OPK

My new favorite acronym? OPK.

Stands for Other People's Kids and expresses frustration at the lack of or ill parenting said children receive and the negative consequences we all experience therefore.

As JuBe matures toward and beyond her 2nd birthday this Friday, we find ourselves bumping into these OPKs everywhere we go. From the Hippo Hopp to story time to the playground, they are swarming. Certainly not every other child we interact with is obnoxious and in need of a spanking, but the ones who are tarnish the title for all the rest.

For instance, at the Hippo Hopp last week J was climbing up the steps to slide down one of the inflatable slides when a line started to form behind her. And then right behind her. And then almost on top of her as one red-faced, bratty girl screamed at J, "You need to go faster! Hurry up!"

Whether it surprises you or not I have no way of knowing, but my blood reached boiling point in a hot second as I realized this little dweeb would give no thought to climbing over my JuBe if she took any longer. And so I snapped. Not viciously, not loudly, not hatefully. At least I hope not...

"Hey! She's smaller than you so you need to slow down, have some patience, and be kind!"

By then Juliet was thoroughly freaked out and slid down the ladder underneath the waiting OPKs to crawl out the entrance to me in tears. 

Seething. Livid. Katie.

Yes, I did take this picture of Juilet and Sam today knowing that the situation would find its way to the blog.

Today we find ourselves at the sandbox alone when a freshly-turned 4-year-old arrives with her grandfather to play. A handful of sand toys live at the park these days, but today the majority were Juliet's toys, ones I eagerly encourage her to share because Jesus shares with us. So this OPK sits next to me for a few minutes, her name is Sam, and we talk about her birthday and her painted nails and whether or not Juliet is a baby.

When the conversation slows Sam asks me if I would like to build a sandcastle with her. If I am brutally honest, I had zero interest in doing this. Juliet has not hit that benchmark of sandbox discovery yet, and so I try to let her entertain herself as much as possible unless she brings me into play. I forget now how I skirted the issue, but Sam eventually lost interest and contented herself to play with our toys. Not a problem.

Until she starts to ask me to bring her our toys across the sandbox to where she's sitting. As I encourage Juliet to share with her and serve her, Sam gets bossier and bossier, hoarding our toys in the center of the sandbox, and chasing Juliet away from the toys with a snappy whine she had clearly practiced before.

All the while Grandpa is sitting behind me, not saying a word, possibly not even hearing a word of it, probably watching, definitely doing nothing. 

And my temperature rises some more. And I cannot figure out how to coach Juliet through this coup d'etat of the sandbox.

"Ok, Lord, how do I handle this? How can I show love to this OPK? How should I help Juliet respond? Where is the gospel here? How do I teach Juliet to show grace while also assuring her that I am ultimately fighting for her? (If any moms want to chime in on this issue, please do!) Because right now I just don't care about Sam, though I can tell this is not an uncommon occurrence."

And as I realized that the feelings must only intensify exponentially when the child being wronged is your own, the weight of Jesus' crucifixion landed squarely on my heart and mind.

Father, how did you watch, allow, plan to subject Your Son to such treatment?

No matter what OPKs do, there is always sin in Juliet to be straightened out in any situation.

But what about Jesus? Deserving none of his mistreatment, contributing nothing to His guilt, how could You do that?

How could Your fiery wrath burn against His murderers and yet be consummated on His innocence? 

It is no wonder You looked away. To see our sin, our rebellion, our self-worship, manifest in Your Son-became-sin must have been unbearable. Utterly devastating.

And so I don't have any pretty bow to wrap this up in, but let it bother me to gratitude daily. That my love for Juliet is so much less than You, Father, love Jesus. And that my hatred of sin is so diluted from Your's as holy.

Let me wrestle and come away changed each day by the sacrifice you made. 

"For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." 2 Corinthians 5:21

"I tan't see!"

As Juliet approaches her second birthday and grows more and more conversant every day, I wonder even more how much of my personality is rubbing off on her. Many parents have told me that the most convicting thing about having children is to see your own sin in their little hearts and lives. Well, whether it's my influence or our shared birth order as first children, we are both experts at one thing: backseat driving.

If you have ever driven me anywhere, you can almost certainly attest to this. I like to know where I'm going, I generally do, I pay attention to your driving, and I rarely hesitate to offer navigational advice from your backseat. I could go ahead and blame it on my dad, world's best driver, rides with no one, seasoned Atlanta commuter for 20 years. In all honesty, I did learn from the best. But the truth is, I probably owe you an apology for bossing you around when you were, in fact, serving me.

Rest assured, I am getting a heaping dose of my own medicine these days as Juliet and I scoot around town to music class, story time, and parks across north Atlanta. 

It started a few months ago with, "How 'bout....this way?" as she points opposite my turn signal at every stop light or sign. I try to explain, "We can't go that way because the park/stories/music is this way." Funny how little she understands of the concepts despite her ability to say all the words. Sometimes she'll even pucker her lips, furrow her brow, and pout, "But I don't want to go that way."

(I wish I could express through writing how comical her pronunciation is these days. All -ck sounds are still -t, most -n and -g sounds are -d, and -w is likely to be -v.)

As her color identifying skills have been perfected in the last month, she has become fascinated with announcing traffic light status reports every chance she gets. It goes something like this:

"The wight is wed. Wed means stop!" ("The light is red. Red means stop!")

"The wight is deed. Doe, Tayee, doe!" ("The light is green. Go, Katie, go!")

She gets particularly concerned when I turn right on red, a grey-area her baby-mind cannot quite grasp yet.

But my personal favorite of the last two weeks has come about when we stop behind several bigger cars at a light. Juliet strains with all her might to peer around the front seat in order to give her light color report.

"I tan't see! I tan't see!"

And then.

"Tayee and Juyet are stut! Dat bid tar's in da way!" 

I try to explain two things, neither of which seem to go over very well.

"It's ok, JuBe, you don't need to see. Katie can see, and only Katie is driving."

Followed by.

"We're not stuck, sweet girl. We are just waiting for our turn."

She will typically calm down for a moment, but it's only a matter of time before we find ourselves "stut" at another of the five thousand lights around the Perimeter Mall area. 

And as much as I start to feel bored of the conversation by the fifth round on a one-way ride, I have to chuckle and know I do the same thing to Jesus. "I can't see! I can't see! We're stuck! That big ____ is in the way!"

And it is just as absurd for me to worry as it is for Juliet. Tucked into His arms of grace, buckled in by His blood, I am just along for the ride. Same as with Juliet, my ability to see or make navigational choices is not critical to getting where I'm going. Oh for sure, I could mutiny and take back the wheel. Sometimes I do. But if I am trusting Jesus to drive, I can relax and enjoy His company.

Week 52

Last Sunday I got to take down Week 52 from the kitchen countdown. The scripture written on it made for a time of prayer and reflection as I got ready to face another week.

Psalm 126:5-6 says:

"Those who sow in tears

shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping,

bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy,

bringing his sheaves with him."

Such a passage could not have possibly been more fitting for Sunday evening. Sundays are hard. Period.

Church without Stephen is hard.

Sabbath rest without Stephen is hard.

Staring down another week without Stephen is hard.

Crying in public is hard.

Sundays are just hard.

So when I read about tears and weeping I immediately connected. Ok, Lord. I've got the tears and weeping part down. No problem.

But I realized that the focus of these verses needed to be that the tears and weeping were not primary actions here. They are descriptors of the manner in which something else is done: sowing and bearing the seed.

What do You want me to sow? What seed have You given me to bear? What harvest are You plowing and sowing for?

Praying for direction, purpose and drive as I cry these tears for sowing over the next 51 weeks. Praying I go out intentionally. Praying the Lord brings a harvest of fruit one hundred fold of every tear I cry--that would be a truck load of fruit. And because I can imagine it, I know He will do even more.

let's go get a snack

Picture it.

We're at the park. It's time to go home. We've swung on the swings. We've slid down the slide. We've toted sticks around. We've watched the other kids.

The flurry of activity is fascinating and enthralling to Juliet's eager brown eyes.

In the midst of this commotion, "Let's go home," does not register. No response. Flat line. 

However, "Want to go get a snack?" works every time.

Her head pops up, her whole body reacts, and she gives an enthusiastic "sssssnA--!" (Still working on the -CK sound, which means I obviously remain nameless.)

I lead the way and she begins to follow me. Fantastic.

But then another kid runs in front of her and across the playground, fully unaware that he has taken her attention span hostage in that journey. "C'mon, JuJu, let's go." I try to get her back on track. I offer her my hand, I walk on ahead of her, but she's lost.

"C'mon, this way. Let's go get our snack."

Back on track. Full speed ahead.

Until she sees the big kid swings. Repeat.

"...snack."

Headed to the car.

A captivating piece of trash or a particularly pretty stick.

"Our snack..."

Finally we make it back to the car, turn on the AC, and enjoy some raisins and juice.

Funny how 50 yards is such a trek for 15-month-old legs. It takes a while to toddle halfway across a football field, too long for a 15-month-old mind to focus on completing such a task.

Fascinating how the goal must be called to memory frequently if we are ever going to make it across the playground to the car. It is quite an effective method.

I am grateful that the Lord has the same smiling compassion on my lapse of memory that I have on Juliet. So many things to take my tiny mind off the goal. But I pray I will always be quick to respond to just one word from Christ in shepherding me back in the right direction.

Grateful for a husband, for parents, for leaders and for friends who are quick to speak that word as well.

Hope.

Eternity.

Love.

Joy.

Grace.

Gratitude.

toddler school drop out

Juliet is just entering the age of rapid growth and learning. It seems that over the course of just a few weeks she is now running, saying her first words, chewing food well, climbing and blowing kisses. Every day with her is an adventure--I love every second of it!

As she begins to learn more and more about the world around her, I think I will begin to learn more and more from her.

The first of these lessons came today.

Along with the joys of exploration and development come the trials of discipline, temper tantrums and life lessons.

If my previous experience with toddlers and preschoolers is any indication at all, I have a feeling that Juliet and I will prove to be quite alike in our basic needs and how we perceive them.

This week at breakfast she has yet to finish a bowl of cereal (we do thoroughly differ on that point). This morning, for instance, she ate about two-thirds of the bowl before melting down. The entire ordeal begins with her evasion of the spoon approaching her mouth. She dives around it, arm outstretched, reaching for the entire bowl, chirping, "egh! egh! egh! egh!" She is growing up and I can appreciate that. I encourage it, even. So I offer to let her feed herself. I hand her the spoon briefly, but as soon as she crashes it on her tray to stick her fingers in the mush I change my strategy for partnership.

After regaining control of the spoon, I gently grab her little hand on my way to her mouth, so that she could help me shovel it in. That worked approximately once.

Frustrated with her lack of control over the cereal, she arches her back, throws her new curls further behind her, points with a strain toward the pantry and begins again: "egh! egh! egh! egh!"

"What do you want, JuJuBe?" I try. "Can you use your words?"

At this point she does calm down just a little bit. She knows her first approach is not the behavior that gets rewarded. In her defense, she has very few words so far, none of them defined by items in the pantry. So I go for, "Can you say please?" Not yet. "Would you like some cheerios?" A more contented grin and grunt.

Cheerios on deck, I sit back for her to feed herself. Her interest lasts through two-thirds of the cheerios as well. And we start all over again.

This time she is pointing to the counter top. Magnets, a flashlight, a notebook, a box of odds and ends, a greeting card. Clearly, no breakfast menu items to be found. Nonetheless, "egh! egh! egh! egh!" And her intensity only increases.

I tell her, "I'm sorry, baby, but there's nothing for you over there. You can eat cereal or cheerios or drink your juice. But you can't have anything else right now."

No one in their right mind would think me cruel or unkind by denying her these things at the breakfast table, or any other time. Babies have baby toys, and Juliet is no exception. Some things are for her. Some things are not. That is life.

But I am convicted by how hard that lesson is for her to learn.

It is true throughout the day, not just at the breakfast table. If she sees my car keys, she wants them. If she sees the remote control, she wants it. If I go to the bathroom, she wants to come in. If she sees the mustard in the pantry within reach, she will run across the room to try to catch it while I have it open.

At her age, this is generally healthy curiosity. There is nothing wrong with her wanting to explore the world around her.

But I think about what is actually going on in most of the cases when she pitches a fit. She regularly asks for things that are not hers. She regularly asks for things that could harm her. She sees no distinction. She does not know any better. It is up to me to discern what is beneficial for her to play with and what should remain beyond her reach. And if that makes her mad at times, I can handle that. I would rather her be mad than hurt, and no one would blame me.

It almost makes me chuckle though to think about my own disposition. What makes me think I know what is good for me?

Now, on many levels, I do.

I know what foods are healthy and which ones are not. I know the rules of traffic and how to navigate a car. I know not to stick my fingers in sockets. I know how to use scissors and flashlights and a fireplace. I know that not everything is edible or tasty. Yes, I know more of the basics than Juliet does. Let's hope so with 23 more years of experience!

But what is the difference between the knowledge that she has and the knowledge that I have when compared to the knowledge of my Heavenly Father? Not a whole lot. I have more responsibility for having more education, but compared to the ultimate love and ultimate goodness of my God and His plans, I know about as much as Juliet.

How often do I pitch a fit, reaching for things that are so clearly detrimental? What do I think I need? What do I feel entitled to that would tear me to pieces if the Lord let me have it? How lustful are my eyes? Do I want everything I see, everything that appears to me to have beauty?

I fear that all too often I ask Him for things that He knows I should not have. More hours in the day, simpler relationships, different opportunities for writing or ministry, or even a full year of marriage before my husband deploys overseas for a year. All of these things seem like good ideas to me. And my motives in asking for them are often genuine, pure and toward His glory. But He must know more than I do.

If my perspective on life is so radically different than Juliet's after a mere 23 years of progression along the same course. And if the God whom I serve is altogether above and beyond and other than me. And if He even came to earth to live here 33 years. May I in any way assume otherwise than that He views my life and my desires and my situations through a lens that my heart and mind cannot fathom?

And if Juliet is not my child, but rather is my job. And if I want what is good for her and try daily to discern and prioritize her needs. And if my God is a sin-loathing, goodness effusing, loving Savior. And if my life has been paid for by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ, on the cross of my sin. May I not conclude that He cares more for me than I do for Juliet, and that His answers to my prayers, whether they are "yes" or "no" or "not now", are the best and most loving responses to the joys and trials of my life?

Does this mean that I should not ask? Or, worse yet, try not to want anything at all? By no means! He made us with desires and needs that He longs to fill. Not only that, but that He alone is able to fill ultimately. The entire point is that fulfillment is found in Him alone, and He refuses to fill us up with anything else. Too often, whether we realize it or not, our requests to Him are that He would satisfy us with something other than Himself. He will not do that because it cannot be done. We were made for Him, not for ourselves.

As I bring my requests to Him, I want to come humbly. I want to come in need. Not of satisfaction, nor of answers. But in need of knowing Him more. I pray that He will use each need and desire of my heart to draw me into deeper satisfaction in Christ. I want a teachable soul that does not shriek in contempt when life does not go my way. I want a soul that comes to the throne of grace for the Giver alone, not for what He has to give. Only for His self.

So much to learn in this journey, in growing up. Still so far to go.

I pray that Juliet and I will grow together. In wisdom and in stature and in favor with both God and men. I pray we grow like our Lord Jesus did. I pray we grow like our Lord Jesus.

and I thought my wedding was a big deal!

Friday was a magical day for a significant percentage of the world's population. Some reports indicate that Prince William's marriage to Kate Middleton was viewed by billions of people all over the globe. Though I did not rise to watch it live, the coverage was gripping even when I joined in at 7:30 on Friday morning.

Throughout the day my mind reeled with the reality this fairy tale reveals.

We all yearn for a royal wedding.

The Cinderella strand is embedded in our DNA whether we admit it freely or not. Women tend to subscribe more passionately and freely. Men attempt to play it down. But we are all captivated by the story of a commoner's heart being desired by, pursued by, and united to the heart of the future king.

We love this union because Kate was one of us. She was common. Her parents were both flight attendants in their earlier days and have only more recently come into entrepreneurial success as online retailers of party supplies. She grew up as any other 80s-born girl around the globe, dreaming of marrying one of the two handsome princes left, but without much reason to believe it would happen (though it certainly helped that she is British).

The pauper-to-princess tale grips our hearts. Whether we have heard it before or not, we all know, etched on our souls, that this story is ours. That at last we will become treasure to the King and be invited to the throne room.

The story of Jesus and His bride.

We are enthralled by her dress and his attire, because our dress is His righteousness and He is adorned with victory and praise.

We are enthralled by the grandeur, because the wedding feast of the Lamb will fill our hearts as they were made to be filled.

We are enthralled by the ring, because rather than a lovely heirloom, our Groom has left us with His Spirit as His pledge to return for us.

We are enthralled by the pomp and circumstance of regality, because we were made to love the King and find life in His glory.

We are enthralled by the happily ever after, because we long so achingly for the only wise King to declare, "Behold, I am making all things new."

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.

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.

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.

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].

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.

more insight from Liam on seeking

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

still playing peek-a-boo

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

WITH, not WHAT

In a recent sermon series at Buckhead Church about the prodigal son, one of the teachers focused a week on the older son who was really just as rebellious and hateful as the younger. The only difference was that he covered it up with all the right actions until he reached his breaking point.

When the young squanderer was welcomed home with celebration and feasting, the do-good-er was irate. After years and years of obedience and compliance, everything in the older brother was outraged that all his service was ignored while the return of one so flagrantly self-absorbed was the cause of great rejoicing. In true older sibling fashion, he refused to join in the festivities and pouted outside until his father checked his dignity by the door to seek reconciliation with his other child.

Older brother's built-up bitterness spills out. He has slaved for his father faithfully for years. Why has he never been celebrated? This other son has spent every last cent on prostitutes and parties only to spark the biggest one he's ever seen upon returning. Why, after all older brother has done, has he not been rewarded or even recognized?

The father understands. Older brother and younger brother have both missed his heart. He says to older brother, "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." Older brother went on and on about WHAT he had done to deserve more than younger brother, never realizing that the celebration for his sibling was not over WHAT he had done, but the fact that he was reunited WITH his father.

WITH, not WHAT.

The Father wants our hearts WITH Him, not our bodies doing WHAT we think will impress or appease Him.

My mom embodies this perfectly.

She will do ANYTHING for our family to all just be WITH each other. When I am home, she stops whatever she is doing so that she can be with me. She even does things to serve me so that we can be together.

Just this weekend she sat on my bathroom floor and painted my toenails while I dried my hair. I know, she's ridiculous.

But I am so grateful for the constant reminder that my heart, my affection and my presence before Him is what my Heavenly Father desires and celebrates. Yes, actions that please Him flow out of my heart when I am WITH Him, but togetherness is what He wants, what He died to facilitate, what I live to pursue.

making the right comparison

Mrs. Oakley said something in our Community Group during high school that has been a theme throughout my years since then:

When comparison begins, contentment ends.

Especially for girls comparison either breeds pride or self-contempt, but for whatever reason we persist in comparing and ranking ourselves among others in our minds (or at least I do). So today Jesus' words were particularly poignant. In Luke 18:9-14, "He told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt." (v.9)

The parable portrays a Pharisee boasting before the Lord that he is not like other sinners and a tax collector begging for mercy in recognition of his sinfulness. Jesus then explains that the one who humbled himself was the one who was justified before God. Clearly the heart of the tax collector was poised for relationship with God, while the heart of the Pharisee delighted in a false sense of self-sufficiency.

I believe each of these men made comparisons that led their hearts to these positions.

The Pharisee looked around at the others who were approaching God and saw that he was living in greater moral purity than these. Compared to everyone around him, he seemed to be doing very well. Compared to everyone around him, he had every reason for pride. I do this so often. It is so easy to find people to watch who make me think I am doing well before the Lord, but it is just as easy to compare myself to people whose lives highlight my flaws. Neither mindset is what I want. Neither mindset allows room for the Lord to work in my heart.

The tax collector made a different comparison. The only worthwhile comparison. And it brought him to repentance and justification and true righteousness. The tax collector compared himself to the holiness of God. He knew what he would find if he were to look up and gaze upon the perfections of the Most High; it was for this reason that he stood far off and "would not even lift up his eyes to heaven." (v. 13) He knew what he would see: the throne of God, the righteous judge, who has commanded that His people be holy even as He is holy. One glimpse of God and the tax collector knew he could never earn the right to approach such beauty and holiness.

But that glimpse afforded him the courage to humble himself and ask for mercy. In comparing himself to the Lord of heaven, he saw the glorious love that leads man to repentance. He recognized that on his own he had no grounds for approaching the King, that his own righteousness was as a filthy rag, a presentation he could never offer to the spotless Lamb. But he also saw the robe. The robe of righteousness that is merited by the Holy One alone was extended to this tax collector.

And worship began.

rejection stings no matter who is involved

Tonight a 4-year-old helped me realize several aspects of my spiritual life that need re-creation.

I love Riley. He is funny, sweet and smart. He can be a great helper and big brother. We enjoy reading together and singing together and chasing each other around the kitchen counter. I look forward to seeing him several times each week, and like all my little guys, he holds a special and meaningful place in my heart.

Riley really seems to love me. He tells his parents as much almost daily. He thinks I am at the door every time the doorbell rings. And he asks for me at nap time and bed time and all the time in between.

But he gave himself away a few weeks ago when I saw him at church. His first question was, "Katie, can we play Wii when you come to my house?" I realized for possibly the first time that what he really loves is Wii. He adores all things Mario and Luigi. And when I come over he gets to play. Therefore, he loves me.

Is this the way I relate to You, Lord? Do I beg for Your presence only because of the goodies that

accompany You?

Spending so much time with preschoolers is a truly telling experience and offers incredible insight on human nature. At the very root of it? Self. I am coming to believe that all discipline is a breaking of the innate assumption that one's self is center. On the one hand it makes sense. Children know very little relative to the rest of the world. And everything must be filtered through some frame of reference, the most basic being relation to self. But as they grow older and learn more about others and their needs, feelings and wants, they do not naturally shift the focal point of their existence to others. For this reason they actually forfeit greater enjoyment and fulfillment on a regular basis because they are not able to see beyond themselves for even brief amounts of time.

Riley's world revolves around Riley. Period. To be quite honest, Katie's world revolves around Katie. That's probably why his sin rubs me the wrong way so easily. He is a mirror for me in which I see the absurdity and devastation of my heart apart from Christ.

Tonight Riley wanted to play Wii. Then Riley wanted to play pool. Then Riley wanted to play in the jumpy house. Then Riley wanted to paint. Then Riley wanted a snack. Then Riley wanted to watch Dora. Then Riley wanted to watch Curious George.

And when Riley did not get his way, Riley pitched a fit. A dramatic, tearful, frantic fit.

Now, my feelings were not legitimately hurt, but there was at least one point when I wanted to cry. I had offered him so many fun options, but he kept pushing for the few things that were off limits. It had been a long day for me, but I genuinely wanted him to have an exciting time. He was very difficult.

I found myself thinking, "I did not have to come keep him. I never have to let him play Wii, much less play with him. For as much as he talks about loving me, it is clear when I am actually around that my presence is just a means to an end for him. And the end is always whatever he wants. He does not care that I am tired. He could never comprehend what my life is like. All he knows is that he often gets his favorite things when I am around. That is the only reason he loves me at all."

Lord, is that how I treat you? Do I invite You into my day only to pitch a massive fit when things do not

go my way? Or do I hound you with questions as though I have the right to interrogate your motives and

decisions? Do I ever consider how You must feel?

What's more is that taking care of Riley is part of my job. Yes, tonight was difficult. But I was compensated. Generously.

But I am utterly astounded by the fact that Jesus paid for the opportunity to be present in my life. He gave His life so that He could have a relationship with me, a twenty-two-year-old with a temper and a list of requests.

How often do I treat You the way that Riley treats me? How often am I worse to You than that?

And I am humbled. Again. And all I truly want is to know my Heavenly Father. Never mind the blessings He may bring, I want the wealth of His nearness. And when that wealth does not include any extras, I want the power to refrain from throwing a temper tantrum, from treating Him like my servant, from seeing only myself. Though it is much easier said than done, I do not want to reject my Jesus in any way. If I felt the sting of Riley's rejection, I pray I never cause such pain for anyone else, especially for the One who gave His life to bear the rejection I deserve.

Lord, be my treasure

Lord, be my love

Not what You give me

None other above

Be sweeter, be dearer

Than all else combined

Let my greatest joy

Be in calling You mine

Your favor, Your power

Your strength to endure

Are fine but Your Presence

Alone may my heart allure