at a time.

My hands need to rest as I trust Him to gently feed me what He knows is best.

The bowl of the future needs to be firmly out of my sight so I cannot flail at it recklessly or grip it counterproductively.

So humbling to sit in front of a carrot-faced, 6-month-old little person and realize I am looking in the mirror. What a mess I must look like to my Heavenly Father! Ha! Forget looking like one, a mess is what I am, it is all I know how to make. Graciously He takes up His wet rag of mercy again and again to wipe my mouth, He cleans my hands, He removes the stains from my garments, and He patiently waits to lead me to the next bite of His provision. And slowly, far more slowly than Juliet's development as a human being, He is making me into a new creation, the image of His Perfect Son, my Savior. With painstaking patience He feeds me what grows me into the heart of Jesus.

So grateful that His grip is tighter than Juliet's bumbo seat, that His patience is infinitely longer than my own, that His wisdom exceeds my own unimaginably more than mine exceeds Juliet's, and that He loves me and loves feeding me good things.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

please just let me cry!

Playing with Juliet these days is, overall, an exciting and entertaining activity. Hardly "work". She is learning new things every single day, and it is a blast to watch her up close.

I realized though that sometimes the best thing for her is for me to not help. Does she like this option? Not quite. But let me explain.

Crawling is the current task at hand. She can crawl backward but not forward, which is a start, but a frustrating one at that. I get a little excited every time her toys get out of reach because I hope this will be the time that she figures it out, that she raises up on her knees, coordinates their forward progress with that of her arms, and inches or even centimeters closer to what she wants.

Unfortunately that has not yet happened successfully. Quite the opposite, actually.

When toys are out of reach she responds in a very particular way. She studies them intently, focusing all her attention and effort on the object she wants most, she furrows her brow and tenses her muscles, and she puts all of her energy into very purposeful movement. However, despite the grand effort forward, the energy pushes her further away from what she wanted.

This is followed by a whimper of frustration and either another attempt, a diversion, or a break-down of gigantic proportions.

At this point I have several options.

I can let her keep trying, despite the momentary frustration, to hone her crawling skills by trial and error.

Or I can give her the toy she wants.

Most of the time, the most loving response is actually to let her cry through the exploration of her abilities and limitations. If I were to give her the toy every time, which is actually a more pleasant experience for me, she would never learn to crawl. She would think of me only as the person who entertains her, who fixes her problems, who fulfills her whims. Clearly this would not be an accurate view of reality, and if it were, we would have an even bigger issue. No one in her life should cater to this role.

In reality, when I am more focused on myself and how I feel, I am much more likely to intervene in her frustration for my own peace of mind. If I have a headache or would rather not have to pay close attention, it suits me much more pleasantly to shuffle in a new diversion the moment one loses its appeal.

Interestingly enough, though it may seem that I do not care about what she wants or how she feels, the most loving thing for me to do is to sit back and allow her to explore on her own. This does not mean that I am not protecting her; I certainly safeguard her wriggling to maintain a safe distance between her head and the corners of the walls and coffee table. This does not mean that I am not paying attention to her; my view of the situation is actually much more complete than her own.

My perspective, protection and patience actually help her learn and grow and develop despite the seemingly inactive role they sometimes produce. A few tears now will push her toward a much more enabled and fulfilling existence in just a short while.

Today I am grateful for the Lord's love that allows me to cry.

He is not my entertainer. Praise Him.

He is not the fixer of my problems. Praise Him.

He is not the fulfiller of my whims. Praise Him.

He is the Author and Perfecter of my faith. Praise Him.

He is the Creator of newness in my heart. Praise Him.

He is the Savior who has given the best and withholds no good thing. Praise Him.

One year ago my life was characterized by frequent bouts of crying for jobs and relationships and success on my terms, by my means, for my satisfaction and on my timeline.

This year the Lord has given me a glimpse of the perspective He has on my life, and I see that all those days I spent in tears before Him whimpering "why?" between sobs were not evidence of pointlessness, abandonment or disapproval. He was here, all along, protecting, paying attention, planning.

He is the One who works all things for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. His purpose is that I look more like Christ. And so He allows my tears to flow. Purifying tears that carry with them the shackles of sin and self-delight.

To have a heart more like Jesus', let me cry daily. Gratitude.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

empty bottles


Juliet frequently slurps every last drop from her bottles. I don't blame her. I'm a hungry girl too.

The other day she hurriedly got to the end of the formula but continued to suck at the air with steady ferocity. She enjoyed the motion, the sensation, the habit that is designed to procure nourishment even though the benefit had been exhausted.

On and on she went. I finally pulled the bottle out of her mouth so we could move on to burping, the only next step in a fully healthy meal.

I know I often do the same thing. I appreciate the motions so much that I hardly notice when Jesus is no longer the reward. Not that Jesus is ever in short supply; He is not. But at times I come to value the routines that lead to Jesus so much that I vigorously pursue them rather than Him.

I want to do whatever it takes to get to Him. Whatever music positions my heart to know Him. Whatever books illuminate the state of His heart and mine. Whatever relationships fuel my hunger for Truth. Whatever service softens my soul to know Him more.

I don't want to be caught up in the motions. I want the true Reward, the Richest of fare, the Bread of Life.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Introducing: Juliet




For the last two and a half months I have had the privilege of spending 45 hours of my week with the sweetest baby I have ever known. Her name is Juliet Rose and we have become fast friends.




As Juliet has only recently completed her 5th month of life, learning from loving, caring for and playing with her has only just begun, but I feel confident that the next few months of development will show a dramatic increase in life applications from our daily interactions.

The first realization I had came in the first few days. Though I am not nearly her mother, caring for her has shed new light on a Biblical truth that I have known for years.

In Isaiah 49:15 God says, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you."

Until August, I had only seen one aspect of this statement: the Lord is faithful to His people. Truth.

But as I fed Juliet on one of our first days together, I realized how much she NEEDS to be remembered. It is not just compassion from the heart of the caregiver that is astounding, but her survival is utterly dependent on the attentiveness of someone else.

She cannot eat if I do not remember to feed her.

She cannot be clean if I do not remember to change her diaper.

She cannot move or enjoy her world if I do not position her appropriately.

She cannot live.

Period.

Without the intervention of someone altogether more mature and capable, her existence would fail.

Horribly. Tragically. Rapidly.

Now she certainly would not exist at all if not for the actions of other individuals, but the life application is in her daily needs as a reflection of mine.

The only action step that Juliet may take toward having her needs met is to express her recognition of them. She can cry when she is hungry, wet or bored. After that, she is at the mercy of whoever hears her cry.

Juliet is capable only of expressing need. She does absolutely nothing else to enable me to provide for her. She does not mix her formula or make sure the bottles are clean. She does not restock the wipes or even leave her legs still to be changed. She does not turn her attention to a different interest that is also plainly in front of her.

Please do not misunderstand. These are by no means complaints about our relationship. They are merely observations, the realities of her current existence. And it is my joy to love on her by serving her in these ways.

But just as the baby is helpless apart from his mother's memory, I am hopeless apart from the Lord's. All my own efforts amount to screaming and writhing when what I need is to be washed, to be fed, to be loved. I must recognize and express my need for redemption, but I am utterly helpless in achieving it.

I cannot live rightly.

I cannot pay the penalty of my sins.

I cannot sacrifice an acceptable offering.

I cannot inherit the Spirit of God.

I cannot restore myself to the image of Christ.

I cannot live.

Period.

The Lord initiates my salvation from start to finish. He has given me no responsibilities. I am not capable of bearing a single one. He remembers me, and I live.

My mind reels as the implications multiply. How rich is the Word of God.

And as I consider the needs I meet that Juliet does not realize, I am humbled still. She knows she is hungry, but what does she know of bottled water and formula? She knows she is dirty, but what does she know of Pampers and wipes? She knows she is uncomfortable, but what does she know of laundry and pillows?

What would I know of Love?

What would I know of Joy?

What would I know of Peace?

God of Love.
Joyful King.
Prince of Peace.
Remembers me.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

my heart belongs to the Holiday Inn Express


I recently booked a night at the Holiday Inn Express for an event a few months from now.

We spent one night at the HI Express on our way to family vacation this summer. The stay was pleasant. So when I looked for a place to stay for an upcoming event, I checked out the options. Upon finding a discount and availability, I reserved a room for myself and a few other guests at the HI Express near our event.

Last weekend I drove from Atlanta to Winston-Salem to visit a friend. All along the way I looked for the Holiday Inn Express. Every such establishment I passed looked wonderful. I was ecstatic and rejoiced at every encounter.

Part of my interest was that I have never actually seen the hotel where I will be staying in a few months. I was hoping the general consensus along I-85N would indicate that the HI Express is a promising reservation in any location. My expectations were exceeded.

But on my drive home as I continued to spot and celebrate every Holiday Inn Express, I wondered why, with so much enthusiasm, I scoped out every “Lodging” sign along the interstate hoping to find a Holiday Inn to be proud of. Why was I suddenly so interested in each of these hotels that I will likely never stay in?

And then it hit me.

Because my money has been given to this establishment.

Wow.

All of a sudden what would never have earned a second glance became the landmark of my fancy, and all because $100 left my bank account to reserve a room.

One transaction.

One night.

One minor detail in a weekend that will have much more eternal consequences than two queen beds and a free breakfast.

That was all it took.

If anyone had been reading my thoughts on my road trip, they would have thought I had bought thousands of dollars in stock. No. Just one night’s stay.

And I am floored by the Truth of Jesus.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Truth bomb.

I am not legitimately obsessed with the Holiday Inn Express. But I praise God for such a vivid reminder that my heart undeniably follows my money. I pray His Kingdom will always be the primary beneficiary of the income the Lord allows me to steward.

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:19-21

drenched

Philippians 2:1-16 [and how my heart should read and respond]


So if there is any encouragement in Christ [I want to encourage others in You—use me],

any comfort from love [I need You to love genuinely through me],

any participation in the Spirit [I forfeit the opportunity for walking in the Spirit in community when my life is about me],

any affection and sympathy [only one source for genuine—Jesus Christ’s example],

complete my joy by being of the same mind [we all need to live in Your mindset, Lord Jesus],

having the same love [You made us to love this way],

being in full accord and of one mind [true harmony].


Do nothing from rivalry or conceit [let my service be genuine acts of love, never a competition or to prove I am better],

but in humility count others more significant than yourselves [humility, choosing to rank myself, my needs and desires, below those of the people around me; genuine and deep interest in my friends and family].

Let each of you look not only to his own interests [but boy, that comes naturally—my food, my news, my bedtime, my exercise],

but look also to the interests of others [their jobs, relationships, schedules, hopes, fears, joys, frustrations, pains].


Have this mind among yourselves [a command—help me obey, help me choose this mindset, help me know Truth so that this mindset is mine],

which is yours in Christ Jesus [a promise—help me know You more so I may claim it],

who, though He was in the form of God [form = very nature—let this sink in somehow, Father—the demotion even to leave heaven’s glory],

did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped [count? consider, esteem, regard—whatever His evaluation looked like, He did not act on His merited status but rather gave it to us; still He is God, Jesus released all the honor and privilege that was due Him—He did not hold onto His position to enjoy exclusively for Himself, He gave it to us, the only hope we had was in His ability and desire to sacrifice—my soul was worth more to Him than comfort and the joy of heaven],

but made Himself nothing [intentionally, did it to Himself, left all glory behind, to be considered, counted as lowly by men],

taking [because it was not His inherent nature]

the form [the very essence]

of a servant [bondservant—compelled to remain in service by love for master],

being born [BORN—God left all pomp and prestige, entered the world the messy, bloody, chaotic way, like every other man since Adam]

in the likeness of men [He took the likeness of men because we are no longer the likeness of God—He had to take on our likeness to restore it to its created glory].

And [as if that were not enough]

being found in human form [He made Himself available, findable],

He humbled Himself [SOME MORE]

by becoming obedient [being fully man, He did have a choice, but He obeyed, unlike us]

to the point of death [love required that distance of obedience—my own is so short-lived—He could have turned back, forsaken us all, but He obeyed even though it cost Him what little He had left, namely the presence of His Father and breath],

even death on a cross [as He entered like every other man, He left the world the messy, bloody, chaotic way that every man and woman deserves to die, in the place of and to save the souls of every other man since Adam--the most painful, degrading and obscene means of execution known to man at the time, killed cruelly as a display of what happens to transgressors, except that He was not one—the Romans crucified criminals so that everyone knew the consequences of mutiny—Jesus Christ was crucified because every one of us has mutinied against the Kingdom of God—only His cross, His substitution on my cross, opens wide the gate and stands as a sign of freedom from wrath for all who rejoin the Father by Him].


Therefore [because He so clearly earned and deserves it]

God has highly exalted Him [Him, Jesus Christ, no one else, not even me]

and bestowed on Him the name that is above every name [far above my name],

so that at the name of Jesus [speak Your name over me ceaselessly]

every knee should bow [acknowledging worth, honor, allegiance, deference],

in heaven and on earth [that’s me]

and under the earth, and every tongue confess [so that hearts and lives truly reveal]

that Jesus Christ is Lord [the Bondservant is my Master],

to the glory of God the Father [my reason for living].


Therefore [action item because all of this is true],

my beloved, as you have always obeyed [I wish I always had, but I want to—desperately],

so now, not only as in my presence [not so other people can see]

but much more in my absence [Lord, You know my inner heart],

work out your own salvation [living the life of Christ]

with fear and trembling [on purpose, recognizing the price He paid and the calling He’s made],

for it is God who works in you [praise Him! I am not trying in vain!],

both to will [You give desire for holiness, You inform my heart and my pursuits, You spur me on]

and to work [I make myself available, but You are the Refiner, the Craftsman, the Artist]

for His good pleasure [what You do in my heart and life is to bring You greater joy, love and glory—no other end result is as sweet, as worthwhile, as You].


Do [actually do]

all things [yes, all things]

without [lacking]

grumbling [complaining, getting huffy, having an attitude, feeling demoted or disrespected]

or questioning [be submissive, reliable, trusting that in all these things my Father is still working for His good pleasure],

that [for the following reason]

you may be [because He is interested in who I am becoming more than in what I am doing]

blameless [without fault]

and innocent [if I have been serving out of the love and example of Christ],

children of God [for that is my identity]

without blemish [above reproach]

in the midst [right alongside, surrounded by, despite my surroundings and even in contrast to]

of a crooked and twisted generation [who will take shortcuts, laugh at halfhearted work as a joke and sneer at faithfulness as a mockery, declare what is wrong to be right and what is right to be wrong, and use every opportunity to build “self” at the expense of others],

among whom [do not avoid them, be among but distinct from]

you shine [in purity and love]

as lights in the world [because Jesus, the Light of the world, lives in and through me],

holding fast [because I have to grasp something]

to the word of life [rather than power and prestige, hold Jesus, the One of greatest power and supreme prestige because He showed the greatest, humblest love],

so that [there is an ultimate goal]

in the day of Christ [however distant that rewarding day may be, when all Truth is revealed]

I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain [everything is meaningless and empty if I do not strive after Christ, all for naught if I have not revealed Him to an otherwise hopeless world by pursuing His humble love as an overflow from my heart to draw all men and women to Him].

Friday, October 1, 2010

october!


New Testament. 1.

Weekend Visit with Lauren Baggett. 2-4.

Aunt Beth’s Birthday. 3.

“Beauty and the Beast” on DVD. 5.

Smelley and Rene’s 24th Birthday. 8.

“Flags” by Brooke Fraser. 12.

Kimberly’s 23rd Birthday. 15.

Stephen Graduates at Fort Knox. 15.

Two Half Days in One Week. 20, 22.

Becca’s Bachelorette. 22.

Week Off of Work. 25-29.

Becca and Josh’s Wedding. 30.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

rain, rain

There is something unspeakably delightful about rainy Sunday afternoons. Particularly rainy Sunday afternoons in the fall.

Cooler weather is coming. Despite the fact that the high is consistently 90 degrees throughout the month of September, we know the chill will begin to creep in.

Rainy days are a preview. The rain is just cool enough to chill your bones as you pass from rain to air conditioning.

So I sit in my corner chair. Criss-cross applesauce. Snowflake pajama pants. Oversized, nerd-prized sweatshirt. Green, moose-covered socks with brakes (as my uncle would call them).

A nap will be nice. I'll get to that, I am quite certain.

But for a minute or two more, I want to sit, listen, find meaning in the rain.

It is pinging off of the roof and echoing down the water heater shaft next to my bed.

Thunder rolls in the distance and gently pulses in my chest.

The leaves flicker with the repetitive impact of rain droplets.

Everything is darker. Deeper. Richer. Saturated.

The leaves are not quite as brightly tinted as they were a few weeks ago. It takes me a solid minute of observation, but I realize that they are beginning to change. Soon their death will be a brilliant display on every corner and in every wooded view.

The rain makes life heavy. Limbs droop with the weight of water.

Change is coming. And a painful change at that.

The warmth of the sun will likely slip away even as this shower ends. The powerful rays absorbed for nutrition will weaken gradually. What is now green and thriving will begin to starve and fade.

And such is life. Not meant for homeostasis. Not meant for status quo. Not meant to stagnate.

Soon, death. And after that, new life. Though death is most certainly necessary first.

My eyelids get heavy. I am lulled to sleep by the plinking of water on the roof over my head.

And I give thanks.

For said roof.
For those with whom I am richly blessed to share it.
For one year and three weeks of life under this roof.

For change.
For the painful, refining moments of the last year and three weeks.
For seasons of dreariness, monotony, frustration.
For the strain of saturation.

For life.
For what the Lord breathes into death.
For a heart awakened to freedom, gratitude, love, boldness and discipline.
For sanctification.

For change.
For all that is to come.
For the glory of today and of tomorrow.
For evidence of my Heavenly Father's faithfulness.

For seasons.
For reminders that He has a purpose.
For His sovereignty and handiwork on display for the world to see.
For seasons of weather and seasons of life.

For grace.
For direction.
For love and for joy.

For rest.


Every evening sky, an invitation to trace the patterned stars.
And early in July, a celebration for freedom that is ours.
And I notice You in children's games, in those who watch them from the shade.
Every drop of sun is full of fun and wonder.
You are Summer.

And even when the trees have just surrendered to the harvest time.
Forfeiting their leaves in late September and sending us inside.
Still I notice You as change begins and I am braced for colder winds.
I will offer thanks for what has been and what's to come.
You are Autumn.

And everything in time and under heaven finally falls asleep.
Wrapped in blankets white, all creation shivers underneath.
And I notice You when branches crack and in my breath on frosted glass.
Even now in death You open doors for life to enter.
You are Winter.

When everything that's new has bravely surfaced, teaching us to breathe.
What was frozen through is newly purposed, turning all things green.
So it is with You and how You make me new with every season's change.
And so it will be as You are recreating me.
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Potty Literature

I am a reader. Fact.

I read everything. Multiple times. Every time I see it. Compulsively.

On the tube of toothpaste: “For best results squeeze tube from bottom and flatten.”

On cereal boxes: “To open, lift tab and slide finger to left and right.” “To close, insert tab here.”

On the back of Mergs’ car: “America’s greatest little city, LaGrange, Ga.”

Above the sink in restaurant bathrooms: “Employees must wash hands before returning to work.”

On a book coming down the stairs at Juliet’s house: “Ambulatory Medicine.”

On our fridge: “Pray for Katie.”

Perhaps you’re beginning to get the picture. It is a frustrating obsession.

However, sometimes I do read meaningful things. And I hear from the Lord in the most random places.

Most recently: the guest bathroom at the McCormick’s house.

Above the hand towel: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.” 1 Corinthians 2:9.

I do love my water, so I had the privilege of reading this framed verse a handful of times in the five hours I spent in the McCormick home.

Though I have heard this verse for most of my life and even experience this Truth on a regular basis, it struck me in a new way as I studied it that Sunday afternoon.

The joy and pleasure of heaven is beyond our wildest imagination, utterly incomprehensible, sweeter than our most precious hopes.

What He has prepared for us in new creation is that which we were made for in the beginning: Himself. Unhindered physical, spiritual, mental and emotional access to the glorious Creator awaits us. The most intimate and delightful fellowship with the Originator and Definition of Love is ours. The faintest longings of our souls at this very moment will be infinitely satisfied in the One who made us in His image. We cannot be complete until we rest in Him.

He is so Otherly.

No eye has seen—because everything we see is fallen.

Nor ear heard—because the notes of Perfection are imperceptible to ears marred by lies and mutiny.

Nor the heart of man imagined—because our sin nature cripples our imagination.

What God has prepared—and what painstaking preparation it has required. He first conceived the idea, pursued the rescue mission, paid the blood-price to invite us in, conquered death that we may enjoy Him eternally, and granted His Spirit to live within the hearts of His followers, all that our names may be written in His Book of Life.

For those who love Him—if the heart does not love God, there is no inheritance. Desire is paramount from both the Pursuer and the pursued. The Pursuer has made His move. He pursues still.

I had always read this with the present in mind, with this life in mind. I thought, “Sure, God’s plans for my life one year, one decade, one-quarter century from now, are much better and far more glorious than anything I can fathom.” And I do believe that is true.

But how much more wonderful is the hope of heaven! That He loves us so perfectly to offer us what is best, the satisfaction we were created for.

He offers us Himself.

Today.

Tomorrow.

And every tomorrow after that.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Sleepless Savior

Wrote this summer 2009, found it today, posting it because.....He said to.

Sleepless Savior,
hold my hand,
kiss my heavy eyes with love,
because I'm restless
and I'm striving
to hold what You're in control of.
I wait for You,
the wings You promise,
For You are faithful timelessly
Never weary, I am trusting
Sleepless Savior carries me

reciprocity.

Father, so many thoughts about this day,
this life,
this time,
this Word.
Reciprocity, theme of year.
You, him, faith, love.
Reciprocity conquers sin.
Reciprocity breathes life.
My heart is full,
Words are painfully inadequate.
Breaking through the noise some days,
Crashing through the silence others,
Your still, small voice,
Your strong, sure voice,
"I love you. That is all."
As all slip through my fingers,
self-righteousness,
pride,
fear,
got-my-act-togetherness,
Your sweet words envelope me.
"I love you. That is all."
Not a guilt trip, not a scolding.
Gentle reminders of what You promise.
Unending,
unshakable,
undeserved,
unfathomable,
uninhibited.
Love.
All at once both strikingly free and immeasurably costly.
The wrath I earned was exchanged.
Before I knew,
before I could ask,
before I realized,
before I lived.
Love.
And now in my heart.
Indwelling Love.
Powerful, conquering, sin-squelching.
And when I try to fight,
when pride twists my thoughts, my motives, my mind,
when I want to look most holy.
Love.
Humility immediately follows.
So lead me.
Destroy me.
Recreate me.
For Your glory.
Because Your love, it overwhelms, it drowns.
To be plunged into Your ocean of grace,
response is only one of gratitude, praise,
dependence,
trust,
simply to the cross I cling.
Love.
All my life, embodiment of reciprocity.
Love. Boldness. Discipline.
Love.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

the striped throne


The pastor of Atlanta Westside opened the Sunday morning service this week with a prayer that has played through my mind over and over in the days since.

He prayed, "Heavenly Father, we come before Your throne as children running to their father's lap as he sits in his easy chair."

You see, Daddy used to sit in a blue and white striped chair. I suppose it might be classified as a recliner, but it came with a matching ottoman that gets pulled around the living room to this day. Though the chair has been recovered in a light yellow to match the French redecoration that overwhelmed the main floor, and though it now sits in a corner watching its lesser half monopolize utility, that chair is special.

On any given evening during my early childhood, you would be hard-pressed to find me anywhere other than in that chair next to Daddy. We ate popcorn and watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy almost every night.

The thought never crossed my mind that that chair was designed for only one person. I cannot recall a single moment's hesitation to climb up in that chair, wedge myself comfortably (for me at least, though I'm sure Daddy took an elbow to the ribs on more than one occasion) between the armrest and my big, cozy dad, and help myself to all the privileges that position entitled me to.

The primary highlight, and the thing I remember most, was the popcorn. Daddy would fix us a snack in his Stir Crazy Popcorn Popper and we would put it down while we watched our shows. Not that he needed any help at all to finish off that huge bowl (some things never change), but I had a special job. Anytime he dropped a piece, I would snag it off his tummy and eat it. Writing that now makes it sound weird, but I thought it was the funniest thing. It gave me something to chuckle at, it made me feel needed, it somehow deepened my love for Daddy.

The other activity for which that chair was utterly essential was Beauty Shop. Daddy and I loved to play hair! On a few occasions he styled mine too, but for the most part I delighted to go to work washing, conditioning, cutting and accessorizing his hair. For these appointments, Daddy would slide off the chair and onto the floor to lean up against it as I set up shop above him. I would vigorously wash and condition his hair with all my might. Then I skillfully clipped every barrette in my possession (an impressive collection) into Daddy's hair. These events were eagerly anticipated by both of us!

Sitting in that striped chair with Daddy may be one of my most meaningful childhood memories.

My heart has not been able to let go of that prayer since Sunday. I have continued to pray about the statement and ponder what it means to truly approach the throne of grace as a child of God. And every time I think about it, I think about Daddy, and I think about the chair.

I think of confidence.

So often when I think about approaching the throne of grace with confidence, I feel the need to muster it up, to put it on, to talk myself into the right, free mindset that has been promised to Christians. It is almost as if I need to convince myself.

When I think about how I climbed into the chair with my dad, I realize I never gave it a conscious thought. I never questioned my welcome. I never questioned my right. I never questioned his generosity. I never questioned the depth of our affection. I was his daughter. Therefore, everything that he enjoyed was mine to enjoy as well. The chair, the popcorn, the television. Of course I would take my place next to him. That was where I belonged. I can only imagine that any question of these affections would break the heart of such a loving parent.

I so desire to approach my Heavenly Father with this confidence. Confidence in His heart that is lodged so deeply within mine that I never question His generosity or affection, His sacrifice or love. Just as there was never a need for analysis when I approached the striped chair, never a need for hesitation, I want my adoption as a daughter of God to course so freely through my veins that I never for a moment keep my heart from my Father.

"Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Hebrews 4:16

I think of joy.

Daddy and I both enjoyed our time in the chair. Especially Beauty Shop time. Daddy got a thorough scalp massage, I got to play with hair. What more could we ask for? We enjoyed each other. It was simple. It was sweet. It was life-giving.

The more my heart grows away from inhibition, the more my Father and I may enjoy one another. Free to laugh, free to enjoy, free to cry, free to be.

"For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, 'Abba! [Daddy!] Father!'" Romans 8:15

I think of relationship.

When Daddy was at work, I never thought twice about sitting in that chair. My default reclining location of choice was on the love seat any other time of day. The chair was just that, a chair, unless Daddy was there. He was the highlight. He was the prize. His love was my delight. Not comfort. Not food. Not employment. Daddy.

In the same way, the throne of God, the expanse of heaven, is meaningless if He is not there. No space is worth inhabiting if the great I AM is not found there. The promise of a throne is empty unless it is overwhelmed by the presence of Jesus Christ. Even His throne is just a chair unless the Lord God is seated there.

"The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne." Revelation 3:21



Thank you, Daddy, for loving me in a way that reveals the heart of God for me. I know my understanding is still so limited, but I am undeserving and grateful to have you as my earthly father. We, as in me and God, love you so much.



Thursday, July 22, 2010

more insight from Liam on seeking

Already hide and seek

Liam showed me the other aspect of the soul in hide-and-seek yesterday. The Atlanta heat and humidity gave me the opportunity to be his indoor jungle jim as we played in his tent and connecting tunnel. Given my size relative to the tent, I did not have the option of moving around and looking for him. Still he made a game out of finding me halfway in and halfway out over and over and over again. He crawled through the tent door over my hips, rolled onto the floor in front of me, sat up and proudly announced, "Hi!" Then he would race through the tunnel to come around and do it all over again. Despite the fact that I was always right where he left me, I realized he was enjoying the search too.

We were made to be searching all life long. Yes, we deeply desire to be found, but we also know we have to pursue something beyond what is offered by culture or politics or our parents. And in our searching we are found.

Great happiness is found in finding something for which one has searched. If I never search for anything, I am never delighted by finding anything. The search is indicative of desire, of hope, of aspiration, of need.

How much greater then is the elation when we find more than what we were looking for? Several months ago I looked in an old wallet for coupons and found $115 instead. Coupons would have been exciting, but I was beside myself when I found cash. In the same way, Liam loves to find me, but when he finds a ridiculous expression on my face or when I scoop him up to hug and tickle him he is even more enthusiastic about finding me than before.

Our role in the divine story of hide-and-seek is not a passive one. God is the Author of all searching and of all being found. He is passionate about finding us because we bear His image. But He is equally passionate about being found by us because our greatest delight in Him is His glory.

We are made in His image and therefore come to life in both searching for Him and being found by Him. We do not earn holiness or privilege by searching for Him; all merit was won by Jesus Himself. But we know and enjoy Him most when we set our hearts toward finding Him in all things.

Eternal joy is found in searching for Jesus Christ. He wants to be found. And He will always be greater than we ever dreamed.

"You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord,..." Jeremiah 29:13-14

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!" Psalm 34:8

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

still playing peek-a-boo

boy-oh-boy have I missed this one!!

Liam has taught me many spiritual life lessons these past 11 months. Our last week together is proving to be no different.

We have played some version of peek-a-boo almost every day we've spent together. Whether it has been the literal game where I cover my face and then shout "peek-a-boo!" as I move my hands away, or the simplified 2-year-old version of hide-and-seek, we have had several hours of fun looking for each other.

Yesterday as I changed Liam's post-nap diaper, he put his hands over his eyes and the game began again: "Where's Liam?! I cannot find him anywhere! Where did he go??" With the biggest smile and my favorite giggle he quickly put his hands down and relished my exaggerated look of surprise and relief over having found him. He laughed his deep belly laugh and quickly covered his face again. We could have continued indefinitely.

Some days the game is that simple. Some days he actually hides himself behind the kitchen curtains so I have to rustle through them to find him. But I realized yesterday that he will always love being found. I still love it. And I bet you still love it too (although I doubt we really think about it that regularly).

The thrill takes different forms as we grow older, but the relief and excitement of being found is imprinted on our souls just the same. Sure, I still enjoy hide-and-seek when I babysit, but I more deeply enjoy being known, understood, and pursued as time goes on. There is deep satisfaction to be found in sharing one's soul with friends. I see this with my roommates: they see my sin on a regular basis, yet they pursue time with me, they find and love me despite my sin, and we grow closer every time we know each other better and choose to love each other more.

Or think of nicknames. I have more nicknames right now than I have ever had in my life. To be honest, there are several that I did not prefer when they first came into use. But there is something about a nickname that endears the hearts of those who use them. To my way of thinking, a nickname says, "I know you too well to call you what everyone else calls you. I've begun to find out who you really are and I have no intention of stopping right here."

Kelly Clarkson even speaks on behalf of the human race through her platform in pop culture in her song, "You Found Me."

"You found me when no one else was looking
How did you know just where I would be?
Yeah, you broke through all of my confusion
The ups and the downs and you still didn't leave
I guess that you saw what nobody could see
You found me."

I think we were designed for this. Someone is looking for us. He always has been. He always will be.

"Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost...Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost...It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found." Luke 15

"O Lord, you have searched me and known me!...Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there!...For you formed my inward parts;...How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!...Search me, O God, and know my heart!" Psalm 139

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

writing out of the pit

In my mind I am a wretch
Stark reality is filth
Boils of pride, consumed with self
Wreaking violent guilt
Eyes cast down see only sin
Hopelessness enshrouds
Suffocated, choking cough
Engulfed in hell's hot clouds
But then I know You with me
Scandalous meeting here
Holy God to wretched girl
Whispers something in my ear
They are love words soft and pure
Set all my tear drops free
Soothing warmth heals inside out
His blood is liberating me
Blessed power from the throne
Of the One who became sin
Precious presence of His grace
Letting me begin again
Born anew in Spirit life
No longer blistered, bruised and sore
Robes of righteousness now mine
The cost too great to now forget
Or not believe the Truth
Faithful Love is faithful still
Though object is uncouth
Power flows when mind is set
Spirit-fixed is life
Death abounds on days of flesh
Source of crushing strife
Love so steady hems me in
Before and behind
Present, attentive, listening
Eager for me to find
Blessed tomb stands empty still
Though Enemy's contradictory
I spoke with Christ this morning
He's giving me His victory