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| From the movie, The Village; courtesy of montrealfilmjournal.com |
I can’t believe it is already February—and my five month anniversary of living here. I marvel that while the individual days occasionally seem to pass slowly and uneventfully, there is still so much changing and churning and transforming in the quiet of the hours and the stillness of everyday movements.
Alvin is still in the US, and Nelly is set to leave to travel with him to Canada in a few days. Amy will be staying with friends until they come back later this month. Idania, Nelly’s sister, has been here for quite some time, but I believe that she is heading home to Nicaragua soon—before Nelly leaves. Raúl and Cristian don’t visit as often as they used to although I still walk down to Raúl’s business to see him every so often. Thus, I will be more or less by myself for a bit. Roy stays at the house at night whenever the Andersons are traveling, but during the day, he usually does his own thing. Being alone is something I’ve been growing more and more accustomed to since I turned 18, really. I have spent some very lonely summers, semesters, and phases of life, and I have recognized a pattern that every time I start a new phase of life whether middle school, high school, or college, in the beginning, I am always very alone. Eventually, after much prayer and struggle and clinging to God, God always sends people who share the same heart at the right time. But, I do believe that there is a purpose in this phase of loneliness because it is a refining, a testing, and a period of establishing on whom I will truly depend—God rather than man.
Being very introverted, loneliness seems to come easily with the territory of my personality. For me, it is not so much about physically being with other people. I can be in a room with numerous people and still feel very alone. Rather, having deep relationships with people who share the same heart, who challenge me in my walk with God, and who have to be sent straight from God because of how effortlessly we understand each other has been my saving grace and such a beautiful privilege throughout my life. I have been blessed with very dear friends over the years right about the time that I didn’t think I could handle walking through life alone any more (and about the time my parents were probably desperate for me to find a friend as well).
I have also been very blessed with a supportive, loving family who has carried me during much of these growing pains, which is partially why being here alone can be so difficult. When I was getting ready to move here, the question was always, “Well, who are you going with?” Now, the question whenever someone visits my apartment is, “So you live here all alone?” In a country that so values relationships and is so family-oriented especially in living situations, my current living situation seems to be a terrible shame to most Hondurans. It can be very challenging at times. When I was in college, I could feel the heaviness of my need to go home to be among my family members building until I finally would take note and would go home for a much-needed weekend of comfort. Being around people who know exactly who you are and love you anyway is so freeing and offers new perspective and a refreshing. I don’t have the option of just hopping into my car to drive the four hours for a familial shot in the arm. But, this is a good thing because I never have to drive anywhere to commune with God. I don’t have to let the heaviness build until no amount of sighing can relieve the weight before I get comfortable in God’s presence. I don’t have to—even though sometimes I do wait. I wait. I avoid. I hide. I distract myself…because communing with God while healing can also be painful because it forces us to see elements of ourselves that we don’t want to see.
I laugh sometimes because right now, I have all the time in the world. I have very few responsibilities, and I have no one else to take care of but me. Yet, I still make to do lists. I still get up in the morning with an agenda in my head of what I want to accomplish that day. It is hilarious to me how productivity is so culturally ingrained within me. And the funniest part of all is that if I don’t accomplish whatever tasks I’ve given myself for the day, I feel disappointed when the truth is that no one is pressuring me but me! I can do whatever needs to be done tomorrow! I have all the time in the world, but you would be surprised by my priorities sometimes. Moving to a foreign country as a missionary doesn’t magically make you more spiritual or a better governor of your priorities. I catch myself getting so caught up in whatever tasks I make up for myself that I forget to let God have this precious time of preparation. I forget or even avoid being still which is just evidence that there is still so much of me that sees my value as being based on my own work. My lack of journaling is always an indicator of the state of my relationship with God because it shows that I’m avoiding seeing and reflecting. This past month has been a testing and an eye-opening one with few journal entries. But, I am grateful for a word that God gave Nelly recently that also echoes in my own heart: Your process is your training. In other words, the things that we are struggling with or going through right now are always preparation for whatever ministry or stage of life God has for us next. That’s why it is so important to be faithful in the little things because this time of preparation should not be a time of idleness or waste.
I was in church a few weeks ago, and I just closed my eyes and cried and started asking God just what was going on. And, as He often does, He gave me a mental image that is still a vivid reminder in my mind. One of my favorite movies is The Village. There is one particular scene in this movie where the female main character, who is blind, is standing on a porch. The village is being attacked by some kind of a monster, and in the shot, the monster is running straight for her. But she is standing on a porch waiting for the man that she loves with her hand stretched out into the darkness because she knows that he is coming for her to bring her into safety. God just told me, “Sarah, the girl is you. You are blindly waiting. You may be standing in the midst of darkness with no sense of direction right now, but don’t be afraid. I am coming. I will soon grab your hand and show you the way.”
So, in the spirit of wanting to live life awake and faithful even when I’m feeling blind, I have started running again. Running has become one of my reasons to get up in the morning. My best friend, Gabrielle, and I were talking on the phone the other day about reasons to get out of bed in the morning because I mentioned to her that I was pretty sure that I could not get up in the morning, and no one would notice. I don’t think that we think about it much—our reason for getting up in the morning. We just do because we know intrinsically that we have to. But, this is the first time in my life where it is not immediately evident that I am making progress or moving forward in life. God asked me a long time ago, “Sarah, would you be willing to be obedient even if you didn’t know why I was asking you to do something or even if you didn’t know what direction you’re going in?” I am learning that outward proof of growth and progress and movement in life and in my relationship with God can sometimes be an idol for me. While college was long and tedious at times, there was always the underlying truth that it was a phase that was only going to last until I got my degree. There was always something to work toward. Right now, as previously mentioned, I don’t have a whole lot of direction, but again, this is good because it means that the only thing filling my entire field of vision right now is God. Still, running has provided a time of focus and prayer as well as a sense of movement, literally and figuratively. It strengthens my faith and has become a precious time of intimacy with God that I crave even in the late hours of the night at times.
Running also brings me to my next story. Two days a week, I run in the mountains with Nahum. The remaining days of the week (except one for rest), I run at la cancha, the paved basketball court/soccer field at a nearby high school. There are four little boys who live right next to the cancha. I knew one of them because he sometimes goes to church with us, but they all soon wanted to play with me whenever I was running. They’d bring soccer balls out, and we’d kick the ball around as I was running. Soon, they started following me home. In the past couple of months, I have become increasingly aware that I am a child magnet even though I’m not really sure why. I don’t find myself to be particularly entertaining. I like kids a lot. I like to smile at children when I’m on the bus, and I like to stop to talk to children or just let them hang out with me if they want. It cracks me up and surprises me when kids respond to me. Babies on the bus stare at me and just belly laugh as their mothers turn to see what has captured their attention. (It helps to be a gringa because I look different from everyone else.) I met a little girl a couple weeks ago who, much to her mother’s surprise, called me “Mama Sala” after five minutes of playing with me. And, these little boys have been no different. They started out by following me home after I’d finished running. Then, they started knocking on my door at 9, 8:30, 7, and finally 6:30 in the morning to see if I was going to run. (Can’t be a slacker with these guys!) Noland (11 or 12, I believe), Victor (10), and the twins, Wilmer and Josue (6), would knock on my door while I was in the shower or come climb around and jump to look through my windows to try to get my attention. I could not be in my apartment without their knocking on my door every 30 seconds. The twins are especially hilarious—“Sarah, what are you doing?” “I’m resting.” “When are you going to be done? Have you rested yet? What are you going to do after that? Will you open the door? Can we help you? Where are you going? Are you going somewhere? Can we go with you?” One morning, particularly early, I heard a knock at my door. I didn’t know if it was Nelly or one of the little boys, so I went to the crack in the middle of my door to look and see who it was before I answered or opened the door. Much to my surprise and dismay, as I bent down to look, a tiny pair of child eyes stared right back at me. Hilarious! There is no avoiding or fooling these kids.
I have learned over the past month just how much of a paradox I am. While I dread being lonely at times, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to spend lots of time with random people. After being very busy with people or in a large group for a while, I get exhausted and need some time in the stillness and the quiet to be alone or to be with people I am completely comfortable with to recharge. I can be pretty friendly and outgoing and tolerant, but once I reach my breaking point, look out, world! I am like a flower that you can look at and smile at and visit with but if you touch me, I just might go Venus flytrap and bite your finger without warning. My parents have lectured me since I was little about how quick I can be to cut people off and get cold without warning. While I have gotten better over the years, it is still a characteristic that resurfaces from time to time. I am learning that much of my problem is that I don’t know how to use my voice to set boundaries to protect myself. I can be very low-maintenance and happy to keep peace and help others, but at some point, I realize that I am no longer joyfully giving of myself. I am doing so or suffering quietly out of obligation or out of guilt or out of man-pleasing. And when I realize that I have crossed that line, I freak out, clam up, feel used, and want to run away—all without warning for the poor, unsuspecting soul who unknowingly pushed me to my brink. And in the midst of this meltdown, I meanwhile feel guilty for avoiding or shutting the person out even as I don’t know how else to act. It is awful, really. Guilt has been a major problem for me in life.
Thus, God being who He is, it is no surprise that He sent me somewhere where I have to battle attacks from a spirit of guilt on a regular basis. Being a gringa (and not just someone from the US but someone who undeniably is not Honduran—thanks, Mom, for praying for a blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid) means that everywhere I go, I am a target for yells of “Hey baby! I love you!” and also for people who want a handout. I can’t go anywhere without having someone approach me for money. This is both a blessing and a difficulty because it means that I am given precious opportunities to help people I wouldn’t have otherwise known needed help, but it also means that I am constantly having to examine my heart in giving. I NEVER want to give out of obligation or guilt, and furthermore, I always want to be sensitive to the Holy Spirit to only give when He is leading. I don’t want to assume that the best thing for some of these people is a handout. I don’t want to be a crutch, and I have been hit with such a fear of God in relation to helping others that I am terrified to do anything that would point people to me instead of Jesus—terrified to the point where I truly just want to hide sometimes because I don’t know what to do.
This brings me back to the little boys. Their mother lets them run all over the neighborhood with no supervision. They have spent entire days this week here at the house, and even though school will be starting soon, the boys tell me that only the twins will be going to school. This is partially because Victor and Noland live with their mother and their stepfather. Only the twins are the sons of the man who is serving as a “father “ to the four. But, here in Honduras, it isn’t uncommon for a stepfather to refuse to take responsibility (financially or otherwise) to care for stepchildren as his own. One day this week, after I was already beginning to be exhausted by the incessant knocking at my door by the boys, Victor told me his mom wanted me to loan his mother some money. I have never met his mother. I don’t know what she wanted the money for. Immediately, I felt used. As previously mentioned, this is nothing new. People see a white face and automatically think free money. I don’t know if it was because this woman was using her child to ask for money or what, but I was immediately hit with a huge attack of guilt and was battling with myself over what I should do and what I thought I was supposed to do according to my own perceptions of God. It is never about the money for me. I can live with little or with much, and I have no problem giving even when it means that I’ll live with less. What always is the struggle for me is that I know that it opens the door to be used—as a crutch for that person and just sucked clean myself because I am the kind of person who will give of myself silently until that Venus flytrap point when there is just nothing left. The worst is that whether people know you and your financial situation or not, if you give, you become a constant source of financial aid. And, if you don’t give, you’re a terrible person/Christian/missionary because everyone knows that gringos have tons of money. Alvin and I have numerous conversations about this because he also struggles from time to time with protecting himself. I am terrible at it; Alvin is way better at it than I am.
I lived so much of my life thinking that the life of a Christian was to be so self-sacrificing that you’re a doormat. I had to learn (and have to keep learning) that we are to guard our hearts because they are the wellsprings of life. God asks me to be obedient to Him. He doesn’t ask me to cave in to every guilt trip that comes along or to give simply give because it’s what I think Christians are supposed to do. When either of those things are the case, it’s not really cheerful giving because it’s done out of guilt or obligation. Plus, if it is not God’s best or within God’s will, it’s not actually helping the person anyway. For days, I struggled with this because all of the feelings of constantly being used and guilt tripped came crashing in, and even more guilt came crashing in when I was so beat down that all I wanted to do was hide from the little boys. I felt guilty because I knew that they just wanted love and attention, and I was so paralyzed by my own pain and fear of being used that, in my own strength, I could not respond to their needs and was cold. I didn’t give the money for many reasons—one being that I am never going to give that much money to a child. And, after talking to Alvin, I was able to set some boundaries that have provided some relief. Sometimes, I just feel like I need permission to protect myself.
Meanwhile, it has been quite the learning experience. I am still shocked sometimes by how soft my heart is in some cases because I know that this is a situation that likely wouldn’t have fazed most people. But, at the same time, I am also confronted by just how hard my heart can become when I’m stretched too thin. It is so evident to me that I cannot love anyone in my own strength. I am a missionary in a Third World country. The need is never going to go away. In fact, right now, I’m fairly isolated, so on the contrary, it is going to increase. But, I am comforted to remember that verse in Corinthians that God truly does work best in our weaknesses. In the midst of all this, I kept asking God why He made me the way I am—someone who needs to recharge away from people, someone who can become so regrettably cold when overwhelmed by the needs or demands of others, someone who is so afraid to help others for fear of being an overactive, prideful, attention hog rather than being a humble vessel of God’s best. But, just as Paul had a thorn in the flesh, this is mine. Now more than ever, it is so evident to me that I cannot exist in the calling God has for me in this country without truly abiding in Christ and taking time to recharge with Him. I cannot love and be a beacon of light in the midst of so much staggering need without Jesus being the One placing that supernatural love in my heart.
This week has been challenging, eye-opening, and humbling. Perhaps, the biggest revelation of all is how great my desire is to hide. Because of past church hurts and seeing so many people doing such a frenzy of work in the name of Jesus without stopping to consult Him at all, I am truly terrified to do anything. I am a missionary afraid to minister and to help people because I don’t want to do anything out of God’s will. It’s like a being a doctor afraid of sick people. So much of my spiritual life and communication with God is through mental pictures, and every time I thought about my life as a missionary this week, all I could see was myself hiding under a blanket or a table with my face on the floor, unable to move. My prayer all week was, “God, please hide me deeper and deeper in Your heart.” When I went to church this past Wednesday evening, during worship, I was crying yet again. I closed my eyes, and all I could see was myself in that same position at the feet of Jesus. God reminded me of the story of Mary Magdalene anointing Jesus’ feet, and in that moment, I understood that story so much better because I felt so unworthy, prostrate at the feet of Jesus, wanting to hide myself from His glory even as I so desired to be close to Him. And in the scenes that played in my mind, Jesus bent down, put his hand beneath my chin, and said, “Levántate! Lift yourself up. Lift up your head.” He wanted to look into my eyes, and all I could do was cry because I felt so unworthy. There are times when God humbles us. There are times when He allows us to disintegrate down into nothing so that no more pride is left so that we will recognize humbly that we cannot exist or love others without Him. These times are necessary, but they are not meant to last forever. And, if we brokenly wallow in shame and in hiding when He is telling us to get up and to lift up our heads, we are being just as rebellious as if we had never allowed Him to humble us at all. So, with this word “levántate” in mind, I want to (and finally feel as if I have the strength to) lift up my face to look in the eyes of Jesus, to move and minister and love however He leads, not crippled by fear or guilt.
Thanks so much for reading and keeping up with me!
Love,
Sarah
