Thoughts from Vero Beach

Hola de Florida!
Right now, Gabrielle and I are in Vero Beach, Florida, staying with our friends Melvin and Micayla Mondragon. It's the first time I've ever seen any of them in the US because I met them both in Honduras. Melvin is Honduran, and Micayla is from here. We arrived in the evening last night and had the wonderful opportunity of hanging out with their youth group. They're a cool group of kids. Today, we're kind of playing catch up. We both keep journals as we travel, but sometimes, it's so hard to keep track of everything we're experiencing. We both loved Savannah, Georgia. We camped at Skidaway Island State Park and had a wonderful time going to the beach on Tybee Island and walking around downtown Savannah. It is a truly beautiful area, and we've met some very special, friendly people along the way. We discovered our first car casualty while camping--our left headlight was out, but we now have it replaced. Today, we're going to try to get our oil changed--we've already put close to 2,000 miles on my car, Wendy.

I love being here with Melvin and Micayla because it's the closest I've felt to home--Honduras--since the last time I was there in January. I find myself thinking in Spanish more often, and Gabrielle laughs at me because I just have a stupid grin on my face that won't go away. Honduras has that effect on me. I can't even contain myself. Hearing Melvin tell stories about Honduras and recount things from my adopted home just fills my heart with so much warmth and joy. I adore that place and those people, and I forget what a number it does on me to be around it until I am once again exposed to some elements of home. It's unspeakable. I love it there so much even though I know that moving is going to be an adjustment with its own set of difficulties.

I decided a long time ago that if I am going to be a missionary, I want to live like the people live. I want to sleep where they sleep, eat what they eat, and suffer alongside them. I have learned that human beings limit themselves. Sometimes, when I mention to people that I am moving to Honduras, their response is, "I could never do that." And while I respect their response and their beliefs, I am also rather confused by that answer. I have always been the kind of person who likes a challenge, and when I see someone doing something that seems unbelievable and very difficult, my response has increasingly become, "If he or she can do it, I can do it." We are all human beings. While we come from different backgrounds, we have the same genetic make-up more or less. Thus, to me, there is no reason that I can't do something that someone else can do. I don't want to limit myself or limit God by building walls of what I can and cannot do. I can remember being little and saying to my dad, "I can't" whenever I was attempting something and having trouble. I am so grateful for the way that he responded because he would always reprimand me, "Sarah, don't say that you can't do something. You can do it." And often, he'd remind me of Philippians 4:13. God often asks us to do things that we, in our own strength, cannot do, but that's the point--He doesn't mean for us to do it in our own strength. He means for us to have to rely on Him.

I shy away from the attitude that I can't do something, especially as a missionary, because I feel like if I say that when I'm living amid people that live in poverty or suffering or whatever, that I am actually saying that I'm somehow better than that lifestyle, more deserving of a better or easier lifestyle. That's simply not the case. Yes, I was born in the US in relative wealth and comfort, but I could have been born anywhere. I had no control over where I was born and did nothing to merit where I was born or how I have lived thus far. I don't have to have running water or electricity; lots of people in the world live without those things. A lot of people ask me, "What are you going to do in Honduras if you get sick? What are you going to do if you stay down there and get married and have kids? How will you raise kids there? How are you going to be safe?  How are you going to live or find the things you need?" To be honest, I almost never think of those things. Most people would consider that lack of thought to be naive carelessness, but the truth is that I look at my friends, like Roy, and I figure if he is 25 and has lived in Honduras his entire life, and he is still living, is healthy, is literate, is very intelligent, etc., I will be fine. My kids (if I have any) will be fine. Sure, I may not live in convenience and comfort like gringos, but I want to be like Paul--content whether I have little or much. God always provides. He's always faithful.

Right now, I am reading The Importance of Being Foolish by Brennan Manning, and in the introduction, I read a passage that warmed my heart and echoed my desire to be a missionary and a specific kind of missionary:
Our rapport with the villagers was profound because we shared not only their poverty, toil, bitter bread, and anxiety over the harvest but the joy of a newborn baby, the nuptial bliss of newlyweds, and the multitude of lesser experiences woven into the warp and woof of rural peasant life.
I think sometimes when missionaries do not live like the people they are trying to reach, they unknowingly send the message that God is synonymous with financial prosperity. Rather than seeing the Jesus who meets you where you are and holds your hand in the midst of your struggles, people often see the things that you have, the car that you drive, the rich food that you eat, the fancy clothes you wear, the safe neighborhood you live in, or the comforts you have in your home and believe that those things are the answer. They begin to expect those things when they become Christians, and when they do not receive a steady stream of financial blessings or wealth, they may begin to believe that God loves them less or that they're doing something wrong. But financial prosperity is not the Gospel. God doesn't seek for us to have wealth and glory. He is concerned about bringing Himself glory. He calls us to depend on Him and to be content whether we have little or much. One of the things that I love about Alvin and noticed very early was how he truly lives like the people to whom he ministers. He's willing to go into their rough neighborhoods, and he doesn't live in a gated community, separate from impoverished Hondurans. I think sometimes when teams come down on short-term trips, they forget how the way was paved for them. In other words, they are able to go and do street ministry (as white gringos) and hang out with gang members in juvenile delinquent centers because someone already paved the way for them. Alvin did that, but he is also a gringo. He had to be willing to go where no one else was willing to go--to the most dangerous spots, to the unlovely, to the poorest of the poor, to the rival gang territories. He had to be willing to sit with the poor, hear their stories, and learn from them. He had to have the bravery to do those things, and the rewards and effects have been magnificent. But there is always more work to do, more unreached people, more untouchables to love, and I want to be brave enough to go wherever God leads me to go. I don't want to selfishly or cowardly refuse God.

So, today, I leave you with a sobering call that should never be sugarcoated:
Luke 14:26:
If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his [own] father and mother [in the sense of indifference to or relative disregard for them in comparison with his attitude toward God] and [likewise] his wife and children and brothers and sisters --[yes] and even his own life also--he cannot be My disciple.

You can do it--whatever it is that He is laying on your heart to do--and maybe you're in the place where you need to take the time to ask Him what it is that He would have you do. You may have to wait, but He will answer you when you're asking diligently and with faith. Don't fence yourself in with what you think you can or cannot do. Remember Philippians 4:13. Trust and obey. It's just that simple.

With love,
Sarah