In Some Disguise, At Every Turn

"If they [miracles] have occurred, they have occurred because they are the very thing this universal story is about.  They are not exceptions (however rarely they occur) nor irrelevancies.  They are precisely those chapters in this great story on which the plot turns.  Death and Resurrection are what the story is about; and had we but eyes to see it, this has been hinted on every page, met us, in some disguise, at every turn...  If you have hitherto disbelieved in miracles, it is worth pausing a moment to consider whether this is not chiefly because you thought you had discovered what the story was really about?"

C.S. Lewis, Miracles

Invisible Whispers

"It was as though the voice which had called to me from the world's end were now speaking at my side.  It was with me in the room, or in my own body, or behind me.  If it had once eluded me by its distance, it now eluded me by proximity - something too near to see, too plain to be understood, on this side of knowledge.  It seemed to have always been with me; if I could ever have turned my head quick enough I should have seized it."

- C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy


Me too...

R & R

Something is seriously wrong with my "internal clock" this week.  No, not my biological clock... my internal clock (thank you very much).  Ever since I stayed up til 2am making pies and deviled eggs, followed by a 6am turkey-gutting-"Ew-ew-ew-ewwww" fest, I can't seem to get my sleeps back on track.  Why am I telling you all of this?  Well, for one, so you don't think I'm crazy for writing a 3:16...make that 3:17am, blog.  Reason #2?  I guess the less sleep I get, the more I recognize the value of a little "R & R."

We've been talking about this idea of R & R in our addictions group recently, but not the kind you're thinking (or I'm wishing I could get right now).  I'm talking about the R & R of Forgiveness.  Sometime last year, one of my students was talking with me about the challenge of forgiveness in her life.  She told me that she was "trying" to forgive, but she felt like a failure.  Brilliantly, I asked her why (yes, I have pretty mad counseling skills...it takes a genius:)  She answered by telling me how people keep encouraging her to, "forgive and forget."  She said "I'm working on the forgiveness part, I really am, but I just can't seem to make myself forget."

Immediately I added "Forgive & Forget" to my list of ridiculous, insensitive cliches.

This student and I began to talk about the idea of "forgive and forget."  We talked about how it's ridiculous.  It's inhumane.  It's illogical.  And, unless you have amensia, virutally impossible.  I understand the principle behind the thought, "forgive and forget"; at least I think I do.  I understand that we're talking about not reliving the past, harboring bitterness or ill will toward others, or, as we also love to say, "Let go and let God."  (Sounds lovely...still feels crappy).

Together, we wondered, does not forgetting mean I haven't forgiven?  Days beyond our conversation, I chatted over this issue with God.  I thought about how we like to say that God "forgets" our sins, but I wondered how that could be possible when God knows everything.  Can God get amnesia?  I began to think that maybe God doesn't forget our sins - maybe He remembers them - entirely, thoroughly, completely - yet chooses to forgive.  Maybe this is the great miracle of all miracles, the gift of all gifts - that He still remembers, but still forgives.  Through our talks, what grew in my heart was this:

There can be no forgiveness without remembrance. 

Without remembrance, there would be no reason to forgive. 

I release you from the guilt of not forgetting. 

If you cannot forgive and forget, then remember and release.

R & R... Remember and Release.

Together, with my addictions group, we're practicing this new habit of remembering and releasing.  For a week we all walked around with a small bottle of bubbles in our pockets.  Any time we were challenged with a memory we must forgive, we found a private place and pulled out our bubbles.  We pulled the wand from the container and looked at it.  We looked at it and remembered the offense, and then instead of cramming it back into the bottle, to harbor and carry it with us everywhere we go, we chose to release it.  We chose to breathe out bitterness, regret, anger and grief.  We chose to let it go.  We chose to forgive.  We chose to release.

I think sometimes we are waiting for apologies or retribution before we choose to forgive.  This is far from Christ.  Jesus received no apology before choosing to cry, "Father, forgive them..."  I find it quite lovely actually, that He forgave, He drank the sour wine offered to Him (finishing the 'cup' perhaps?), said "It is finished," and breathed His last.  Breathe... release.    

Nope, it's not that easy.  It's not always as easy as "forgive and forget" or "let go, let God," or even that one profound moment when you wrote "that name" on a piece of paper, then tore it up or burned it as a sign of forgiveness.  Profound moment, yes.  Do you magically forget the offense after that?  No. 

 But it is possible to still remember, yet choose to release.  Here is the great sacrifice, the sweet surrender, the "worshipper the Father is seeking" - the one who, broken and bullied, whispers in prayer with each aching memory, "Father, I surrender this to You..."  Maybe forgiveness will not happen in one shiny moment, but in recurring, bleeding moments of release - breathing prayers day in, day out, as images flood back to memory - choosing to forgive, choosing to release. 

If you're weighed down, groggy in the fog of unforgiveness, I would like to suggest that you release yourself from the guilt of "forgive and forget."  Own your circumstance, affirm your pain, remember it well and choose to release.

I'm sure we could all use some good R & R.


*(Please forgive all of my parentheses.  This is what happens when I don't get much sleep.  I have 5 internal dialogues going at once).

We Are The Hands

Ok, I usually write frilly, faith-filled, TMI kind of journalings about Jesus and me and life.  I'll get back to that in the next blog, but for now, bear with me.  I love you, America, but these gloves are coming off...

Just read an article about Disney laying off on princess movies for an undetermined period of time, because "boys think they're icky."  Ok, I can roll with that.  I love me some Disney, but I can handle a hold on princess stories for a bit.  I get it - they're too girly, they awaken unrealistic expectations about life and love, and on and on.  I get it.  But these kids don't get that.  Sure, one day, they'll understand that love is more than a magic glance across a room, or a prince who rescues you from a tower.  Unfortunately, maybe they'll meet Prince Charming and he'll smash their hearts into a million pieces.  But they'll also find that just like in these fairytales, faith prevails.  There is something sweet and yes, even magical, in the childlike naivete of faith, of believing that dreams can come true, that within every girl is a princess and she is worth more than meets the eye.

Today I read this statement from a media critic regarding Disney's decision to hold off on Princess films: "By the time they're 5 or 6, [girls are] not interested in being princesses. They're interested in being hot, in being cool. Clearly, they see this is what society values."  (REALLY?!)

And we wonder why the sex trade is thriving.  Not the same thing?  What if, one small decision after another - ie, one song, one music video, one magazine cover, one billboard, one store advertisement, one lyric after another, after another, after another... we're demoralizing ourselves.  What if, in essence, we are the perpetrators?  We are the consumers.  We are the traffickers.  We traffick violence and rape by consuming every piece of media - music, film, internet or print - that perpetrates this sort of ideology and atmosphere in our world: 

Be hot.  It's all about the hotness. 

When you awaken a thirst within a man, do not be surprised when he drinks. 

When you arouse a hunger in a man, do not be shocked when he eats. 

When you create a culture where 'hotness' is all that matters,

do not be angry at the monster who devours it.

Be angry at the hands that built it.

I'm afraid in many ways, we are those hands.

Thankfully, all hope is not lost...

What if this wasn't what society valued?  I realize, this sounds impossible, 'old-fashioned,' and maybe even naive, but "I have a dream..."  I have a dream that human kind would be allowed to still dream and believe, like a child.  I have a dream that movies could still be funny without being rated R.  I have a dream that upholding a standard of virtue would not be cheaply dismissed as "too conservative," "out of touch," or "super-spiritual."  I have a dream that parents would stand up to their children and stand up for their children - because they love and protect the prince and princess within.  I have a dream that 5 or 6 year olds would never be described again with words like "hot" or "cool."  I have a dream that children would be encouraged to be children again.  That the 'legal' age among society for becoming an adult would be reserved for, yes...the adults.  I have a dream that children would have more to look up to than any adolescent boy or girl with a microphone and good hair.  I have a dream that the grown ups would grow up - that they would father and mother well.  I have a dream where the princes and princesses reign.

I love good music of all kinds.  I enjoy TV and movies of pretty much any genre.  And honestly, I kind of hate the terms "Christian music" and "secular music."  I know there is truth to be found in both (Philippians 4:8 is a great measuring rod for what is healthy or not).  I do not believe we should retreat in fear, but to live our faith.  When there is no longer a line in the sand, we will become what we hate.  Satan's sneaky, a worthy adversary indeed.  *If you are already dismissing this because I just included "Satan" and "media" in the same note, you might want to take some time to read the ever-insightful Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. 

The time for awakening has passed.  We are in need of resurrection.

Long live the princes.  Long live the princesses.  Long live The King.

Lessons in Loss: "There's a Word for That"

It has been one week since I lost my first TC student.  For days, people kept calling, texting, messaging and commenting: "How are you doing?"  "Are you ok?"  "Is there anything I can do?" and it meant the world to me.  It was comforting that they did not avoid me just because they didn't know what to say or do to make me feel better.  They entered into the discomfort with me and patiently let me be sad, angry, frustrated or whatever else I felt.  They made it ok for me to be wherever I 'was' that day, and they gave me the gift of being allowed to walk through pain, rather than around it.  They understood that in addition to losing someone I care about, many questions and doubts would follow for me, and their simple gestures of love and support carried me for days as I was reminded:

I am not alone.

What I am feeling matters.

I am allowed to go through this.

It is good for me to feel, process and experience all that is in this moment...

A few weeks ago, my pastor sent me a song by Kathryn Scott ("We Still Believe").  Neither of us knew when he first sent that song how I'd be tested to live it before I could sing it.  The day after I find out we lost "E," I pulled out this song and started learning it for church.  I had heard the words of the chorus, but not listened much to the verses.  It begins:

From the thankful heart to the battle scarred

From the comforted to those who grieve...

"To those who grieve..."  Singing alone in my room that night, I finally broke.  I had been speechless, unable to answer the "Are you ok's" and "How are you doing's" from all my friends and family.  I was in a state of emotional shock.  The only response I could muster ("I will be ok.  Thank you for your prayers and support") felt cheap, falling short of the weight of this moment.  I'd been telling myself (unintentionally), "Get up, Tara.  Get up.  You're stronger than this.  You need to be strong.  Your girls need you to be at your best.  It's ok to be sad, but you need to stop being so emotional.  Pick up and move on."  But nothing inside of me was ready to just "pick up and move on."  There was a knot in my throat the size of Texas, a sinking, empty feeling in my stomach, and the constant worry over my other 'prodigal daughters.'  There were swirling doubts about the worth of my ministry, about the sincerity (or lack thereof) of my current students, and the worst wound of all - those 'Job' questions drowning the buoyancy of my faith.  So "pick up and move on" wasn't quite working for me.  

I needed to feel.  I needed to experience the horrible rot and stench of every question, doubt, and re-opened wound in my soul.  I needed to let myself think.  I needed to experience this.  I needed to water the flowers of a frustrated faith, struggling to break through the soil of sorrow.

Then I saw it: "To those who grieve..."  

GRIEVE.

The word itself seemed to thrust itself off a barren chord chart, throwing its arms around my bleeding heart.  "To those who grieve.  To those who grieve.  To those who... GRIEVE."

I had been wondering, "What is my problem?   Why am I so handicapped by this?  Why do I feel this knot in my throat is never going to go away?  Why do I feel like I'm suffocating inside, like the very air I breathe has turned to smog and ash?  Why can't I just shake it off?"

I sang "To those who grieve," and a voice spoke in my heart: "There's a word for it.  What you're feeling, Tara, there's a word for that.  It's definable, it's recognizable, it's affirmed in that there is a word for it, and that word is grief.  You are allowed to grieve - you are right to grieve.  So grieve.  Grieve with the same amount of guts and passion with which you give every other day.  Grieve like it hurts.  Grieve like it matters.  Grieve, though you are hurting, like you still believe.  Don't miss the gift of this regrettable experience by failing to grieve."

In that sentence, in that word, I found comfort knowing there is a word for what I am feeling.  I guess as much as I was hurting and frustrated, I needed some sort of validation that what I was going through was ok.  That it didn't mean I was losing my mind or my faith, just that I was grieving - and I was right to grieve.  

I don't always understand the power of our words, but a word spoken (or sometimes withheld) at just the right time can release enormous healing.  As people struggle around us, maybe they do not need our answers or solutions so much as they need to be affirmed and validated in their pain.  Maybe they need to know they are allowed to experience the heights and the depths of this life with gore and with grace; that although at times life may be ugly and tragic, there is still hope in the pain, and experiencing the pain does not diminish the power of hope.

A week after losing "E," I'm thankful for the companionship of family and friends through the valley of the shadow of death.  I'm thankful that they raised their voice, extended their hands, offered their hope when mine was weak.  I'm thankful they allowed me to be where I 'was,' to not force me past the moment with pat answers, cliches or empty words.  I'm thankful for the hugs, the texts, the messages, the calls and talks that all reminded me I am not alone, I am understood, and there will be more than this.  I'm thankful for a good song at just the right time, and the gift of a soul that, by grace, still sings in sorrow: "I still believe."

The Day I Lost a Student

For the past seven years, I have dreaded the day I might find out one of my students overdosed.  But the dreaded day has arrived.  It did not have to; it crept, deceitfully, upon a young girl who should not be gone from us today.

I spent the earlier portion of this day talking with five classes of middle school students about issues like addiction, self-harm and eating disorders.  It was a beautiful, redemptive day.  We talked openly about pain, loneliness, and the desire within all of us to know that we matter, we belong.  I left each of those classes telling them, "If you are struggling, ask for help.  You are not alone."  

Then I came home to find out that one of my former students died yesterday of an apparent overdose.

Now I sit here wondering, again, if any of this even matters at all.  Is anyone even listening?  Does anyone really care?  Are we frantically pumping at hearts that simply do not want to live?

I don't think so.

I still believe that, although people hurt, they want to heal.  Although people fight, they want to be heard.  Although people run away, close the door and reject help - they want to be loved.  I tell my girls all of the time that I wish there was a switch I could flip in their hearts to 'make' them care.  But there's not.  I can't 'make' life happen for anyone.  I can't make love come alive.  I can't make someone want to change.  

But I can love.

I can listen.

I can be present.

I can see you.

I can remind you - over and over and over again - that you matter, and there is more than this.  

I can tell you that God loves you, relentlessly and compassionately - that He is still with you.  

He loves you, as you are, not as you should be.

Today I'm grieving.  I'm discouraged and saddened.  I'm praying for grace and comfort for a grieving family that has lost their beautiful daughter and friend.  

Today I'm still believing.  I'm still believing that it is worth it to try.  It is worth it to love.  It is worth it to speak up.  It is worth it to get involved, instead of ignore or avoid issues that make us feel uncomfortable.    It is worth it to keep believing the best in others, "right up to the end."

Today, if you are struggling, ask for help.  You are not alone.

E... We love you.  

I am very sad that you are no longer with us.  

I am thankful for the year of life we shared, laughing, crying and growing together.  

You were a lovely girl, inside and out, and you will be greatly missed.

Believing or Behaving?

"Am I really believing or am I just behaving?"

I've become my own worst enemy the last few months (what's new?).  Putting it into words is difficult, but I have felt like I am grinding myself to pieces, trying to crank out "the good life."  Good this, good that, "Be good, Tara.  Make it good..."  God has been teaching me a lot (crazy beautiful stuff) about the word "good" in the Bible.  But for some reason, along the way I find myself drowning in the weight of "the good life."  I'm trying to balance everything I think it means to be good.  Though I probably wouldn't ever say it like this to someone else, in my own mind the track repeats:

"I'm supposed to do this... I'm not supposed to do that..."

Supposed to, supposed to... I'd venture to say those words probably aren't even in the Bible, because I'm not sure they are even remotely biblical.  "Supposed to" indicates requirement or obligation; but the Christ-life is anything but obligatory.  It is surrender.  It is all-or-nothing, free-will, "because I wanted to," giving.  Yet so many times I find myself behaving in a certain way because I am "supposed to."  

God challenged me with a moment of awakening this week when I wondered, "Am I really believing or am I just behaving?"  

A friend of mine quoted this verse tonight from Matthew 9: "Become what you believe."  Become what you BELIEVE... not how you behave, but what you believe.  My behavior follows my belief.  Without my belief in tact, my "good behavior" will always be that of a forced effort.  My behavior the past few weeks has been that of an unbeliever, and if there is anything that really, really infuriated Jesus, it was unbelief.  Yet I find myself doubting Him, quietly and unintentionally, acting out in ways that unveil my unbelief.  I wonder what my life would look like today, if regardless of my emotions or disappointments, I acted like I believe.  What would happen if, instead of acting like I believe, I chose to actually believe?

Believing is not always a natural impulse.  I have students come to me all day long with stories that I must either believe or disbelieve.  I'm looking at them and listening, all the while secretly "reading" them, mentally interpreting their body language, tone of voice, nervous twitches, length and detail of story - all the elements that hint to whether I should believe them or not.  There are times when all the facts and figures come together clearly, and the story is easy to believe.  There are other moments, though, when I have no solid information on hand, but I simply choose to say, "I'm gonna go with you on this one."  In other words, I choose to believe.

I find this with Jesus.  He comes to me with this story that I must either believe or disbelieve.  I'm looking Him over constantly, trying to "read Him," trying to get a full understanding of what He's up to, if anything at all.  Prone to doubt, I'm hunting for hints that I can believe Him...but then I look at HIS body language.  I see a bloody man on a cross - a man that I'm reminded is the epitome of trustworthy.  There's this point where something shifts.  I don't have all of the information, the facts or the figures.  I'm just as clueless as I was a moment ago, but I look at Jesus and decide, "I'm gonna go with You on this one."  

I choose to believe.

Tonight I'm convicted in all the right places.  The goodness and kindness of God has led me to repentance, and I will gladly suffer it.  No, I haven't been out living "la vida loca," so if you're freaking out that I'm calling myself on misbehavior, just calm yourself right down.  But as my dad would say, I've been living like a "practical atheist," forgetting who I'm dealing with as I walk hand-in-hand with an omnipotent, yet fiercely compassionate God.  So today I remember Jesus, and I choose to believe.  

So let my behavior follow my belief.  Let my confident choice in Him as Savior lead me through the valley of the shadow of death into the spacious light of His enduring life.  Thank God I've found a friend in Jesus, who never grows weary of this little girl's prayer: "Lord, I believe. Heal my unbelief."

My Favorite Atheist (And a Little Grilled Cheesus)

Yeah, I said it - I have a favorite atheist.  She may be one of the greatest people that has ever happened to me.  I've been counseling her for over a year now, and yup, she's still an atheist.  By all evangelistic standards, I suppose you could call this a fail - an epic fail.  But by Jesus' standards, I'm finding it's something much more...

My favorite atheist is in a growing relationship with Jesus, she just hasn't said her "I Do's" yet.  I love walking with her day by day, as she struggles through questions and doubts, insecurities and fears.  Occasionally she lets her forces down just long enough to confess that she thinks God may have spoken to her - in fact, she's certain He has, but she is afraid to believe.  She is afraid to trust Him - to be disappointed - to find out that He is just like everyone else who has ever deserted or abandoned her.  

Still, He is with her.  (He told her so :)

This week's episode of GLEE ("Grilled Cheesus") approached this subject of faith and fear, of doubting the existence of God.  Two main characters declare themselves atheists - one, because he is gay and has been hurt by people who claim to follow Jesus, and also because he lost his mother at a young age; the second is our beloved Coach Sue Sylvester.  Sue's sister is mentally handicapped.  When Sue was a little girl, she adored her older sister, so she was heartbroken to watch other kids ridicule and demean her for her illness.  Sue prayed and prayed that God would change her sister, but He never did.  Sue asked something of God; He didn't do what she wanted Him to do.  The not so original result?  Sue became an atheist.

There was a part of me that cringed watching GLEE this week - so many inaccurate portrayals of what it means to truly seek God's direction in our lives, of His heart and character and love toward us.  But I'm glad I stuck it out.  I think a lot of times as Christians, we get so offended on behalf of God that we plug our ears to the complaints of the world around us.  When I read the OT, I see that when God's people complained, repeatedly it says that He "heard their cries for help and came down to save them."  Plugging our ears because we are offended will never result in actually hearing cries for help and bringing salvation to the lost.  Maybe we don't have to get so offended; maybe we can become more like our Christ and become better listeners, hearing the cry beneath the complaint...

So I stuck with GLEE to the end this week.  I endured "Grilled Cheesus" and actually could see many of my students in this episode.  Moreso, I could see myself.  I could see the times in my own life when I've doubted the very existence of God; when I've accused Him of being so many things that He is not; when I've entirely missed the point and given up way too soon; when I've lived like a practical atheist.

At the end of the episode (mild spoiler alert), Sue asks her mentally handicapped sister if she believes in God.  She does.  After a chat at the dinner table, Sue's sister asks her, "Do you want me to pray for you, Sue?"  With tears in her eyes, Sue replies, "Yeah, that would be nice."  

The bottom line of the episode was this: We want to believe.  Help us to believe.   

Sounds like a guy I heard of once who came to Jesus saying, "I believe...heal my unbelief."  

If we plug our ears or run in the opposite direction too fast, we will miss the privileged journey of this sweet redemption together.  So offenses buried, I sat speechless and weepy at the end of "Grilled Cheesus."  I thought of my favorite atheist and the many times she has cried and complained, all the while silently whispering beneath: I want to believe.  Help me believe.

My favorite atheist is coming to believe.  More and more, we are talking about Jesus, because she brings Him up... because He's speaking to her, she's finding Him, and though she trembles to admit it... she wants Him.  Recently, through tears, she shared with me an hour-long conversation she had with God one night.  At the end of the talk, all I could say was, "________, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're totally in a relationship with Jesus - you're just not holding His hand yet."

And my favorite atheist smiled...

Mother Tara

A while back one of my girls told me, "Tara, you're like Mother Teresa...with mood swings."  Truly, I WISH I was like Mother Teresa, but I'm afraid the latter portion of that [compliment?...insult?...whatever it was], is probably more true of me.  Still, somehow this comment seems to come back to mind over and over again; mostly because I thought it was hilarious, and partly because I hoped it was true.  I hoped that, aside from all of my weaknesses, there might be something special I have to give, or to be in my world.

I've been at TC for almost seven years now.  Wow...seven years.  That is a whole lot of living with teenage females.  But man, it's been an incredible seven years.  I've walked in the mud with hundreds of girls, one on one, heart to heart, soul to soul, and experienced great tragedies and triumphs.  Through the years, I've noticed girls constantly start calling us staff "mom" over time.  Maybe it has to do with the counselor-counselee relationship; maybe it has to do with being the one telling them to pick up their rooms, do their laundry, clean their plates, take their meds and be kind to their friends.  Or maybe it's about something more, something we all burn for - someone to believe in us, to see the best in us and find a way to draw it out; to stick with us through our ugliest days and walk the journey of life, together.

I have to be honest, the moodier side of this "Mother Tara" comes out way more often than I like.  I have literally responded to students who call me "mom," by saying, "I'm not your mom, stop calling me that."  I don't mean it rude; I actually mean it out of respect.  I have a great deal of admiration for the hard work, sacrifice and love that these girls' moms have put into their lives - even if the extent of that was simply bringing them into the world on Day One.  But I've found that there's a part of me that cringes inside when girls start calling me "mom."  To call me a counselor, a coach or a mentor - I can handle that.  I can put time restrictions, boundaries and limitations on that.  But to call me "mom" - that gets intimate.  That gets expensive.

I got a good spanking from Jesus this week about this mothering business.  One of the girls asked me again last week (as she has about a hundred times) if I would adopt her.  As we played and joked about it, the Lord spoke to me, "Tara, why do you think girls keep asking you this?  What do you think they're really asking for?"  I have had multiple teenage girls ask me over the years to adopt them.  They're joking, of course (I think), but often behind the joke there is this hidden cry: "Keep me.  Hold onto me.  Don't let me go.  I need you."  I'm ashamed to say that many times when I begin to feel that request, I draw back.  I'm not a mother.  Absolutely I want to be a mom one day, but for now, I'm a single, independence-loving girl, and when I feel like someone might be asking too much of my independence, I draw back.  

In Paul's letters to Timothy, he refers to Timothy as his son; not his counselee, student, or (ouch), "project."  Paul saw those God entrusted to him as sons, and I'm finding the same to be true of God's call on my own life.  I'm being challenged - painfully challenged - to love beyond my limitations, to go beyond mentoring to mothering. 

God help me with the mood swings...I want to mother well.

Shuttles and Earthquakes

I'm heading home to Florida at the end of the month.  Today my sister called to let me know that a shuttle is scheduled to launch while I'm home.  I shocked even myself at the level of excitement I felt over this.  For eight years I lived in Florida, just minutes away from Kennedy Space Center; shuttle launches aren't exactly a new thrill for me.  But ever since I heard about the soon-coming finale of space shuttles, I've yearned to hear, see and feel just one more launch.  

I was 13 when we moved to Florida, and I'll never forget that first launch.  I was laying in bed, and as I drifted off to sleep, the floor beneath me began to rumble and the walls began to shake.  I jumped out of bed, ran into the living room and asked my parents if this was an earthquake.  Together, our family realized for the first time the wonder of living so close to the space center.  We went outside into our backyard and watched the night sky light up like noonday thanks to a flair of light trailing behind the shuttle.  It was brilliant, awe-inspiring, unforgettable.  For a minute, I felt like I had looked into the face of God Himself.  I stared into the sky and watched as that blaze of light slowly drifted into a smaller and smaller speck among scores of other stars.  Finally I returned to bed, my heart full with the wonder and mystery I could only describe as "beyond me."  

Over the years, I loved shuttle and rocket launches.  But somewhere along the way, I'd find that a launch had happened, and I missed it.  Not only did I not know it was happening, but I didn't even hear or feel it happening.  Visitors to town could ask, "Didn't you hear the sonic boom?  Didn't you feel the rumble?" and I'd realize no, I didn't hear it - I didn't even feel it.  For them it was life-changing, impossible to miss, but for me...I was used to it, so I missed it.

I find this habit in my life with God.  In the early days of knowing Him, I was constantly struck by the wonder, mystery, beauty and majesty of all that He is.  I couldn't describe Him as much other than "beyond me," but "beyond me" was quite enough.  In that "beyond me" was the understanding that He is enormous, wondrous magnificent.  I was moved by Him, inspired by Him, yearning constantly to hear, see and feel Him.  It seems in a way, the more He revealed Himself, the less I appreciated Him.  I grew accustomed to Him, and in essence, could find myself sleeping through the moments when He would love to shake the ground right beneath my feet.  

I still love shuttle launches, and I still love Jesus.  I'm just growing aware that over time and tradition, I run the risk of losing the joy and wonder of all that He is.  I'm asking Him to hold me in the sort of childlike awe that will leap out of bed to watch Him at work.  

My dad often tells me, "God is always working."  I believe that.  Now the question is, am I paying attention?

It is Good...

Read this last week.  Still chewing on it... "I sometimes wonder if we have even begun to understand what is involved in the very concept of creation. If God will create, He will make something to be, and yet not to be Himself. To be created is, in some sense, to be ejected and separated. Can it be that the more perfect the creature is, the further this separation must at some point be pushed? It is saints, not common people, who experience the "dark night."...The hiddenness of God perhaps presses most painfully on those who are in another way, nearest to Him... But perhaps there is an anguish, an alienation, a crucifixion involved in the creative act. Yet He who alone can judge, judges the far-off consummation to be worth it."  (Excerpt from C.S. Lewis, "Letters to Malcolm, Chiefly on Prayer").

God told me a secret this week and I am still absorbing it.  Not quite ready to write on it yet - I think I must live it first.  Still tonight, as I head to bed, I find this verse is rocking me to sleep:  "God created and said...it is good...it is very good." 

In The 7th Year, Tara Rested

Ok, well maybe not yet... it's been a busy "sabbatical" so far, but rest is on the way.  I am home in Florida, enjoying my family and close friends.  This August marks my seventh year serving with Central Indiana Teen Challenge, and my directors have been incredibly kind to allow me a month long sabbatical to refresh and refuel for what lies ahead.  Thank you, Pastor Dave and Dawn Rose, for allowing me this time to remember that I am more than what I do.  I'm blessed to be part of such a unique team, sharing community and life in some of the most intimate and profound ways.  This is kingdom-living, and though at times I buck and resist it, I am incredibly thankful that God has led me down this "road less taken..."

As ministry leaders, we're not very good at rest.  It's tough when you begin to feel that your worth hangs on the amount of impact of you're having. (How do you measure that anyway?  Another blog, another day).  I've grown up in ministry; I've lived the highs and lows - I've seen the beauty and the battery of surrendering your life fully to the cause of Christ.  People can be painful.  Even Christian people...maybe especially Christian people.  I remember being 17 years old, after having my world shattered by people I thought were my friends - people I thought I could trust - that loved Jesus and loved my family, yet they hurt us in profound ways.  I remember asking God, "If this is 'The Church,' then what's the point?  Who wants any part of this?"  I cried and banged my fists on the carpet floor of my teenage bedroom, and I will never forget the words the Holy Spirit spoke to me that day:

"Remember Jesus."

That's all it took to restore my faith in the Kingdom of God on earth... remembering Jesus.  Remember Jesus, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and finished in love.  "Remember Jesus, Tara.  Remember Jesus."  At 17, I laid on the floor, pounding the ground in grief over the state of the American Church, wanting nothing to do with her...until my young heart literally cried, "I am so sick of the American Church! ... But how can I leave her?  I ache over her.  I love her.  Use me to restore her, Jesus."  Whatever comes, I serve and I give and I love for Jesus.  HE is the Author, the Writer, the Dreamer, Creator... HE is the Finisher, the Perfecter, the One who makes all of this complete, fulfilled.  My job is not to be the Messiah, to save or fix any one - it is to remember Jesus.  To love HIM, deeply, profoundly, entirely to the end.  Everything else hangs on this. 

Everything.

Today I'm reminded of that prayer from a broken 17 year old.  I asked Jesus to let me work alongside Him in restoring the Kingdom of God on earth - in the Church even - and day by day, He's graced me with the trust to do just that, one life at a time.  I never imagined it would look like this... living in rehab with wounded teenage girls.  Girls that easily could tell me I have no right to speak to their pain, that I don't understand, and they'd be right.  They'd be right, except that it is by grace that I, too, have been rescued by the inifinite love of Jesus.  I, Tara, the least of these; I, Tara, the chief of sinners; I know the darkness of my heart, the sickness of my soul, that without the redeeming, purifying, fiery love of Jesus in my life, I, too, would be walking a road of darkness and loss.

Today I'm reminded that seven years ago, I asked God to plant me wherever I could profoundly impact individual lives.  I literally asked Him to bless me with the ditch - to give me the gift of allowing me to walk through the mess of life with people who desperately needed to discover the truth about Him and about themselves.  In junior high, I dreamed of preaching to stadiums.  Today I dream of Rachel.  I dream that she will finally let the walls collapse and Jesus be her gentle King.  Today I dream of Jennifer.  I dream that she her questions will be crucified to the cross of Christ, that His truth will chase away the doubt and the deception of the enemy of her soul.  Today I dream of Megan.  I dream that her nightmares will fade and she will wake to the voice of Jesus singing restoration.  I dream that her heart will heal, that she will be graced to trust again, to believe and to hope again. 

Today I dream of over 250 beautiful girls that I have had the humble privilege of living with, of walking through life with; today I dream that one day at a time, they will find themselves nearer to the love and truth of Jesus.  Today I dream of a Church that makes love the priority of her life.  Today I dream of a Church that remembers Jesus, and in remembering Him, remembers love...even unto the "least" of these.   

So here I am, on sabbatical, supposed to be resting, and my thoughts are on my girls.  My thoughts are on the goodness of God that has led me along a road less traveled.  My thoughts are on a Church that is awakening, transforming from the inside-out, discovering the true image of God on this earth in love.  This month I rest in the remembrance of Jesus; that at the end of all things He will not ask me questions about numbers or size - He will ask about love.  The hope of my heart is that He will know I loved well.  Grace me, Lord, to love and to keep loving like You. 

For now... let's get some rest, You and I...

*names of students changed for privacy

SO Not the Plan (2)

...so what I'm wondering is, if it took just 400 years of silence for these people to "miss" their Messiah's coming, what about us, 2000+ years later?

I wonder how our kingdoms (even the Christian ones) get in the way of letting Jesus be King.

I wonder how often I am Herod...too often, I think.

I wonder, even within the Church, how often we're staring Him right in the face and don't even know it b/c we're too busy singing our songs and proclaiming our message. 

I wonder what He would say if we would all just quiet down. 

Silence.  God waited through 400 years of silence before sending His Son.  I don't think it's an accident that quietness was part of the plan.  Maybe the other voices needed to fade.  Maybe a craving had to arise within the heart of mankind for the sound of God on earth again. 

I think I feel that craving.  I'm craving a quietness - when our fingers stop typing, the harmonies stop competing and the sermons stop attacking.  When the Do's and the Don'ts and the Don'ts and the Do's just hush a minute... 

I'm craving a silence long enough for His sound to be heard again - not just His Voice, but His Sound. 

A voice is largely identifiable, but a sound - a sound is recognized through intimacy, through experience.  I know the sound of my dad's coming - I know the jingle of his keys, the clearing of his throat, the stroke of his pen.  I know when he is there and when he is not by his sound. 

I wonder what the sound of God is on the earth today.  I wonder if we even notice it.  I wonder if we recognize it.

I don't know what that sound is, but I have an idea.  Still, today I'm challenged to silence all of my ideas in the hope that He will be heard.  His voice, His sound, His breath, His coming.

Sssshhhh...

Jesus has something He wants to say...

SO Not the Plan... (1)

Most of us are already familiar with the story of Christ's birth.  We've heard the story about Herod the Great, the King of the Jews at the time, who sought to have Jesus killed as a baby.  I guess I had always just taken it for granted, but after two decades of hearing this story, I started to wonder, why would Herod be so terrified?  Why would he so violently set out an emergency attack to murder this baby Jesus?

This was supposed to be his Messiah.

This should have been his good news.

But to Herod the Great, the arrival of the long-awaited Messiah was no good news at all.  Jesus was a descendant of Jacob.  Herod was a descendant of Esau.  The descendants of Jacob and Esau had fought through the ages to rule over one another.  Finally, Esau was winning.  Esau's line had taken the throne.  Herod was king, and he would have no other ruler, not even God Himself, take over his throne.

Oh, assumptions and misunderstandings.  We're so good at them.  Herod assumed Jesus the Messiah would be after his throne.  He misunderstood that Jesus wasn't in need of any throne.  Jesus was in need of a cross.

We are Herod.

We long for our Messiah to come.  We wait for God to reveal Himself.  Until the King does come and He's not what we expected.  We fear His threat to our kingdoms, our ways.  We're building a life for ourselves, and the idea that He might tamper with our success, well, it's a little disturbing.  So Herod kills his very own Messiah, and we crucify our very own Christ because to let Him live, to let Him reign in our place, would be very, very expensive.

The people were no better.  Many dreamed of a Messiah who would come and destroy their enemies, set up their kingdoms, and settle their prosperity.  But prosperity was not the priority of Christ.  People.  People were the priority of Christ.  In all of His odd, unexpected ways, Jesus set out to restore the kingdom of God among men, but it was nothing like they had imagined.  Instead of ruling, there was serving.  Instead of fighting, there was forgiving.  Instead of vengeance, there was sacrifice, rooted and grounded in love.

This is not the Messiah we requested.  Can we send this One back?

This was so not the plan...

Found in Translation

Chewing on this...

I was thinking today about the proper translation of the Word of God.  The Bible has been translated into hundreds of languages, over hundreds of years, and for each translation to be as accurate as possible, each version has to be copied from the original languages in which it was written - Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek.  This means we cannot be satisfied with a Bible that has been translated from Greek to Latin to Italian to German to English...and so forth.  That is a grave risk.  Like a game of telephone, the Great Message of all messages would easily be lost in translation.  No, I need a Bible that's been translated straight from the original to the English...no other languages in between.   

Now hang with me.  If this is true with the written Word of God...how much MORE true is this with the Living Word, Christ Himself?

Just as the Bible in my hands is a written copy of an original Hebrew/Aramaic/Greek Bible from days of old, so my LIFE is to be a proper translation of the original Living Word, Jesus Christ.  So often we imitate one Christian or another, yet we fail to imitate Christ.  We are debating over "who follows Peter and who follows Paul," when the cry of the Scriptures is follow Christ!  I've ministered in loads of churches and youth ministries.  Probably my greatest frustration in church ministry has come from realizing how much people have fallen in love with their pastors, and how little they actually know and love Jesus.  Hello...He's the point!!!

Today Jesus challenged me with this:  Is my life a proper translation of the original Living Word?  Am I presenting Him in proper context?  Am I giving an accurate understanding of who He truly is through my life, in both word and deed?  Do people know what Jesus is really like because of me, or is He lost in the translation of my life?

My challenge today from Jesus was to measure my life against the Original.  He is both my Origin and my Destination, yet way too many times I find myself using other "copies" as a measuring rod.  But Jesus is the standard.  He is the canon against which my life must be weighed.  Am I living like Jesus?  This is the goal and the purpose of my life.

So tonight I am praying that Jesus will be found in my translation.  I am praying that people will know the truth about who He really is because I represent Him accurately, with love, grace and truth.  God, let Your Word that is written on my heart be purely reflected in my life.  You are the point.  My eyes are on You.

Eye on the Prize, Tara.  Eye on the Prize. 

"Looking from all that will distract, to JESUS, who is the Author and Finisher of our faith..."

Uncovered

Brace yourself, this is about to be awkward (you're welcome)...

I heard yet another hilarious story this week about my 4 year old nephew Jaden.  He was (supposed to be) taking a nap, when my sister went in to check on him.  Did she find him sleeping sound, snuggled up in his big-boy bed?  Of course not.  Instead, she walked in to find Jaden, buck naked, riding an enormous stuffed lion on top of his bed...like a cowboy.  Ahh, good innocent fun for the toddler.

I was retelling this story to my friend Becky, and I was struck with a thought I probably should've kept to myself...but, being the Queen of Awkward, I carried on :)  "What it is that makes kids love playing around naked so much?  I mean, I highly doubt you're ever going to walk in on an adult doing this...riding a stuffed animal while naked.  What if we did this just because we felt like it, too?  What's the difference between them and us?"

Becky's reply?  "I was naked, so I hid."

My reply? "Uh huh huh huh huh huhhhhhh...." 

Sucker-punch, Szaro.

I know this.  I've heard it a million times - the image of nakedness in the garden of Eden; of innocence lost, of shame and guilt entering the door of our souls through sin.  I get it; at least, I mentally get it.  But I guess I'm still finding daily that I have to ask God to restore me, again, today...and then again, tomorrow...and again, the next day.  I'm finding that each day something within me feels the need to retreat, to run and hide from Him among the trees so that the worst of me will not be seen.  But still, He calls me; He dares me to trust Him with it all - to come, uncovered before the One with whom I am always safe. 

I love the story of David in 2 Samuel 6 when he dances through the streets in praise.  The writer mentions that he stripped off his outer garment, which in a sense, means the psalmist got naked.  I know, we can't all just strip down and call it worship every day.  This would be quite distracting, of course, and in many cases, very, very disturbing.  And I'm probably not going to be endorsing nude devos any time soon, but there is still that part of me that wants to be more like Jaden.  I want to be like that little boy who playfully and innocently strips off anything that gets in the way of his joy. 

So tonight, maybe because I'm awkward...or maybe because I'm childlike?...I'm praying that God grant me the heart of this little naked cowboy, that I would approach Him with raw authenticity, with playful affection, and naked honesty. 

Ride on Little J :)

Why I Love Benjamin Linus

Paging Dr. Linus...

I'm getting a little weary of defending my special interest in the - evil?/good?/evil?/good? - character of Dr. Benjamin Linus on Lost.  So, once and for all, let me explain my affection.

Beside the fact that the Emmy-Award winning Michael Emerson is brilliant beyond comparison in his portrayal of Linus, there are more personal reasons why I relate to this oxymoron of a character.  We never know what to do with Ben.  Is he evil?  Is he good?  We see continual glimpses of both. 

And I see continual glimpses of both in me.

Ben is a liar.  He is selfish.  He loves the island more than anything else; or maybe, the power of the island.  He longs for power, influence, and control.  When someone steps in to challenge his 'territory' he is riddled with defenses.  The idea of submitting his authority over to someone else is grueling.  Here is a man who watches his own daughter die, for whatever reason - selfishness, love of the island over her - or maybe, just a simple miscalculation of the coming events.  He is a murderer, deceiver, manipulator, and anyone who gets in the way of his ideas or plans is a potential casualty of war.

It makes sense to hate Benjamin Linus.

It also makes sense to hate the Apostle Paul (who murdered early Christians out of his love for the Law).  It makes sense to hate King David (who turned his attention elsewhere when he found out his own daughter had been raped).  It makes sense to hate me.  I'm drenched in the allure of evil - after all, "the human heart is wicked above all else.  Who can know it?" 

If we want to point fingers, really point fingers, it "makes sense" in many minds to hate God Himself.  What kind of God, what kind of loving Father would watch His own Son die for the love the world?  I think it is the kind of God that loves, unconditionally, even the least of these.  Even the Benjamin Linuses of the world...even the Tara Gentrys.  It is the kind of God who is "compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.  He will not always accuse, nor will He harbor His anger forever.  He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities..." (Psalm 103). 

I love Benjamin Linus, because week after week, we have to forgive him - again and again and again.  If he is to be redeemed; if there is to be more for Dr. Linus, then he must be given yet another second chance through forgiveness and grace.  I love Ben because, more often than not, I am Ben.  I'm riddled with inconsistencies, selfishness, falling short of the glory of God.  Yet despite my failures, God loves me and continues to believe, "right up to the last moment," the best in me. 

I have no idea where this show is going.  No clue what their intention is, but with all the questions and answers and more questions, I find myself enjoying that hour every week where God is speaking to me about humanity and brokenness, about redemption and restoration.  I'm sitting by a lighthouse with Jack, wounded and aching, as I stare at an ocean trying to understand the goodness of God in my broken life.  I'm standing in faith with Hurley, believing the Jacob that no one else can see.  I'm guilty with Ben, knowing I do not deserve to be forgiven, but finding in grace, I am redeemed. 

So there...  I love Ben.  Deal with it :)

Because He Loves...

John 11 tells the following story: "Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha.  This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.  So the sisters sent word to Jesus, "Lord, the one you love is sick."  When he heard this, Jesus said, "This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it."  Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.  Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days."

Jesus loved them...so He didn't come to them.

OW...

Sometimes, because Jesus loves us, He doesn't come.  He holds back.  He waits, on purpose, knowing His waiting may mean a death. 

Sometimes death is good.  Sometimes death is needed, that there may be life...new life.  Greater life. 

So Jesus doesn't always come.  He allows for pain, even death, knowing that even this will not be the end for us.  There will be life after this, and His coming too soon will eliminate the opportunity to know Him more and become more like Him.

God, grace me with the courage to trust You, even in death; to trust You when You come running to my rescue...and when You don't.  Thank You for loving me enough to wait...

Here I Go, Apologizing Again

Found myself having to apologize on behalf of all Christians again today.  This seems to happen a lot at Teen Challenge.  I get a little tired of it, honestly - wishing Christians didn't say so many stupid things and treat people so unlike Christ.  Still, I'm humbled through self-inspection every time, knowing there are many ways in which I, too, contribute to the misrepresentation of Jesus in our world. 

There is one particular student right now that is especially challening me.  She is honest, authentic and raw - and I adore her for it.  She refuses to fake it.  She admits she does not believe in God - that sometimes she wants to, other times not, but that she is just too bitter and resentful to open up to even the idea of Him at this point in her life.  I wait for that wall to come tumbling down, yet every day, every week, we baby-step toward freedom, as I search for glimmers of hope that her heart may be opening to Jesus.

I asked her today to help me understand where this wall was coming from.  What was the source of this bitterness and resentment?  She gave many reasons that I personally could relate to all too well - loads of times the Church has disappointed her and common questions about hell, the goodness of God, etc.  But today I was punched in the heart by a teenager who wants nothing to do with God or Church or Christians for one main reason.  She put it this way:

"Well, they say that Christians are supposed to show you what God is like, and if Christians are what God is like, then I'm just not interested in that God.  And I know, Christians aren't "perfect," either, but...if Christians aren't like Jesus, then who will be?  Atheists?"

What more could I say?  I feel the same way.  I struggle with the exact same frustrations as a girl who wants nothing to do with God, the Church or Christians, because it's true... we are such a far cry from who Jesus really is.  I felt shamed into silence for a moment, because she was right.  I know she's right, and I ache because she's right.  I ache because I can't make other Christians get it right every time.  I ache because I can't make myself get it right every time.  And in moments like this, desperately hoping to bring light to her darkness, I realize God is still desperately hoping to bring light into mine.  To awaken me to the oxymorons of the Christian culture - the hypocrisies and parades that keep putting on the wrong show - our show, not His. 

I'm thankful for this student who challenges me to be more like Jesus.  Unknowingly, she awakens me more to Him each day, and I pray that slowly, through counseling sessions and conversations, through jokes and tears, through living it out one day at a time, she will let the walls crumble.  I'm privileged to walk this road with her, to ask these questions that we both share, to be equally challenged by one another as we walk into the Truth.

I saw something today.  An agreement, an understanding that we get each other.  That although she's not "there yet" in embracing Christ, she's willing to talk and to listen, and so am I.  We'll say it's ok that we don't have all the answers, that we're frustrated with the way things are and we long for more.  I'm finding that the honesty of an "I don't know" and a "Me too" go a long way.  Maybe people are not so hungry for our answers as they are hungry for our honesty.  During one of my many apologies on behalf of all Christianity today, I think a light turned on.  A dim light, perhaps, but a light nonetheless.  And, "though we see dimly, we will see Him face to face..." 

Bring her - bring me, Jesus - face to face with You. 

Help us to look away from all that will distract, to Jesus.

Make me more like You...

Awakenings...

A while back I was on my way to a birthday party, when the flow of traffic was interrupted by an unknown source.  I couldn't see far enough ahead to figure it out, and realizing I was going to be late, I started to get frustrated, muttering a few rude comments under my breath.  I was quickly silenced when I realized this was not meaningless traffic or "stupid Indiana drivers" as I had originally thought... it was a funeral procession.  Convicted, I whispered, "God, I'm so sorry.  Please comfort them." 

I was struck by the irony.  Here I was on my way to a birthday celebration, only to be interrupted by a funeral procession.  I wondered how many times funeral processions are passing right in front of me, and I miss them - men, women and children who are suffering, lost, broken, "dead mean walking," but I'm too busy to notice.  I have places to go, people to see, and my own life to celebrate.  I began to think about Jesus and what He would do in situations like these...

Jesus had a knack for turning funerals into birthday parties.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible (yeah, I know, I say that about all of them) is found in Mark 5.  Jesus is surrounded by crowds of people, healing their sicknesses and restoring life, when a man, a father named Jairus, shows up saying that his daughter is at death's door.  He asks Jesus to come with him, believing that He alone can save her. 

Jesus leaves the entire crowd for this one, dying child. 

On the way, He is interrupted by the woman we know as the one with the "issue of blood."  The moment Jesus spends with her turns out to be the death of Jairus' daughter.  Jairus' heart sinks, while those around him moan, "It's too late.  Why bother Jesus any more?"  But Jesus has plenty of life to give.  "Don't be afraid," He replies.  "Only believe."

Jesus and Jairus make their way to the house where the young girl lies dead in her bed.  Friends and loved ones are already mourning there, and they laugh at Jesus for suggesting He is able to restore this child to life.  But Jesus is not intimidated by the laughter of men.  He moves toward this girl and speaks life to her: "Talitha, koum," which means, "Little girl, arise."  

It's interesting that Jesus chose these words.  Mark makes a point to mention that she is 12 years old, the age at which a girl would be considered a woman.  Still, Jesus intentionally refers to her as a child, and in response, this "Talitha" arises to new life.  That word "arise" in greek literally means "to be roused from sleep, from sitting, from lying,  from disease, death, obscurity, inactivity, ruins, or non-existence; to rise up [again]."

Many of us are simply enduring life from one deathbed or another.  We lay around in beds of insecurity, intimidation, inactivity and loss.  In childlike faith, the voice of Life calls us to rise - to be awakened, to hear and respond in trust and live.  We tend to believe less as we grow up, but in God's mixed-up Kingdom, He calls us to believe more - to believe the impossible, the irrational, the inconceivable - believe and live.   

On this day of "Talitha, koum," Jesus walked into a funeral and turned it into a birthday.  He is present, now, to do the same with us.  So, Talitha Koum, boys and girls... arise.

Oh...and Happy Birthday.

She Said, "I Love You"

I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it. Every time my grandma doesn't remember me, it feels like the first time all over again. For some reason I keep thinking, "Maybe this time she'll recognize me, maybe she'll remember more." But every time she gives me that look, I realize I'm a stranger again. I immediately feel vulnerable, broken, like I want to run and hide from her - like I'm not sure I can keep loving like this. I feel like it's just too sad, it hurts too much, and honestly...like it would be easier to just forget her, too.

But how can I forget? How can I withdraw my love, simply because it hurts? I never imagined I'd see her like this...but I love her and to me, she's unforgettable.

I wonder how often Jesus feels that way about me...

Being with Grandma - it may be the closest I'll ever come to understanding how Jesus felt when He was "moved with compassion" for people. Not that I've never felt compassion before, but this one hits close to home. It very well may be the most uncomfortable, vulnerable, personally-painful, I'd-rather-avoid-it-if-I-could suffering I've ever been invited to step into. I feel the "moved with compassion" churning inside when I'm with my Grandma. Comfort would tell me to avoid it, ignore it, walk away and let others handle it.

But she is mine. I love her. I painfully love her. Though everything inside of me wants to hide and cry, somehow from the inside out I am moved toward her, not away. My hands want to touch her, my arms want to hold her, my smile wants to affect her, my eyes want to remind her that whether she 'knows me' or not, she is loved. She matters. She is remembered.

Thank God for the grace to move toward the uncomfortable brokenness of true communion. Walking in it, I'm not just finding her...I'm finding Him.

This week with Grandma, she didn't remember again. Not only did she not recognize me, but I think for the first time, the name "Tara" was no longer familiar. But Grandma, she's still mine. I keep smiling and eventually, she smiles too. I keep touching her, and eventually she reaches for me, too.

This week she gave me yet another favorite memory. I asked her if she wanted some water. She looked at me intently and said, "Are you an angel?" I laughed and repeated, "Do you want some water?" She replied, "Oh, ok, you're just a friend." Grandma has always called me her "Angel"...maybe she does remember a bit. Sitting together I rubbed her arm and smiled as she just stared, searching my face. Her eyes lit up like she had a revelation:

"I love you," she said.

Grandma forgot me, but she remembered love. I suppose we can forget many things in life, even those most important to us. But love is unforgettable. Love is inescapable. Love will never return void. So let not our love grow cold, let it not evaporate in the ache or be hidden in the darkness. Embrace the discomfort, move forward in compassion...love well.

Still With Me

Last year Sarah (Alling) and I went to the TWLOHA Move Conference in Cocoa Beach.  They had us do this blindfolded maze deal where we were not allowed to talk, which for some reason was really hard for me.  I kept reaching my hand out and whispering, "Sarah...Sarah, is that you?" only to get a "Shhh, no talking" in reply.  I guess I have an obedience problem, because in about 5 seconds I was again reaching and asking, "Sarah, where are you?"  I was groping strangers, whispering, "Oh sorry, you're not Sarah," and kept getting shushed until finally someone grabbed my hand and told me, "You have to be quiet.  Now, I'm going to put your hands on the shoulders of another person, and you just need to follow them quietly until I tell you what to do next."  I sucked it up and quietly obeyed as we wandered who-knows-where for a while. 

I remember being stopped and told to take my hands down from the person in front of me.  I was to stand silent and still, just waiting for someone to come lead me to the place I should go next.  Now, I'm a risky, dare-loving, world-traveling girl, but for some reason, standing alone on the beach, I started to feel vulnerable...really, really vulnerable. 

All I could hear were footsteps moving away from me. 

I reached out my hands in front and behind, and everyone was gone.  I remember feeling like a little child left alone in the dark, and I softly whispered:

"Is anyone still there?"

I'm feeling that way today.  I'm feeling blindfolded and silenced.  I'm feeling "sometimes led, sometimes not."  I keep hearing these footsteps moving away from me, and like a child left alone in a dark space, I'm whispering to Jesus, "Are You still there?" 

There's this story that I love in Ezekiel.  Throughout the book Ezekiel's writing about the devastation that is going to come down on God's people.  The worst of it culminates when, in a vision, he hears news from Jerusalem: "The city has been struck down."  Jerusalem - the beacon of hope for these people - has been struck down.  The worst has happened.  Hopelessness settles in among the people as they sort out their days in exile.  But the story doesn't end there.  The last chapter of Ezekiel prophesies of the rebuilding of this great city.  It details measurements and cubits, about which we usually go, "Ok, who cares....."  But each of these cubits are the baby-steps of restoration.  The book concludes by saying that the city will be restored, and "The name of the city from that day on shall be [Jehovah Shema] The Lord is There." 

"The Lord is There."

Last year I stood on a beach, blindfolded, listening to the footsteps wander away from me, and I felt very, very alone.  I, Tara Gentry, the queen of independence, was gripped by the fear that I had been abandoned, forgotten, and no one was coming for me.  After minutes of waiting quietly in trust, the sound of the footsteps turned.  Though so many were walking away from me, one set moved again toward me.  Whoever he was, he took my hand and moved me toward my purpose, toward community.  I had not been abandoned.  I had not been forgotten.  I had been challenged - challenged to believe, despite appearances, that silence does not mean desertion and that patience has its purpose.  

Tonight I'm remembering that stranger's hand and thanking God for it.  Though He's not talking, He's still with me.  He is always still with me.  I suppose it takes the best of friends to be comfortable with silence, so I'll consider it a compliment of sorts.  I don't always know where I fit in this story of His, but when I remember He's with me, well... that's pretty much all I need to know. 

So, Jesus... If You don't feel like talking, I'll say that's ok.  I'll just say I love You and I trust You, and we'll leave it at that.  I'm going to bed tonight wishing You'd wake me up with that song You sing.  I'm looking forward to the morning.  If You don't feel much like talking, I'll still sing for You.  I think it's gonna be a special day for you and Me.  

"When I awake, You're still with me."   

Africa is Easy

For me, Africa is easy. When people are hungry, it’s easy to get them to eat. Then I come home. I come home to the U.S., to Teen Challenge, to friends and family and life. It can be tiring spending your life in an effort to give the love of God to people who, by all appearances, don’t want it. We have a lot of those moments at Teen Challenge. And in those moments, I sometimes think it would be easier to just go back to Africa. To stay there, to give my life to people who recognize their need and want my help. In those moments, I just want those Swazi girls and boys to climb back up on my hips, to grab my hands and sing to me again... "Jesus loves me this I know...Jesus is so wonderful..."  In those moments, I begin to understand a little more of what Jesus meant when He asked us to take up our cross and follow Him.

Jesus was never shy about counting the cost. He said it and He showed it - loving others hurts. The work of love can be hard and tiring. It can be painful, and it will cost us greatly. But in Africa, with children singing to me about the love of God, I was challenged to love again…and to keep loving. I was reminded to never let my love grow cold, but to stay on the cross with Christ and let His work be completed in me.

So today, I’m back in Indiana at the TC house with 20 teenage girls, and honestly...I'm tired. Here at TC, they’re not quite as cute as those sweet little African children, but they are loved. Beneath the tough exteriors and all of the make-up and masks, are little girls inside wanting someone to sing to them that Jesus is wonderful, and yes, He does still love them, too. Though many in our lives have yet to admit it, they are hungry. When Jesus said, “I was hungry and you came to me…” He never specified where. Our ministry to Christ may be loving on a child in Africa, counseling a teenager in rehab, taking care of an ailing grandparent, showing kindness to a co-worker, or just taking time to have dinner with your family.

So under the weight of our cross, let us not grow so weary that we forget to sing and to live, that “Jesus loves me this I know…Jesus, He’s so wonderful.”

In God's Kingdom, the King Dies

Got sucker-punched by Jesus this week. What's new, right? Why do I love it so much when He does that? It just hurts soooo good. Well, we had this moment, we were chatting about "kingdom" - His, not mine. Realizing, as if I shouldn't already know, how much the kingdom requires of me... how much living like Jesus will cost.

He's pretty expensive, Jesus. But most great things are. The best things are the most expensive things. And I guess nothing can be of more value than a life. So...in the expensive pursuit of living like Jesus...the cost is me. The cost is me and all my dreams and hopes and desires - all the ways I try to make His Word fit my promises (you know, the ones I strain to believe are on the top of God's agenda). I have these moments where I get all excited to live God's kingdom, God's way - but if I'm honest, the excitement is usually born out of a certain idea that is still mine - a picture that is still, somehow, about me.

And then He crumbles my kingdom, my ideas, and my dreams with a whisper:

"Tara, in God's kingdom, the King dies."

Of course I thought about Jesus. And I thought about Jim (Elliot...my hero).  I thought about Peter and Paul and John the Baptist, and all the other "greats" I wish I was more like. And I wonder what would God be pleased to crucify in me? If I want to be like Jesus, somebody's gotta die. He already did, and He invites me to join Him. To die with Him and live with Him. To die to the ridiculous notion that all of this is about me and my story - to live in the extraordinary adventure that is knowing Jesus and being like Him ...whatever the cost.

So help me, God, I want to live like Jesus. I have plenty of pictures of what I wish that looked like. I have no idea what that actually will look like. Absolutely NO idea. In a kingdom where living means dying and dying means living...I get a little confused. But I believe You know what You're doing, and "though none go with me, still I will follow...to the death."

Dare to die; dare to live.

Looking forward to whatever You have in mind, Jesus. I may need Your help sorting what's me and what's You, but this mess is fun when we're rolling in it together. Sloppy yet satisfying :) Love You.

I Want to be More Like These Children

"I want to be more like these children."

That's about all I could journal after walking through the squatters' village in Swaziland on September 24th. As we took a stroll away from the Children's Cup care point and down the dirt roads of the village, children began to come alongside us, grabbing our hands, climbing our hips, searching our faces.

I'm stopped in my tracks. Stopped in my tracks trying to write this, because I feel those tiny hands stroking my cheeks, those brilliant eyes searching my soul... Blahhh, how I can even try to put words to this...

Holding kids on each hip, several grabbing each hand, we walked. As we stopped for a few minutes to wait for a friend, one of the children looked up at me...and began to sing. Through broken English, I understood two words.

"Wonderful"...and "Jesus."

"Wonderful Jesus. Jesus, He is so wonderful. Wonderful Jesus."

I'm embraced by these children, with their bare feet and tattered clothes. We're walking the dirty, littered roads of their village, soon to be taken away by the government. Their homes beside us are nothing to be desired, they're hungry and they're left wanting...

...and these children are singing to me about the wonder of Jesus.

I'm looking on their poverty, and they're telling me how good God is.

They looked at me as if searching my soul - did I agree, did I know, too, how wonderful Jesus is? Playfully they began to sway my arms and one changed the tune to another, so familiar...

"Yes Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so..."

So we stood in the dirty street and held hands and we sang. In the middle of their hunger, poverty and loss, we sang about a Wonderful Jesus. We sang about how He loves us. These children hijacked all of my doubt, worry, fear and distrust and reminded me that circumstance does not prove God's favor and situations do not eliminate His love.

Jesus, I love You. I trust You. Make me more like these children. Make me more like You.