Hermano Carlos, Abuelo, and Hermano Alex sitting outside the unfinished church building in Junquillo
On the first trip that Nelly and I took, on the way back, Nelly was driving past a church we’d never been to and heard their worship service. She decided to stop (you never know what’s going to happen or where you’re going to go when you’re on a trip with Nelly). During that particular day, I was really struggling with that spiritual exhaustion in waiting for God’s timing and had been telling God all day, “I’m pretty sure you got the wrong girl. I don’t have the compassion and patience it takes to be a missionary here. Am I even doing anything worthwhile here?” Well, as I got into the worship service, I got my answer. I just started worshipping and crying and repenting for my attitude. I just told God that He had my whole life, and that regardless of my own desires and frustrations, that I chose Him above all else and that He had the liberty to do with me what He pleased. And in response to my painful cries of surrender, He replied, “And I chose you.” It was a pivotal moment for me because there are times when I struggle with my little life here and wondering why God sent me here even as I adore my new home and new family and new life. Really, His choice of me is the only reason I’m here. My being a missionary in Honduras has very little to do with my capabilities and everything to do with His grace in giving me the privilege to be a part of His work. The whole service was so good for all of us on the trip, and the rest of the service was all about learning to have faith. During the message, God reminded me of a word I’d been reading the night before—Revelation 3:7-8:
To the angel of the church in Philadelphia write: These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open. I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name. That verse was very encouraging to me. Sometimes, it feels like the doors are slammed on so many of the dreams God’s placed in my heart. But, He has already opened the door for me in His Kingdom, and no one can shut it.
Wandering around in the mountains on the outskirts of Yuscarán
Hermano Tomás, Gaby, Lari, Hermana Martha, and me sitting outside one of the houses of the ladies of our congregation
As some of you may have already read in one of my newsletters, some new projects have also been started in Yuscaran. I went with Hermano Nati, Hermano Tomás, Hermana Martha, and some daughters of Hermano Tomás to see about starting a project with some of our poorer families from the congregation in raising tilapia as a food source (and perhaps down the line to sell). It was a fun day and was also so eye-opening to see how far some of these women and children walk and how they live. They don’t have any furniture. They sleep on dirt floors. They are often cold and hungry. Visiting these families was also a good opportunity to see some new neighborhoods where we can evangelize. The houses and families are so spread out in the mountains in some cases that you don’t realize at first glance how many people live in these little areas. But, there are no churches in this new neighborhood we visited, and it’s ripe for evangelism. So, please join in prayer with us for this future congregation as well as for our existing congregation.
One prayer request that weighs heavily on my heart is for a young lady in our congregation who is about 15-years-old. She has a young daughter around two years old and recently gave birth to another daughter—both of which we strongly believe were fathered by her stepfather. Both her mother and her stepfather are alcoholics. Hermano Nati and I recently visited the home where all of these people live after service in Aceituno (outside Yuscaran) one Sunday. The home consisted of rough branches, pieces of plastic and dirt floors. The newborn baby was wrapped in dirty rags (not so very different from our young King, wouldn’t you say?). And we had a rare opportunity to talk to this young lady alone. Even though she smiles at me brightly when I smile at her, I always see such a sadness in her eyes as if a child is trapped inside and is begging for a rescue. She is very submissive to her parents, and all of the neighbors have the same belief that we do—that her children could be fathered by no one else but her stepfather. There’s no one else around her house, and I simply don’t believe that a child who has such a meek spirit and submissive disposition is running around rebelliously getting pregnant with nonexistent neighbor boys. Furthermore, when the mother of the young lady went to register her grandchildren, she registered them as her children rather than as her daughter’s. In those rare moments with this adolescent, I felt so strongly that she wanted to tell us her secret and her need for a rescue, and Hermano Nati and I did everything (gently) within our power to let her know that she could trust us. But, she’s understandably very afraid. My heart breaks for his little girl and longs to take her out of her nightmare. But, the child services/court system can be tricky and without a firsthand account from her, I don’t feel like I, personally, with little connections, can step in on just a suspicion. So, please be praying that the God who sees all will bring the truth to light and will give us wisdom in how to help this young mother.
In the same vein of IHNFA and child services, I’ve still been going to the boys’ center, 21 de Octubre, with our Danish volunteer, Benjamin. I have not, however, been teaching. For roughly a month, IHNFA has been on strike because they have not been paid by the government. Thus, it’s been difficult to even enter sometimes. And teaching is quite a difficult task anyway with little to no structure and with new boys coming in and other boys leaving every day. I have, however, made a friend within the system which I fully believe has been a God thing. Most of the time that I’ve been going to 21 since February, no one in the office has paid us a bit of attention. We just enter and visit with the boys without having met the director, etc. This psychologist, however, befriended me from the start, and she often calls me into her office to tell me the stories of some of the boys that I wouldn’t have otherwise known. She also asked me to teach one specific young man, Juliano, who has been in 21 various times for drug addiction. So, after all of this strike business calms down, we’ll see what comes of that.
October has been less climactic than September. Alvin returned, and life has returned a bit more to the usual, which I recognize you may have no concept of. Sometimes, another reason that I stop reflecting is that it all seems to continue to be the same. When your heart is longing for something else, it’s hard to appreciate what’s right in front of you and what you’re living in the moment. I look back and read old journals from my first days in Honduras and marvel at the things that used to thrill me that have now become so normal. Some weeks are spent so slowly and so routinely—checking emails, relaying messages to Alvin, washing my laundry at the pila, cleaning my house, visiting Raúl at the business, and going grocery shopping. I won’t lie—there are days when my prayers breathlessly crumble into repeated thoughts of, “Please, God, send me something new. I’m so desperate for something new.” And the truth of the matter is that He does…but if it’s not the new thing that I think I want or need, sometimes, I don’t even recognize it. I miss (and am trying to return) to a more childlike mentality—one that rejoices in and sees my Heavenly Father in every little detail.
To give you an example of one of the little crazy joys in my life and how I occasionally randomly pass my days, one day a couple weeks ago, Raúl showed up at my house around 10:30 AM. This is nothing new—he works down the road and zips around on his motor bike to run errands or to visit when business is slow. But, this particular day, he showed up with Estiven and a bag of fish saying, “Sarah, do you think you could do me a favor? Could you cook us some fish?” I had gotten up that morning with absolutely nothing to do. You can only check email and clean your house so many times. So, I gladly agreed.
After the de-scaling, gutting, and cutting...
One thing you have to know is that in Honduras, the people fry fish whole…meaning with the heads and tails. It’s not like in the US when you open your freezer and take out a happy bag of precut, pre-cleaned, etc. filets. And it’s also not even like when my family would go fishing because the job of de-scaling, gutting, cleaning, cutting, etc. the fish was always my dad’s—not my mom’s (although I’m sure Mama Cheryl is one gringa who could do so with her eyes closed). That is not so here. The good news, however, is that I have learned how to prepare fish like a Honduran because Nelly (a Nicaraguan, ha ha) showed me. So, I spent my whole day de-scaling, gutting, cutting, and frying fish and the necessary accompanying foods to bring down to the business in the evening to feed me, Raúl, his workers, and three girls who work at the nearby dumpster looking for recyclables. This is my little life in Honduras.
The finished, fried product
Fried green bananas
Cabbage, tomato, and pepper salad
Another part of my little life that is irreplaceable is Raúl’s family. On October 13th, Raúl’s grandmother celebrated another birthday, and I celebrated a year of being an adopted member of their family. There is something so precious about being expected to be at every family gathering, being invited to bake with his mom, and being introduced to friends in town as part of the family. I am so blessed by their kindness and so enamored with each unique member of the family and each special dynamic, and I am so inexplicably grateful to Raúl for inviting me to be a part of his world. His inclusion has meant the world to this gringa so far from a sense of my own home and family.
Singing to Abuela Faustina
Primo Miguel, Abuela Faustina, Raúl, Tío Miguel, and Roy
So, God is faithful. Even when I get discouraged, discontent, and impatient, He is still there, waiting for me to pick myself up and run to Him. And, when I do, He always has something new to teach me. Some of the things He’s been teaching me have come from Mel Tari’s book, Like a Mighty Wind, from a message by Kris Vallotten at the River Church of Fresno, and from the book, Kisses from Katie—all of which I recommend. Mel Tari’s book talks about a revival that started in 1965 in Indonesia. It’s such a simple, easy read, but its simplicity is so powerful. He says:
It’s simple, you know, this Christian life. If the Christian life were complicated, we in the heathen country could never have become Christians. When the Bible says something, we just take it as it is, believe it, rest, smile, and let God do the job. (38). Oh, how I pray that God would bring me that childlike simplicity. He says very clearly in Isaiah 43:18-19:
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
Thus, even when I can’t see this new thing, I have to believe that He IS doing it, and I have to rest that He’s doing it in His perfect way and time.
Kris Vallotten’s message really convicted me of this aspect of time. His message was about viewing our Christian life through the lens of eternity. He makes the point that God exists outside of time. Thus, He was able to go to the day that we would choose Him, and He chose us first. Kris also makes the point that the spiritual world lives outside of the realm of time which is why prophecy is so powerful—it’s able to release power that exists outside of time. It’s because of prophecies given to Abraham about his many descendants that we have been born today. Kris says, “When you received Jesus, you received eternal life, past present, and future.” What an amazing thing to think about—that God doesn’t just promise us heaven or even that He’s in our midst in the present. He promises us that He has the power to enter our past to redeem even the things we’ve already experienced with His eternal life and good. Because of this eternal life, he declares that we have responsibilities on both sides of the veil—which means to say that we don’t just have responsibilities in this tangible world we can see. We also have responsibilities in the spiritual realm to pray and take part in the spiritual war that is ever-transpiring for the souls of the sons of man. The part of the message that had the greatest impact on me, however, was when he mentioned Josiah. Three hundred years before Josiah became king, it was prophesied that he would be king. Thus, when they found the scriptures, and they were reading the scriptures to Josiah, what he was hearing was his own life story (past, present, and future) being read to him. It made me think what it would be like to not only be introduced to this God you previously knew so little about but in the same moments also be introduced to yourself and your very purpose for being alive. And he fulfilled his God-given purpose because of that prophecy proclaimed 300 years before his time.
After listening to this message, I felt like God wanted me to sit down and write out all of the prophecies spoken over my life and all the things He’s shown me directly or through other people that He has for me. But, I was in a place of discouragement, and like I said, I was avoiding reflection. But, when I finally obeyed, I couldn’t even remember all of the things spoken over my short life, and I kept remembering more and more. And, as I wrote down words and prophecies beginning with the fact that God told my parents to name me Sarah all the way to words spoken in the year I’ve lived here, I saw the perfection of my Creator. His words have always been consistent. Words spoken to me in childhood have perfectly coincided with words spoken in my adolescence and now. No words have been contradictory. Some of the words from my childhood have already come to fruition, and some haven’t yet. Some words from this year have already been fulfilled, and some haven’t yet. And as I finally just got tired and couldn’t finish because I couldn’t even remember or find them all in my old journals, I had give God His credit for making me do this little exercise of faith. How could I doubt a God who is such a perfect writer? How could I be discontent with a Father who’s been giving me foreshadowing and hints about my life and purpose and future since the time I was born (really just for my own fun and His)? Thus, I was encouraged and lifted out of my place of frustration because Proverbs 29:18 is true:
Where there is no prophetic vision the people cast off restraint, but blessed is he who keeps the law.
When we lose sight of God’s prophetic vision for us, it’s easy to start trying to force our own plans and timing. But, when we can take hold of the perfection of the words He’s already proclaimed over our lives, we can rest that all of our story will unravel in the penmanship of our perfect Father.
The book I’m currently reading is Kisses from Katie by Katie Davis. A friend of mine from college sent me the book and a lovely message of encouragement. But, the first glance of the premise—a young lady who is around my age who left the US after high school to move to Uganda, started her own ministry, and adopted 14 girls as a single woman—made me feel inadequate and, in some ways, quite jealous. So much of what God has promised me is children, and there are times when the ache for those children is so great that I feel suffocated with emptiness. But, as God’s been leading me out of discouragement, He nudged me to start reading the book. What I found was a friend and sister in a person I’ve never met before. Reading her story has been like reading my own story. The struggles she talks about, the culture shock, the feeling completely at home in a strange new land, and the deep desire to be poured out for Jesus echo my heart so deeply that I feel like they could be my very own words jumping from the pages and into my heart. If you ever wish to understand who I am, why I moved here, and what my heart’s cry is through the eyes of a stranger, read Kisses from Katie. Reading this book has reignited something in me that has been dormant for a while because of the strain of this process of refinement and developing patience and endurance. It can be quite painful to live on the mission field, especially as a single person. I am so grateful for Katie’s example, and for how her story has encouraged me to remember my First Love and my desire to love the one person in front of me like Jesus even after much hurt, much disappointment, and much fear. As she says:
…the Lord has shown me that the more I give of myself, the more He fills me up. The more I love, the more love I have to give. (98).
(The link to her blog is at the bottom of this page and is called "on earth as it is in heaven.")
I know that this update is terribly long, but I want to leave you with one last glimpse into my beautiful life and how precious the people of Honduras are. I learn from them all the time…
I am in the shower on Saturday, lathering and turning over thoughts of special people, and thinking of one particular sister in Christ, Hermana Sonia from Tatumbla—the small home town of Raúl. Raúl and I intend to visit her, so I want to make sure she’s going to be home the following day. I no sooner step, dripping wet, out of the shower when she calls me. She has never called me before. She calls to invite me to a vigilia, or late-night vigil, at her house this particular evening. Raúl had told me about it but hadn’t wanted to go. Hermana Sonia says, “God has big things for you tonight, Sarah. You need to come.” Truthfully, I am so discouraged and desperate for a touch of God (and nearly angry at Raúl for not wanting to go) that I determine in my head all day that if Nelly doesn’t decide to go, that I’m just going to walk there. It’s hard to tell what I’ll do when I get stubborn and desperately exhausted. So, Nelly and I go. (I so enjoy being Nelly’s sidekick and daughter in training.)
We arrive around 9:45 PM after it’s already started to loud claps and cheering and the glow of bare light bulbs and the warmth of a giant crowd of pueblo (small town) people crammed into a small house. The air is quite chilly but the ambiance is nothing but radiance. I walk in, shyly, scanning the premises to see rows and rows of children and adults sitting on small mattresses all over the floor of the living room and crowds of adults standing in the kitchen. Walter, Raúl’s brother, who is quite shy sees me and gives me his usual kind, yet awkward welcome, and I feel someone grab my legs from behind—it’s Waldina, Raúl’s sister, who insists I sit beside her on the floor in front of the open front door and says, “I’ve been waiting for you to come!” I hadn’t told anyone in Raúl’s family or Raúl that I was going.
A young boy around 13, whose voice hasn’t even changed yet, is preaching. He’s grasping his Bible in his hand and pacing the floor with the confidence of an old preacher man, and his words exude a wisdom beyond his years as he tells of words God’s given him, odd ways he’s had to obey God, and his passion for his Heavenly Father who rescued him from a life of living like an animal—just eating, sleeping, and working with no other purpose. Can I remind you again that he’s only 13? He finishes preaching, and a time of worship begins.
It is one of the oddest, most beautiful things I’ve ever seen that makes me feel somehow like a child and so grateful that I live in this crazy country. The music reminds me of something off of the Andy Griffith Show with what sounds like banjos and repetitive picking and lyrics and twangy voices resonating from the CD player speakers. This kind of worship is very typical of Honduras, and while no “contemporary” Christian in the US would “be able” to worship to this kind of music, Hondurans get lost in and filled with God’s presence while dancing to these songs on repeat. So, a kind of circle is formed. The people who really want to be filled and soaked with God’s presence enter the circle. One woman who is wearing what I would describe as a Mary Poppins dress and bun is twirling in the middle with her eyes closed with a look on her face like she is eating the most sour lemon she’s ever tasted, and she is shaking her hands close to her face like one does when the heat is just too hot to handle. She stumbles around the circle just lost in God’s presence and His joy, and the people on the outskirts of the circle worship like normal, clapping their hands. And, when she gets close or almost falls into their laps, without flinching, they just stretch out their arms to keep her upright. I can’t help but giggle when I see that her skirt is coming unzipped—not because I am disrespectfully making fun but because I can’t help but think of David and how he passionately danced naked before his God. And this woman is just one example.
She has her time in the center, but when her time is up, and her cup is full, she exits, and someone else enters. And perfectly sober, she stretches out her hands to keep the person upright just as the others had done for her. In the circle, demons are being rebuked, words are being given, and the discouraged and damaged are finding their portion again. And what I marvel about the entire experience is that nothing is out of order. I hear people say so often that you have to be very careful with the gifts of the Holy Spirit and with letting the Holy Spirit have control because people go crazy because they don’t know how to handle it, and there’s no order. But, in the midst of this experience that is truly so foreign to me, no one seems to be at a loss for his or her place and time and moment. There is no one person trying to be the hero, and even Hermana Sonia who is hosting and has called for the event demonstrates no problem in letting others be obedient to what they feel led to do. She doesn’t tolerate demonic interruptions and deals with them promptly, but she is by no means “the face” of the ministry that is taking place.
Waldina enters the circle at Hermana Sonia’s gentle leading, and with no hesitation, she just begins to worship God with all she has because she came to get filled. Waldina is at least a full head shorter than me, but for being such a small thing, what pours from her being in worship displays that she certainly has the hugest of hearts. I can’t help but grin while watching my second family worshipping with such childlike, uninhibited spirits. It makes me proud to be a part of them and reminds me of how much they can teach me.
The rest of the evening is spent on the purpose for which Hermana Sonia called this vigilia. God had not allowed her to sleep for two weeks, and He showed her a prophetic message that He wanted her to share. She was in doubt as to whether or not it was from Him since it seemed so odd, so she told God that if it was really Him, that He should send someone walking by her house (which is far even from the little town) who was selling honey, and she would buy it and know that it was a message from God. She mentioned to Him as a sidenote that she only had 70 lempiras (the equivalent of a little over $3). She started washing her clothes and soon heard someone outside her window, offering to sell her some honey for 100 lempiras. Wide-eyed and knowing God was at work, Hermana Sonia asked again how much the honey was but scoffed at the 100 since she only had 70, so she told the person, “Well, I’ll give you 70 for it.” And the salesperson readily agreed.
The message deals with prophetic symbols of colored mantles, wine, honey, salt, milk, bread, fish, and water. She has scriptures to back each symbol and to convey what God wanted to pour out on His people. And, she says that God told her that He would lead her to give each person in ministry what He intended to give them. So, she calls Nelly up (who came to receive and had no idea that she would be a part of ministering to the other people), and they start praying for people. Hermana Sonia calls up the individuals, but she tag team prays for them with Nelly. And, as I’m straining to hear what is said, it is undeniable that they’re both flowing in the same anointing because they build off of each other, and nothing one says contradicts the other.
Meanwhile, I’m standing beside Waldina who is crying and trembling under God’s power, but the desperation is all over her face. It’s a desperation I know well. While I know of the lives of my second family members, I’m not so close to all of them to know their pains and struggles. But, as I reach out to comfort my little sister, she falls instantly and crumples into my arms with sobs. And, thankfully, God starts giving me words to fill her ears and her heart with comfort and new promise through prophecy.
And so the evening passes with prayer and worship and liberations from demons and blessings and everything I’ve ever wanted to believe is involved in the real Christian life—all with a bunch of people I’ve never met before in my life who don’t look anything like me and don’t speak my first language. Truly, the best thing about the entire experience is that fellowship and that reminder that God is so real, that His Spirit is real, and that He moves among and through His people with divine order.
When we finally make it home around 5 AM, I feel a peace and calm I hadn't felt before we left. What I received didn’t involve a lot of shaking or twirling. It didn’t involve strong feelings or physical sensations. It didn’t look like what many others were receiving. But, what I received was exactly what I needed to carry on in obedience and hope. It was the quiet revelation that God is the same yesterday, today, and forever which gave me the peace I needed to let go of my frustrations and discontentment and just revel in Him as these beautiful, childlike people were doing before me. It gave me the bravery to let go of my frail illusion of control and the bondage of my timing to let God truly be King of my life, working in all situations even when I can’t see. And all of this came for me through this experience and through one line from “The Rain Song” by Day of Fire whispered into my spirit by the Holy Spirit, “I’ll bring springs of life into the wells that have been run dry.”
So I take hold of that word for myself, for those I love, and for those I have yet to meet. And I thank God for sending me to live in this beautiful country full of His children who love me in a way I've never experienced before. So much of being a missionary is learning how to learn and receive from others, a privilege I am ever grateful for.
With all my love,
Sarah
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