Jesus on Safari: Breaking the Plane

Archived: Written October 18, 2012

I went on my first African safari in 2007.  Four trips to Africa later, I've been on about 10 safaris in Swaziland and South Africa, and I still can't get enough.  I love driving along, on our own or with a guide, scouring the reserve with the naked eye, watching and waiting for those special moments: sighting the Big Five - lion, leopard, elephant, rhino, water buffalo; spotting giraffe, zebra, hippos, crocodiles, monkeys, baboons, snakes, hyenas, kudu, impala, and loads of other beautiful animals - it is quickly growing into a favorite past time.  

Driving onto a reserve, signs warn you to enter at your own risk, keep your windows rolled up, don't hang items (especially body parts) outside of your vehicle, and never, ever feed the animals.  If you really let your mind go there, there is a lot to fear on a game drive; but there is also a lot of beauty, creativity and life to be enjoyed.  If you let the signs keep you out, you will miss breathtaking moments and incomparable memories.

Last year, I was visiting a lion park, and (rebelliously) riding with my window all the way down.  While my head and camera were turned to the right, my friend whispered, "Tara!  Tara, turn around!"  I turned quickly and froze ... as an enormous male white lion strolled alongside my window.  I could have reached out and touched him.  "Take the picture!  Take the picture!" my friends whispered.  But I was frozen - maybe in fear, maybe in wonder... but I was not going to die of lion bite just because my stupid camera beeped upon flash.  Nope.  I just watched (or froze) and enjoyed the exhilarating moment between that lion and my window.

On my first safari, I was given clear instructions that I could put my window down at my own risk, but to not lean any part of my body outside of that window.  So long as the vehicle maintained its own original composure, the wild animals would assume our vehicle was just another large animal and typically leave us alone.  But once you break that plane, you signal something interesting - an opportunity, a curiosity - and there is no guarantee you will not be attacked.

I remember thinking that this is so similar to the life in Christ.  Life is, in essence, a wildlife, and there is much to risk and to lose; there is also much to be experienced and enjoyed.  Scripture is full of rules where God tells us to do certain things and to not do certain other things.  Sometimes we read those rules and we get frustrated with God - why can't You just let me live my life?!  But Deuteronomy (yup, Deuteronomy) tells us over and over again that God gives us instructions like these: "So that you may live; so that it may go well with you..."  He wants us to enjoy life; He also wants us to make it out alive.

This year has been exhausting and terrifying.  In a five month span of time, I almost lost my mother more times than I can count due to heart surgeries and a horrifying recovery process ("She's gonna live... she's not gonna live... She's gonna live... she's not gonna live..."); my grandfather unexpectedly passed away just two days before mom came home from the hospital; I worked two jobs, well over full-time, in addition to working a little too hard to maintain a 4.0 GPA in a full-time masters degree program (I know no one cares about GPA's anymore...but welcome to the neurosis of a perfectionist).  In the meantime, my family is dispersed between Colorado, Indiana and Florida, while mom is back in a nursing home, Dad is caring for her and pastoring a church; the love of my life is a continent away, and I cry over the biggest and the simplest of things.  Doctors giving us conflicting messages; nurses not following mom's medicine regime; a professor changing an assignment; sitting with my grandma who has Alzheimer's while she lovingly, yet confusingly, strokes my cheek; friends are distant; I got an A-; I got mascara in my eye...

My life these days is a safari - some wild beasts, some pesky monkeys - but big or small, I am feeling the heat.  I'm driving with my windows down, trying to take it all in; trying to be brave, to be present and fully alive.  But something within me is still terrified that I will be eaten alive.  The other day as I was thinking about my wonderful safari memories, the Lord whispered to my heart:

"Just don't break the plane."

Life is chaos right now, to be sure, but staying in the vehicle, I will make it through alive.  Corny as it sounds - my vehicle is Jesus.  In John 15, Jesus said "Remain in Me..."  It is only when I step outside of Him that I put myself at risk.  But remaining in Him, no matter how many wild beasts or pesky monkeys lurk at my window, "no harm shall come near me."

I know that God never promised that life would be safe.  I know that He never vowed to make it easy or pain-free.  But He did offer a way to make it through alive - and even to enjoy the ride:  

"Remain in Me..."

So these days, while I'm crying over chipped finger nail polish and yellow autumn leaves, I'm thanking God that when I am weak, He is strong - that His grace is sufficient for me - that His banner over me is love - that He will never leave me or forsake me - that He will not leave me as an orphan - He will come to me - He is my Glory and the Lifter of my head - in His presence is fullness of joy...

Whatever wildlife you're wandering today, whether you find yourself enduring it or enjoying it, don't break the plane.  Roll those windows down, take it all in, be present and journey through.  But stay in that vehicle, friend.  Remain in Him, as HE remains... with you.

Do Your Worst

A couple weeks ago I tweeted (yup, tweeted), "Sometimes I wonder what in the world God thinks I'm made of.  Today is one of those days."  "Today is one of those days..." because for the past four months there has been helping after helping of grief, fear, loss, recovery; hope, more grief, more fear, more loss; less hope, confusion, surprises (the not awesome kind) - all simply wrapped up in the not so simple word, heartache.  

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick..."

With blow after blow, I find myself asking God pretty frequently these days, "Seriously, what do You think I'm made of?!"  Whether He's incited it or allowed it, this season has unleashed the perfect storm of familial, spiritual and personal struggles that have shaken the core of my strength.  I want to be mad at Him for all of this, but deep down I know He is not the culprit.   I know that my frustration is misplaced; that I'm confused, I'm afraid, I don't have answers, I don't know what the future or even the next few days will look like, and for the girl who always believes redemption is possible, I've been living through days that feel way more hopeless than hopeful.  Days that are just... deflating.  If hope were a balloon, it would be as a if someone poked the tiniest hole in an unsearchable place so that slowly, squeakishly, out would leak the substance from within.  So, honestly?  Yeah - sometimes hope fades, life feels meaningless, and I feel empty - deflated.  The citadel of my life is attacked at it's most secure posts, and I'm left wondering what will become of me without their strength.  

My name, "Tara," means tower of strength, or strength of character.  But some days, I'm not feeling so strong, and I certainly don't feel like I'm showing much character.  On the inside I'm just broken - "dashed to pieces," as Job would say, and I don't understand the good of taking an incredibly melancholy, introverted girl and crushing the small shred of positivity within her.  In a word, I feel defeated.  

Done.  

Undone.  

I want to be courageous.  I want to honor Jesus.  I want to make Him look good - really good - through all of this.  But there are days when everything within me is weak, so so weak, and I am failing.  I feel like the worst of me has been exposed.  Like I'm just a cowarding little girl who needs her mom to be stronger than her, who needs people to stay and not go, who's been kidding herself all along to believe that good really can come of all this mess.

Then today, after blow number "I stopped counting a long time ago," I asked God again, "Seriously!?  What do You think I'm made of?"

His response?


"My Tara, I thought you should know by now.  

You are made of ME."

Is it possible?


With every shattering heartache of a blow, could God be cracking away at His own image, wrapped up in this flesh and bones?  

Could He love me so much?

That much?

I know that all of the things my family is going through are not about me.  I'm selfish sometimes, but not that selfish - I get it, it's not all about me.  But in the meantime of it all, could God really - still - be so concerned with me, His little Tara, that He would keep throwing punches to let me find out what I am made of?  And that what I'm made of... is Him?

If I am made of Him, and if each blow cracks away the layers of me that are hiding Him, then the most terrifying, sincere prayer I can pray tonight is this: Do Your worst, Lord.  Do Your worst.  Somehow in all of this mess, let the pieces of me become pieces of You.  Let this tower of strength be crumbled to find You still remain amidst the rubble.  

God, this season is dark and ugly.  But You, You are lovely - and I love You.

Now, merciful Savior, do Your worst, and make me lovely too.

Lovely... like You.

Something to Cry About

A week and a half ago, my grandpa died.  For some girls, the grandfather / granddaughter relationship is, sadly, not one to be greatly missed, but in this case - in our case - my brother, sister and I have a lot to cry over.  Our grandfather was a quiet man, simple and hard-working.  He was rarely affectionate physically or verbally, yet looking back through old pictures, I keep finding photo after photo of him holding us, laughing with us - being with us.  Growing up in Michigan, my sister Sonya and I would beg Mom and Dad to take us to Granny and Grandpa's house every weekend.  We would watch old movies, horse races and football games, eat Grandpa's homemade popcorn, fall asleep on the couch while Grandma scratched our back, go to the mall together, take walks, play in the backyard, eat a lot, talk a lot and laugh a lot.  At the end of the weekend, Grandpa would drive us home to the tune of the Detroit Tigers baseball games on the car radio.  

That will forever be one of my favorite, most comforting sounds - fuzzy, baseball radio.

Grandpa grew up in deep south Tennessee in a family that rarely, if ever, spoke the words, "I love you."  I was eleven years old the first time he replied with anything other than "Ok..." when I told him I loved him.  We had made our first move away from Michigan, now living in New Jersey, and missing one another terribly.  I was 11, so I cried about it - a lot.  Standing in the kitchen of our New Jersey home, talking to grandpa on the phone, I ended the call as usual saying, "I love you, Grandpa."  In a speedy, humbling, unforgettable moment, Grandpa snuck out those sweet words as fast as possible: "I love you, too, bye."  

It was fast, but it was beautiful.

As we grew and moved back to Michigan, then to Florida, then to Indiana, our time together fluctuated, but our family always remained close.  Though Grandpa was often quiet and inexpressive, over the years those speedy replies slowed down and sweetened up into a tender, southern, heart-wrenching, "I love you, too, honey... Goodbye."

All of our relationships with Grandpa were unique.  As the only grandson on Mom's side, Grandpa took great pride in my brother, Todd - a Denver police officer and all-around, ridiculously fit athlete.  After Grandpa passed away, we found an old photo in Grandpa's wallet.  It was of an 11 year old Todd sitting on Grandma's lap.  For over 30something years, he carried that photo and treasured it.  Sonya was Grandpa's partner in crime.  She shared housing with my grandparents for many years, and with her infectious laugh and joyful demeanor, she had a special way of getting Grandpa talking and laughing like no one else could.  Grandpa was proud of her, too, and loved hearing stories about her spunky little Jaden... the spitting image of his spunky mother :)

Grandpa was quiet, and I am quiet, so put the two of us together and you had, well, a lot of quiet.  Somehow I always felt shy with him, but endeared to him, and it didn't matter that we were just a teeny less chatty when others weren't around - we enjoyed each other, words or no words.  I will forever cherish every memory of watching football, basketball and baseball with him on TV, in silence, back as a child in Michigan, as a teen in Florida, and as an adult here in Indiana.  I will never, ever forget that he was there - ever so present in our lives - for vacations, weekends, dinners, lunch, breakfast, outings, walks, graduations, weddings, birthdays, holidays, special days, ordinary days - he was there.  

He was present, and now he's not, and I miss him.

Today, I had to stop back by grandpa's apartment to drop off his keys.  I thought I had cried all I could last week, but handing those keys over, I lost it, again - in front of 4 random strangers at a front desk.  The words, "I'm Cam Medley's granddaughter" were apparently just too much, still too fresh, but they rang true.  Present or not, I am Cam Medley's granddaughter, and I am so proud to be his.  As I walked back to my car, I whispered through my tears a frustrated, "Dang it!" because, honestly, I don't want to cry anymore.  But you know...

Good daddies make their daughters cry.  

If I had a "no good grandfather," I would have no reason to cry over losing him.  Today, and all throughout my life, Cam Medley gave me something to cry about: 

I loved him.  

I still do.  

I always will. 

I'm thankful today that my precious grandfather is in the joyful presence of Jesus, and I can't wait to share our forever together.  I'm thankful that we do not grieve as those who have no hope.  More than anything, I am thankful that just as Grandpa's silence did not mean his absence, so the quietness of God in seasons of suffering do not mean that He has abandoned us.  After all:

He loved us.

He still loves us.

He always will.

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, 

neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 

neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, 

will be able to separate us from the love of God

 that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Romans 8:38-39

Ugly Face

A few weeks ago, I started reading again through the book of Job.  Honestly, this was only because I am reading through my Bible, and it just happened to be the book up next.  As I started, I was thinking maybe I don't really need to read this right now.  Like, I took a class on this book in college, I have read through it front to back at least three times already.  I've learned from it, I've taught on it; I get it, I know it, I love it, but maybe...I can skip it.  For whatever reason, I didn't skip, but decided to approach Job - again - with an open heart.  I read - again - about the good guy who suffered, who lost, who grieved; who needed friends to let him be angry, who needed to be allowed to put an 'ugly' face on for a while, who needed to have it out with a God who refused to explain Himself.  

Reading through Job this time, I noticed him saying over and over again, "I know, I know, I know..."  His friends are telling him to remember this and that about God and life, and Job keeps telling them, "I KNOW already!"  If you read it in common language, he's basically saying, "Do you think I'm stupid?  I know the same things you know.  I've heard it.  I believe it.  I could be in your shoes telling you all of this right now.  I KNOW!  Ok?!?"  He goes on to say, "But I was at ease, and He broke me apart; He seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces...my face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness," (Job 16:12-17).   

Job "knows" the things he's "supposed to know" about God, but his experience is contrary to what he's known or believed, and, well... what do you do with that??

Several weeks ago, my mother was admitted for emergency quadruple bypass open heart surgery.  Twenty days in the cardiac ICU later, we are still waiting for her to stabilize, come off the vent and start moving forward.  One day we see a slight upswing and trust for more.  Then we get discouraging news again, have to keep waiting and anticipating, wondering if we should let ourselves feel encouraged or brace ourselves for the worst, and I get weary of the constant fright.  I know much of this is normal.  I know "it is what it is."  I get it.  I understand.  She will live - I truly believe she will get through this.  "It's a process..."  I know...I get it.  I've made peace with that.  But today she's suffering (still) and I hate it.  I HATE it.  I can be present; I can try to comfort her.  I can try to calm her and assure her, but I can't fix it.  All I can do is experience it with her, at least in part, and hope - believe - for the best.  But honestly?  I just want resolve...

I just want her well again.  I just want those tubes out; I want her breathing on her own.  I want her to be allowed to eat or at least have a freaking ice chip for goodness sake.  I want to know - no more "maybe's" but KNOW - that we are finally out of the woods here and she's going to recover.  I want my own stupid anxiety about needles, blood, veins and hospitals to calm down.  I want my dad not to have to secretly worry about what lies ahead for the love of his life.  I want him to not have to feel helpless anymore.  I want my sister not to have to feel bad for being home with her kids today.  I want her to get to laugh with mom again, so hard that it hurts - the good kind.  I want my brother to be able to tell her, face to face, eye to eye, that he finished his race.  And I want to see her put those dark hands and bright red finger nails in the air and hear her say, "Well, praise the Lord..." as only my mother can.  I want to get ready for work in the morning without wondering what kind of phone call I'll get today.  I want to make it through that work day without getting a painful knot in my throat and teary-eyed every time someone is even remotely rude to me because I'm already so emotional and don't want to be here in the first place.  

I want to be with my family.  I want to be with my mom.  I want my mom to live.  I want my mom to live well.  I want her to be at my wedding one day.  I want my children to play with her.  And honestly?  I still kind of want her to tuck me in tonight.  I'm 31 years old and maybe I shouldn't be mommy's little girl anymore, but no matter how old I've grown or how big I get, there's always going to be a piece of me that is simply made by her, for her and it will never be quite satisfied without her.  

She's my mom.  

I love her.  

I want her to live.  

I'm afraid that she won't.  

I trust that she will.  

I feel bad this week - really, really bad.  I can try to hide it, I can try to be strong and courageous and encouraging for all our visitors, family, friends and supporters (who I SO appreciate), but if I'm really, really honest - like Job - I just feel bad, and I need to be allowed to feel bad.   

We're pastors.  My dad's a pastor, I'm a pastor, we're a pastor family.  We get it - we're supposed to be strong.  By His grace, we are strong.  But even the strong, suffer.  We are not immune and we, too, think, feel and worry the worst of things.  We know we're supposed to always be positive and we're supposed to make everyone else feel better about all this mess.  We also know you don't really think that.  We know we put that pressure on ourselves (for the most part), but we still feel it and fight it.  In the midst of feeling frightened over mom's health, we also feel somehow obligated to keep our faces on and hallelujah's loud...

But I'm feeling Job today.  I just want to be allowed to be ugly today.  I need to be allowed to feel bad - to face it, to feel it, and to walk through it so I can find God in it.  Job never would have found God through His suffering if he had not thrown his arms around every ugly piece of it, feeling it, fighting it and asking God for a face-to-face at the end of it.  I want that, too - I want to come to the end of this, and whether God answers me or not, I want to know Him more and I want to be more like Him.  So, while I go ahead and get my ugly on, if at times I seem rude or faithless, I wish I could help you understand - I have never been more full of faith.  While my "face is red with weeping..." "I know that my Redeemer lives."**  

In all of this uncertainty, the one thing I am confident of is this:

He loves us.

The cross comforts me today: He loves me, He loves me, He loves me.  That awful, ugly, hard, cold cross wraps its blood-stained arms around me today and hums, "He loves you.  Don't forget it: He loves you."  Nothing changes that. 

And nothing changes this, Lord: I love You, too.  

I love You, I love You, I love You... 

Take my mom, my dad, my sister, my brother. 

Take my family, my friends, my lover.  

Take my things, my stuff, my purpose, my hope. 

I love You, I love You, I love You... more.

Always, MORE.

 Maybe it wasn't a mistake to start reading through Job again.  Maybe God knows what we need, when we need it.  Maybe He is present not only in suffering, but before and after it.  Maybe in His own secret, simple, sweet ways He is preparing us, unknown, for what is to come, bracing us for impact, somehow gracing us to be both sad and fearful yet strong and courageous.  Maybe when this, too, shall pass, He will still be present - powerfully, tenderly present - and He may or may not answer my "Why, God, Why?!'s"  Whether or not He does or ever will, "I trust in His unfailing love."***  

This week, I've had to face lots of people, caught without my makeup on way more than I'd normally allow:), eyes swollen and repeated comments about how tired I look.  I can see in some eyes that they feel sorry for us, a natural response for sure.  If I can encourage those lovers and supporters with anything, it is this: don't feel sorry for us, just support us (you so graciously have and are).  Be present and let it be what it is today: a pain and a privilege.  We have been granted a pain for sure, but we have also been granted the privilege:

"To KNOW Him, by any means possible - in the fellowship of His suffering and the power of His resurrection."**** 

One way or another, friends, there IS resurrection.  With Jesus, there is always resurrection.  So my grief today rests in this:  

He lived.  He died.  He rose.  He lives...

And so will we.

"For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord.  So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's." - Romans 14:8

"With full courage, now as always, Christ will be honored in my body, whether through life or death.  For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain." - Philippians 1:20-21

"There is only Christ; He is Everything." - Colossians 3:11

*Ecclesiastes 3:11

**Job 19:25 

***Psalm 13:5

****Philippians 3:10-11

Lessons From Rehab #13: Don't Lose Your Love

"I'm a lover, Dottie, not a fighter."

 - Pee Wee Herman

To this day I have no idea how I watched Pee Wee Herman as a child without getting creeped out, but somehow I loved that dude and his baby blue suit and red bow tie.  Don't even ask how many times I watched Pee Wee's Big Adventure and Big-Top Pee-Wee over and over at Grandma's house.  The more I've grown, the more I've tried to block that whole thing out, but there is one quote I've always remembered from Mr. Herman's big screen debut: "I'm a lover, Dottie, not a fighter."  

I really don't know where that phrase originated: I'm a lover, not a fighter.  But somehow it has made its way into popular culture for generations, and somewhere along the road of life we unwittingly decide to be one or the other, too.  

Lovers or Fighters.

When I read Scripture, though, I find an image of God that is a little bit broader than that.  Ok, a lot broader than that.  God is not a Lover or a Fighter.  He is a Lover AND a Fighter.  Since we have been created in the image of God, we have been created to be both, too.  

Lovers and fighters.

Through life, it's inevitable: there are battles to fight - loads of them.  But if we approach as nothing but fighters, eventually our "fight" grows weary, and there has to be something more to sustain it.  

Not just will power.  

Not just purpose.  

Not just prizes...  

Love.

Ask any enduring soldier and I'm confident he or she will tell you; it is not medals or missions that drive the heart of the warrior.  It is love.  Whether for one's spouse, children, family, nation or freedom itself, love not only drives, but sustains the warrior when he grows weary in his fight.  

The New Testament writer Matthew records a conversation between Jesus and some of his followers.  He warned them that many who were standing strong in the fight of faith would grow weary and drift away; they would abandon the fight.  I read this and wonder "Why?  How?  How can those who were so passionate one day be so passive the next?  How could they just give up on something they were once willing to stake their lives upon?"  Jesus answers with this:

"...the love of many will grow cold, but the one who endures to the end will be saved."*

"The love of many will grow cold..."  The Greek wording originally used here means to "wax cold," like candle wax slowly dripping away from the flame.  If the wax holds steady, staying close to the flame, it remains hot.  But if it slowly drips away from the flame, it cools and hardens (I know, I'm brilliant).  This is how it is with love.  If we hold steady, staying close to the flame of His love (God doesn't have or feel love, He IS Love - 1 John 4:8), then we too remain in love.  But as we slowly drift away from Him, our love cools, hardens, and as our love diminishes our fight does, too.  

As you "fight the good fight of faith" today, be careful not to lose your love.  I know that life gets overwhelming and keeping your head up to fight that good fight each day can get weary - really, really weary - but stay close to the God who is love and He will fill you with His love to sustain you in the fight.  Whatever your mission or goal, as you fight and keep fighting, remember this:

Not for power.

Not for purpose.

Not for prizes.

Not for pride or privilege or praise.

For Love.

*Matthew 24:9-13
 

Lessons From Rehab #12: LOVE GOD FIRST, LOVE PEOPLE SECOND

Love God first; love people second.  These are what Jesus said are the first and second greatest commandments.  Love God first; love people second.

"Everything else hangs on this," He said.  The idea is that if my life is motivated by the law of Love, then my choices will be a natural outflow of that love.  Love makes obedience easy.  Love makes sacrifice easy.  Love makes commitment easy... ok, maybe easier.  A great example of this is Joseph in the book of Genesis, who, when tempted to sleep with his master's wife, responded by saying, "How could I do this thing and sin against my God and my master?"  Joseph loved God and loved people, and therefore he refused to sin about them.  Here's the thing with this principle:

Don't confuse the order.

Jesus' description of love as the greatest commandment is powerful, but sometimes we just stop at love in general as the motivating force for our actions.  Jesus went a step beyond that; He got specific.  He placed an intentional order here, and the order is this:

Love God FIRST.

Love people SECOND.

If you confuse the order, if you love people first and love God second, you miss the point.  "Everything else hangs on this..."  Our love for people hangs on our love for God.  We cannot love others, ourselves or even God rightly when we put people before Him.  This is a painful and challenging truth, because it's difficult at times to love Someone most when we can't see Him, hear Him, touch Him or feel Him.  I can see my dad.  I can talk to my mom.  I can hug my sister.  I can touch a friend.  When I have a husband and kids someday, I'm sure the challenge will be even greater: keep God first.

But if we truly love our families, our friends and the other people in our world, we will commit to loving God above them all.  In so doing, we will know HIS love, no longer just human love, and HIS love will empower us to love like He loves, to love well, completely and fully, to the end.  

Is there anyone in your life today that you have been loving more than God?  

What would it look like to set your affection on Him first and others second?

Beauty Remains

"The pain passes, but the beauty remains."

 - Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Tonight some of my fellow grad students and I started talking about stress and feeling overwhelmed, juggling school, work, family, church, recreation, etc.  Although I'm typically an open book, I have tried to maintain a certain level of discretion with my classmates so far, I guess in an attempt to maintain professionalism.  Instead, tonight I finally shared the struggles I was having with leaving TC, going to Africa and back, and diving into a whole new season of identity and purpose that are quite a distance from where I was just 2 months ago.  Being a student again is fulfilling, but it does not feel very rewarding; at least not right now.  I have glimpses of where I want to be, what I want to do ahead; yet even these things are unanswered and carry question marks and problems of their own, and the more I think it all through (which in my perfectionist mindset I do, CONSTANTLY), the more powerless I feel; the more I realize I don't have answers, I don't have solutions, I don't have the slightest clue where certain finances and resources are going to come from, and I have absolutely no idea how God is going to piece together all these things for His glory.

As I was sharing with my classmates tonight, these words slipped out of my mouth:

"It's like He just dumped all these beautiful things in my lap, and I want to build something with them.  He gave me these beautiful things, and then He told me not to touch them."

I hadn't really let myself "go there" yet, but this is really what I've been struggling with since coming home from Africa.  God is awakening beautiful things in my heart and spirit.  He's blessed with me people I love, people I long to be with - people I long to be with NOW.  These yearnings in my heart to do unique things for the Kingdom and with people, I want to do it NOW.  I want to learn, I want to do school, but I also desperately want to get past all of this and "back to my purpose."  

It's not like I've never heard or thought about or even championed the idea of "enjoying the journey."  Oh, I have.  But, truly in keeping with this season of risk and faith, God is really making me live this on a whole new level of personal experience.  It's easy to enjoy the journey when the journey is enjoyable.  But what about when the journey is full of roadblocks, detours, congested traffic, yellow lights and stop signs?  I just want the green light, but it's like every time I turn around, He's telling me to stop and fill my tank again.  I know in my head that this is good, but in my heart, I just want to go...

In this moment, God is speaking to me - vaguely, quietly - about those "beautiful things" He has landed in my lap.  He's telling me to stop focusing so much on building something with them, and instead, for now, just let myself be beautified by them.  In essence, He's whispering: "Don't touch them, Tara.  Let them touch you."  

I know I am gaining experience, skills and knowledge in this season that will be of immeasurable worth a year or two from now.  But right now, this beauty is pain.  It's painful paying for summer classes when I'd sooo much rather run off to Africa again (I literally think of the cost of courses in terms of flights to Africa).  It's painful not having solutions, answers or roadmaps to help me wrap my mind around what this is all going to look like two years from now.  It's painful working and going to school, working and going to school, working and going to school... then coming home to read textbooks all night, and... working and going to school, working and going to school...  It's fulfilling, I enjoy it, but it's painful.  It's painful because I'd rather be somewhere else, doing something else, and God is asking me to be here today - be ALL here today.

Lord,

Be my grace today.  In this season I want to be beautified.  If You will not let me build right now, then will You do one thing for me?  Will You build me?  I want to run ahead of you and hurry this up, but You just love keeping that lamp at my feet - one step at a time.  I have a feeling it will always be this way; that no matter how much I accomplish, You are always going to be bringing me back to this same lesson, this lesson of being.  So grace me, not to learn it, but to live it.  To be it - to be the beauty of Your life in me, regardless of meaning or purpose in my own understanding.  I want to be like You, even in this - more like You, always more.  Help me to just hold these beautiful things and transform me as they soak into my very life.  "I need Thee, oh, I need Thee.  Every hour I need Thee..."