My heart burns for you...

Hello All,


In the midst of packing lists and doing laundry, preparations for my upcoming trip to Nicaragua, I thought I would share a bit of an update about the kinds of things that have been going on around here. April is upon us which seems so unbelievable especially since Raúl and I talked about going to Nicaragua for Semana Santa ever since November when Sara and Sally moved. As it turns out, he can’t go because of taking care of his business, but his mom, Mami Sonia, and I will head out to Bluefields on Monday. I am very excited. It is perfect timing because I can feel the bite of the travel bug yet again, and I’m ready for a change of scenery. I am also excited to add another country to the list of those I’ve traveled to. I have no idea when I’ll be returning to Honduras as the decision is really up to Mami Sonia, but we’ll be staying with Mami Sara and will hopefully have the opportunity to help her with her ministry there.


Meanwhile, this month has been busy with teams, keeping up with my Danish volunteer “children,” and still visiting Raúl on a free day. Before the Danish volunteers came, I was talking to Mateo, a missionary who recently came to work with our ministry, and we were discussing the idea of discipleship. He pointed out that while Jesus preached to the multitude, His real discipleship took place with 12 men and even more in depth with three—Peter, James, and John. Mateo encouraged me to pray for my three, and my 12, and assured me that God would also provide “the multitude” at the right time. I completely agree with Mateo that often we can get so caught up in numbers that it becomes an issue of quantity versus quality where fruit is very sparse. I also fully believe that ministry essentially is all about relationship—relationship with God, relationships with other believers, and relationships with unbelievers. Thus, I began to pray that God would show me who the three people were that He would have me pour into and serve closely. Days later, the Danish volunteers came. While I had known they were coming, I didn’t know much about them, and I hadn’t been expecting to be so involved with them and what they were doing and experiencing here. Within hours of their arrival, it was undeniable to me that here were two of my three. As I continued to pray for my third, it became obvious that my third had been present all along—Raúl. He and I have been inseparable since I moved here, and even though I don’t feel like it’s been too much of a conscious effort for either of us, we have both been there for the other just in companionship, in service, and in encouragement. It is also through Raúl that I have found my 12 (even though there are fewer than 12) in the boys who Raúl so easily takes under his wing—Chespiro, Cristian, and Orlin. In the months since I’ve lived in the apartment, I have either been going to them at the business or the Eagle’s Nest or Raúl has been bringing them to me. The boys are all around 18 and obviously younger than Raúl and me, so together, we feed them, advise them, pick on them, and hopefully serve as good examples for them. Meanwhile, it is through the Danes that I have found my “multitude.”


One of the places that the Danes go as volunteers with the ministry is a center called 21 de Octubre, a government-run center for at-risk boys around ages 13-17. The boys who are there are sometimes sent there by the government due to stealing, drug trafficking, etc. or they are brought there by their parents for being uncontrollable, drug rehabilitation, etc. I don’t know why—perhaps because my brother and I have always been very close or perhaps because I spent so much time just hanging out and helping my dad when I was younger—but it has always been much easier for me to connect with guys than with girls. It’s not that I don’t care for or want to work with young girls; it is simply that God has given me an inexplicable ability to quickly gain the trust of boys. I know it is partially because I’m a girl, but I also know that God has given me wisdom over the years to know where I have to draw boundaries, when I have to demand respect, and how to be an example of a godly, compassionate, yet stern (when need be) woman. For this reason, from the very first time that I went to 21 de Octubre, primarily just because I was sent by Alvin to translate for the Danes, I lost my heart to these young boys. Since then, I have returned with the Danes once or twice a week—enough to build a relationship with many of the boys there. Words cannot express neither my compassion for these precious children nor how my heart breaks for these boys. They are so starved for love. The younger ones flock to me for hugs or to play while the older ones come around for a listening ear. It amazes me how even the most arrogant, the most hardened, and the least serious come just to have someone hear their stories, and let me assure you, their stories would astound you.


Words cannot express how much I value everything I read, watched, and eagerly consumed about gang life, illegal immigration, street children, and psychology of abused adolescents before moving. I have learned so much from Alvin in the years that I’ve been here about the habits of the gangs, the difficulties of incarcerated youth, and the best way to communicate with them. Alvin has taught all of his workers through the years that when you are listening to young people share their often horrid stories, you have to guard your behavior and your body language closely. If a young person is telling you his story of how he’s killed someone and you flinch or bat an eye, you will send the message that what that person has done is unforgiveable and too horrible for Jesus to redeem. Even though I’ve never been trained directly to work with these kinds of young people, I’ve picked up on the little lessons Alvin has mentioned or shared with others, and they have served me well in this experience. Plus, having been immersed in the culture here over the years, I have picked up on Honduran mannerisms, tones of voice, and street words which have also made it much easier to connect with the boys. In short, God has prepared me well, and even though it breaks my heart, every time I go to 21 de Octubre, I feel like I was made for that kind of work.


There are two older boys in particular who are very clearly leaders within the center and who carry themselves with a kind of bossy confidence that sends the signal that they’ve grown up in an environment where they’ve learned to charm others and to protect themselves. I wouldn’t have expected either of them to ever share their stories with me, but after some consistency in my visits and some time just spent picking on them and making them very aware of my boundaries and the kind of person I am in terms of my standards and expectations for myself and others, they both eventually sought me out to tell me their stories. Both of their fathers are drug traffickers, which is not surprising in terms of how they carry themselves—it’s evident that they are accustomed to what it means to be powerful. Both of the boys are 17 and only two months away from turning 18 which means that much of their decisions and directions in the next two months will decide the fate of their entire lives because once they turn 18, the likelihood that they’ll be sent to Renaciendo, the boys’ juvenile delinquent center, becomes much lower. Thus, if they fall back into the same lifestyle that brought them to 21 de Octubre, they will instead end up in prison, and the childish maneuvering and manipulation of the system (which they are all too good at) is over.


One of the boys came from a home where his father was a drug trafficker, and his mother was an alcoholic who regularly broke bottles over her son’s head. Both of his parents are still living although they are no longer together. It was his mother’s anger and alcoholism that drove this kid to the streets. As he told me about the hatred he has for his mom, his eyes filled with tears, which surprised me. He told me that he wasn’t in a gang although I rather doubt the validity of that claim, and he certainly was involved in drug trafficking due to the influence of his father. He is very very intelligent and eager to help others at the center. He is a rough kid who likes to show others who is boss, but he also tends to take the younger, more defenseless ones under his wing. This is his ninth time in the center. He has also spent two years in Renaciendo in the past. He is set to leave within two weeks. Words cannot express how my heart breaks for this child who has no real sense of home or family, who has learned to be a loner and to trust no one. It’s a compassion that exists not because of how difficult his story is but simply because I just feel the love of Jesus radiating in my heart for this child every time I’m around him. The Danes and I both were contemplating whether or not it would be possible to talk to Alvin about getting this kid into the Eagle’s Nest since it seemed for a while that he’d have nowhere to go. But, after (nearly) seven months of living here, I am very cautious about whom I stick my neck out for, and very slow to jump into a frenzy of action even if it would be based on good intentions. And, in this case, I think I was right. This past time that I went to the center, I was talking to this kid again who mentioned that he would soon be leaving to live with his dad. I pointed out that if he lives with his dad, the chances of his falling back into the same street lifestyle would increase, and without making any comments or promises, I asked if he’d be willing to live in a non-government-run home. He said no. After more discussion and joking on his part, it became clear what his real desire is—to live with his dad to once again sell drugs. He claims that he’d only sell until he had enough money to build a house so that he could live on his own. But, I know that the lifestyle of selling drugs and earning lots of money so easily (no matter what the risk and danger) is very addicting. Once you’ve had all that money and power at your fingertips, it is very difficult (although not impossible) to leave that lifestyle to work in a “normal” job and earning a “normal” paycheck. It’s a work that generally only God can do. Thus, the most I could really do in the moment was let this precious child know that I so desired better for him and that I believe that God has better for him as well. But, I also know that God has put this child in my path that I might intercede for him. There are some people who are hunting for his father and want to kill him. There are all kinds of dangers on the road that this young man is choosing, and if God does not intervene, he is headed for prison or for death.

The other young man is a gang member who carries a spirit of death all over him. Violence is his means of communication, self-confidence, and life in general. I was so surprised when he sought me out this past time to talk. He told me, “Sarah, you’ve looked sad all day. What’s going on?” When I didn’t answer, he started sharing his own stories as I asked questions. He’s from the coastal area. His father is also a gang member and drug trafficker who now doesn't want anything to do with him. He has very seriously thought of killing his father in the past. His mother was murdered by the rival gang. He joined the gang when he was 11 years old. He told me casually of how much money he’s robbed, how many people he’s killed, and how he and some other gang members blew up a bus in San Pedro Sula. He spent six years in the boys’ juvenile delinquent center for murder before he ended up at 21 de Octubre, although it looks as if he might end up in Renaciendo again. He told me that he was thinking about escaping from the center—which isn’t that hard to do, and really, is something that any of these boys (especially those who are accustomed to the center and the system) can do any time they want. He used to be very addicted to cocaine, and he has numerous scars from all of the beatings, knife fights, and shots he’s taken. He has a daughter who will be turning one year old this week, and he has no idea where she is. When I suggested that if he leaves, he could be murdered on the streets, he was quick to assure me that regardless of where he goes, death is a certainty. If he escapes, he’ll likely die on the streets. If they capture him, he’ll end up in Renaciendo again which they may send him there from 21 de Octubre anyway. If he manages to stay alive on the streets for two more months, once he turns 18, if he’s captured, he’ll be sent to adult prison where they’ll murder him.


It is possible to leave a gang to become a Christian. You have to leave the same way that you enter—by enduring so many seconds (depending on the gang) of a beating from your fellow gang members. If you survive, you’re free to be a Christian, but you’ll be watched for a period of time. If the gang sees that you aren’t living a Christian life, aren’t always carrying your Bible, aren’t going to church, etc., they’ll kill you. They take the choice to become a Christian very seriously. And, even if you’re off the hook with your own gang, you’re always at risk when it comes to rival gangs. When I asked what led this young man to join the gang, he said with no hesitation, “El Diablo” or “the devil.” While he was hesitant to indicate that he regrets joining, he did tell me that he has thought about leaving to become a Christian. I shared a bit about the Christians that I know from our own church who have left the gangs and how much I respect them. We, especially in the United States, have absolutely no idea what the word persecution even means. For these former gang members, the choice to become a Christian was and continues to be a choice of life or death. I have never met any other group of people who so has the necessity to live with an eternal mindset. They could be murdered at any time, yet they have reached a place where they trust that life isn’t about this world and that the only hope they have is in surrendering all and taking up the cross to follow Jesus.


In light of all of the stories I’m hearing from the boys at 21 de Octubre and all of the pain I see in their eyes that I am absorbing, I have been pondering the idea of violent love. I know that it seems like an odd, perhaps inappropriate, word to use in relation to love especially for those of us who have never known persecution, loss, or suffering like some of the rest of the Christians in the world. But, the longer I live in Honduras, the more I can clearly see that there is no hope without violent love, and really, I can think of no better phrase to describe Jesus’ sacrifice. The orphan spirits that these boys carry cannot be healed by a Band-Aid of education, devotions, or programs. Those are only short-term remedies to wounds that run deep into the core of who they are. If I have learned nothing else during my time here, it is that everything is spiritual. We can offer street kids all of the opportunities in the world, and they may walk the straight and narrow for a while, taking advantage of education, food, and the like, but if their orphan spirits have not been healed by the Holy Spirit and if they do not believe that they are worth more than everything they’ve ever experienced, they are not going to change and are going to return to the same lifestyle they had before. It is both heartbreaking and beautiful when you finally realize how helpless you are to make a difference in the world in and of yourself. It all has to be the work of the Holy Spirit and a work of violent love—a love that never gives up, that keeps forgiving, that is willing to suffer all, and that is willing to wait for, intercede for, and believe for the movement of the Holy Spirit in the life of another.


For the past year, when I hear stories of great pain and suffering in the lives of others, almost automatically the lyrics to a song by Jesus Culture called “Obsession” comes to mind. It is only one simple line, but it sums up my entire heart’s cry to God. And my heart burns for you. I listen to the stories of these boys, and my heart burns for them. It burns in such a way that I am beginning to realize that if my heart doesn’t burn for them, if I don’t intercede for them, if I don’t recognize that God is asking me to stop for this one person, then it will be them—they will be the ones who burn in hell without the hope of a Savior. I realize that all of this is very strong to say to an audience of primarily North Americans, but each day, God is asking me to come deeper with Him that He might be able to show me the suffering of the dying man, that my heart might burn for another, and that He might give me His violent love willing to suffer all that someone else might know Jesus. The Kingdom of God is just that real. It’s just as real as the murders these boys have committed. It’s just as real as the bullets these boys have taken. It’s just as real as the impending death that lingers over every breath that they take. And it’s more real than all of the hateful experiences they’ve ever had. And, if I, someone who claims to be a Christian (a follower of Jesus), does not take hold of this violent love and is not willing to suffer for the lost, who will? I once read a book by Elisabeth Elliot that talked of a missionary who “worked as if everything depended on God and prayed as if it all depended on her.” That is my desire. The spiritual desolation in 21 de Octubre often leaves me physically exhausted, and there are times when I’m interceding for my multitude when I feel like Moses in Exodus 17 who needs an Aaron and a Hur to lift up his arms that the Israelites would win the battle. If any of this is resonating in your spirit, in your heart, in the calling God has on your life, I would ask that you would take some time to be Aaron and to be Hur for me and for these precious children. While my cousin and I were road tripping, a pastor in Texas prophesied over me that my prayers would snatch children from the gates of hell, and with each passing day of looking into the eyes of these precious boys who I love so much, I am taking hold of that word. God is calling me to go deeper with Him. I am scared because I feel inadequate, but at the same time, my heart burns for you, for them, for Him.


One of the greatest struggles in living here especially in the past couple of months has been enduring betrayals of trust. I once read a study that said that in a national poll, 80% of Hondurans indicated that they truly feel that there is no one they can trust. I can completely understand why. Everywhere I turn in this country, there are broken marriages due to infidelity. There are broken families due to gang involvement, alcoholism, drugs, and spouse infidelity. There are broken friendships due to a selfish attitude of preserving oneself or receiving “what’s in it for me.” In the time that I’ve been here, I’ve struggled with who I can trust. Other than Alvin and Nelly who I obviously trust and rely on, who can I depend on to be sincere with me? Who can I believe? Who isn’t going to use me for selfish gain? With whom can I let my guard down? The truth is that those people are few and far between, and this fact is exhausting. Recently, we have had a thief in our midst—someone has been stealing things from my apartment (and only could have entered from the front door) and from the Eagle’s Nest where Raúl and the Danes live. This isn’t my first experience with being robbed, but it is an experience that does make one weary. As I got off of the phone with Alvin after letting him know what was missing, I just sat down in my apartment with a heavy heart. Without going into too much detail, the past couple of months have been quite eye-opening and heart-testing. The lack of security or lack of people you can depend on is quite exhausting, but God is so faithful. Within five minutes of getting off of the phone with Alvin (having not told anyone else anything—news travels fast around here), I heard the roar of Raúl’s motor bike in the driveway. He came bounding in through my door saying, “Are you okay? What did they take from you?” I just started laughing as I tried to assure him that it’s just stuff that has no eternal value. Once he was assured that I was okay, he turned to go back to his business. I said, “Wait, did you come here just for that?” “Well, Sarah, all I heard was that you were robbed, so I thought someone pointed a gun or knife at you, and I needed to know you were okay.” Later, Hermana Brenda, who was the person who mentioned to him that I had been robbed, told me that she didn’t even get to finish telling him what she heard because he cut the call so quick to jump on the bike, leave his business, and make sure I was okay. After he left, I couldn’t stop laughing because I was so blessed. Even in the midst of betrayal, uncertainty, invaded privacy, and broken trust, God is so faithful. He has truly sent me someone (Raúl) who is sincere with me, who I can believe, who I can trust, who has served me for the past seven months without ever asking for anything in return. I am so grateful.


I am also grateful for all of the difficulties, trying situations, disappointments, and heartbreaks because in the suffering and the waiting, God has been teaching me how to love. He has been hardening me to difficulties (while softening my heart), and he has been developing the beginnings of that violent love. I so long for His violent love that is the only thing that can give me the strength to believe for even those people who seem the most hopeless.


All my love,

Sarah