butterfly, a poem for lauren baggett

Twirling, gliding through the air,
Capturing the eye,
How are your wings so soft and fare,
O dainty butterfly?

Burns within a need to be
As lovely as you are,
Bright and free and beautiful,
Waving from afar.

And so I cry in anguish,
Your truest opposite,
Heavy, fat and slothful,
Helplessly obstinate.

To be rid of sticky fingers
That cling unto the ground!
To be rid of whorish appetite
Irrevocably bound!

But I remember what you once were,
Caterpillar in days of old,
Who, though death had seemed to conquer,
Splendid beauty did unfold.

So now let hope arise!
A fresh new hymn to sing!
When death in me is conquered,
Glory to my Savior King!

No more a crawling glutton,
No more sin's hunted prey!
Raised to life in newness
On that most glorious day!

I thank you, gentle butterfly,
You foreshadow who I'll be,
Made in Creator's image,
One day you'll fade by me.

Your beauty is a promise,
Your Creator is mine too,
And He loves me into beauty
As He's making all things new.

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.

the note that was taken from me

A criminal in the Greco-Roman world was issued, as a record of debt, a written note of indebtedness. When the crime warranted death, that note was fastened to the cross by the Roman authorities, declaring the crime for which the criminal was being executed.

Colossians 2:13-14 takes on fresh meaning in this light:

"And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross."

The soldiers who crucified Jesus fastened His accusation on His cross: "King of the Jews." Guilty of being the One True God.

The Father who allowed Jesus to be crucified fastened my accusation on His cross: "Proud, self-righteous rebel. Critical, judgmental, unfaithful idolator. Slothful skimper. Hypocritical, self-centered, egotistical user of people. Ungrateful, cowardly, sensual manipulator. Deserving of death by cruel torture." Guilty of cosmically offending and defaming the One True God.

Jesus forfeited His identity and took on mine at the exact moment that the wrath of God was coming for me. He absorbed it all, and in the sweet exchange of grace, His identity was offered to me. The One who had not sinned had become sin on my behalf, so that I might become the righteousness of God in Him (2 Corinthians 5:21).

"Because a sinless Savior died

My sinful soul is counted free

For God the just is satisfied

To look on Him and pardon me"

~Before The Throne

words.

Dearest country overseas,

I am sending you my heart.

Please appreciate his presence

That will keep us far apart.

For God's glory and your good

I'll give the one my heart holds dear,

And I pray he'll come back wholly

When he's mine again next year.

Dearest Jesus, Here's my heart.

I give it back to you each day.

It is Yours and so please move it

in Your sweet and gentle way.

Years at distance, hours of wrath,

Are the deployment that it cost,

So let my heart stand on this Rock

Once-for-all found cannot be lost.

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."

my brother, Barabbas

Dear Barabbas,

You're on my mind today. I feel a strange connection to you that I've never felt before.

For a moment I want to see what you saw, feel what you felt. I think it would shake me to the core. I would never be the same.

Did you know? Did you ever realize what happened that Friday?

You woke up in prison. You went to sleep in your own bed.

The sun found you a prisoner. The moon found you a free man.

How did you do it? What words did you say? Did you treat the other prisoners nicely? Were you respectful of the guards? Did you do enough good things to outweigh your mutiny against Rome? Did you protect enough people to excuse your murderous reputation?

Somehow, I doubt it.

In a way I am jealous of the perspective you had, because our stories are the same on that day.

When your eyes first opened that morning, you were sentenced to death, resigned to justice, awaiting the punishment you knew you deserved. You had seen crosses. You knew what your treachery would earn if ever you were captured. Traitors to the crown of Rome lined the streets, the barely living and the long dead, vivid reminders of the wrath that awaited those who threatened the emperor. You had earned that status, that sentence, that misery.

How did you feel when you learned you were chosen? Were you shocked when the guard brought you out at their request? Were you proud and self-confident? Did you gloat as you left?

Or did you see Jesus on your way out? You must have known who He was. Were you astounded to see that His freedom was given to you? Had you any idea just how innocent He was?

You see, as you walked away to resume your life, He was led away to allow others to end His own. All the miracles, all the sermons, all the Scriptures He had memorized, all the acts of mercy were as nothing to Him. Everyone ignored His impeccable record. And all of the good that He had accomplished was credited to you. Certainly no one was actually thinking that you had behaved so well, but you found yourself reaping the benefits of perfect living in an instant.

Did you realize what was happening? You, and you alone, had any semblance of a notion what Jesus was doing that day. Whether you realized it or not, while everyone else was baffled by His horrifying torture and death, you alone were already walking in the shadow of the cross, covered by the blood of the Lamb.

You see, a transaction was made that day. The wrath of God was coming. Let there be no doubt. The wrath of God was always coming. From the apple in the garden to the hills outside your city, the vengeance of Almighty God was coming against those who rejected His love and established their own kingdom. Wrath was coming for you and me. For the mutinous, calloused-hearted, self-exalting race. Because a holy God, one who truly loves, cannot allow wickedness, Love's antithesis, to prevail. He would not be loving at all if He did.

So heaven's fury made a date with the earth. Retribution.

And heaven's flesh-clad Love accepted the invitation. Substitution.

To those who looked on, He appeared weak and passive, but in bewildering humility, the King of kings held His tongue and let you walk free in His place. And after watching your reentry into freedom, Jesus set His gaze on the hill. He dragged His self and His fuel to the altar of Calvary to intercept the punishment you traded Him for, I traded Him for.

Perhaps watching your freedom fanned His flame. Perhaps the faint reflection of the grander task at hand was the hope He clasped as He started down the road. Because He was not merely taking your punishment, though your guilt was exceedingly great. And He was not merely setting you free, though His love for you did compel Him. He was taking my guilt and punishment, and your cousin's, and my brother's, and the teenage boys who were looking for trouble at the park today, and the beautiful preschool girl who sits angelically through the service at church each week, and every person who has every lived. He was setting free the entire race, not from mere physical imprisonment in this life, but from the cast-iron bonds of slavery to sin and from the unspeakable agony of eternity apart from Love.

Oh Barabbas, His love for you was overwhelming! And yet it speaks but a faint whisper of the love He has for all humanity, a love He would shout with all His might from the cross: "It is finished!"

Your name, Barabbas, is altogether gripping. From the Aramaic root words "bar" and "Abba," "son of Abba," "son of a father or master." Privileged. Favored. Heir. As one who represented all who would accept the substitution offered by Jesus, all who would exchange freedom with Him, your name is the one we have all inherited. "When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God."

I hope you realized who you were, my friend. I hope to meet with you one day when days are endless and hear how your frozen heart was thawed on that one good day for you.

I am grateful for your identity, Barabbas, for your presence in the story that is mine as well. All glory be to God--for Your Word, for Your Love, for Your goodness on display on Friday.

Daughter of Abba,

Katie

sand I am

When everything around me

seems to cruelly fall apart,

When my weakness, striving, failure

rend asunder my frail heart

Then I realize my foundation

has not been steady land

But I've built upon myself,

forgetting I am naught but sand

Shifting, tricky, flaky grains,

far too tiny to give strength,

The best I had to offer

returned a dismal lack of length

Something stronger, Someone sure

must support my weight of life

For tiny grains of sand

hold not this woman, friend and wife

Though I'll give wholehearted effort,

my foundation e'er must be

Jesus, crucified and risen,

Solid Rock, my Hope is He

"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it." Matthew 7:24-27