livin' it up!

We've been making the absolute most of the time we have this last month!

...we have been to/in weddings...

...we sailed to Mexico...

...on the Carnival Triumph...

(and i left my contacts at home so i bought this super cute hat)

...we saw some Mayan ruins...

...and we climbed up on them...

...we sunbaked and snorkeled in Cozumel...

...and fell in love with our towel creatures...

...we also celebrated my 24th birthday at PF Chang with my family...

...and went to another wedding...

...next up: a weekend at the beach with Stephen's family!

Thanks for keeping up with us! Please continue to pray as we count down to goodbye next Tuesday morning.

June update

An update from mid-June:

Many people ask exactly what deployment means for life right now, and there are several facets to that answer.

Stephen was away at pre-deployment training for 10 days until last Monday. We have been referring to that week as a “trial run” for what deployment will be like for our marriage. We were able to talk most nights of the week, and I kept very busy with my brother’s 18th birthday, getting a new driver’s license, my dear friend Meredith’s wedding,  and a girls’ trip to the beach for Meghan Lukken’s bachelorette. 

Generally when people ask how I am doing my answer is “some days are better than others.” That proved true while we were apart as well. On the one hand, the Lord abundantly blessed the opportunities that “singleness” afforded me throughout the week. He opened up doors for some extremely meaningful conversations with dear friends on several occasions, conversations that I have prayed for consistently for some time now. It was quite clear that He is using our marriage to equip me for ministering in these situations. And so it was humbling, comforting and empowering to see His faithfulness in using our marriage so powerfully because we were not able to actually be together. He seems to consistently whisper His presence into the coming year, and my heart thrills in anticipation of the adventure He has in store for me at home while Stephen is away.

There were, however, difficult days. It will be an excruciatingly hard year. That is just the simple truth. Some sliver of my heart is terrified by how much I missed Stephen for just 10 days, and I dread to know the feeling of what months at a time will feel like. But honestly, there is so much freedom in embracing our journey as the trial that it is. I so appreciate the people God has sent to tell me that it will suck. They have greatly helped me in allowing myself to move past frustration over the struggle and toward allowing the Lord to minister to my heart. 

My prayer right now is that the Lord would teach me how to grieve and embrace the hardship in a way that allows Him to mold my heart as He desires, while at the same time having my hope rest so heavily on eternity with Christ that I am filled with joy and peace. My mind reels wrestling with what this balance will or should look like, and I am tempted to go with either extreme. But when I simply absorb the sadness and wallow in separation, I am paralyzed by fear and expectations that cannot be met. Still I know that to dismiss it as no big matter in light of eternity, though my pride would love to appear so immovable and “strong,” would not afford God the opportunity to draw me more sweetly to Himself in honesty and comfort. I pray He uses every tear and every triumph throughout the coming year to His glory and my good, sanctification.

As we prepare our hearts in the meantime, the Lord has greatly blessed us with time, resources, and community in the journey. We are unbelievably grateful for the church family we have found at the Village Church in Vinings. The families we have come to know and love have welcomed us with open arms and homes and have sincerely sought to support us in any way possible both now and in the months to come.

Juliet’s family has been gracious, understanding and hospitable in taking care of me, and Stephen’s current employer is incredibly generous with their military employees. Our families are supportive and loving, and we are so grateful to have them nearby. And I expect that Lauren Jones will continue to be an instrument of grace to me throughout our future roommate days—what a gift she is!

So we look into the coming week to see Stephen on a business trip Tuesday through Thursday, which means lots of girl time for me! We will also get to celebrate two weddings next Saturday, and I intend to dance enough to make up for the weddings for which the Army has and will render me “single.” Mr. Kump had better bring his dancing shoes!

We would so appreciate your prayers that we would have time for rest, for quality time together, and for meaningful relationships in our last several weeks of summer. The time crunch makes it difficult to know how to prioritize our time and energy. Please pray for wisdom and rejuvenation.

Thank you for praying and loving us so well.

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.

everybody loves a tattletale

Today JuJu and I joined Stephen at Chick-fil-A for lunch, grateful to have that opportunity for another few days. We certainly looked like a little family, though I am sure that anyone who watched our interactions closely would have found it strange how wary she was around her "dad", who we refer to as "Mr. Stephen."

After a lunch of french fries, banana mish mash and blueberries, I took Juliet to the indoor playground for a few minutes to stretch her legs and see some other kids. What a claustrophobic miniature of life beyond 48 inches.

I enjoy kids, love seeing Juliet process what their actions mean, and especially appreciate learning about the world through the realities that children display.

Not to anyone's surprise, one little girl was injured in the kid zone. Whether the pain was truly physical or primarily emotional, I cannot judge, but some sort of hurt was inflicted, and she ran out of the playground, into the restaurant with the classic line, "I'M TELLING MY MOM!"

I did not see the resolution to this conflict. The only other bit of the story that I can offer is that it seems this child was upset with a stranger, making it highly unlikely that her mother would have any opportunity to serve justice. Oh, she was sure to have been comforting and sympathetic, reassuring and tender, but no other mom ever came to discipline the son or daughter who had committed the offense.

And it occurred to me that the best case scenario for justice would be if the girl's sister had hurt her, so that Mom could convict and punish. The next best option would be for a "frienemy," a friend whose parents had a relationship with Mom, who would take seriously the fact that their child had acted out.

But what is far more likely in such a crowded public place, is that the other mother remained oblivious to her child's misdeed. And even if she had found out, there is still a chance she would have swept it under the rug, made an excuse, or been angry that her "angel" was accused of wrongdoing. And that stinks. No fair.

It made me think about humanity as a whole.

There is comfort in running to mom or dad when injustice abounds. It is innately wired in us to do so.

When someone or something offends us, we feel we have the right and the need to go to someone higher, someone in charge, to appeal for what is fair. And where would the world be if these governing bodies did not exist? Most in the first world would agree that anarchy is not conducive to rights or true freedom. For this reason, most of us submit, or at least subscribe to the ideology behind submission, to the government, the school administration, the justice system, the coach, the board, the HOA, the IRS, the boss, etc. When we limit ourselves by accepting authority, everyone is better off. And when others choose to act out of line, we are confident to take matters to those with influence and power to incite change or invoke consequences.

This is how we operate.

But some atrocities are bigger than our lives can handle. And despite our best efforts to form governing bodies that monitor the behavior of the entire world, some issues simply cannot be addressed by any one entity.

Sex trafficking.

Sex-selective abortion.

Abortion.

Genocide.

And so many more.

And this is where the "open-minded, non-discriminatory" belief that "what's right for you is right for you, and what's right for me is right for me" has a head-on collision with the reality of human nature. Or the idea that all religions are basically the same, faith is all you need, all religions get you to God.

For kids on the playground, each one's safety is dependent on the standards of behavior set by the parents of every other child around. If one parent is flippant about the responsibility of raising a child with social awareness and respect, the playground is no longer safe. Every parent is different.

Do we really think that human existence is without a judge, an arbitrator? At least in the end? If societies are either made or broken based upon the institution of justice, the declaration of right and wrong, the implementation of consequences for perpetrators, and the preservation of the innocent, do we really expect to reach the end of this world and find that none of it mattered? Deep down, can we really accept that?

Because here are our options.

There is no God. There is no accountability. There is no life after this. There is only now and nothing later. What we feel as injustice is only part of what makes us fit or unfit for survival.

There is a God who accepts all faiths, faith of any kind. He is too kind to judge. He takes into account your upbringing, accepts excuses, winks his eye, smooths everything over, ignores atrocity.

There is a God who will make all fair. And He will make it fairer than we want it to be. He will satisfy our desire for retribution and then some. He will hold each man and woman accountable. He will overlook no tears, no children, no lack of mercy. And He will punish extremely, radically, horrifically, eternally.

To say there is no God denies the wiring, the anger, the fury we feel at times.

To say he will not judge is to make him truly cruel, lazy, uncaring, unkind, not good, and unworthy of respect, devotion, adoration.

To say He will judge with a heavy fist, a righteous gavel, somehow makes this world and its pains a little more palatable.

But if He judges justly, then He must judge us as well. For if He is in essence Perfection, then weighty, outrageous offenders will not be His only criminals. Even what we would call misdemeanors are high crimes before the Pure and Spotless King, and as such will bear the weight of His wrath just the same.

Despair nearly sets in. If even the world's innocent are to be judged harshly, is there no hope?

But there is.

The entirety of God's wrath, we see, has already been poured out. On one man. On one cross. At one time.

God, in the flesh, Jesus the Christ, perfect and human, simultaneously, submitted to death on the cross. The greatest injustice of all time: vilest shame and death for the immaculate GodMan.

He took the punishment that all of us had earned. So that not all humans would be crushed on that final day of judgment, Jesus Christ accepted the conviction and endured the penalty. Not so that injustice was added to injustice. For when He did so, the perfection He had earned was offered to mankind if we would accept the arrangement God had made, if we would admit that what happened to Jesus should have happened to us, if we would humbly turn from the wickedness that made such drastic reparation necessary, if we would choose to submit in love to the authority and kindness of our Loving Despot.

Despot may be an odd choice in wording, but is that not what we need, what we long for? Someone all-loving, all-just, concerned for us, and all-powerful to act in our best interest, at all times. We know there should be someone who can handle it, someone who will act, someone who will not be hindered in any way from righting wrongs.

He made us to be this way. He made us to look for Him. He is written on our hearts.

And that is why we tattle.

We are tattletales because He is real.

"Many seek the face of a ruler, but it is from the Lord that a man gets justice." Proverbs 29:26

how Jesus handles PMS

Last night I had a pretty significant realization, a spiritual breakthrough of sorts.

For years I have wrestled with the truth that Jesus "in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin." (Hebrews 4:15) Not because I doubt He was fully human, not because the source of that knowledge is unreliable, not because I doubt the heart of God. But there are times that I truly feel as though Jesus has NO idea what my struggles are like.

The reason for that: Jesus was a man.

Put differently, Jesus was NOT a woman.

His DNA, his hormones, his physical make-up was literally opposite of mine in some respects. I can imagine his weakness and temptation being incredibly real in any other realm of life and circumstances. But He never experienced in His body the surging and plunging of estrogen and progesterone on cue each month that at times leaves my mind helpless against the merciless hostile take-over of my emotions.

How in the world does He know what it feels like to laugh uncontrollably? Literally uncontrollably, helplessly, embarrassingly, publicly. Or weep for that matter over a ruined dinner, a rude cashier, a to-do list. How does He empathize with the bi-polar tendencies even the otherwise healthiest woman may experience once a month?

This week I feel like a different person altogether than I was last week--praise the Lord! I cried every day last week, my world was about to end, I was overwhelmed, lonely and irritable.

Not to paint the picture that I am now feeling perfect, but those feelings are non-issues this week. Yet my situation is exactly what it has been for months.

How does He intercede for that? What does He say when He comes before His Father on the throne? How does He communicate my fragility, my good intentions, my deep desire for holiness and my miserable inability to perform? What life experience does He harken back to for those visits to the throne room?

It hit me last night. Duh. How have I never thought of it before?

Mary must have been the most hormonal, psychotic mess at some point in Jesus' life.

With all due respect to the blessed virgin mother, she was human! Yes, the Lord showed her favor, and I do not mean to make light of her willingness to serve in a role that did not gain her any worldly recognition until well after the hardest times were endured. But for Jesus to have experienced every human weakness, for Him to have compassion on me now, I really believe that His sweet mother must have struggled immensely during His 33 years.

We can even see it if we look closely.

Mary was the one who encouraged Jesus to perform His first miracle, sending the wedding servants to Jesus so that He could turn water into wine.

But she was also right there with her likewise hormonal daughters and her jealous sons, urging Jesus to stop showing off and come home to His former life of carpentry.

And we see at the cross just how deeply Jesus cared for His mother as He instructed His beloved disciple to take on responsibility for her as though He were her son.

In the same way that Stephen has compassion on my strenuous emotional plight because he grew up with a mother and two sisters, I believe Jesus was very much concerned for the women in His life who also battled their hormones. Little did those sweet ladies know, but the extremity of their mood swings was preparing Jesus to be in every way the Great High Priest for us, having experienced even the particularly female side of sin.

"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

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.