Dirty Feet

I’ve been in Swaziland for a month now, and as usual, one of my favorite Swazi past-times is hanging out at Children’s Cup Care Points.  I absolutely LOVE hanging out with these kids.  Although we rarely understand each other, it usually doesn’t take long before there is a mass of sweet children - some shy, some playful - crowded onto my lap, tugging at my shirt and laying claim to a space on my arm.  I realize this is mostly just because I’m white, but I’m ok with that :)

I love how they investigate my hands and count my fingers, comparing our similarities and differences.  

I love how their little fingers slowly sneak their way into my hair, making tiny braids and terrible pony tails, and violently pushing my bangs to the side (ok, I get it, you don’t like the bangs :)

I love how they look wearing my sunglasses - and the little diva dances that follow.  

I especially love how there is always that one child who unknowingly puts the sunglasses on upside down, and everyone giggles while I say, “Oh, no no no, not like that!  Like this!”

I love how one boy can sit for 20 minutes pushing the same button over and over again on my watch, waiting for something amazing to happen.  

I love how that one super-shy little girl blushes when I finally catch her gaze and we share a smile.

I love the way they search my face; the way their dark brown eyes seem to read me inside and out.

I love coming home at night and finding their dirt on my clothes...  I LOVE IT.

So when I was at a Care Point a few weeks back, it broke my heart as one very playful little girl grew quite defensive toward the other kids in an effort to protect my “cleanliness.”  I was wearing hot pink nail polish, and she loved it on my toes.  After a while, any time someone would bump me and get dirt on my jeans or feet, she would holler something in SeSwati, then rush over, kneel at my feet and begin cleaning them off.  

Here is this beautiful little girl; there are holes in her shirt and she herself is caked in dirt, and she is bending down over and over again to wipe off my feet.  

“No, it’s ok,” I tried to tell her the first time.  But she wouldn’t listen (she really loved that pink nail polish).  I began to feel embarrassed, even a little angry, but not at her.  Who taught her this, I thought?  Who or what has made this sweet little girl think that she deserves to be dirty, but I deserve to be clean?  The gap between us felt much too wide.

Finally, after the 5th time of foot-cleaning, I caught her attention and she looked me in the eye: “It’s ok.  I don’t mind getting dirty.  It’s ok.”  I smiled, and she understood.  No more scurrying in to brush off my neat feet.  She leaned into me affectionately, then rushed off to play, and sweetly the Word whispered in my heart:

“How lovely are the feet of those who bring good news.”

Sometimes that very loveliness is found in the dirt caked beneath the feet that bear His good news.  Tonight I am reminded of the beautiful feet of Jesus, caked in the dirt and the dust of our land, our blood pouring out from the nail that we drove in Him, and I hear Him saying: 

“It’s ok.  I don’t mind getting dirty.  It’s ok.”  

Then He smiles, and I understand.  I lean into Him affectionately, then I rush off to play.  He has come to redeem my life from this dirt, and I am learning to let Him.  I am so, so thankful for His dirty feet, and tonight as I lay down to rest, the prayer of my heart is this: that when I enter into eternity, some observant angel or saint will take one look at my feet and say: 

“Oh, how she walked like Jesus.”

To be like Jesus; to be like Jesus.  All I ask is to be like Him...

Just Beginning

A few weeks ago, I sat in a room full of tools (actual tools, not the people kind) and had a heart-to-heart with an incredible woman who has become a sort of mother-in-faith to me.  As I've been preparing to leave my position with Teen Challenge, go jobless and head off to southern Africa, these talks have become increasingly precious to me.  When walking through a hefty period of transition, things can be both exciting and overwhelming.  All the while, this little spiritual powerhouse continues to breathe truth into my shaky soul every time we meet.  

Here she sits, 30-some-odd-years my senior.  We're sitting in this room full of tools and machinery through which she serves, doing the dirty jobs no one else wants to do day in and day out.  She works with her hands, but she lives from her heart.  She fixes a sink and mentors the girl living in that room while she tampers with pipes and drains.  She tells us when we are wrong and when we are right; she inspires us to turn our eyes upon Jesus in the mundane and in the magnificent.  She opens the Word of God to us humbly yet powerfully and we want to be more like her.  Then she says things like, "Oh no, I'm just the maintenance lady."  And I think, "Oh, you are so much more than 'just' the maintenance lady." 

I am full of gratitude for the women of faith and prayer that God has placed in my life.  As this friend and I talked that day, she ended our conversation by saying something I will never forget.  This woman who I so admire, who I pray I might have even a measure of her humility, faith and love, tells me:

"I think I am just beginning to find God's call in my life..."

Just beginning?  

Wait, you're like, 60-something, AND you've been serving God like a superhero for years now.  Just beginning?  

Yup...just beginning.

This is how it is with Him: beginnings...always new beginnings.  Beginnings that arise out of other beginnings, one creative move of God after another in a soul wholly surrendered to His love and His ways.  My dad used to say, "You will never come to the end of God."  I'm inspired tonight by the example of this mother-in-faith to me, who is living proof of this truth - you will never come to the end of God.  He is always working.

So this afternoon, I found my way back to a quiet room for some precious time alone with one of my favorite 60-something-year-old friends who is "just beginning" to find God's call in her life.  We talked about Jesus and how we love Him and desire Him; we talked about how He is drawing us nearer to His heart.  Once again she spoke truth and life into me; she challenged me and, in many ways, dared me to BE what I believe.  Then she prayed for me and we said, "Amen."  

And I walked away believing it too: "I am just beginning to know God's call in my life."  

Just Beginning,

Tara

His and Hers

I haven't written for about 6 weeks.  Somewhat intentional, somewhat unintentional, I've steered away from the public writing scene for a bit.  As I'm heading off to Africa next week, I'm certain there will be increased frequent writings and ramblings again, processing thoughts and experiences and sharing them with you.  But a while back, I sat down to write some things that were on my heart, and I felt the Lord whisper:

Tara, sometimes I want to talk to you just to talk to you, not so you can tweet about it. 

I reluctantly put my screen down, leaned back and thought for a moment.  

"I'm sorry," I whispered.  "Talk to me."

He's right.  In so many ways, I have allowed our conversations and experiences together to become material to share with others.  I know He's not asking me to never write or never share, but He's leaning up against me and nudging: 

Don't forget: I want you for you.  Not for the good you do or the significance you seek.  I like you, Tara.  And I want you for you.

So we've been quiet for a while.  Sometimes it's like that fire Jeremiah talked about - shut up in my bones.  Hard to contain.  I want to tell someone about it.  I want to get in long talks with a human being about the mysteries, beauties and complexities of this God I so love.  But sometimes I let those human beings take His place, and I end up talking way more about Him than I do to Him.  

I need to... I WANT to... talk to Him more.

I like singing in church.  I love leading worship anywhere, anytime.  But it is absolutely my favorite to sing when no one is listening but Jesus.  There are things that should get to be just His sometimes.  Things that we do because just HE will see us, just HE will hear us, just HE will know who we are and what we have done and how we have loved.

As I finish reading a Thomas Merton classic this week, I'm challenged by the idea of spiritual privacy. I champion the cause for authenticity and vulnerability in the Church (and society in general).  But in some ways, that leaning toward authenticity has moved me to think I should share pretty much anything and everything with everyone, all in the name of authenticity and vulnerability and joining in the grand conversation of the human race.  But maybe in that tension between authenticity and hypocrisy, there is a sweet value to be found in spiritual privacy - in allowing some things in our lives to belong to just Jesus:  

Things we say only to Him.  

Glances we give only to Him.  

Smiles that are "our smile."  

Thoughts and movements of our hearts and souls that we do not have to share with everyone else in order to be affirmed or applauded, but that we let just be... 

Just be His.

So today I am living in the "I am my Beloved's and He is mine."  I'm staying alert to those moments that clearly read: "His and Hers."  Sometimes I'll share them, and sometimes I won't.  I hope you will do the same.

Now... to be His.

*If you are wondering, yes, I realize the irony of writing a blog about spiritual privacy all the while sharing private spiritual moments :)  

T-to-the-Africa... Yes, AGAIN :)

Go ahead and say, "I told you so."  Yup, I'm headed back to Africa.  On September 1st, I will be leaving Indianapolis to spend three months in Swaziland.  As excited as I am to have this extended time in Africa, this decision has required a greater leap of faith than many others in my life thus far.  For one, going to Swaziland in the fall means I will be missing most of football season.  This a tragedy I'm not quite ready to talk about yet.  Beyond missing Colts games, leaping toward Africa means letting go of other "beautiful things" I love dearly here in Indy.  I'm not entirely sure what my life will look like when I return in late November, but there are glimpses; there are "leadings" in new directions, and as frightening as it can be to leap without a net in place, I'm provoked to believe that God Himself is the net, and so I leap.

This post will surely be followed up over the next few months with answers to questions like, "But what are you going to do when you get back?" and "What about TC?" and "What about pursuing your masters degree?"  These have answers - some of them I know; some of them I don't know (yet).  For now, I'd like to keep the talk on Africa.  So let's stop at just one question: "Why Africa...again?"

When I was a very little girl, Ethiopia was in the midst of a famine.  I didn't understand much about this at the time, but thanks to Sally Struthers commercials, I was inundated with images of starving children on a regular basis in those early years.  At 5 years old, I didn't know much, but I knew one thing: life is not supposed to be like this.  I was moved for them, and although I had no personal ability to change their situation, every time prayer requests were taken at church, school, home or elsewhere, I would pray "for the starving children in Ethiopia and Africa" (yes, that exact phrase).

So why am I going back to Africa again?  Because I want to be that little girl who is moved by suffering that really doesn't have to be her problem.  I never want to stop being her.  I could ignore it, but I don't want to.  I could hide in the borders of my own country and my own comfort, but I don't want to.  I want to be disturbed by the things that disturb the heart of God.  I want to be moved by the things that move the heart of God.  And sometimes that means stepping outside of yourself to see the world He so loves, that He gives... Himself.  If I want to be like Jesus, then my love must mean giving myself away, too.  

When I go to Africa I feel pretty useless.  I'm not a doctor, a nurse, an educator, or a brilliant business mind.  I don't know how to help make these problems resolve, and I certainly don't know how to take proper care of a person suffering from malnutrition or disease.  All I know how to do is to talk, to play, to laugh and to love.  That's all I got.  But I think it does me good to be in a place where I'm not so important.  It does me good to understand that I'm not the Messiah.  I'm not the answer.  I'm not the solution.  In Africa or in America, I'm just a girl, hopefully turning eyes upon Jesus, reminding those in despair that there is more than this.

So why Swaziland?  Well for one, Swaziland has the highest HIV/AIDs rate in the world, leaving the country with an average life expectancy of 46 years old.  Do I have HIV?  No.  Is it my problem that a bunch of people I don't know who live on the other side of the world have HIV?  No.  Could I ignore it and go on with my life just fine?  Unfortunately, yeah, I think I could - but I don't want to.  For the rest of my life, I want God to continue messing with my idea of normal, crashing the walls of every kingdom I try to build for myself, and wrecking my heart with the magnificence of His love.  So for three months, this will be my prayer - ruin me like You, Jesus.  Ruin me like You.

You can expect a ridiculous amount of blog posts, photographs and the like from September 1st through November 22nd...and probably a bit after.  Thanks to all my friends and family who have been so supportive through this season, always challenging me to follow Jesus wherever and however He may lead.  Looking forward to sharing more of this journey with you...

- TG 

The Details:

In Swaziland, I'll be loving on and ministering to children and youth through partnerships with Mission of Mercy and Children's Cup.  In addition, one of my dearest friends is a doctor with HIV/AIDs patients in Mbabane.  Through her connections with the hospital in Mbabane, I will be focusing much of my time working with the hospital social workers, shadowing HIV counselors and volunteering with Swazi children who also happen to be HIV patients.  If the majority of my time is spent reading to kids with HIV, I will be a very happy girl.  

Flipping Tables

Tonight in Addictions class we talked about identity, belief and the idea of what is normal.  We questioned the idea that what is "normal" is always good.  Just because something is normal, does that make it good?  And how does that normal thing shape who I am, what I believe and how I behave?  

When Jesus showed up on the scene, He flipped the tables on all that was considered "normal."  He said things like, "You heard this, but I'm telling you that..." or "You thought that, but I'm telling you this..."  He didn't eliminate all of the old ideas - He illuminated them.  He brought them to light.  He made sense of them.  He said things and did things that revealed a much bigger picture with much brighter colors, colors the world had not yet seen.  

God seems to enjoy tampering with my normal.  Sometimes I find myself banging on His chest, pleading with Him to just leave me alone.  To be perfectly honest, I had a moment just this past week when I snapped at Him in prayer: "Seriously, does everything in my life have to be about You?  Can't anything just be mine... just be normal?"  Whoa... ugly, Tara.  Real ugly...and probably a little stupid.  

I'm so thankful that when I'm banging on His chest, pleading with Him to leave me alone, He doesn't.  This is God's mercy - that He doesn't listen to everything I say; that I am not the boss of Him.  That He doesn't get offended or wounded and wander away, whimpering, "Why doesn't she love me anymore?"  He knows I love Him - and He knows I love me more sometimes, too....  We're working on it.  

But I love Him more every time He doesn't let go.  I love Him more every time He tampers with my normal.  Every time He "makes everything have to be about Him all the time."  Yes, somehow, I love Him a little bit more.  There's grace in this.  There is grace in this God who relentlessly, meticulously sneaks Himself into every picture and every painting hanging on the walls of my life.  He makes Himself the point of everything because He actually is the point of everything, so when I find Him everywhere, in all things and at all times, well... it's because that is the normal that is good - always.

This is how He does it.  This is how He makes all things beautiful: He places Himself in them.  And this is what He is doing with my life.  All of a sudden, I could not be more happy to be "normal."

Here we go, flipping tables...

The Voice

This post is a long overdue follow-up to "Surrender," a blog I wrote in January.  The story - the surrender - continues.  I have hesitated to share this since January, as this was an incredibly personal moment for me and Jesus.  But this is one important piece of an ongoing story (more to come), so here goes.  You might think I'm crazy after this... I'm ok with that :)

Strange things happen in my sleep.  

There was the night that I had a dream about Johnny Knoxville telling me how he feels like he's "too far gone" for God's grace to ever reach him, then I woke up to realize I was literally praying for Johnny Knoxville - out loud - in my sleep.  

There was the night that I saw a huge spider webbing his way down the ceiling onto my bed.  I screamed, threw off my covers, ran into the living room and started shaking out my clothes, then calmly got back in bed and went straight to sleep.  It was the next morning when I remembered this occurrence and realized I dreamed the whole thing... except for the screaming, throwing, running and shaking.  That was the night I discovered that dreams of spiders (apparently) induce fits of sleep walking for me.

There was the night of the Indiana earthquake (true story) a few years back.  While it woke me up, and I understood this was odd for Indiana, I felt at peace, so, sleepily, I rolled over in my bed and mumbled to Jesus, "Ok, just wake me up if I should move."  He didn't, so I didn't.  That was one good night's sleep.

I have some weird dreams and some crazy night drama, and I'm not gonna lie - it's kinda fun.  But no dream, no earthquake, no spider and not even Johnny Knoxville himself will ever compare to the night of the Voice.

Earlier this year, I was struggling about God's direction for my life.  I kept begging Him to "just tell me what to do."  I kept saying things like, "Do you want me to go to Africa?  If you want me to go to Africa, I'll go to Africa.  If you want me to stay here and love these girls in rehab for the rest of my life, I'll do it, with all of me.  If you want me to stay close to home and take care of my grandparents through this season of suffering, I'll do it - painfully and gladly, I'll do it.  If you want me to write, I'll write.  If you want me to speak, I'll speak.  If you want me to sing, I'll sing.  Just tell me what You want me to do."  

After all my nagging, though, Jesus wasn't budging.  There was this sense that He was just not in the talking mood, and maybe by asking all these questions about "doing," I was missing the point.  

Then it happened.  I had been begging God to speak to me, and unexpectedly, finally, He did.  As I slept sound that night, I was awoken by a clear, familiar voice.  Loudly, but gently, it whispered, "Tara..."

The Voice was so real that I woke with a frightened gasp out of a sound sleep.  I thought someone was in my room; I thought I'd look to my right to see one of the girls had gotten in somehow, that there was some crisis or emergency and they had come to wake me up.  When I looked to my right, though, no one was there.  Still, I heard it, and I knew that I heard it.  I was so convinced that I got out of my bed and looked in other parts of my room to see if someone was there... but I found no one.  

I found no one, but I heard Him, and He said my name.  I thought maybe God was waking me up because something was going on with one of the girls (wouldn't be the first time).  So I went out, checked all their rooms and made sure everyone / everything was ok; all was well.  Assured that the girls were fine, I returned to my bed, staring around my room expecting to see Jesus appear at any moment... but He didn't.  There was no image, no revelation; there was just the Voice.  My heart was racing in anticipation; I desperately wanted to know what He had to say.  He got me all woken up and worked up, and then... nothing.  

A Voice whispered my name, and then it was silent.

All I could do that night was sit up in my bed, waiting for Jesus to speak.  I heard Him - I knew I heard Him - and I wanted to hear Him again.  Still, He left me with nothing but my name: "Tara..."  

After all my nagging and pleading, there was this sense in that one whisper, that what God is calling me to is more a "Who" than a "What."  I felt Him calling me back to His heart, in a deeper, more intimate way, and as I fell back to sleep that night, the impression He left on my heart was simply this:

Surrender.  

This "surrender" is turning out to mean a lot of unsettling things for me.  Life itself is about to change drastically.  The things I love the most are being beckoned to Moriah (Genesis 22), and with joy and tears, I am laying them down.  I'm finding that the point is not so much what I will be doing; how significant it is, how special or rewarding, or even how powerful the impact for God's kingdom.  The point is the surrendered life, that "way of being" in the world where my heart is settled in the love of Jesus, wherever we are, whatever we're doing, however He leads.  

There was something redemptive in hearing my name that night.  From any other voice, it might just be another word among many; from Him, it is life itself.  It is the word He used to call me to "being" again; to tell me He still knows me, He still likes me, He still wants to be with me more than to do with me.  

When that is "surrender," it is not so difficult after all.

For you... 

No need to comment; just think.  I know we don't all have these "I heard God audibly say..." moments very often (if at all).  This was one incredibly rare occurrence for me.  But what about you?  Is there some way in which God is whispering your name, luring you back to His heart?  What would it look for you to respond to His whisper?

Losing It

I’ve been watching the Lord of the Rings films again.  I pretty much mentally read through the entire Bible through these stories.  Oh, if we’d just let Jesus have His voice, the places we’d find Him; they’re endless.  But that’s another topic for another day.  So I’m watching The Two Towers and I come across the scene when the Ents (giant talking trees for the LOTR illiterate) are gathering to decide whether or not they will join in the war to save mankind.  Like the characters Merry and Pippen, I too grow anxious awaiting their response.  As TreeBeard slowly gasps and trudges out one long word at a time, I want to scream at the television, “Hurry up!  People are dying!  Hurry uuuuup!”

Then I’m quieted by Treebeard’s wisdom.  He disarms my frustration with a few elderly insights.  He is right in many ways.  He is sensible and experienced.  There are perspectives he has to share with these younger lads, and they do well to heed these truths.  For a moment, I admire Treebeard and feel he is justified for taking his time.  Good, wise Treebeard.  His heart is in the right place.  Maybe we’re supposed to be more like him.

But my admiration is quickly refueled into fury when the very wisdom and truth Treebeard has shared become his excuse for not helping others in need.  It’s not his war to fight.  These humans have brought this trouble on themselves.  The Trees are peaceable and pious and if the humans want to go ahead and kill each other, then let them.  The Trees will enjoy their peace and watch the world go to ruin.

I watch and my heart begins to hum verses about Trees of Righteousness, planted as oaks, the people of God.  These Ents believe they can watch the world go to ruin and still enjoy their peace, because it’s not their problem.  Except that it is their problem.  Unknowingly, many of their own have already fallen prey to this shadow of darkness.  Finally, after seeing their own lost and destroyed, they join in the fight.  Now it matters, because it’s affecting them.

But what about when it didn’t?

I recall another individual who could have laid back in comfort and watched the world go to ruin.  He watched a woman and a man take a piece of fruit, eat it, and slowly begin to die.  He could have said, “Not my problem.”  He could have mocked, “You got yourself into this mess.  You get yourself out.”  But there was no mockery and there was no hiding away in safety.  

There was searching through a garden and calling out, “Where are you?”  

There was stepping into the chaos and making a way to start over again.

There was the sending of a Son, who wasn’t afraid to fight and to love.

God could have easily looked at the mess of man and laughed, “Sorry ‘boutcha.”  Instead, He proved His love for us, in that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”  Love compelled Christ to abandon His comfort and join in our fight.

When we can be satisfied to stay hidden in the forest with the other Christian trees and watch the world go to ruin, we have become nothing like Jesus.  If, in fact, we can enjoy our snow-globe sanctuaries where only the saints can sit and the people are perfect, Jesus might not really want to hang out with us anymore.  

“Away from Me," Jesus said, "because I was in prison, and you did not come to Me.  

I was naked and you did not clothe Me.  I was hungry and you did not feed Me.  

As much as you did not do it for the least of these, you did not do it for Me.” 

Do you see the fate of these kinds of “trees”?  They are away from Jesus.  Far, far away from Him.  These are people who thought they were doing it right, they just weren’t living like Christ.  How sad for them.  How sad for their world.  

I know, you have your own problems.  So do I.  So did Jesus.  But if we wait for all of our questions to be answered and our suffering relieved before we step out to fight for someone else, we’ll never make one single move.  Because some of these things, they’re just not going to resolve.  Some people aren’t going to change.  Some wounds will be a thorn in your flesh your entire life.  But you will never find a greater healing than giving what you need to someone else.   

Is there a unique way in which God is calling you to join Him in redeeming a broken world?  

If God were free to create new life through you, what might that look like?  

If your own wounds were no longer a reason you "can't..." what would you be doing with your time and energy?

"If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it.  
But if you give up your life for My sake, you will find it."

(Matthew 16:25)