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?