Hello all,
A month or so ago, I was listening to a Jason Upton podcast when I caught a part where Jason says that often we think we're struggling against Satan when we're actually avoiding the cross and struggling with God. The cross is the place of being reborn. In hearing this, God reminded me of the story of Jacob wrestling God.
The story comes from Genesis 32, and it's important to look at the background. Jacob was approaching his brother Esau and wanted his mercy, so he sent some messengers to talk to him. After these messengers, Esau was approaching Jacob with 400 men. Jacob, given the past history with his brother (stealing his brother's birthright, etc.), was worried that his brother was angry. As Esau continues to approach, Jacob divides up what he owns:
Then Jacob was greatly afraid and distressed; and he divided the people who were with him, and the flocks and herds and camels, into two groups, thinking, if Esau comes to the one group and smites it, then the other group which is left will escape. I don't pretend to have a great understanding of Hebrew or the roots of words, but they do fascinate me. I am the kind of person who likes to reach the root of everything, constantly digging deeper. According to abarim-publications.com (http://www.abarim-publications.com/Meaning/Esau.html), the name Esau although usually accepted as meaning "hairy" on a superficial level, "to a Hebrew audience the name Esau means doer." It comes from a verb that means "to do, to fashion, to accomplish." With this information, this story takes on a different light for me.
Jacob is preparing to meet the revenge of his brother, Esau; he is fearful and anticipating death by a doer. He keeps dividing up his life in an effort to appease the doer and preserve his life. How often do we compartmentalize our lives, striving to get it all done, trying to please our inner "doer"? How often do we try to be in too many places at once and are committed to too many people? How often do we feel the stress of everything that we think we have to do or accomplish lingering over our heads like a dark cloud? What is worse is that just like Jacob, in trying to preserve ourselves and our way of a doing life, we have divided hearts. So often, it's even the task we're trying to do for God that is stealing our time and attention to God. Just like Jacob, we keep dividing and trying to conquer in order to prevent the failure, the loss of our accomplishments, and to avoid this part of ourselves dying--when that it exactly what God calls us to and exactly what we need.
The story continues:
Deliver me, I pray You, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he come and smite us all, the mothers with the children. And You said, I will surely do you good and make your descendants as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.
Notice that God did not say Jacob would accomplish this. He didn't say that Jacob would do good or that he would somehow make this happen. It's God's work. God's the One who said He'd do it, not Jacob.
Jacob keeps sending gifts ahead of him to meet Esau:
For he said, I will appease him with the present that goes before me, and afterward I will see his face; perhaps he will accept me.I identify with this attitude because I struggle so often with deceiving myself into thinking that I can't come to God empty-handed. My life is so little, so insignificant, that I think I have to constantly be doing something for Him. But the truth is that the gift that He wants isn't my feeble attempts to outdo Him and His work--it's my life. He just wants my life. And the truth is that He always accepts me and you and everyone regardless of how small we are. So often, the one we're trying to appease isn't God, but ourselves. We are afraid of seeing His face and being in His presence without something to hide behind because we do not love ourselves or see ourselves as He does. The greatest gift we could ever give the Father is to grasp that Christ in us is enough to abide with Him.
But he rose up that [same] night and took his two wives, his two women servants, and his eleven sons and passed over the ford [of the] Jabbok. And he took them and sent them across the brook; also he sent over all that he had. Jacob prepares for fighting Esau during the night--the place of waiting, the place of painful patience. To prepare, he sends his family and everything he owns away, across the Jabbok River. Jacob is entirely alone. It is only when he is finally alone--stripped of family, security, power, and possessions--that he can encounter God.
And Jacob was left alone, and a Man wrestled him until daybreak. And when [the Man] saw that he did not prevail against [Jacob], He touched the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob's thigh was put out of joint as he wrestled with Him. It's interesting that Jacob had just been steeped in fear of Esau, yet he now fights with all he has.
The He said, Let Me go, for day is breaking. But Jacob said, I will not let You go unless You declare a blessing upon me.
Daybreak in this case could mean a new birth; he's alerting Jacob that he's about to be reborn. It's also been argued that if Jacob were to see God in the light of day, he'd die, for no one can see God's face and live. God was trying to spare Jacob's life, but Jacob demands more--a blessing. The Man doesn't refuse because when does God refuse those who earnestly ask for more of Him?
[The Man] asked him, What is your name? And [in shock of realization, whispering] he said, Jacob [supplanter, schemer, trickster, swindler]! This is the exact same question that Isaac asks Jacob when Jacob is stealing Esau's birthright. Jacob, in that moment with Isaac, calls himself Esau, "doer," trying to deceive his father so that he could receive a blessing. But when the Man (God) asks Jacob what his name is, he is finally truthful with himself and God--he's already been stripped of everything in his life--and says his name is Jacob. In that moment of confession, he realizes that his name is appropriate, that he is a trickster. He has tried to deceive himself, God, and others that he could do it all. Now, he has to acknowledge that he can't trick God into blessing him. The message in all of this is clear to me. Who do we think we're kidding when we try to do it all? God is not capable of loving us any more because of what we do. He already loves us enough. Our works do not win His approval. He already approves of us. He made us. How desolate is a life that tries to trick God into giving a blessing...as if He were some kind of a slot machine? We have to reach an honest place where we are no longer trying to trick others, ourselves, or God with our works. God already knows we can nothing of eternal value on our own, and He won't bless the work we do outside of His will, His yoke--because He is interested in bringing Himself glory and not us.
And He said, Your name shall be called no more Jacob [supplanter], but Israel [contender with God]; for you have contended and have power with God and with men and have prevailed. According to the aforementioned website, (http://www.abarim-publications.com/Meaning/Israel.html), Israel in deeper etymology means "God strives." What a volume that should speak to us! God takes a deceitful trickster of a man who once tried to portray himself as an Esau, a "doer," and renames him "God strives." He takes the burden of doing and making himself someone and hiding behind his gifts and replaces it with the assurance that He's the one doing. He's the one working on Jacob's (now Israel's) behalf. But this supernatural name change could only come about after Jacob had finally confessed his weakness and who he really was to God.
Then Jacob asked Him, Tell me, I pray You, what [in contrast] is Your name? But He said, Why is it that you ask My name? And [the Angel of God declared] a blessing on [Jacob] there. And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel [the face of God], saying, For I have seen God face to face, and my life is spared and not snatched away. By this time, it is daybreak, and he has a new name and is reborn. I think contending with God and man represents contending with man-pleasing and letting God deal with him. He pursued God for more (insisting on the blessing) and got it. He defeats the doer and the trickster to become a true prince of God.
And as he passed Penuel [Peniel], the sun rose upon him, and he was limping because of his thigh. According to the exegesis, "An Exegetical Analysis of Genesis 32:22-32" by Philip Higley (2004) of Northwest University, "the contrast of having a new name (Israel) and a new limp is also important because the new name of Israel will last forever while his new limp will forever remind him that God has complete control over him." (http://eagle.northwestu.edu/academic/ministry/faculty/bstallman/BibInterp/Fame/04FA-ex/c1_Higley.pdf)
If you start reading the chapter after this story, he meets up with Esau who accepts him happily. Before wrestling God, Jacob was moving across the land quickly in an attempt to better manage Esau's response to him (man-pleasing), but in chapter 33, Esau is prompting Jacob to move faster, and Jacob gently refuses saying:
You know, my lord, that the children are tender and delicate and need gentle care, and the flocks and herds with young are of concern to me; for if the men should overdrive them for a single day, the whole of the flocks would die. Let my lord, I pray you, pass over before his servant; and I will lead on slowly, governed by [consideration for] the livestock that set the pace before me and the endurance of the children Jacob's behavior has changed. As usual, Esau is eager to get to work doing, but I imagine that having a God-given limp slowed down Jacob and made him empathetic to the children and the flocks. As the chapter continues, Jacob does travel slowly, but he stops and takes the time to build an altar and worship God.
I draw several general conclusions from this study:
1) God does not call us to be the doers. He calls us to contend with Him, making our petitions known and spending time in His presence on behalf of others. He is the One to be doing His work for His glory, not ours.
2) To be reborn, we have to come to terms with the ways that we may be trying to hide behind our works and be willing to confess that we can't do it all. We have to be willing to be stripped of everything--home, family, possessions, wealth, and even our name and who we think we are or are supposed to be.
3) At the root of our doing and compartmentalized, divided heart living is man-pleasing--even if the only humans we're pleasing are ourselves.
4) We need God to knock us out of joint. We need to have the "handicap" (in the world's eyes) of insatiable hunger for God above all else. Then He can set us in the appropriate pace for His kingdom.
I also take away many personal lessons from this story. While it may seem odd, my biggest fear in moving to Honduras is not the culture or the language. It's not the lack of comfortable conveniences. It's not even leaving home and family (although I know that will be difficult). My biggest fear is that I might lose sight of God, becoming too busy doing things for Him that I forget to spend time with Him. The need is so intensely great in Honduras, and the lifestyle of the ministry is so fast-paced. And as I have demonstrated time and time again, I have such a weakness in trying to do it all, in being a workaholic. I am known for compromising sleep and health and sanity for work, and as my dear friends, Anthony and Gabrielle, have quietly been teaching me in accordance with the Word, resting is Biblical. Rest to me means abiding with Him in all moments of the day. It means taking on His yoke ONLY and surrendering my own and even the yokes that others would like to put on me. It means spending time in worship with Him. My struggle with this fear--especially that I am inadequate and that I will fall into this trap yet again once I move--comes in waves. Yesterday was one of them, but I found comfort in an excerpt from Elisabeth Elliot's book Keep a Quiet Heart:
...our insignificance does not matter at all, we do not come to the Father in our own name but in the Name of His beloved Son. His ear is always open to that Name. Of this we can be certain. ... he [Satan] is much more afraid of our prayer than our work.
This past week (and month really) has been a busy one in Honduras, and from talking to Roy and hearing a voicemail from Papí Alvin, I know that there has been much recent heartache. I can hear the stress and exhaustion in both of their voices, and while I'm not there yet, I feel the burdens they carry. It's a heaviness that weighs on me so much that I just cry and beg God to show me what to do to ease it. And He always leads me to extensive prayer, and given the excerpt above, it is no wonder why. (The scriptures Elisabeth Elliot lists in that chapter of Isaiah 40, Psalm 27:8, Isaiah 45:19, 1 John 5:14-15, and Philippians 4:6-7 were also great encouragements.)
I particularly love the last part of what God showed me in that story of Jacob. Last night, on a whim, I took a couple of spiritual gifting-type assessments online just out of curiosity. Shepherding and showing mercy were top attributes for me on all of them. In wanting to be a missionary, I sometimes forget how I don't really fit the stereotypical idea of a missionary. I'm not much of a preacher and am fairly soft-spoken although public speaking doesn't frighten me. Just as I mentioned before, I am the kind of person who is constantly digging for the root--of a problem, of a person, of a passage, of God's purposes. Thus, while I love Jesus dearly, my means of sharing Him is often not through going up to strangers and giving a standard run-down of the Gospel. I think every person is different and receives Jesus differently. Therefore, it takes me so much longer to verbally share Jesus with others because I am so relationship-oriented. I want to share in people's struggle and life story before I spout off about what I think they need to do with their lives. Growing up in church, I always kind of felt like a failure because I'm not a big "soul winner" in the conventional meaning of the Christianese concept. I just seek to love as Jesus does. Sometimes, that means being direct and verbal about the Gospel, but often, it does not. Being out of church for this long has taught me that it truly does take all kinds, that God works through people differently even if it doesn't lead to immediate, tangible results or numbers.
Last night, after reading the results of those spiritual gifting assessments (which weren't surprising to me), I found myself asking God how I can be an "effective" missionary when my means of reaching out to others isn't preaching and immediate results evangelism. It's slow--it's showing mercy and coming alongside people in the midst of what they're feeling and dealing with and encouraging them. It's seed planting which means I exit from various groups of people and phases of life wondering if my love ever impacted anyone because the fruit isn't immediate usually. The truth is that I may never see it. I find a lot of encouragement in Jacob's "slowness" in chapter 33. Discipleship has always been very close to my heart. The western church seems to put so much emphasis on numbers and praying the salvation prayer, that it seems to forget that people keep existing and dealing with everyday life after they pray that happy, little, repeat-after-me prayer. We tend to hound people to "get involved" and take on a role or position in the church hierarchy so they can reach more and more numbers and "find their niche" without stopping to consider if they've had a chance to fall in love with Jesus, without leading them to depth in their relationship with Christ. And then we wonder why the church looks good superficially with lots of leaders and flash but behind closed doors is falling apart in sin. There's no depth.
You know, my lord, that the children are tender and delicate and need gentle care, and the flocks and herds with young are of concern to me; for if the men should overdrive them for a single day, the whole of the flocks would die. Let my lord, I pray you, pass over before his servant; and I will lead on slowly, governed by [consideration for] the livestock that set the pace before me and the endurance of the children
I think this passage is God's answer to my question, His purpose for my life. It does take all kinds, and my heart is with the children--the children of age but also the children in spiritual maturity as well. I don't want to see the church in Honduras or the US or anywhere overdriving the children. I want them to be able to reach spiritual maturity, and my heart is to come alongside them to help make that possible according to how God sees fit. I don't want flocks to die because their relationships with God don't have depth yet. While I can't pretend that I know what this looks like in a practical sense, I want to be willing to be a voice of slowing, even if that means I look weird to other believers, even if that means I seem lazy or unfruitful. I want to be obedient to the Father in setting an example of resting in Him--which means not filling every second of my time with something to "do" for Him. It means taking the time to soak in the sweetness of His presence, letting Him fill me so that it is truly His presence and love that overflows onto others.
With love and resting,
Sarah
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Orchids and Sign Language
Hello All,
Well, I haven't even been home for a full week, but it's already been productive. I have been through everything that I own from my apartment and in my parents' house. I only have one more place of storage to go through things. It's actually been so much easier to shed the past and the stuff than I thought it would be. I have great incentive. I am so homesick for Honduras as always. Last night, I watched a documentary called Which Way Home. It was amazing and felt so much like home. It's about these children who leave from various Central American countries to get to the United States. And do you know one of the biggest reasons each child (many from Honduras) listed for risking their lives to get to the US? They do not have the love of a father or a mother. Their fathers and mothers don't want them, or they are trying to earn the love of their fathers and mothers by reaching the great US to send financial help home. That heartbreaking fact alone is the reason that I am moving. It's the reason that I don't want to live in the US--because I was sitting in my comfortable living room, wrapped up in a blanket, with my loving parents snoring beside me while these children are all alone riding trains to reach an illusion of hope. I wanted to love each one of those children as my own.
If you are reading this, please pray for Honduras. I talked to Roy last night, and he was sharing with me some of the struggles of the ministry right now. It has to be God's work. You can offer a child food, shelter, godly instruction, education, and even a sense of family, but if that child does not believe in his or her heart that he or she is loved (which is a revelation only within God's power to reveal), it is not enough. He is the only thing that is enough. . .which means that once again, the ministry doesn't really need more money, more food, more programs, or even more workers. What the ministry always needs is more of God and His presence.
Anyway, as I was going through some stuff recently--old papers and the like--I came across this reflective paper that had written last year following a trip to Washington, D.C. I just thought I'd share it now:
Life unfolds like a blossom--quiet, at its own pace, and with unexpected curls and aromas. It's not to be forced or willed into our time frames. It takes much undivided attention, or it will be missed. My trip to Washington, D. C. was a slice of this life, a continuation of an unfolding blossom. Free of concrete plans and full of glorified wanderings, my trip with Emma was charming with hints of God's aroma and curls of His presence in the most unlikely places.
I have a tendency whenever I meet some people to feel an inexplicable drawing towards them. It is as if parts of their souls are greeting parts of mine that don't speak but wave hello in shared glances and common laughter. Emma was one of those people. In her plaid, with her coffee, she moved with a wind that asked me to follow, so I took the opportunity. I didn't know how the trip would go, but I knew we'd be instant friends when, in the morning, I saw Emma snap her fingers the way that I learned in Honduras-- a snap that is more commonly associated with tobacco chewing in the US. I know of no other woman in the United States who can correctly do this gesture.
This finding set the kindred tone for the entire trip. When we exited the train, we set off like women on a mission although neither of us had really prepared with directions to Galladeut University--the only defined aspect of our day. When we arrived after making a few necessary loops, it was a delightful haven in the midst of concrete grime. Emma signed with a lady at the information kiosk, and I was amazed at her ability to carry her own in the conversation. I took sign language class when I was homeschooled, but that was many years ago, and I have lost almost all of what I learned.
The campus was understandably quiet--silent in fact. It was a peace I don't believe I've been exposed to before. Very few students were milling around; the place appeared abandoned. We found our way to the information building, and after a short wait, we began a tour. The tour was so beautiful. The idea of a language where you must watch the person intently in order to understand is mesmerizing. There is no possibility of half listening. Suddenly, I began to think from the perspective of a deaf person, and the world had an entirely different light. The campus was gorgeous with visually-stimulating architecture and serenity--a place I believe deaf individuals could appreciate more than perhaps the hearing.
During the tour, we heard of a man who adopted deaf, orphaned children and worked to establish a school where they could receive an education. My heart was captured by that part of the story. While we were in the student center, amidst all of the quiet, suddenly, a piercing, unbridled laugh invaded our standing existences, and I decided that the laugh of a deaf person had to be one of the most beautiful sounds in the world because they are unafraid. They don't try to stifle themselves for fear of being too loud. They don't muffle the joy that erupts--it's a strain of unblemished happiness straight to the ears of God because in some cases, there is no one else around to enjoy that sound.
Touring Galladeut solidified my desire to take a sign language class next semester. I may not always know how knowledge that I consume in college will be used in my future--perhaps it never will--but I am ever intrigued by the ways that God reaches me or teaches me something new in the most unlikely of places. As Emma and I left, discussing our love for languages, Quakers practices, and our plans (or lack thereof), He was there.
Our next stop, following lunch, ended up being the Botanical Gardens which we traveled to on a whim. It was amidst the giant room of nothing but a variety of orchids that I wondered if God doesn't speak sign language to us sometimes. As Emma and I traipsed through the room enchanted by a number of colors, patterns, shapes, and names or orchids, I thought of all the beauty that we miss because perhaps we don't speak--or rather listen--in God's language.
We keep asking God questions, sometimes speaking louder thinking that perhaps He'll understand better if we do. We keep begging Him to explain Himself, to be real, to do something for us so that it is easier to trust Him. And He answers, but not always in the language we feel He should speak. We want audible, concrete words, but he gives us orchids. We want tangible signs and wonders, and He grants us the shade of an oak tree. We get frustrated, and we're only half listening anyway as we scramble down the pathway of of life until finally circumstances--an obstacle, a heartbreak out of our control--forces us to look up. We see His hands. They are moving in a dance of meaning, swirling in significance. Sometimes, we understand; sometimes, we look away, searching elsewhere. All the while, His hands are a flurry of action trying to spell out His truth for us, yet we miss it, refusing to learn His language.
In actuality, even the language of His hands, the graceful movement of His fingers in and through our lives sculpting cacti and babies' hair, love stories and families, tears and dimples, is more than mere words. His hands and their work are only a greater invitation to look at His face, to see the love mouthed by His lips, to read the tenderness of His eyes. I believe there are times that God speaks sign language because He wants us to finally seek His face. Only His eyes can see the stories of our hearts. Only His hands hold the keys to time. Only His face speaks the comfort we seek.
Thus, my time with Emma in Washington, D. C.--so outwardly ordinary--was amazing because I saw a glimpse of His hands as He made the petals of orchids. I knew a few of His phrases from the signs of our tour guide. I saw the tenderness of His eyes in Emma's kind smile. And life further blossomed as the day unfolded.
Lots of love,
Sarah
Well, I haven't even been home for a full week, but it's already been productive. I have been through everything that I own from my apartment and in my parents' house. I only have one more place of storage to go through things. It's actually been so much easier to shed the past and the stuff than I thought it would be. I have great incentive. I am so homesick for Honduras as always. Last night, I watched a documentary called Which Way Home. It was amazing and felt so much like home. It's about these children who leave from various Central American countries to get to the United States. And do you know one of the biggest reasons each child (many from Honduras) listed for risking their lives to get to the US? They do not have the love of a father or a mother. Their fathers and mothers don't want them, or they are trying to earn the love of their fathers and mothers by reaching the great US to send financial help home. That heartbreaking fact alone is the reason that I am moving. It's the reason that I don't want to live in the US--because I was sitting in my comfortable living room, wrapped up in a blanket, with my loving parents snoring beside me while these children are all alone riding trains to reach an illusion of hope. I wanted to love each one of those children as my own.
If you are reading this, please pray for Honduras. I talked to Roy last night, and he was sharing with me some of the struggles of the ministry right now. It has to be God's work. You can offer a child food, shelter, godly instruction, education, and even a sense of family, but if that child does not believe in his or her heart that he or she is loved (which is a revelation only within God's power to reveal), it is not enough. He is the only thing that is enough. . .which means that once again, the ministry doesn't really need more money, more food, more programs, or even more workers. What the ministry always needs is more of God and His presence.
Anyway, as I was going through some stuff recently--old papers and the like--I came across this reflective paper that had written last year following a trip to Washington, D.C. I just thought I'd share it now:
Life unfolds like a blossom--quiet, at its own pace, and with unexpected curls and aromas. It's not to be forced or willed into our time frames. It takes much undivided attention, or it will be missed. My trip to Washington, D. C. was a slice of this life, a continuation of an unfolding blossom. Free of concrete plans and full of glorified wanderings, my trip with Emma was charming with hints of God's aroma and curls of His presence in the most unlikely places.
I have a tendency whenever I meet some people to feel an inexplicable drawing towards them. It is as if parts of their souls are greeting parts of mine that don't speak but wave hello in shared glances and common laughter. Emma was one of those people. In her plaid, with her coffee, she moved with a wind that asked me to follow, so I took the opportunity. I didn't know how the trip would go, but I knew we'd be instant friends when, in the morning, I saw Emma snap her fingers the way that I learned in Honduras-- a snap that is more commonly associated with tobacco chewing in the US. I know of no other woman in the United States who can correctly do this gesture.
This finding set the kindred tone for the entire trip. When we exited the train, we set off like women on a mission although neither of us had really prepared with directions to Galladeut University--the only defined aspect of our day. When we arrived after making a few necessary loops, it was a delightful haven in the midst of concrete grime. Emma signed with a lady at the information kiosk, and I was amazed at her ability to carry her own in the conversation. I took sign language class when I was homeschooled, but that was many years ago, and I have lost almost all of what I learned.
The campus was understandably quiet--silent in fact. It was a peace I don't believe I've been exposed to before. Very few students were milling around; the place appeared abandoned. We found our way to the information building, and after a short wait, we began a tour. The tour was so beautiful. The idea of a language where you must watch the person intently in order to understand is mesmerizing. There is no possibility of half listening. Suddenly, I began to think from the perspective of a deaf person, and the world had an entirely different light. The campus was gorgeous with visually-stimulating architecture and serenity--a place I believe deaf individuals could appreciate more than perhaps the hearing.
During the tour, we heard of a man who adopted deaf, orphaned children and worked to establish a school where they could receive an education. My heart was captured by that part of the story. While we were in the student center, amidst all of the quiet, suddenly, a piercing, unbridled laugh invaded our standing existences, and I decided that the laugh of a deaf person had to be one of the most beautiful sounds in the world because they are unafraid. They don't try to stifle themselves for fear of being too loud. They don't muffle the joy that erupts--it's a strain of unblemished happiness straight to the ears of God because in some cases, there is no one else around to enjoy that sound.
Touring Galladeut solidified my desire to take a sign language class next semester. I may not always know how knowledge that I consume in college will be used in my future--perhaps it never will--but I am ever intrigued by the ways that God reaches me or teaches me something new in the most unlikely of places. As Emma and I left, discussing our love for languages, Quakers practices, and our plans (or lack thereof), He was there.
Our next stop, following lunch, ended up being the Botanical Gardens which we traveled to on a whim. It was amidst the giant room of nothing but a variety of orchids that I wondered if God doesn't speak sign language to us sometimes. As Emma and I traipsed through the room enchanted by a number of colors, patterns, shapes, and names or orchids, I thought of all the beauty that we miss because perhaps we don't speak--or rather listen--in God's language.
We keep asking God questions, sometimes speaking louder thinking that perhaps He'll understand better if we do. We keep begging Him to explain Himself, to be real, to do something for us so that it is easier to trust Him. And He answers, but not always in the language we feel He should speak. We want audible, concrete words, but he gives us orchids. We want tangible signs and wonders, and He grants us the shade of an oak tree. We get frustrated, and we're only half listening anyway as we scramble down the pathway of of life until finally circumstances--an obstacle, a heartbreak out of our control--forces us to look up. We see His hands. They are moving in a dance of meaning, swirling in significance. Sometimes, we understand; sometimes, we look away, searching elsewhere. All the while, His hands are a flurry of action trying to spell out His truth for us, yet we miss it, refusing to learn His language.
In actuality, even the language of His hands, the graceful movement of His fingers in and through our lives sculpting cacti and babies' hair, love stories and families, tears and dimples, is more than mere words. His hands and their work are only a greater invitation to look at His face, to see the love mouthed by His lips, to read the tenderness of His eyes. I believe there are times that God speaks sign language because He wants us to finally seek His face. Only His eyes can see the stories of our hearts. Only His hands hold the keys to time. Only His face speaks the comfort we seek.
Thus, my time with Emma in Washington, D. C.--so outwardly ordinary--was amazing because I saw a glimpse of His hands as He made the petals of orchids. I knew a few of His phrases from the signs of our tour guide. I saw the tenderness of His eyes in Emma's kind smile. And life further blossomed as the day unfolded.
Lots of love,
Sarah
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Always learning...
Hello All,
I don't really have too much to say at this point. I'm still in Shepherdstown until graduation which is quickly approaching. In the midst of cleaning and packing, I have been so amused by so many things. My current lesson for the day: Straight vinegar cleans soap scum out of showers. While it is sad and difficult to start the string of many goodbyes, I find myself so at peace. I pray often for the people I am leaving. I have come to the very real conclusion that no one needs me; all just need more of Jesus. So I ask often that God would send someone else to show His love to the children, students, friends, and family who have stolen my heart. I have conducted my life for a while now--since high school--with the very real understanding that each phase in life is temporary. I only get so much time with the people that I love, and I have to use that time wisely. I think one of the most astounding things about leaving is seeing how loved I am. It's actually very difficult for me to realize and accept this love. If I could express anything about this school year, it has been that God has lavished so much of His love on me through the people in my life, and I am just drowning in it (in a good way). I have been so very blessed with amazing students, wonderful friends, loving adopted and biological family, and a great community here at Shepherd and in other places in my life. It's astounding.
Meanwhile, I dream of Honduras every night and awake with a smile on my face every day. I am so thrilled to be moving there. I know that this summer will pass quickly, so I am trying to savor this time and where God has me. As I shed material possessions and mementos from beloved memories, I am inspired by what awaits me and by this quotations from C. S. Lewis:
There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.
Always eager to grow,
Sarah
I don't really have too much to say at this point. I'm still in Shepherdstown until graduation which is quickly approaching. In the midst of cleaning and packing, I have been so amused by so many things. My current lesson for the day: Straight vinegar cleans soap scum out of showers. While it is sad and difficult to start the string of many goodbyes, I find myself so at peace. I pray often for the people I am leaving. I have come to the very real conclusion that no one needs me; all just need more of Jesus. So I ask often that God would send someone else to show His love to the children, students, friends, and family who have stolen my heart. I have conducted my life for a while now--since high school--with the very real understanding that each phase in life is temporary. I only get so much time with the people that I love, and I have to use that time wisely. I think one of the most astounding things about leaving is seeing how loved I am. It's actually very difficult for me to realize and accept this love. If I could express anything about this school year, it has been that God has lavished so much of His love on me through the people in my life, and I am just drowning in it (in a good way). I have been so very blessed with amazing students, wonderful friends, loving adopted and biological family, and a great community here at Shepherd and in other places in my life. It's astounding.
Meanwhile, I dream of Honduras every night and awake with a smile on my face every day. I am so thrilled to be moving there. I know that this summer will pass quickly, so I am trying to savor this time and where God has me. As I shed material possessions and mementos from beloved memories, I am inspired by what awaits me and by this quotations from C. S. Lewis:
There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.
Always eager to grow,
Sarah
Sunday, May 1, 2011
May Day!
Hello All,
I am so excited to announce that student teaching is done, and I am finally in the home stretch. I finished my 91-page senior thesis (it almost killed me), and I have to present twice this coming week. After that, I am done and will graduate very soon. I know that it has been quite too long since I updated, but the hiatus was necessary to be fully invested in student teaching. I had an amazing student teaching experience at Hedgesville High School (going back is like going home) and Hedgesville Middle School. I love all of my students so much! It was very difficult to leave because they were all so loving and accepting. I just swell with the love of God for them and from them. My first facilitating teacher became like yet another second mother and a life-long mentor. I had the opportunity to teach a month-long unit about Honduras, and I was so blessed to see my students mature before my eyes. Hedgesville Middle School was also very fun simply because the students were so full of humor and creativity.
I am also making practical preparations to move to Honduras. Finally! I bought my one-way plane ticket and will be moving September 3. In the mean time, my cousin, Gabrielle, and I will be road tripping across the US this summer. It'll be a very simple adventure--meaning we're going to be living cheap, eating frugally, sleeping in the car and camping. We're pretty excited about it even though we don't have a concrete plan. It's one of those things that I felt like God was leading me to do for two years now. We just want to be on His time table and obedient in all the things He leads us to do and places He leads us to go. In the mean time, I will be sending out graduation announcements/I'm moving letters soon to also let people know that, like Alvin and Nelly Anderson, any financial support for me as I work with Manos Extendidas will be funneled through Outreach Christian Fellowship. I will post that letter and all of that information later. I hope that all is well for any readers still left out there, and now that college is almost over, I will do my best to be more diligent in posting.
Lots of love!
Sarah
I am so excited to announce that student teaching is done, and I am finally in the home stretch. I finished my 91-page senior thesis (it almost killed me), and I have to present twice this coming week. After that, I am done and will graduate very soon. I know that it has been quite too long since I updated, but the hiatus was necessary to be fully invested in student teaching. I had an amazing student teaching experience at Hedgesville High School (going back is like going home) and Hedgesville Middle School. I love all of my students so much! It was very difficult to leave because they were all so loving and accepting. I just swell with the love of God for them and from them. My first facilitating teacher became like yet another second mother and a life-long mentor. I had the opportunity to teach a month-long unit about Honduras, and I was so blessed to see my students mature before my eyes. Hedgesville Middle School was also very fun simply because the students were so full of humor and creativity.
I am also making practical preparations to move to Honduras. Finally! I bought my one-way plane ticket and will be moving September 3. In the mean time, my cousin, Gabrielle, and I will be road tripping across the US this summer. It'll be a very simple adventure--meaning we're going to be living cheap, eating frugally, sleeping in the car and camping. We're pretty excited about it even though we don't have a concrete plan. It's one of those things that I felt like God was leading me to do for two years now. We just want to be on His time table and obedient in all the things He leads us to do and places He leads us to go. In the mean time, I will be sending out graduation announcements/I'm moving letters soon to also let people know that, like Alvin and Nelly Anderson, any financial support for me as I work with Manos Extendidas will be funneled through Outreach Christian Fellowship. I will post that letter and all of that information later. I hope that all is well for any readers still left out there, and now that college is almost over, I will do my best to be more diligent in posting.
Lots of love!
Sarah
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