Lessons From Rehab #1: KNOW YOUR ENEMY

When girls came to Teen Challenge, one of the first things we would do together in a counseling session was set goals through a treatment plan.  Ah, goal-setting.  What is it about setting goals that makes us feel like a failure before we even start?  It's as if the moment we start writing them down (or maybe we don't even get that far), something inside of us sighs, "I can't do this.  I want to do this, but I know I won't."  Then we sort of saunter off in a defeated "whatever" mentality, comforting ourselves with whatever makes us feel good at the moment and helps us to forget that we are, yet again, settling for less than we are capable of and far less than we were created to be.  

Been there.

Done that.

But it doesn't have to be this way.

Yes, it often is this way.  But it doesn't have to be.  What is the difference between the two?  Between winning and losing?  Between succeeding and settling?  Well, in the famous words from our friends at Nike: "Just Do It."  We can know all the right information but if we don't do it and keep doing it, we are destined to fail every single time.  Notice I didn't only say "do it," but I said "keep doing it."  If there is anything I have learned after 8 years working in recovery, it is that consistency is key.  Drs. Cloud and Townsend (of Boundaries, Helping People Grow, etc.) say it like this: "Learn to trust the growth process."  Trust it.  That means do it and keep doing it even when you don't see the results you want to see when you want to see them.  TRUST the process and KEEP doing what you know to do in the mean time.

If we are going to succeed in succeeding, then we have to start with Step One.  Step One in any 12-Step program is often misquoted as "Admit You Have a Problem."  But this actually is not the first step in the 12 Steps.  Admitting you have a problem is right-on.  For sure, you've got to come to a point of being able to say, "I have a problem with this..." but we've got to take it further.  Step One goes on to say something much more profound; something much harder to confess than, "I have a problem."  Step One involves "Admitting Powerlessness."  Step One says I have a problem, AND I admit that this thing is stronger than me.  I admit that if I were to get into an arm-wrestling match with this issue, it would beat me every time.  This is not a depressing, defeating place to be.  There is wisdom in calling things what they are; victory can only be found when we truly, undeniably know our opponent.

KNOW YOUR ENEMY:

Paul might call it a "thorn in the flesh."  Psychology may term them your "issues."  Greek mythology would label it your "Achilles Heel."  Achilles was known to be invincible; an undefeated and undefeatable warrior.  But he met his own death when Achilles was struck in the heel by the tip of a poisoned arrow.  "Oh how the mighty have fallen..."  Wikipedia describes the contemporary phrase, "Achilles heel," as a deadly weakness in spite of overall strength, that can actually or potentially lead to downfall.  

What is (are) your Achilles heel(s) in life?

When the girls at TC first filled out their treatment plans, we would stop at a section called "Problem Areas."  Here we would get real and ask for authenticity.  Take the mask off, drop the excuses and rationalizations and tell me: What are you here for?  What's the problem?  

As girls got courageous enough to tell the truth, they would begin to confess things in writing, things like: "Drugs.  Cutting myself.  Alcohol.  Sex.  Lying.  Anger.  Depression" and more.  Sometimes it was hard to name those things; always it was vulnerable.  But we did it; together, we did it.  We decided we were going to work together toward a new life, a better life, and that meant we had to start with one thing: naming our enemies.  If she was going to succeed, each student had to call it what it is, to put a name to it and determine to overcome.  We didn't defeat their "issues" in a day, a month, or even in that year or more the girls lived with us at TC.  In fact, I can tell you that every single one of those girls is still figuring out how to live the truths they learned at TC every day.  But many have come a long, LONG way from that first day when we sat down, pen in hand with a treatment plan and asked the question, "So what's the problem?"  

We named it.

The road to a better life started when we named it.

I like to call this principle, "Know Your Enemy."  It's as simple as giving it a name.  It means that we stop belittling ourselves or our issues by pretending they don't exist or they don't matter.  We confess that they exist, we put a name to them, and we acknowledge that these things have the power to bring us to our knees, settling for less than who we truly are.  

Today, I will not tell you to be completely over your issues.  I will not tell you that you won't lose your temper again or that you will wake up tomorrow morning to discover you've magically lost those extra pounds that have been hounding you for years.  I will tell you that you can trust the growth process and you can move toward better one day at a time, one choice at a time, one success or even one failure at a time.  But it all starts with knowing your enemy.

King David knew his enemies.  When he failed, he did not deny it or rationalize it.  He called it what it was.  In Psalm 51 he confessed, "But I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me."  This is not a defeatist mentality: it is a wisdom.  He knew his weakness, he put a name to it and surrendered it to God, asking for help one day at a time.  

So to get started, today, know your enemy.  Name it.  What is the problem?  In your life, what has the power to cause you to settle for less than you were created to be?  Uncontrolled anger?  Unhealthy habits?  Relationships?  Boundaries?  Whatever it is, name it, and you are taking the first step in the right direction.

You CAN make it to February without having to say, "Oh well, I guess there's still next year."  

Just start with TODAY.

One day at a time, you CAN do ALL things through CHRIST who gives you strength.

Let's Skip the "I'll Do Better Next Year's"

While in Swaziland, I was asked to do a teaching for a community leadership program* on the challenge of "Re-Entry."  Re-entry is the idea of heading back into the "real world" after considerable time away in a group or community living atmosphere.  After 8 years with Teen Challenge, yeah, I guess I have a lot to say about re-entry, but I had never really compiled these thoughts on paper before.  The more I have looked them over, the more I've realized these are principles not only for success after rehab or discipleship programs, but for the daily grind that each of us face from day to day.  

So, over the next two weeks, I'll be posting these re-entry notes as daily principles for success in 2012 (and beyond).  Unfortunately, as usual, "it only works if you do it."  Whatever your goals or desires for 2012, I hope these are both inspirational and challenging truths for you in the first few weeks of this new year.  

Here's to not reaching February already moaning, "Oh well, I guess I'll do better next year."

You CAN make it to February.

Just start with today.

"Just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord,

CONTINUE to LIVE in Him."

- Colossians 2:6

*Global Leadership Academy is the internship extension of Children's Cup in Swaziland, southern Africa.  To find out more, visit www.childrenscup.org.  

Above and Beyond

Not too long ago, the beloved holiday called "Christmas" bore a bit of a bite for the Gentry family.  Sure we loved Christmas and enjoyed family time together, but seeing children so excited in the holiday season often only reminded us that our own prayers for children were going unanswered.  Though married for 15 years, and with no reasonable explanation, my brother and sister-in-law struggled through the unbearable pain of infertility.  Three years ago, as I read the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus, I came across a verse that rang true in my own soul:

"Blessed is she that believed, 

for there shall be a performance of those things 

spoken to her of the Lord."  

I read this verse and thought of my sister-in-law, Trudi, suffering through years of infertility.  I thought of the desires of my own heart that seemed to have been shelved by the very God who promised to fulfill them.  I thought of friends and family struggling through their own questions, seasons of waiting and wondering, "Where is God in the midst of this?"  

We all have our questions; those unanswered 'problems' so it seems, when we wonder if God has forgotten us.  "Has God forgotten to be faithful?" David wrote.  Even the great psalmist walked these roads.    

Tonight I sat through a candelight service, just as I have every other Christmas Eve these past 31 years.  But tonight, something about this, "God with us" Child moved me on a deeper level than ever before, because tonight, I sang "Silent Night" and "O Holy Night" holding a candle with my miracle neice Emma, now 2 1/2 years old.  I watched her hold a candle high and heard her finish the song with a soft whisper: "I love You, Jesus."  After 15 years of praying and waiting, God gave us Emma and that verse sang again in my soul at her birth: 

"Blessed is she that believed,

 for there shall be a performance of those things 

spoken to her of the Lord."

As if that weren't enough, tonight that verse hit a new note, when I didn't only see my sweet Emma beside me in her momma Trudi's arms.  Towering beside me, tall and strong, stood my big brother (the Batman), holding 4 month old Everett, who had just dozed off to sleep as we began to sing, "Silent Night."  Tough Todd and little sister Tara exchanged a glance and a whimpered lip, followed by a silent "Uh huh huh huhhhh..." realizing the precious moment that had just graced us.  In Emma and Evvie tonight, I understood a little bit better what the phrase "above and beyond" means - this gracious, generous God of ours is not only able, but LOVES to give "above and beyond all we could ever ask or imagine."

We were happy with Emma.  We were ELATED with Emma.  After so many years of waiting and wondering, what a miracle she is.  Then the Lord surprised us - oh, He is full of surprises - and He gifted us with this beautiful baby boy named Everett Cash, and somehow through the faces, noises and personalities of these two little children, all of our eyes are turned back upon Jesus.  Through them, we look full into HIS wonderful face, and all these earthly things really do grow strangely dim in the light - the LIGHT - of His glory and grace.  He is so full of grace.

This Christmas, I rest in the grace, the goodness and the greatness of my God, my Friend, my Savior, my Love who has set His heart on me, and I am setting my heart - all over again, as if for the first time - on Him... on HIM.  Grateful for His good gifts, my heart is set back upon the Giver, who knows and cares deeply for me - and for you.

Whatever your question, concern or unknown this holiday season, He is with you and is for you.  He is your Ally and not your enemy.  Seeking Him and His kingdom first, you will find His goodness in this land of the living... and maybe (undoubtedly) a few surprises along the way.  In the meantime, just turn your eyes upon Jesus.  

By His grace, may it be said of you, too: Blessed are you that believed, for there shall be a performance of those things spoken to you of the Lord... in HIS time.  

Remember, "He makes all things beautiful in HIS time..." 

ALL things.

Believing...

TG

Just Friends

I barely knew what hit me.  I was sitting in church with some of my favorite guys and girls, young interns in a discipleship and leadership academy here in Swaziland.  An elderly white preacher from the states stood before us speaking on the love of God.  “The Love of God...”  One of my favorite topics.  The preacher began to share the idea that one manifestation of love is giving, and we reflected on verses like John 3:16 as some vocally affirmed the thought with “Amens.”  The white preacher from the states then went on to explain that we cannot really understand this concept (you know, how “God so loved that He gave...”) until we are put in a position of neediness; when we are the ones who have nothing, and yet we find that in great love and grace, someone who has more than us gives to us what we could never give to them in return.  

I should have seen it coming.  I should have seen it, but I didn’t.  So when the white preacher from the states asked all of the non-Swazis in the crowd to stand - I SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT COMING.  In a moment of awkward obedience, the white preacher from the states asked every missionary and visiting guest to stand to their feet, and then the white preacher from the states asked all of the Swazis (aka, the black people) in the audience to applaud what was basically a sea of white people who he was apparently now using as a visual to drive home his point: God loved so much that He gave... 

Just like we, the white people, loved you poor black Swazis so much that we gave?  

We came to you, we sacrificed to serve you, because we love you.  

So now, Swazis... applaud us?  

Applaud the white people from the states that loved you so much that they gave... ?

I was mortified.  As soon as I heard the word “applaud,” I shot back down to my seat and nestled as close to my Swazi friends as possible.  I hoped they knew that I didn’t feel this way about them or even myself.  I didn’t feel that I was better than them, or that they were soooo blessed that I came to them.  I hoped they understood that I understand: I am not the Messiah.  “What are you doing?!?” I thought.  “The last thing I came here to do is to separate myself from these people.”  Well-intentioned or not, this was one of the most degrading, humiliating, missing-the-point moments I’ve ever experienced in church.  

That night I wondered if my Swazi friends were as irritated as I was at this man’s incredibly poor choice of illustration.  Maybe I was feeling offended for them when they didn’t even take offense themselves.  I could only hope that the moment quickly came and went without taking root in their hearts.  As I lay in bed that night, I thought about what was making me so angry.  I realized that somewhere along the way, I grew very, very weary of applause.  I can’t say I am so holy or pure hearted that I don’t sometimes feel that lure for ovations and praise.  I do.  But beneath it all, something inside of me burns to still the applause, pull down the curtains and hide behind that very love of God.  I don’t want to be seen or noticed or applauded.  I don’t need to be applauded.  I need to be like Jesus.  Applause insinuates that I’ve done something extraordinary, something note-worthy.  But things that are natural; things that are obvious don’t gain applause.  And loving like Jesus should be natural; it should be obvious, not a great surprise, and certainly not applause-worthy.  In fact, it’s something more like cross-worthy.  

Still, I wondered more and more, why was I so heated over this stand-ovation for the sea of whites and their “great gift of love?”  I soon remembered a passage of Scripture that had recently struck me in a profound way.  It was sandwiched in one of those “I can probably just skip this part” sections.  1 Chronicles 27 details a list of the leaders of the tribes of Israel, saying things like, these people were over the herds, and these people were over the oil and the vineyards; these people were over the donkeys and these people were stewards over the King’s property.  It goes on to say in verses 32-34:

“Jonathan, David’s uncle, was a counselor, being a man of understanding and a scribe.  He and Jehiel the son of Hachmoni attended the King’s sons.  Ahithophel was the King’s counselor, and Husha the Archite was the King’s friend.  Ahithophel was succeeded by Jehoida the son of Benaiah, and Abiathar.  Joab was commander of the King’s army.”

How important is friendship?  So important that as Scripture lists the names and duties of those most important to the work and health of the King, they make sure not to fail to mention the one who was simply the King’s friend.  Placed purposefully between the mention of the King’s counselor and the commander of the King’s army, we find the quiet, humble statement: “...and Husha the Archite was the King’s friend.”

I can hear the important others asking Husha now: “What are you over?”  And Husha responds, “What am I over?  I am the king’s friend.  I am not over anything; I am beside.”

For the past 9 years of ministry, I have been “over” a lot of things and a lot of people.  It has been good, beautiful, redemptive, and I have loved the privilege of those days.  But returning to southern Africa this year, I felt a subtle urge not to be over anyone, but simply to be beside.  As I prepared for this trip, I asked the Lord to lead me wherever He saw most fit; all I hoped was that He let me build genuine relationships with people, walking and growing together one day at a time.  After three months in Swaziland, I couldn’t be more thankful to look around me and discover: the Lord brought me here, not to be a counselor or a commander, but to be a friend.  

And I don’t need any applause for that.

Let's talk about you...

When serving others, check the status of your own heart.  Knowingly or unknowingly, are you serving from an attitude of superiority?  If you were to get really honest with yourself, do you somehow feel that you are doing people a favor by loving them?  Let us never forget the greatest favor that was done for us.  The Father so loved that He gave His only Son to come and be Emmanuel to us - God is with us.  God is beside us.  He gave us, forever, a Friend.  Wherever God has placed you today, ask Him to reveal how you might serve beside like Jesus.  Beware, though: applause runs short under the weight of this cross, and rightfully so.  After all, it’s only natural...

There is great value in this ministry of friendship; this gift of “beside.”  Isn’t it lovely that when Jesus came to us in the flesh, He said, “I do not now call you servants, but I call you friends.”*  He, too, embraced the calling that stands beside. 

Now Jesus, make us friends like You...

*John 15:15

They Come Through Pain

This past week I sat with a dear Swazi friend who has captured my heart.  When I think of Nelly, I envision this beautiful, strong African woman with glowing eyes and a determined heart.  She is passionate and persevering.  She is convicting and compassionate.  She is, in a word, fierce.  Fiercely brave, fiercely devoted, fiercely alive.  

She is alive...

Fully

ALIVE.

Nelly is 37 years old with two daughters, 16 and 21.  She leads discipleship programs for children suffering from poverty, neglect, hunger, abuse and illness.  As we sit together, she tells me of the 11 year old boy that she can’t get off her mind.  He is HIV positive, has lost both his parents, and his grandmother who is now responsible for him is an alcoholic.  As Nelly attempts to take the young boy in for HIV care, the grandmother refuses: she doesn’t want anyone to know her grandson has HIV.  Instead, he will suffer and grow more sick, but at least no one will know... no one will know there is HIV in this house.  Nelly tells me of this young boy, and I know deep within that she is determined to save him.  She knows that God loves him and can rescue him, and she will find a way to be a part of that plan.  Nelly will see to it: this boy will not die; he will live.

Nelly knows that God loves and restores those with HIV, because Nelly is HIV positive.  In a nation where (conservatively) over 40% of the people are infected with HIV, still, no one talks about it.  You are HIV positive?  Keep it to yourself.  In the face of countless cultural misgivings, Nelly shares her wounds bravely, proud of the God who has redeemed her.  She tells her story openly; she loves the broken, and she reveals an image of a God who is with us in suffering, who is mighty to save in even the worst of things.

Yesterday Nelly told me how she loves the Word of God.  She told me that when she feels like she is going to die; when the enemy taunts her, the Word of God is a lifeline that brings salvation again.  

He whispers, “You’re going to die.  You will be alone and no one will ever want to marry you with HIV.  Your life is over.  You are going to die.”  

She whispers back, “Izwi lakho likuphila... Your Word is LIFE.”

Nelly writes beautiful worship songs.  One day I asked her, “How do the songs come for you?  Is it easy or difficult for you when you are writing songs?  What is your process?”

Her response:

“The songs come when I am in pain.”

And that was all: the songs come when I am in pain.  Maybe those songs are God’s gift to her; maybe they are her gift to Him.  Maybe when the enemy hisses whispers, “You’re going to die...” a song rises within as a sort of sword and shield that sings, “I will not die, I will live; and I will tell of the works of the Lord...  I will not die, I will live.”

I often envy people who have the gift of songwriting.  As much as I long to write and sing my own songs, they just don’t seem to come.  Sometimes I wish I was like those who, it seems, write so easily.  The next time I envy the gift of another, I will remember my beautiful friend Nelly who just happens to have HIV.  I will remember how she told me, “The songs come when I am in pain.”  I will ask the Lord to make me more like her, because she is so much like HIM.  I will ask him for a courage like hers, a bravery to persevere through pain toward the prize of His presence.  I will remember that HIS Word is life; that no matter what comes, “I will not die, I will live; I will tell of the works of the Lord and sing of His wonders.”

Izwi lakho likuphila...

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