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..."