Esperando. . .

It seems I have only a little to say today. All is well. I am enjoying my classes, and I only have one today. I am learning much and practicing lots of Spanish.

I am quieted by a heaviness that I have difficulty explaining. Yesterday we were talking in class about the Zapatista Revolution of 1994 and the plight of the indigenous people that still exists today. We watched a documentary called Zapatista that had me in tears, burdened with the weight of empathy and so convicted of the complacency that plagues the U.S. and seeps into my own heart and time. I can´t even really verbalize the effect it had. Because of my experiences in Honduras, I have some difficulty being here in a Spanish-speaking country, surrounded by affluent people and in an academic setting. While I am quite grateful for this education and know that I am supposed to be here at this time, it weighs heavily on me that I am going to a school that has several pools simply for landscape while there is a thirsty leper sitting outside of the main cathedral. I feel lost without the hungry touch of orphans and juvenile delinquents, and I feel so heavy with homesickness not only for Honduras but for the closeness to these wounded spirits and hungry souls that I find that I can´t even cry. I struggle to sleep at night or to even really pray because I simply cannot find the words. But in the midst of this inexplicable weight, I have peace because I know I am supposed to be here not only geographically but spiritually as well. It is a preparation, a sobering call to live life awake in His presence and dependent on His will, whatever that may mean. Many fellow students and our host mother give Leigh Ann and I a hard time because we don´t really go anywhere, but to be honest, movement at this time seems unbearable although I am open to seeing more of Mexico and experiencing more of the culture. More than anything, I get the real sense that I am not here to be entertained. Rather, the words of Isaiah keep echoing what I believe I am called to do in this place:
¨Come, my people, go home and shut yourselves in. Go into seclusion for a while. . .¨ -- from Isaiah 26
¨This is the time and place to rest, to give rest to the weary. This is the place to lay down your burden.¨ -- from Isaiah 28

I also find the words of Brennan Manning from his book, The Ragamuffin Gospel, to be a good reminder of my intended state:
¨ At different times on the journey I have tried to fill the emptiness that frequently comes with God´s presence through a variety of substitutes. . .¨
It´s odd to have our usual perception of God´s presence challenged like that. We assume that being in God´s presence always leads to fullness, an instant gratification of healing or wholeness, but it doesn´t. At times, He does call us to be empty, waiting and trusting His timing and His ways. As painful as it can be to find yourself alone with only the muttered prayer of, ¨God, I have nothing,¨ it is more painful to imagine how we betray the heart of God when we insist on receiving His blessings and fulfillment rather than waiting on Him. He truly knows best, and in this case, He knows the kind of maturation necessary for me to fulfill His purposes for His glory. In this time, I don´t doubt that He loves me although He feels rather far away--quite the contrary. I know that He has led me here, and I still look to Him with the childlike attitude of ¨What´s next, Papa?¨

Meanwhile, the theme of agriculture and land have come up numerous times this past week in class lectures, readings, and what I have been reading in Isaiah. I don´t find it to be a coincidence.
¨´At that same time, a fine vineyard will appear. There´s something to sing about! I, God, tend it. I keep it well-watered. I keep careful watch over it so that no one can damage it. I´m not angry. I care. Even if it gives me thistles and thornbushes, I´ll just pull them out and burn them up. Let that vine cling to me for safety, let it find a good and whole life with me, let it hold on for a good and whole life.´ The days are coming when Jacob shall put down roots, Israel blossom and grow fresh branches, and fill the world with its fruit.¨ -- from Isaiah 27

I am that vine clinging so desperately to the Father. I wait whole-heartedly for that good and whole life He has promised. In the past, as I suppose many women and people in general do, I have had an inner conflict between wanting to be an independent, unattached woman, able to move as a free spirit and to travel as I please and also wanting to have an established home. Having lived with no established home since high school and just from the way that God has led me, I now find myself desiring to be Jacob--able to put down roots. And I am encouraged furthermore by words from Isaiah 29:
¨And finally this, God´s Message for the family of Jacob, the same God who redeemed Abraham: ´No longer will Jacob hang his head in shame, no longer grow gaunt and pale with waiting. For he´s going to see his children, my personal gift to him--lots of children. And these children will honor me by living holy lives. In holy worship they´ll honor the Holy One of Israel. Those who got off-track will get back on-track, and complainers and whiners will learn gratitude.´¨
My roots will always be first and foremost wrapped tightly around the home I find in Him, but then there is also Honduras. While pieces of my heart have always been there, I find my commitment to that calling, to the permanence of that place in my life, being refined and solidified. 22 days until I am home.

I am comforted by the Spanish word ¨esperar¨ because it carries two meanings--to wait and to hope. And so, I gladly and patiently do both.

With love,
Sarah