A friend of The Father

The other day I got my feelings hurt by a friend (not any of the ones pictured here:) I was having a hard time shaking it off, because the person had acted dishonestly with me and I realized afterward that she does not have my best interest in mind. It was very disturbing.

I shared this with Daniel, and in his wisdom he taught me (as he often will) a great life lesson. "You can not," he said certainly, "treat everyone the same. You must be very selective about who you let in. There are parts of yourself that are only for The Father. Then there are parts of yourself that are only for your spouse. Then there are parts of yourself that are only for a select few who have, over time and testing, earned a place in your heart. These few are your friends. We throw the term 'friend' around too loosely. Those who have not earned this title should be treated with love and respect, but should not be given the same quality nor quantity of ourselves as those who have earned it."

This may be old news to some of you, but it was brand new to me. I thought about it for a second, and concluded that I do treat everyone the same. Everybody from the girls I meet with for coffee every now and then to those I've known since grade school get the same me. That's not wise.

The Father says not to throw our pearls to the swine. And He himself follows this guideline. Sometimes I wonder why He doesn't just show himself to me fully. "Why are you so aloof?", I will sometimes ask him in prayer. "Why do you remain such a mystery? Why are you invisible?" But now I see that I have to earn my place in his heart. Not that I have to earn my way, nor his love (for he really does love everyone on earth equally). But He is only going to open himself fully to those select few who have pressed in to him faithfully over time. That makes sense to me. And it inspires me to press in to Him more. I want to be a friend of The Father.

The Lights of the Ozarks

Though wrapping paper fills our trash cans and our Christmas tree lies bare in the back of Daniel's truck, we decided it was better late than never to see the Lights of the Ozarks. So we loaded up the Oldsmobile with our sons and their grandma and headed north to Fayetteville. Every year from Thanksgiving to New Years Eve, Fayetteville covers every branch and shrub in its town square with lights. It really is a sight to see. Daniel and I hadn't been there since the first year we were married. This time we brought our kids. Time sure flies. Bright enjoyed running around in the cold, and Daniel and I enjoyed the homemade ranch potato chips at Loafin' Joe's. It was a good way to "wrap up" the Christmas season.

Merry Christmas!

Lots of fudge and sausage balls
Our little blue and brown-eyed dolls
Squealing with delight
Up too late at night
A wonderful, family-ful,
Southern country Christmas.

(Previously published with Ashley Tisdale's "Last Christmas")

Handsome in hats

Boys, boys, boys

Naked boys are so cute. OK, so are naked girls, but I don't know much about that. The curly haired kid in the tub with Bright (the one who could easily win the cutest kid in America award) is our friend, Benjamin Harrigan. He has a baby brother, too, not pictured, named Samuel. The other night, our dear friends, the Harrigans, stopped through to see us en route to their folks' house up in Fayetteville. We had a wonderful evening of food, fun, and everything boy. They are priceless friends, and it is so great to raise sons together. Lydia has such wonderful insights and helpful tidbits to share with me. Thank you, Father, for our friends.

Little Forerunners

This month, our main teacher revealed a word from Dad, confirmed by a prophet, that today's teenagers and children will, in fact, be the last generation before the return of the One. This is a widely considered notion, and even a firmly expected reality, in certain circles, but to hear it from a Methodist pulpit was a bit...unnerving. I honestly don't want my sons to see the Tribulation with their own eyes, to feel physical agony, and have their faith tested through all kinds of spiritual mayhem. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to raise them in preparation for it. There is just too much "evidence" pointing to the fact that our children, yours and mine, are the forerunner generation.

A forerunner, according to Webster, is "an advance messenger." Think of the guy who ran from Marathon, Greece, to Athens, delivering the message of victory before dropping dead. That guy was, quite literally, a forerunner.

Our kids, if the words of the modern prophets are true, are a generation that will run out ahead, delivering the message of the coming of the Son. Much like John the B went ahead of Him, delivering the message that he was coming the first time, so our children will herald the news of his return. Our teacher quoted the text saying that our children will see visions and perform miracles. They will be filled with the HS such that we have only dreamed of. Then he warned that though our kids will be spiritual giants, they will still be kids and young people, in need of our guidance. They may be speaking about things that we don't understand, and worshipping and preaching in ways so new and radical that we might mistakenly reject them(if we're not careful), but they will still be young, and we must be prepared to shepherd them. Big responsibility for us, don't you think?

Here's a bit of perspective. Every night when we light the advent candles in our house, we ascribe a different aspect of light to each candle. When we strike the match to get things going, we say "In the beginning, J said, let there be light." So the other night, our 2-year-old, who conveniently bears the name Bright, said to us, "I made light." Daniel said, "No, son, J made light." Then Bright said, "When I grow up to be a man, I will make light like Jesus." Then after a pause he added, "Like John the B."

Whoa. Look out folks. Things are about to get interesting.

Pearly whites

We took Bright to the dentist for the first time this morning. We have the best dentist in the world! Of course, we are a little biased. Our dentist is our brother-in-law. Bright did great! He just let them clean all of his little teeth. He was so cute! And this other picture is our little Zion, sitting on his own. He looks too little to be doing this but he is 6 1/2 months old. All of his peers outweigh him by pounds, and probably always will. But we think he is handsome enough to make up for it! :)

What is life?

Last week we took the four-wheeler out to scout the perfect wild cedar on the family farm. It is still strange for me, a Michigander, to be cutting down a Christmas tree with no snow. Nonetheless, the smell of fresh cedar now permeates the four rooms of our tiny apartment, and the tree handsomely wears all of our most precious family ornaments.

The other night, as we sat in it's twinkling glow, I asked Daniel, "Is our tree alive or dead?" "You just asked one of the most debated ethical questions of the day," said my husband. "What is life?"

We went on to talk about the qualifications of life. Is it a pulse and brain waves? Is it the fact that the tree is green and drinking water, even though it has been cut from it's roots and will never be able to act like a tree again? It was an interesting question. What do you think, is our tree alive or dead?

Left behind

This is a picture of Zion a couple months ago, gazing at his cousin, Eliana...who he will leave behind. Her name means, "My G has answered" in Hebrew. She is Daniel's sister, Kerry, and her husband, Philip's daughter. Daniel and Kerry are so close. When we lived in Kentucky for three years, he called his sister every week, and they would chat like girlfriends. She is five years his senior and he has always thought she hangs the moon. I couldn't love her more, myself. And her husband is a wonderful, devoted man of God. Not to mention the kids' grandma, MoMo, and their great-grandma, SueSue. And of course there is Grandma and Grandpa in Michigan, and Uncle Kody and Uncle Jack and Aunt Denise and JJ, who will also be left behind.

"And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life."

Last night, Daniel asked Kerry and Philip to be the boys' Godparents. Should anything ever happen to us on the mission field or otherwise, we have decided to entrust our most precious earthly treasures to them. They were absolutely honored. It was an emotional time. For that matter, it IS an emotional time. This is the hardest part of all of this. It sometimes keeps me up at night, thinking, 'Will the boys suffer very greatly because they are so far aways from their families?'

And then I remember the words of my dear friend, Laura, who is raising her two small daughters on a snow capped mountain top in North India. She writes, "Our children Kayla, yours and mine, will have a worldview!!! My children thank Dad for ELECTRICITY and WATER!!! They chat for the children on the streets they see. They know the world is not a suburban bubble! What I did not know at the age of 21, Sophia knows at 4."

So, chat with me now friends, I need it. "Dad, as we boldly go in 'ruthless faith,' as Laura puts it, bless our going. We desperately need your anointing, your provision, your Spirit. When these little boys find themselves on the other side of the world, may they know that YOU are their world. May they know that their citizenship is in Heaven, that they were put on this earth for one reason and one reason alone, to love you and bring you glory. May that knowledge help them understand why we've taken them away from family and country and...pizza. Comfort them when they cry for MoMo, when they long to see their Grandma and Grandpa. Comfort them when they are the only blond heads in a city of four million people. Make them strong, make them resilient, and most importantly, inflame their hearts with love for you. You are our hope. You are our everything. To you we commit our lives and our sons."

And His desire is for me.

I devote a day of each week preparing to teach the Song of Songs on Sunday, and today was the day. This week we're covering the last of the Bride's four statements of identity. In the first, she was consumed with herself, which made her relationship with Him very one dimensional. In the second, she began to think of what blessed His heart, although she still placed her desires before His. In the third, she began placing His desires ahead of hers. In the last, she totally surrenders every desire, good or bad, and begins to get totally lost in the desires of His heart.

Around eleven this morning my phone rang at the house. It was Kayla. She asked me if I had been outside. I hadn't. Apparently, the temperature dropped around 30 degrees and she thought it would be the perfect day for me to hunt the evening. Though she's done things like this before, it always surprises me because it puts a pretty big strain on her. She knows a change in weather means deer movement (because she's a stud, or should I say the wife of a stud). She also knows that I love to hunt the evenings, which is a rarity when one has small children. And she knows that I LOVE to hunt the cold. There's something about facing elements that excites me. So I loaded up my bow and arrows and enjoyed the evening from a cedar tree in the valley of Haggard farm.

I'm no psychologist, but it must be unhealthy to be totally consumed with yourself. Certainly, it must be unhealthy to be totally consumed with another. Full abandonment to anything is risky and detrimental. Unless, that is, you're abandoned and consumed with the One.

Some might think, "Boy Kayla, keep that up and you'll have a man that's consumed with hunting." Not so my friends, never underestimate the nature of divine love. What pleased my heart this evening, more than any weather pattern, scenic view, or late-rut hunting action, was that I could tell that she really wanted me to go - for me. And what that did was make me want nothing other than her.

His intention is to consume us with Himself. Just when you think you're losing it all, just when the professionals would advise you otherwise, you gain EVERYTHING. Turn everything over to Him getting what He wants, and come to find out that His singular desire is to possess and have YOU. Watch out Kayla Rupp, keep that up and you will have a man that's totally consumed... with you.


(By the way, these are my two all time favorite pictures of my wife.)

Men and their friends

My wonderful husband is hunting this weekend with his buddies, Tyler and Russ. Tyler is a pharmacist and Russ is a business higher-up. They both like to cook, and they both care about their clothes. I've even seen both of them wearing pink (at separate times, of course). The men my husband makes friends with fascinate me. They are usually very different from him. He has few friends, in fact, who are much like him at all. He is drawn to bachelors a decade older, or jokesters a decade younger, or men from other countries, or men with funny names, or men who don't say a word, or men who like the symphony...you name it. Of course, his closest buddies (like John Harrigan, pictured here) do share a lot of his interests. But he is always bringing home a new friend for dinner, and I'm always entertained by his choice.

Drive-in movie night

In these pictures, I am in my pajamas, sitting in a camping chair with a bowl of popcorn... and yes, we are outside. That is the beauty of not owning a TV. When your only option for movie night is your portable DVD player, you can get very creative. We called it drive-in movie night. The stars were twinkling above our heads as we watched Heath Ledger bite a man's jugular in Four Feathers. Very romantic. Our neighbors in the apartment complex teased us, but we didn't mind (they're just jealous). Of course, we had to have the subtitles on so we could follow the dialogue of the movie during the rumbling of a passing truck or the blast of the train whistle.

This is a such a precious season for us. The other night as we were clearing the dinner table, Daniel caught me up in his arms and we kissed and danced on the kitchen floor. We got to chuckling about it, because as he held me in his arms, he was holding a sippy cup of milk behind my back. The milk swayed in the cup as we danced. Precious, precious times. I really am thankful we live in this tiny apartment complex across from the football stadium. I'm glad we hear fireworks against our windowpanes on Friday nights when the hometeam scores a touchdown. I'm glad our neighbors aren't perfect...so glad they smoke and cuss and tell us about their problems. I'm so glad my baby son sleeps in our walk-in closet. I'm so glad we watch movies under the stars. If things were any different, I really think I might get bored.

Camp Potty: Day 3, and we are potty trained

Well, Laura Pinkstaff was right, you CAN potty train your kid in three days. Today he pooped in the potty twice and peed countless times...making it all the way to the end of the prize chart. That meant a trip to Chuck E. Cheese's!!! MoMo and Sue-Sue and Aunt KK and Uncle Philip and baby Eliana and little brother Zion and Mama and Daddy accompanied Bright for pizza and games - in his underwear! He asked to used the potty twice, all on his own, while we were there and he did great.

While he was sitting on the potty to go pee before bed, he said to Daniel, "Zion is Daddy's baby." Daniel said, "And Bright is Daddy's little boy." Bright corrected him promptly, saying, "Bright is Daddy's real BIG boy." And he's right. There is only one baby in the house tonight. Though I'm so very proud of him, I'm sad, too. I don't know where the time has gone. He sat there at Chuck E. Cheese, eating a slice of pizza, not using a booster seat, and not wearing a diaper, and I realized that somewhere in the last 36 hours he crossed a threshold, and we can never go back.

And just like that, the baby is gone.

Camp Potty: Day 2 of 3

Day two went well! We had one poopoo on the potty and several peepee's. The reward system is really key, otherwise I think he might lose interest. We've drawn up a road on a poster board with several stops along the way. Every time he goes successfully he gets another sticker further down the road. Yesterday he made it to the gas station, then over the rock bridge, and then to Luigi's tire store! Today we made it to the big wooden bridge. Hopefully soon we'll make it to our final destination - Chucky Cheese's!

Our favorite comment from the potty, said with confidence and a deep measure of certainty, has been: "Poopoo is gross, tooters are not." Have you got a memorable potty training moment???

(props to the Chaneys for the interactive comment idea - I love it!)

Camp Potty: Day 1 of 3

Good friends of ours in India potty-trained both their kids in three days. We decided to try the method with Bright. The fun began today. Daniel and I stayed up late last night coloring a prize chart and washing little white underwear. Daniel took three days off work. This is big time. This morning, Daniel laid plastic down over the carpet. We kept Bright's sippy cup filled all day and encouraged him to drink constantly. Now, at the end of the day, we can proudly say that he peed in the potty 6 times and pooped in the potty twice, with NO poopy messes and only ONE peepee mess. Unbelievable!!! This method rocks. Here is the photo documentation of day one. Enjoy. We will let you know how day two goes. Stay tuned.

Bambi's dad

This is a picture of Daniel on his first ever bow hunt, four years ago. As you can see, Dad blessed his efforts. And now every fall, before he heads out into the woods, we ask for a deer.

Can Daniel really be a follower of the One and a hunter? Can we actually think that Dad delivers deer into his hands? Absolutely. Though death was not supposed to be in the cards for creation, it is, temporarily, just as much a part of life as birth. Unless you are a very disciplined vegetarian, you and your family enjoy the fruits of death every day. I would dare say you've even craved that which death provides (did you ever order a pepperoni pizza after midnight in college?)

Alright, so we're all terrible, right? No. But I will venture to say that a hunter is the least despicable meat-eater of all. If we're going to talk methods of execution, then perhaps the grain-fed steer is killed more "humanely" (being that his death comes upon him suddenly and unknowingly). But what kind of life did he lead? He was born into slavery, his manhood was stripped from him so he wouldn't act like a bull, and he was forced into a life of gluttony and submission. A wild deer, on the other hand, might stumble and bleed for miles, with an arrow protruding from his side, but when he falls, he falls with honor. He lived free and died fighting. Ask any man which death he'd prefer. Not to mention, the steer lost his life for the profit of a commercial restaurant chain, and the deer lost his life for the organic nourishment of a grateful family of four.

And if we're talking honor, which "hunter" is more honorable? The man who hunts the best-looking cut of meat in the supermarket, or the man who practices his shot for months, wakes up at 4:30 a.m., and sits in a freezing cold tree for four hours, not moving?

In closing, I am proud to say that my husband is a deer hunter. And on top of that, I make a mean rosemary-lemon venison stew. You are all welcome for dinner at our house.

While the sun is in the sky

Yesterday, I finally took this banner down from my dining room wall. It is a quote from Mother Teresa, scrawled tearfully on pieces of scrap paper and affixed to the wall with thumbtacks. It got me through a very tough day that I never told you about. Some things are so big, they can't be reflected upon until hindsight has set in. Let me bring you back in time to October 16.

I called the pediatrician that morning because Bright had woken up twice in the night screaming. Both times I went to him, and both times he was holding his head in the very same spot and asking for me to kiss it (which meant it hurt). The doctor said we should come on in. Once in the examining room, Dr. Miller asked what part of the head it was. I told him the top back left side. He frowned.

"I don't want to alarm you," he said, "but we don't mess around with the back of the head. Pain there is always a red flag."
"For what?" I asked.
"You don't want to know," he said.

Dr. Miller ordered an MRI, but we were going to have to wait a week for the next available appointment. That meant I had to worry for a week whether or not, basically, Bright was going to live or die.

Daniel took the rest of the day off, and I tried to stay busy, but the tears would not stop falling. All I would do is look at my beautiful two-year-old and I would have to leave the room and cry. I decided to take a shower. A very hot shower. While I stood under the water, worry choking me like a weed, the above quote came to my mind. It has always been one of my mom's favorites. I realized that it was true. Worrying was not going to change the result of that MRI, but it WAS robbing me the joy of my son. How, I asked Dad, do I stop worrying? DECIDE TO, He said.

So I did. I dried off, put on comfy clothes, and pulled out a pad of scrap paper. As I wrote the quote and hung it on my wall, I cried the last tears of worry I would cry about that MRI. I decided, if this is the last week of Bright's life, then dad-gummit, we are going to enjoy ourselves. And we did.

The MRI, by the way, came back normal. But by the time the results came in, I had already come to grips with the fact that my son would die. And he will. Someday. We all will. Fearing that end is like fearing the setting of the sun. We should, instead, consider what we are doing while the sun is in the sky.

Wait for it...

My cousin Brian took me hunting on his family's place up in West Fork tonight. We had a blast. The further up in the Ozarks you go the prettier it gets. The leaves are starting to turn here and it was just a touch cool outside. I got up in the stand around 3:30, and as I was pulling up my bow, there were two does! Here's my bow dangling in the air 12 feet below me and four eyes staring me down from 17 yards away. Soon, needless to say, they decided that another area of the woods might suit them better.

At 4:50, I couldn't believe it. Up walk two more does. This time, I was sure not to mess things up. They moved right in, 15 yards, broadside, my heart was in the foliage about 5 feet above me. As I pulled back they busted me and probably went to see the other two does so they could all laugh and have a good time. At this point I'm coming to grips with shaming the family name...

Then, at 5:30, up the hill below me comes a lone deer. I knew it was small. I couldn't tell if it was a small doe or a yearling, but I decided to take a shot if I was given the chance. I remember whispering, "Dad, help me make good decisions." As she moved behind some covering, I drew back. Slowly, and very carefully she stepped right out - 15 yards from me on my bow side. I let it fly and had my best shot yet on a deer. She laid down just 40 yards away.

I'm thankful for her, that might sound odd to the non-hunters out there. But you always feel a strange but right connection to the animals that your given. Like Bright, Zion's first meat will be venison from his daddy's bow and arrow, from the One. Now it's 1:30 in the morning, I need a shower, and there are things under my fingernails that I'd rather not mention. But, I spent the evening Dad's woods and He's stocked us up with some good food. Thank you Dad for second chances, and third chances...

Empty handed

Yesterday I had promised Bright that we could paint the extra pumpkins. On went the paint clothes, bundled was the baby, and everything was ready to go outside and commence the pumpkin painting. One problem: I couldn't get to the paints. They were pinned under the bed in such a way that I would have had to disassemble the bed frame to remove the box that held them. (As you can see, we are not the most artistic family). In my disappointment I said to Bright, "We can't paint today. Mama can't get to the paints," and I walked out of the room.

A second later, I heard Bright running through the apartment yelling with glee, "I found em. I found the paints, the FOUND em!!!" I was curious and a little hopeful, so I met up with him in the kitchen. He turned around to face me and in his little outstretched hands was...nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he said, "HERE are the paints. I found em."

Imagination. Positive thinking. Joy. Making due. Dad, I pray that today, in the midst of my discouragement, you would teach me to reach out my empty hands and rejoice about what I have. Amen.

Pumpkin Carving!

Beef and Honey

Grandma and Grandpa were here all week, camping down at Overland RV park here in Van Buren. Every couple of months they fill up their gas-guzzling wonder mobile and head south to see us. They are the world's best grandparents, as you can see from the pictures. The fun never stops when they're in town.

When my brothers and I were kids, and Dad's beard was brown instead of gray, he used to bury his face in our necks and say he was eating honey. He would then blow on our bellies and say he was eating beef. Today, after Mom and Dad pulled out of town, Bright turned to me and said, "Grandpa eats honey from here," (pointing to his neck) "and beef from here" (pointing to his belly). I smiled as a lump rose in my throat. It's been years, but beef and honey are back on the menu.

Role Call

Lately I've been trying to define, in my own mind, my role in life. I know I'm Daniel's wife, and though it has taken me five years, I think I've figured out what he needs from me. The baby, Zion, is pretty cut and dry. Love him and nurse him. But then there's this 2 1/2 year old running around who thinks he's a man. What does he need from me? A few years back, Daniel and I read the book, "Wild at Heart," and it in the author states that the only thing that can affirm manhood is manhood. That is evident even in our toddler. Daniel's presence brings Bright to life. I suppose speeding around the neighborhood on a four-wheeler is more fun than rolling play-dough with mom at the kitchen table. But Bright is particulary uninterested in his mom. Don't get me wrong, it is a joy for me to watch my son and husband do their thing. I wouldn't want Bright to be any less self-assured or fearless, or boyish by any means. But it does leave me wondering...what does he need from me? I can only assume he will eventually fall down hard enough that Daddy's, "You're OK son," won't quite cut it and he'll need to curl up in my arms for a minute or two. But you know, if he never does, I'll be OK with that, too. Because at the end of the day, I know in my heart of hearts that it was my cooking that gave him the energy, and my home that gave him the security to go out and be himself that day. I know he would be - I know all three of them would be - lost without me. And I'll hang on to that.

Deep Reflections and Deep Traditions.

As I reflect on the passing of my 28th birthday, it becomes clear to me that there are some wonderful perks to being in this stage of life. Allow me to mention two:

Kayla has brought a wonderful tradition to our home. Everytime its your birthday in our family, you choose what's for dinner and the kind of cake you get. You only get that dinner once a year, so its really special. I always have her special Cajun chicken pasta and her phenominal carrot cake.

Another thing that brings great joy to my heart is the fact that Bright has recently mastered the art of pulling my finger. Often, he would like it to work a little more than humanly possible. I'll make a toot sound with my mouth, but it's just not quite as funny as the real thing. Even at 2, he instinctively and sincerely appreciates the true humor of gas.

As many of you know, he has his pronouns totally confused. He says "I" or "my" and is really talking about you. He says "you" and is talking about himself. The other day he said, "Want you to pull my finger, and I will toot out of my belly and not out of my mouth."

The Rev Bright Rupp

Every boy wants to be like a his dad. Bright is no exception. Here he is on his pulpit, his text open, teaching about...Jonah, I believe it was. Some days its Joseph, and some days John the "Bap-nist."

Happy Birthday to Kayla!

I (Kayla) turned 27 on Saturday. Some folks don't think much of their birthdays, but I do. I wake up on the 6th of October every year excited, even if nothing is planned. It just feels good to have a day that is just for me. In Daniel's Radical Devotion class we are learning about how much He loves us. He loves ME. Little, insignificant, sinful me. His heart is ravaged for me, in fact. He wants to marry me. Sometimes I think we, as a corporate bride, get so focused on disappearing behind the cross and laying ourselves down, that we forget to celebrate the beauty and value of what He created on the sixth day (people). So, it really is OK to go to the theater and watch 3:10 to Yuma and then head to Fayetteville for the world's best dish, panang curry at the Taste of Thai. It really is OK for your wonderful new friend, Darci Long, to get your mom's birthday cake recipe and spend all day coloring little picture books with her kids that compare you to the flowers of the fields. It is OK to cry when you open them. Thank you for making me, God. I sure am enjoying myself down here.

p.s. Here is a picture of Daniel and me on my birthday date. The shirt and earrings were a gift from my mom. Thanks mom!

The Big Z

Still weighing in at the "10th percentile," our 4-month-old is a petite, chubby, loving, happy, and delightful baby. He would rather search my face for a smile than nurse. A perfect day for him is two big naps, an evening stroll, and early to bed. He sleeps from 7:30 p.m. to 5 a.m., waking to nurse, and then its back to bed until 8 or 9 a.m. (These lovely patterns have just developed, and mamma and daddy are very happy about it). He is laughing and grabbing and rolling from his belly to his back. He sleeps on his tummy (don't tell my pediatrician), and his bed partner is a pale elephant that Bright has named, "DeeDee." He takes a pacifier like a champ, and cries very little for any reason. We love you, "Big Z." Don't grow up as fast as your brother has, OK?

Turn around, Bright Eyes

We named Bright after his great-great-grandfather, Bright Eyes Haggard. We did not, however, give him the middle name "Eyes." We considered it, but then decided against it. As it turns out, Bright Eugene Rupp has very bright eyes. They are the color of chocolate frosting and when he smiles, they almost seem to dance. His grandma says, "He smiles with his eyes."

Lately, our little Bright Eyes has been struggling. He is jealous of his little brother. Zion's baby blues have been stealing the show. It breaks my heart. Last week he didn't take a single nap, and he started waking up in the middle of the night, afraid of animals coming into his room. He even tried to nurse. It has been a tough month for us, especially since he does not respond well to physical affection or words of affirmation. Those things just make him pull away. I haven't known how to reach him. Until...

Last week our teacher spoke about what a man needs from his wife. After respect, and "you-know-what", the greatest need a man has is for companionship. That means he wants his wife to sit next to him on the couch and watch a ball game with him, or come into the garage while he's working on his car, and not say a word. So...I got to thinking, maybe that's what my two-and-a-half-year-old man needs, too. So the next day, we stayed in our pjs all day and played. We stopped only for spaghetti-Os. We made pillow houses, jumped around like frogs, built towers, and formed dozens of matchbox car parking lots. And as the day unfolded, so did my son. It was beautiful.

Since that day, I've stopped showering him with unwanted kisses, and started pushing bulldozers by his side. And I think he is making a turn around.

The Rupps are headed East

It is true. We are moving to East Asia in August of 2008, barring any sort of major set back. This first committment is 3 years. We had our interview with our new company today, in fact, and it went well. Daniel took this picture in a village on his trip this past Christmas. This blog is brief, but I wanted to get the formal announcement out before too much time went by. Please pray for us as we prepare for this monumental shift in our lives. We love you all.