All for Jesus

"Higher than the mountains that I face...stronger than the power of the grave...constant through the trial and the change...One thing, remains...One thing, remains...Your love never fails and never gives up and never runs out on me...Because on and on and on and on it goes...Before it overwhelms and satisfies my soul...And I never ever have to be afraid...One thing, remains...One thing, remains...Your love never fails and never gives up and never runs out on me...In death, in life, I'm caught up in and covered by the power of Your great love...My debt is paid...There's nothing that can separate my heart from Your great love"
-- "One Thing Remains" by Jesus Culture 

 

Hello All,

Sick Day
Well, today is a Monday which means that I should be at 21 de Octubre with my sons. However, I am home sick—not necessarily too sick to go places, but too contagious to be with my boys who get too physically close to me to not catch what I’ve got. Given that they all live in close quarters, I imagine that if I were to give it to one, it would spread to them all, and the boys are often already lonely, and to me, there is nothing worse than being lonely when you’re sick. So, I kept myself home.

This sickness that starts as a cold usually occurs nearly like clockwork around this time of year. It’s getting colder here, and given that I don’t have windows that shut to seal off some warmth in my house, I breathe cold air at nights. Lots of people are running around with the same sickness—including Raúl and Estiven. I was doing pretty well a few days ago when Raúl and Estiven would show up at my house every night, so I could make them chamomile tea with lemon. But, now, the medicine that I bought for Raúl (who, silly boy that he is, never took more than a couple pills) is being passed on to me.

I hate being sick, but honestly, I’m not surprised to find myself sick right now. It reflects my spiritual needs as much as my physical needs for rest and refocus. This particular time reminds me of when I was sick during student teaching (http://confessionsofaragamuffin.blogspot.com/2011/02/just-when-you-think-youre-self.html). It seems around here that there is no happy medium for my activity levels. I’m either so lacking things to do that I’m nearly bored to tears, or I am so swamped with busyness that I get overwhelmed and don’t know how to pace myself. It’s been a busy season recently with going to 21, working on house projects, and doing training for being a camp counselor in January. Plus, getting more involved in the boys’ lives and needs and given my transportation situation, things that normally take someone very little time takes me much much longer because I have to think and plan my time around buses and carrying whatever I need to buy in my backpack on the bus or around when I can catch a ride with someone else. I hate asking for help because I hate bothering people. And I also hate vulnerability. My tendency to want to be self-sufficient never seems to go away even when God has to humble me repeatedly through things like letting me get sick. I don’t know why I tend to insist on learning the hard way. There is something about sickness that makes me thankful—it’s the one way to make my life come to a standstill, and while it drives me crazy, sometimes it is exactly what I need. It drives me crazy that I can’t be “productive” while at home—that I can’t paint (because of fumes) or sand (because of dust) and that I really have no energy to go anywhere to run the errands I need to do (like buy shoes for a couple of the boys).

Lately, I have struggled with desperation and with a feeling of inadequacy. Honestly, it sometimes feels like the darkness of this world is closing in on me and is no match for my one little light. I listen to the boys’ stories and leave with such an ache in my heart. I’ve gotten into the habit of going to Raúl’s business after I get back from 21 because he makes me laugh. He is funny in general, and he likes to make me laugh, but I also just like the details of who he is in such a way that even without trying, he makes me laugh. He is such a child and carries such an innocence that being around him gives me permission to be childlike as well. For this girl who, for whatever reason—being the oldest of my siblings, having a perfectionist personality, or whatever—tends to be Queen Responsible and sometimes too serious, it’s a good rest that I need at times. The burden that I carry when I leave 21 is one I feel physically that has to be released as an offering to God through either laughter or tears, and when possible, my preference is laughter. Thus, I embrace the moments at Raúl’s when he’s making sounds like a cat, dancing at any random moment, walking around with his fly unzipped 90% of the time completely oblivious, and just being a child that makes me collapse in giggles while he’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.



My 24-year-old child, Raúl, and I

Breast Milk and Ear Infections
The most recent comic relief from him and Estiven came yesterday. They were at the house whenever I got back from church. Raúl was resting on one couch, and I was on the other in Alvin and Nelly’s living room. I look over at this 24-year-old child, and he is air-driving a motor bike and making driving, motor noises with his mouth like a 5-year-old. Then, he started dancing which was just wiggling his butt on the couch while he was lying down. He likely was doing this to make me laugh because he’s well aware of his talent in doing so, and he knew I was sick and miserable, but he had a completely straight face the entire time like he was in his own little world. When I did start laughing, he looked over at me very seriously and said, “What are you laughing at?” And I just shook my head at this crazy child. Estiven came over, and they were asking me how I felt. I told them that my ears were stopped up, and they immediately had the remedy—“Sarah, you need some milk.” My mom is a nurse, so I’ve heard my whole life that you need clear liquids, need to avoid dairy, etc., so I looked at them and shook my head. (Hondurans don’t often have money to go to the doctor, so they’re very accustomed to using what they have to cure themselves. Chamomile tea, limes, garlic, and aloe, among other things, are quick solutions from things they often have in their homes.)

Estiven: “Seriously, Sarah, you need to put some milk in your ears but not just any milk.”
Raúl: “Does that young baby who’s staying in the house belong to that lady who was holding her?”
I had no idea where he was going with this…”yes.”
Raúl: “Well, there you go! Just get her to give you a little squeeze in your ears.”
“What?!”
Raúl: “Yeah, breast milk works wonders for stuffed up ears.” At this point, he is totally serious, and I am laughing hysterically because I had NEVER heard of that before.
Then he and Estiven proceed to tell me about all of the times they’ve had ear infections and have gotten random, breastfeeding women to “give them a squeeze” into their ears, which were very quickly cured. This really shouldn’t be surprising within a culture that is much more familial and open and warm than the one in which I grew up, but it was. The thought of going up to some random stranger in the US and asking her to give me a squeeze in the ear was mortifying and conjured up imagined repercussions of lawsuits, slaps to the face, etc. But here, perfectly normal. The image of Estiven having some random woman in the market or Raúl having a neighbor woman give them “a squeeze” in the ear was really just too much, and I couldn’t stop laughing much to their dismay because they were truly serious. So, Estiven finally said, “Sarah, we’re Indians you know, so we don’t have a lot of your fancy medicine. So we use what works for us.” I, in no way, wanted to be disrespectful, so I just explained that I had never heard that before. And, when Estiven said he was going to bring me some milk from his wife who is breastfeeding their daughter, I just smiled.

Later, I googled it out of curiosity, and I laughed hysterically to find that their cure is completely scientific and has been used by lots of people for years. Breast milk has a lot of white blood cells and antibody properties, so it makes perfect sense that it would work even better than antibiotics. It’s just getting oneself over the initial embarrassment of asking someone to give you a squeeze—a feat that obviously is no obstacle for these crazy boys. I so love Hondurans. I love the ways they teach me and the ways they humble me on a regular basis. And I love the way Raúl makes me laugh when I need it most. As the Bible says in Proverbs 17:22, “A cheerful heart is good medicine…” and with having Raúl around, I should be cured in no time.

Updates on the Boys and New Stories
Anyway, as mentioned, it’s been a stretching time. I want to give you an update on the boys I’ve already mentioned from 21 and also give you a few more stories.

John—He left just this past Friday to go to Teen Challenge. We—Hermano Charlie, Hermano Walter, Benjamin, and I—prayed for him before he left, and I think I was just as surprised as he was that I was tearing up saying goodbye to my son. He was so happy and excited to leave, and the good news is that his going to Teen Challenge has also influenced another boy in 21, Juliano, to do the same. Juliano has also grown up in an environment of drugs, gangs, and drug selling. He is set to leave at the earliest this Friday. I am so happy that they both are making this good decision, and I so hope that they stay. Please keep them in your prayers—that they wouldn’t be influenced by a spirit of desperation to escape, that they’d be strengthened by the Word, and that they would encounter people to show them the genuine love of Jesus.

Elvin—He left to go to a center called El Buen Pastor. He told the other boys to send me his love and greetings and left sadly. I have yet to find a contact number for the center to find out if it’d be possible to visit him. The center is on the same road that passes by Tatumbla (where Raúl is from) and goes to Yuscarán. There is a bus that passes by here to go there, so if it’s not possible to go with Raúl, I may just hop on the bus and see where it takes me because I want to see my son again.

Eduard—He is still in 21, and there is currently no word as to where he’s going or when he’ll leave.

Gerson Isaías—He was devastated when the lawyer who was supposed to take him home didn’t show up on the day he’d originally set. Gerson told Benjamin that he thought it had been a lie, and when I saw him next at 21, I could see that he’d been crying and upset. My heart ached, but he was not discouraged. “I’m going tomorrow, Sarah. And if I don’t go tomorrow, it’ll be the next day.” And, he was right. To my knowledge, he is back in La Ceiba in the center he has grown up in called Hogar de Amor. He left me a phone number of one of the ladies who works there, so I have to call to check up on him, make sure he made it there safely, etc.

Ramón—He is so precious and is in 21 as always as he likely will be until I can adopt him or until he turns 18. The other day, I was at 21 sitting in view of the window during devotions. He saw me, and I smiled at him. He sent me his awkward smile back and stuck his hand through the bars over the window. I couldn’t go to him because I didn’t want to interrupt the devotion, but I knew he was sticking his hand out for me. The workers thought he wanted water, so they brought him water which he didn’t drink. They were puzzled as he knocked on the door wanting in and returning to the window to put his arm out. They didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew—he wanted me. Later in the day, I came to the window and was watching him. When he looked up, he saw me and ran across the soccer field to the window, sticking out his hand, so I could hold it. Every so often, he knocked on the door wanting in, but I don’t have the key, so he just returned to stand with me with bars separating us at the window.

Carlos—He left with his mom to go home nearly right after I wrote the last post. I miss him so much. He told me that he’d show up at the church, so I’d see him again. I don’t know that that is true. He wasn’t there yesterday, but I still hope.

Cristian—He is still at 21, but he’s set to go to another center, Casa Alianza, on Tuesday with two other boys from 21. Transportation is always an issue, but I’m hoping that I can visit him there. His mom lives far away, so he may not have visitors as he hasn’t had any at 21.

On Friday, things were changed around. Apparently, the director has to give some sort of report on what the boys are doing. That’s interesting since all they really do is watch trashy television and occasionally play soccer (other than the ones who do work with Hermano Charlie in computer classes). We have wanted to give classes in the past, but because of the strike, a lack of space and structure and support from the administration, it’s been difficult. But, the director has now changed the schedule. The boys are now supposedly only going to have an hour of television during the week and must choose between their options of computer classes (with Hermano Charlie), math classes (with Benjamin), Bible classes (with Hermano Walter), English classes (with me), or reinforcement classes of basic education (with one of the 21 workers). So, on Friday, I gave impromptu English classes to Cristian, Jorge, and Carlos “Mexicano.” I don’t know how long this new schedule will last, but I’m grateful for it for the time being.

Fredy
Fredy is nearly 18, and he checked himself into 21. He and his girlfriend, who is pregnant, both have drug problems. His girlfriend didn’t have drug problems before she met Fredy, but his influence led to her own addiction. They both decided together especially after she got pregnant that they didn’t want to continue on the path to self-destruction. So, they checked themselves into centers for rehabilitation together. I love Fredy’s heart. He is so humble. I love to watch him worship because he’s so reverent, and you can see that he genuinely wants to live a life of hope and purpose. He wants to leave the drugs behind, but he’s so afraid he’ll fail. He wants to be a good father and a good husband, but he needs his addiction and need for Jesus to crash over and destroy his addiction and need for drugs. He needs God’s furious love to rage over him as never before.

Jorge
Jorge, who is 13, grew up in El Buen Pastor, the same center where Elvin now is. He was behaving badly, so they threatened to send him here. He has no parents or family other than his siblings, some of which are at other centers. He is wildly intelligent and quick to tell all of the answers in English class. Not wanting to go to 21, he ran away, then returned, was given a second chance, and finally misbehaved again, resulting in being in 21. He really wants to go back to El Buen Pastor. It’s the only place he’s known for basically his whole life. I hear a lot of people talk about how they do not understand why so many of these children waste their opportunities. “They have a roof over their heads, education, and food—what more could they want?” I couldn’t possibly disagree more. While I am honestly not familiar with every center, in the majority of centers, given how many children there are, these children don’t have a sense of family. Or, even if they do, many of them (especially around adolescence) have to grapple with how they were abandoned or rejected by their biological families. With many unanswered questions and open wounds, this isn’t a hurt that can be healed by three square meals a day, shelter from the elements, or classes. It’s as Mother Teresa said, “Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat.”

Whether they have biological family or not, they carry an orphan spirit that eats a hole of desperation into their hearts, causing them to escape from every center, disregard every opportunity, and run into the darkness because they ultimately want to know if they’re worth it enough for someone to run after them to rescue them. In many cases, there is no one, no shepherd to go after the one lost lamb because while they are precious children and no doubt cared for by the people in the centers, they are no one’s children. Who runs after a child who doesn’t belong to them? It is this ache, this anger, this wonder, this nagging question of worth and belonging and family that causes children like Gerson and Jorge to misbehave in centers where they’re receiving every opportunity. It is this pain, this hatred, this fear that causes children like John and Eduard and Juliano to turn to drugs and gang life—to not feel anything and to be “adopted” into a gang “family” which after the fact, turns into a nearly inescapable nightmare. It is for these “bad” children who “wreck” their lives and “stupidly” abandon their chances for a better future that have captured my heart.

Sometimes, I get so sad over the fact that I may never see some of these boys again and so desperate to help them that I feel like I’m drowning. Before I was afraid to get too close and to love them too much because I didn’t think I could withstand the pain of losing them. But, I have to remember how it must be from their perspective and why some of them are so distant with me even when I’m trying my hardest to let them know I love them. How many times have they been let down by someone who “loved” them? Do they even know what real love is? This is why I typically refrain from telling the boys I love them and prefer to just find ways to show them. Actions are much more believable than words. If they do get close to me, do they know that they’ll ever see me again? No. If they accept that I love them and believe I adopt them, which also will inevitably mean that they’ll have to lose me at some point just as they’ve lost so much in the past. Are they any more prepared for that loss than I am? No.

Carlos “Mexicano”
I have met Carlos whose nickname is “Mexicano” twice now. He is 14. He was in 21 when I first started going, and now, he’s back again. I adore this child even as he breaks my heart every day. I’ve directly asked Carlos to tell me his story before, but he usually just gives me a big smile and says, “I don’t like to talk about it. It’s sad.” So, I let it go and don’t push it. But, one day, I asked him why his nickname is “Mexican,” and he told me his story. His mom treated him badly, so, at the age of 10, he left by himself on a bus to head to the US illegally. When I asked him who he went with, he said happily, “Oh no, I went alone.” “Well, do you have family in Mexico?” “No, I just wanted to get to the US.” “Do you have family in the US?” “No, I wanted to go to one of those centers.” “What centers?” “You know—the ones for women who can’t have babies of their own. I don’t remember what they’re called. I wanted to go there so someone would adopt me.” Oh, there are no words to express how hearing that crushed and captured my heart in one blow. I love this normally joyful little boy so much. He was deported from Mexico before reaching the States, and he has been in various centers in Honduras. He started doing drugs, however, only about eight months ago after being in 21 for the first time. Thus, he escaped the centers because he couldn’t do drugs like glue, paint thinner, and marijuana there.

One day, I was leaving for the day, and short little Carlos caught me up in a hug and walked with me on my way out. He said, “Are you leaving already?” (It’s always a huge ordeal to leave with boys hanging all over me, shaking my hands, and wanting to know when I’ll be back.) “Well, let’s go, Sarah! Take me with you and adopt me!” “Oh honey, if I could, I would. But, I have nowhere to take you right now.” “Just take me home with you, and I’ll make bracelets, and I’ll sell them on the streets, and I’ll give you the money, so we can have food to eat.” In English class on Friday, he asked me how to say, “I love you, Mommy.”

Situations and conversations like these make me feel so heartbroken and so inadequate. I want to adopt Carlos so badly, and if I knew that now was the time, I would do so even knowing that he would likely run away, that we’d have to struggle through his drug addictions, and that having him with me would hurt even more than having him away from me. I would do that because Carlos is a lost little lamb worth rescuing. But, now is not the time. I have no place to take them. I have no one to father them. And, more than anything, I don’t have the peace from God that tells me that He is ordaining this as His will and path for my life at this present moment. So, I’m stuck, and the heartbreak increases.

Kevin's Kidnapping
Kevin in a picture taken a few years ago
Recently, Kevin, a boy who is one of Alvin and Nelly’s adopted sons, was kidnapped by one of the prominent gangs here. He lives in one of the worst areas of the city with his mom, and some guys entered his house and kidnapped him. A lot of this situation has to do with drugs and territory. In the ordeal, two other young boys were shot and killed, and another boy was kidnapped. His body has since been found in the river. We have no news on Kevin. With the way that this particular gang runs its operations, he’ll either be let go, or after being interrogated, he’ll be eliminated. He hasn’t been found dead or alive. All of this happened four days ago, and every day, Nelly gets up with tears in her eyes and asks Alvin if there is any news. There isn’t. Alvin and Nelly had Kevin in their home from the time he was 14 months old. It’s only been in the last few years that he went back to live with his mom. I have known Kevin since the first time I came to Honduras in 2007, and he’s been my little brother since then. He’s a pretty tranquil kid, but he dropped into some rebellion with a marijuana habit a couple years ago. Honestly, we’re all praying for him and dreaming about him and thinking about him, but there is also a general numbness over us all. Perhaps, I can’t really speak for everyone in the family, but that’s just what I sense from my own observations. Something is hanging in the balance spiritually. Nelly doesn’t sense that Kevin has died, and truly, if he had, I believe that her mother’s heart would know. Alvin knows that wherever he is that all of the seeds of God’s Word that have been planted in him are rushing back to his mind, and Nelly knows he’s thinking of the most loving family he’s ever known—them. But we have no answers. It doesn’t do us any good to worry because we have no control. Only God is in control. Nelly has been over every detail of the situation and has asked all of the questions to which there are no answers—most prominently why? And where?—but He is the only Answer we have. Please join us in prayer for Kevin.

All for Jesus
I won’t lie—while I know that the purpose of God asking me to allow my heart to be broken is so that I’ll draw nearer to Him and offer the heartbreak to Him, I sometimes fall into a rut where I don’t because my own orphan spirit rears its ugly head. Sometimes, my faith falters, and I have trouble believing that someday, there will be fruit and that my heartbreak will pay off. Sometimes, while drowning in the heartache and tears, I forget that God is ultimately good, so I avoid Him. In these days, I’ve teetered on this condition and have been clinging to 1 John 4:4 like the last thread from a long-decaying security blanket. You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. Sometimes, it feels like we’re fighting a losing battle and that the darkness will swallow us whole. Knowing that God has me here long-term, sometimes I wonder if I’ll actually last.

Yesterday, I was supposed to go to Yuscarán, but after waking up and feeling terrible, I decided that being in the chilly air late at night (they weren’t going to get back until very late)wasn’t a good idea and that it’d be better if I stayed home and rested. I wasn’t planning on going to church either, so I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Bible when Nelly came up to me and told me that she felt very strongly that I needed to go to church. We didn’t have water, so showering wasn’t an option, and I’d bathed the afternoon before. But Alvin had just left. So I called Raúl, who honestly told me he was being lazy and wasn’t going to go. Nelly said, “Well, you better start walking then because you’re supposed to go.” As I walked outside, planning to change to take a rapidito (smaller, quicker bus), I noticed that Benjamin hadn’t left. So, it seemed like a God appointment. More than anything, I was just so exhausted spiritually and physically and emotionally, and I just wanted to be in God’s presence. Worship started, and I just ran to the altar. Worship is so close to my heart. It’s how I connect with Him.

In the past four months or so, I haven’t been to church a whole lot for various reasons. For those who know me, you’re well-aware that I’m not in any way worried about filling a church attendance quota. I know that if my relationship with God is on track and that I’m sharing with other believers in fellowship—be it Raúl through letters, Nelly through sharing what God is showing us, Nati and Martha through shared prayer requests, etc.—that being within four cement walls that is called a church building isn’t a huge demand I place on myself even if others are. Thus, it’s quite possible that everyone at church thinks I’m the biggest sinner because every time I go to church, or really any time I get in a situation of worship, I just sob. Offering up my heartbreak is my way of worshipping. Singing through tears to a God who is always worthy even when I don’t understand is how I lift myself out of despair. Telling God how much I love Him and how holy He is even when life seems so dark is how I fight the principalities of evil. So, I was immersed in this and just honestly telling God how desperate I am for Him and how exhausted I’ve once again become. Most often, my biggest struggle is feeling like I’m not enough for myself and wondering if I am enough or if I’m giving enough to God and doing enough for God.

And He gave me the most beautiful lesson that had me crying for the entire rest of the service. I was crying out for my 21 de Octubre sons and for Kevin and for Raúl and just released all of the inadequacy I felt through tears when God began to replay memories of the little things I do for the boys. It can be bringing Raúl food at the business when he’s hungry. It can be holding Ramón’s hand, hugging Carlos when he’s crying because everyone else is leaving but him, listening to Fredy’s story, catching Hector up in a hug when he’s running away from me, smiling at Pablo, or patting Jorge’s head. Then, He began to replay each of those memories in my mind a second time, but this time, He revealed the face of Jesus in the face of every single one of the boys’. Suddenly, while I was holding Ramón’s hand, his face became the face of Jesus as did Carlos’, Fredy’s, Hector’s, Jorge’s, etc. And He whispered into my spirit with such a loving sternness, “You think that what you do is so small or that it doesn’t matter? Don’t you know? Don’t you recognize what you’ve done? You’ve touched the face of Jesus. You’ve hugged Jesus. You’ve held the hand of Jesus. You’ve taken food to Jesus. You’ve wiped away the tears of Jesus.” And He reminded me of Matthew 25:40: The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’

You see, sometimes, for this perfectionist, “all-or-nothing” kind of girl, it is such a struggle to remember a truth expressed in something else Mother Teresa said, “The success of love is in the loving—it is not in the result of loving. Of course it is natural in love to want the best for the other person, but whether it turns out that way or not, does not determine the value of what we have done.” I may never see some of these boys again. I may never know whether they defeated their drug addictions and came to Jesus or not. I may never see them live up to their potential. And I may experience tremendous loss. I may feel like my heart will never mend if someday I see their bodies on the front pages of the newspaper caught up in gang violence. I don’t say that to be morbid but simply because it is our reality here. But, at the end of the day, in the throes of adoption and furious love, it’s all for Jesus.

As previously mentioned, I have been very encouraged by the book, Kisses from Katie, because she lives so much of what I live (and in greater measure). Her words in the chapter I was most recently reading echo my heart:
Yesterday I was tired; not sleepy, just plain worn out. I knew Happy for about seventy-two hours. Sure, for those seventy-two hours I was able to help her, to comfort her mom, to rock her to sleep. I feel in love with this baby girl who barely had the strength to breathe but clutched my finger with all her might. But why? Why am I constantly falling in love with people I cannot help, people who are taken out of my life so quickly? As I read my Bible last night . . . the Lord continued to take me to the miracles of Jesus. And something I have never noticed before really stood out. The Bible tells us of Jesus magnificently raising Lazarus from the dead, healing numerous deathly ill people, and feeding thousands. What the Bible does not mention, but what must be true is that, years later, Lazarus still died. The people Jesus healed were inevitably sick again at some point in their lives. The people Jesus fed miraculously were hungry again a few days later. More important than the very obvious might and power shown by Jesus’ miracles is His love. He loved these people enough to do everything in His power to “make it better.” He entered into their suffering and loved them right there. We aren’t really called to save the world, not even to save one person; Jesus does that. We are just called to love with abandon. We are called to enter into our neighbors’ sufferings and love them right there. (213-214).

Help me to hurt, not just a little, but the way you hurt, when your children are overlooked and perishing. Help me to never be too busy or too comfortable to remember the people who suffer. Help me to never stop desiring to do something about it. (224).

I am constantly learning in this country. People like Hermano Charlie (who has been working for Orphan Helpers for 10 years) and Hermano Walter have been placing themselves, purposefully, in situations to see the needs and struggles of others. People like Alvin have loved relentlessly even those who have caused them the greatest pain and disappointment. People like Nelly have been pushed to states of heartbreak where they feel like they may never be restored. People like Raúl astound me when after they’ve been so betrayed and crushed, they still show unfathomable mercy. Those kinds of people have a lot to teach people like me, who have so little experience with the needs and suffering of others invading day-to-day life. I always want to be eager to learn.

Please keep us all—Charlie, Walter, Alvin, Nelly, Raúl, Kevin, me and my 21 boys—in your prayers. We need them.

All my love,
Sarah

PS For any of you wondering how I spent my Thanksgiving…while I wasn’t really planning on doing anything special (because there are so few of us gringos here and because Hondurans don’t celebrate Thanksgiving—because they celebrate everything and everyone else), I ended up going out to eat with Raúl. We had typical Honduran food and spent the evening just being us. It was fitting for me to spend my Thanksgiving with someone I don’t believe I could possibly be more thankful for. I’m thankful for who he is, how at ease I am when I’m with him, how he’s invited me to be a part of his family, his potential that shines through his brokenness, the sincerity of his prayer over our meal, and the fact that at the end of our evening, he asked if he could give our leftovers to some street boys in the shadows (who I hadn’t even seen). Of course, he didn’t even need to ask me. And I’m thankful that this is us.

Meet My Sons

Hello All,

I can't take pictures in the boys' center, 21 de Octubre, but I wanted you to meet some of my sons by sharing their stories. Today was one of those days that made my heart really heavy, so by sharing these with you, I'm also offering each one of my boys to God. As their stories leave the storm that's in my head, I want these words to be an offering to their (and my) Heavenly Father who knows and wants the best for each one.

John
I have mentioned this 18-year-old child before. He's the one who yells at me, "Sarah! My mother!" He has been in and out of 21 around ten times now. He comes from a background of drug-addicted and drug-selling parents. Because he has grown up around drugs, he has also been a consumer and seller of drugs as well. I first met John in February when I first started going to 21, and we have had numerous conversations about his home life and the things he's been through. He carries a lot of hurt from past abuse, a lot of anger and violence, and a lot of unforgiveness. Because of how many times and how long he's been in 21, he tends to be a favorite of the staff and is a leader among the boys who occasionally reigns with an iron fist. His gift for leadership astounds me, and the hurt that he carries in his heart and occasionally wears on his face, fills me with an ache and a desperation that I can't explain. I am so desperate for this child to be healed and restored. I am so desperate to see how the unconditional love of Jesus could transform his life.

Recently, John decided to go to a Teen Challenge rehab center for a year. This choice to walk away from everything he's ever known in his family's lives and in his own life was huge, and I was so proud of him and anxious for my adopted son. I have been to the center to visit other friends before, so I had a general idea of how it would be, and I had already desperately been pleading for God to move in his life while he was there. Today was the day he was supposed to leave, and Raúl (who's never met him before) and I both agreed that if he stayed for the designated first month that he can't have visitors that we would visit him afterwards. When I arrived at 21 this morning, he was excited to be going, but as time passed, it was evident on his face that something was wrong. I was afraid that he was scared or was going to change his mind, but as it turns out, he never got to go although he wanted to. He thought that it was because his mother never came to remove him from 21 to be transported to the rehab center. But, Hermano Charlie, one of the Orphan Helpers, mentioned that it was because of a lack of a form from the office that he wasn't able to leave and that his mom had, in fact, come. He was devastated and desperate, wanting to escape over the roof of the building like so many times before. As I sat with him at a total loss, my mind was ablaze with how I could help. But, when it came down to it, I couldn't. If I could've taken him out of the center and to Teen Challenge myself, I would have. But, I'm not his real mother, so I couldn't. In the end, I told him what I believe to be true--God has a purpose for his still being there. God is in control. There is a reason that he wasn't able to go to Teen Challenge today even if I don't know what it was. But, I won't lie--even as I said that, inside, I felt the desperation as well. It's not too late for John to go to Teen Challenge, but I know that he doesn't want to lose that glimmer of light and the hope that his life could be different--different from his mother's, different from his father's, and different from what the darkness tells him he is.

Elvin
To my knowledge, Elvin is 14, and he's never been to school. He doesn't know how to write or spell his name although he obviously is so sharp. I adore this little boy, and if I was in a position to take him home to adopt him, I would. Elvin's dad is an invalid, and his mom has mental health issues. He was living with them and his older sister. But, while Elvin doesn't talk much about his home life, I wonder if he's suffered abuse or just malnourishment due to poverty simply because his sister's daughter (who is still a baby) was recently placed in a government-run orphanage. Elvin has been in 21 around three or four months now. He's one of my little challenges every time that I go because he's not one to come to me. He's not shy at all and loves to play games with the other boys, but if I go to him, talk to him, and love on him, he's not always quick to respond although he never pushes me away. When the other young boys ask him if I'm his mother, he always looks at me with a sly, shy smile. The office is always talking about sending him to another, permanent center, but he doesn't want to go. He wants to go back home. Knowing what a precious heart my little boy has, I imagine that he struggles with not being able to help at home as he used to sell food in the streets to help support his parents.

Eduard
Eduard hasn't been in 21 for very long, but before coming to 21, he was in El Carmen, a center in San Pedro Sula, for three months. He is 16 or 17, and his parents both legally live in the US and have for 10 years. Since they left, he has lived with his grandparents and younger siblings. He's the oldest which doesn't surprise me at all as he's quick to take on leadership roles. I was actually quite surprised by how quickly he adopted me. From day one, he talked to me and came close to me just like boys that I've known for 10 months. I love to watch Eduard worship. He closes his eyes, and the sincerity of his heart floods his face. Today, Eduard was upset. Honestly, today was one of those days when spiritually, I could just sense the desperation and hopelessness in all of the boys. I went to talk to Eduard, and he didn't want to talk, so I left him alone for a while. After a while, I just stood not too far away and tried again, "What's going on?" It turned out that he had gotten in a fight with John (he reigns with an iron fist as I said, and he's not one to let someone else be the alpha male). But, I knew that wasn't all, so we started talking. He said, "Sarah, I want to leave here already, but I don't want to run away because I know I'm just going to ruin myself." He told me with tears in his eyes that despite his grandfather's advice, he had smoked marijuana and crack, had done cocaine, and he knew he was killing himself with his own hands. At such a young age, he has destroyed his body to the point that he can't run longer than 20 minutes without getting fatigued because he has done so much damage to his lungs. He desperately wants to leave the center because the boredom is crushing, and none of the boys want to spend Christmas there. But, he is afraid that no matter where he goes or what he does, he's going to ruin himself by falling back into drugs. Truly, this fear is echoed in many of the boys. They are desperate in all forms, but their greatest fears have boiled down to themselves and their own addictions. He said, "Sarah, when I'm on the streets, I tend to be a fighter. I don't even like fighting, but it just happens with that life. If I start fighting, I'm going to start killing people, and I don't want that. If I go back to my old life, someone is going to kill me."

In the midst of this conversation, some other boys came and joined us. Eduard changed the subject and started talking about me. All of the boys give me handshakes, and I also let them hug me. I pat their heads and put my arm around them. I recognize that I'm a young gringa in the midst of lots of adolescent boys, so if at any point in time, I feel like they're crossing the line or are being inappropriate, I let them know and put a stop to it. And I always want to be careful that my behavior isn't received as something that it's not. But, I also recognize that many of them come from families where no one ever told them "I love you" or gave them hugs, so I can't keep from expressing the motherly love I feel for them. My behavior in this way was further supported today when Eduard told me, "The director and a lot of the other female workers don't like us to touch them. They don't want us to even touch their arms to get their attention or shake our hands. But you don't yell at us when we get close to you. You shake our hands and let us give you hugs. Why is that? These are women who are Hondurans just like us, but they don't want to touch us like we're going to contaminate them." Another little boy, Edgardo, sitting next to me said something that struck me and broke my heart, "Y usted es de raza!" or "And you're of race or breed!" I didn't understand what he meant at first, so I asked him to explain. He said, "You're from the United States. You're white and have blue eyes and blond hair and come from a rich country. We Hondurans live off of what people like you send us. So, you're important. You're high class. So, you're de raza, but you still let us get close to you without yelling at us." I tried to explain that I'm just like any other person, that everyone is equal, but I was interrupted by Eduard as he said, "And that's why I love you, Sarah, but it's not in a bad way. I love you with respect like I would my mom or my sister. I hope someday that God lets me marry someone like you because whoever you marry is going to have it made."


Gerson Isaías
 His story reminds me of the story of Joseph. Six years ago, the government mistakenly took him from his home where he lived with his father and brothers. At the time, he was very sad when he was placed in a Christian center, but now, after being raised in the center, given an education, and being sponsored by people in the U.S., he is grateful for that “error” and carries the Holy Spirit in his humble demeanor. He was sent to 21 after passing through a time of bad behavior and just being mad at everyone. I rather wonder if his heart wasn’t angry over how his mother abandoned him, his father, and his siblings. Since then, his heart has changed, and he told me, “I know that God sent me here, so that I could preach the word to the boys. When I go back, I want to ask forgiveness from the people I disrespected and behave better. I want to study and help other children in need. I want to have my own center for children someday.” During his time here, he led one of his roommates to Jesus. He is set to leave on Tuesday to go back to the Christian center. I believe God has huge plans for his life.

I met Gerson over two months ago, and he’s one of the boys I’ve always like to joke with, but in the past, when I’ve tried to talk to him, he’s tended to keep his distance. From the very first day I met Gerson, it was evident to me that he was different from the other boys. He carried a reverence for God and an innocent spirit that is uncommon in that place. But, it wasn’t until a few days ago (after numerous attempts on my part) that he finally opened up and shared his story with me. After he got started though, he just kept telling me all of the details—about the people from the US who sponsor him, about his friends in the center, about how he wants to witness to his aging father, and how he has big dreams for the future (even though it’s evident that he’s afraid to say them out loud). Now, Gerson comes to me, prays for me, wraps me up in big hugs, tells me that he’s going to miss me, and grins when I ask him to give me the phone numbers of the center where he’s returning so that I can call to wish my son a happy 17th birthday next month. I’m going to miss him very much, but I want to believe that I will see him again someday.

Ramón
I met Ramón in 2007, the second time I ever went to Honduras. I was in Casitas Kennedy, the government-run orphanage. I first noticed Ramón, who is a special needs child who doesn’t talk and walks in his own unique way, because my mom was playing with him. She held him in her arms and made the same clicking noises to him that he was making to her. My brother and I followed her example and started playing with him as well. It broke my heart when he grabbed my hand because he wanted to lead me somewhere—to the wall where he frantically pointed because he wanted to leave. That night, after meeting Ramón, our short-term team gathered and talked about the day, and I will never forget my brother’s response. My little man of a brother who at the time was 15 began to cry. He said, “I’m glad we got to play with the kids. I’m glad we got to meet Ramón and play with him. But, I can’t help but think, when we aren’t here, who’s going to play with him? Who’s going to love Ramón after we’re gone?” Although my brother didn’t know Ramón’s story, he was right to think this way because Ramón has no known family. The length of time that any child is supposed to be in Casitas is usually no more than six months. He was there for at least five years because there are so few permanent orphanages that are equipped to take special needs children. The psychologist who used to work at 21 told me that she is aware of only one center specifically for special needs kids, and it costs 10,000 lempiras or $500 a month.

Now, five years later, I feel unspeakably blessed that God has given me the privilege to be one of the people who loves Ramón. Because of his age, he was sent to 21 although it’s not really a place fit for special needs children. I adore Ramón, and everyone at 21 knows it. The boys know not to mistreat him when I’m there because we’ll clash. The workers know that that little boy is like my son and tend to point him in my direction. Every time I arrive, he grabs my hand and leads me around. This lanky child sits in my lap with arms and legs spilling over and stares at me with a wide, drooling smile and sweet eyes. The boys and the workers don’t understand why Ramón is the way he is, and most don’t really make an effort to communicate with him on his level. He can’t talk, but he does have his ways of communicating. I love all of the little things that make up my son. I love that he hates wearing shoes, and I can’t help but laugh when the workers get frustrated when he takes them off right after someone has put them on. I love that he loves to lie in the sun and in the middle of all of the action—even though it drives the other boys crazy that he tends to want to lay in the middle of their soccer games. What breaks my heart is that Ramón often spends hours locked in his room by himself, and when he gets frustrated, desperate to leave (as the other boys do), or is being picked on, his means of communicating is by getting a wild look in his eyes and biting his own arm or hitting himself as hard as he can. Thus, his arm is covered in bite marks and cuts and often gets infected and swells. Mami Nelly thinks he has a demon, and she may very well be right. All I know is that this helpless mother dies a little inside and cries out to God in desperation every time her little boy clamps down on his own arm. He responds so well to love—he smiles at me when I rub his back and likes to hold my hand—but he receives so little of it. I tend to tell God every day that as soon as He grants me my house for my children, Ramón’s the first child I want to take in because I feel in my heart that that little boy, who seemingly has no one, is mine.

Carlos
There is a special warmth in my heart for Carlos. I say that and truly mean it, but I don’t mean to say that he’s a favorite because the truth is that every one of my boys has found a special place in my heart that is all his own. But, every time I come to 21, my eyes automatically search for Carlos, and I dread the day that I go, and he isn’t there. I think Carlos has captured my heart in a special way because he was the first one I ever called my son. Carlos is another boy who has been there for a long time. He’s there because he stopped going to school, had problems with his mom at home, and had a tendency to run around in the streets (even though he hasn’t done drugs before). His mom goes through phases where she visits a lot and goes through other phases where she doesn’t visit at all. The not visiting usually occurs around the time that she has called and said that she’s coming to get him out of 21. This happens to so many of my boys—they get excited because they hear that they’re going to get to leave, and something falls through, a parent disappoints them yet again, and the desperation sinks a little deeper. Carlos and I—as is the case with lots of the boys—started our friendship with handshakes and joking. Because there is so much time on our hands, I usually make my rounds and do my best to talk to the boys I already know, learn the names and ages of the new ones, and get a sense for who could use a deep conversation that particular day. (I tend to pray every morning that God would lead me and guide me in all of my conversations and interactions with the boys.) It was the same with Carlos—I learned his name, did my best to remember his age and how many siblings he has and where he’s from. Learning their names is crucial. If I call the boys by their names, that’s the first step to developing trust.

One particular day, Carlos and I happened to be standing by the window together when it became evident that it was his turn for a deep conversation. I don’t even truly remember how it came up—I might have been asking about his family—but soon, he was sharing about how his father has been abusive, especially towards his mother. My 16-year-old son got so tired of seeing his mom get beaten up by his drug addict, dead-beat dad that he went with a group of friends and was going to beat his own father up. But, even after confrontations with his dad, nothing changed, and after various times of leaving, his mom always returns to the same situation and defends the father. Carlos is sick of this and is so very hurt. His mom tends to get angry (as mothers naturally would) whenever Carlos disappears to go to the soccer stadium and says things in the moment, out of fear, like that she doesn’t love him which, as is understandable, causes considerable damage. We began to talk about how our parents are humans and will fail us, and how we all act the way that we do in terms of hurting others because we’re all damaged and need Jesus. We talked about the need to forgive his mother and his father so that he can be free and not a slave to the anger that the enemy would use to bind him. He understood what I was expressing, and he understands that holding on to anger and hatred is only going to lead to a life of danger and likely drugs and self-ruination, but his question was, “What’s the point? My life doesn’t have any value anyway. No one cares about my life.” My heart broke.

And I said, “Carlos, do you know why I come here? No one makes me come here. I have to ask permission from Papi Alvin, my boss, to come here. No one pays me. It’s not an obligation. I come here because I love each one of you like my sons. I come here because I see immense value in each one of you and because I believe in what God can do in your lives. Your life is precious. God created you with a purpose. You do have value, and I come to visit you because, to me and to God, my son, you have value.” He got quiet and didn’t respond, and when I looked over, he was wiping tears from his eyes, so I put my arm around him and patted my kid on the head.

Since that conversation, the lines of communication and trust and motherly love have been open for Carlos. One day, I was getting ready to leave and came into the common room where the boys pass mindless hours watching trashy television. I always try to make a point to say goodbye to Carlos and shake his hand, so I did and turned to go. At this particular moment, the boys (with the adult supervisors in the room) were watching some movie in Spanish where the father figure was beating the son. The mother figure intervened, and the father figure began to beat the mother until she was bleeding. Soon, as the son looked on, the father started trying to rape the mother. The son jumped on the father’s back, attacking him and trying to defend the mother. As soon as the mother was free, she began to beat the son, yelling at him for harming the father. It was like watching Carlos’ life on the television screen, and he was sitting behind me taking it all in. It made my heart hurt, so I returned to my son, took his hand, and said, “Son, please don’t watch this. You don’t need to be watching this. Why don’t you go talk to Hermano Charlie and Hermano Walter?” And, if I would have said this to various other boys—even ones who let me call them my sons—they would’ve looked at me like, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” and wouldn’t have moved. But, Carlos nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s true, isn’t it?” He looked me in the eyes like I’d just given him permission to stop torturing himself and walked out of the room as I’d told him to.

Cristian
My little Cristian is so precious. He is one of the younger boys at the center at 12-years-old, and he has grown up in Immanuel, a large orphanage that I’ve visited before that is run by a couple from the States. He and some of his siblings have lived in Immanuel for some years likely because of an economic struggle at home. His mom faithfully visited him at Immanuel before he ran away. Like a typical little boy, testing the world and his independence, he ran away to experience something new and meet new friends. He ended up playing soccer in the streets every day until he was picked up by police and taken to 21. His mom isn’t aware of where he is. This sweet child is stuck to me like glue when I go. He makes me bracelets out of yarn, and he likes to ask me all kinds of questions. Knowing how much I love my adopted sons and how I love them all equally even if it takes me a while to find a moment to connect personally with all of them, he has developed the habit of going up to various boys and asking them, “Is Sarah your mom?” And I am surprised, and my heart melts when each one—even the ones who tend to keep their distance or who are my little challenges—say yes.

A Desperate Mother
I’ve been going to 21 for 10 months now. In this time, God has opened and changed my heart greatly. I’ve always loved the boys, but for me, there is always a huge difference between loving a child as a child who belongs to someone else and loving a child as if he or she belongs to me. When I adopt a child into my heart as my own, something within me changes. My whole mentality changes. No longer is this a person who I care about from afar, who I help how I can and when I can. Now, the person is mine which means that their hurts, their joys, their struggles, their needs, and their stories are all suddenly mine. I am responsible for this person to whom I didn’t give birth. I’ve held back and kept myself from reaching this point with the boys because I knew it was going to hurt, and it’s been a rough (but good) year with a lot of hurt. I knew it was going to hurt because I can’t take my sons home with me. I have nowhere to take them. I can’t enter their home lives and remedy their family situations. I can’t rescue them. I can’t ensure them education. I can’t promise them the bright futures I know God wants for them. I can’t protect them from destroying themselves and others. I can’t even guarantee that I’ll be able to be in contact with them or see them again after they leave (often quite suddenly and before I’m prepared to lose them). But, God told me not to hold back, and I have to obey. So, while I am so helpless, I do love each one of these boys just like they’re my own flesh and blood. And I have found that in opening my heart to this new level of vulnerability, while I do hurt, I also am much closer to God because I’m a desperate mother. I go to bed pleading for the lives of my sons. I wake up proclaiming words of faith and protection over the lives of my adopted boys. I talk to Him about the things I like about my boys and the things that scare me. When I get into God’s presence in church, all I can do is sob for my sons and worship God with the faith that He is working in their lives and holding their precious futures in His hands. And I talk to Him about the future, about my desire for their adoptive father, my desire for the house to hold us all, and my desire to please Him in all things, even during this stretching time of preparation.

All my love,
Sarah

Sweatshirts and Sons

Hello All,
I know that it is a rarity for me to update this quickly (perhaps, I should change my habits), but I wanted to share a special recent story.

I went on a retreat last weekend with Mami Nelly and some other strong Christian women to a place on the way to Yuscaran that's kind of in the middle of nowhere amongst an entire little community of people who are all Christians. The innocence of that place was precious and was great for restoring all of us who went. While I was there, one of the things--though simple--that God laid on my heart was "Don't hold back." When I first moved here, I had a huge zeal fueled by the impact of missionaries like Heidi Baker, documentaries like Furious Love, and a recent road trip meeting all kinds of new people, but I lacked experience and wisdom. Now, I have a bit more experience. (I won't venture to say I necessarily have a whole lot of wisdom, but hopefully more than when I first moved here.) Truthfully, though, all of this time of developing patience and endurance and allowing God to humble me had taken quite a bit of the gleaming polish of my previous zeal. I haven't been as childlike or as full of wonder or as emotionally fearless or as open as I was when I first moved here. But, God has been working in my heart. It started with reading Kisses from Katie and hearing of how she gives of herself, a heart's desire that had faded with betrayals, exhaustion, and loss of hope in various contexts. And, the next boost came from that simple word from God, "Don't hold back." Truly, I like it when God keeps things simple for me--I tend to grab hold of simple words and run with them.

So, on Wednesday, I went to 21 de Octubre, the boys' center, as I usually do. While it's nothing compared to West Virginia and various places in the States, the cold is starting to settle in here. We have open houses and buildings and don't have heat, so once you get cold--or worse, wet then cold--it's hard to get warm again. Right now, I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jacket, and when I go to sleep, I sleep with sweat pants, a hoodie, fuzzy socks, and four relatively thin blankets. I share this just to give you an idea of the cold (from one who tends to be easily cold). Thus, on Wednesday morning, during devotional, I was watching my children as they were suffering in the cold. Very few of them had jackets or sweatshirts (or socks or shoes), so many of them had their arms and legs tucked into their T-shirts or were rubbing their hands together trying to get warm. In the spirit of not holding back, I have found that in these days, these boys become more like my own children everyday.

Thus, as I watched my sons shivering with cold, as an adoptive mother (even if it's only within my own heart or in the eyes of God), what else could possibly pass through my mind but to provide warmth for my children? So, I began to talk to God all morning long, "Daddy, my sons are cold. They need sweatshirts. How am I going to give all 40 or so of them sweatshirts?" I began to think of how I was going to be able to find that many sweatshirts at a decent, affordable price. Because I don't have my own transportation and because I'm still relatively new to this city, I often have no concept of where the best place is to buy things cheap. Because of these two factors, I often end up spending more money for things just because I don't have a way to transport things (other than on a crowded bus) or because I don't know where else to go. So, I began to imagine how difficult it was going to be to somehow find 40 sweatshirts at a decent price and also transport all 40 of those sweatshirts by myself with no car. But, even with these uncertainties, with each passing moment of my boys asking for my own jacket, I became more determined not to hold back and to find a way to clothe my children. At lunch, I called Raúl to ask him if he knew of a place where I could find that many sweatshirts because, being a businessman, he often has various people he can bargain with to get good deals on all kinds of stuff. But, on this occasion, he was more or less at a loss and insinuated that I should look in Kennedy but that I'd have to go to various places to find that many.

Hermano Nati and Hermana Martha, the ones who have the ministry in Yuscaran, have businesses in the Kennedy (not selling clothes though), so I called Hermano Nati to ask if he knew where I could go in the Kennedy. Instead, he told me that they had been thinking of buying a bale of sweaters for the children in Yuscaran as the weather is getting colder, so we could go to the commercial warehouse where they buy them. He mentioned that in the past, they'd bought a bale of used sweatshirts from the US for 1600 lempiras or about $85. He also mentioned that whatever wasn't needed for my boys could be given to the children in Yuscaran since a bale of clothes carries a lot. I agreed. Then, much to my surprise, he said that he had the car at the business, and if I wanted, we could go right that minute to buy the sweatshirts. Absolutely! He came to pick me up, and I was astounded to see that the warehouse was only a few blocks from the boys' center.

That morning, I had remembered that I was carrying around more money in my purse than I normally do, so I had meant to take some out but forgot. Thus, when I started counting my cash, I saw that I had 800 lempiras. Knowing that wouldn't be enough for a 1600 lemp bale, I asked Hermano Nati if they took a debit card. He thought so. When we arrived and started asking the lady, though, she said they no longer had the 1600 lemp bale and that they didn't take a debit card. I had a flash of discouragement and reminded God that my sons were cold. Immediately, the sales lady said, "But we do have a smaller bale of sweatshirts that are very warm for 800 lempiras." I got a huge smile on my face knowing that this was a God thing--it cost exactly how much I had. I bought the bale, and the lady also gave us an additional bag of ladies' sweaters that someone had left after going through their own purchased bale (these will likely go to Yuscaran). We opened the bale right in the parking lot, and I started going through looking for the right sizes and found what I needed for my sons. I was ecstatic as we carried the bag into the center.

In the morning, the boys had been asking me for my jacket despite the fact that they know my rule--if I can't give to everyone, I won't give to only one. Being a female in the middle of lots of adolescent males, I'm well aware of how dangerous it would be to appear to have favorites. But, as they were begging me, and as I was explaining my rule, I also began to ask just how many didn't have sweatshirts--"Oh, a bunch! Almost all of us. Are you going to give us sweatshirts?" "Well, I can't give to just one if I can't give to everyone. So, I'm thinking of how I can give to everyone." The looks on their faces when they saw that giant bag was priceless. God is so good. He opened my eyes to a need that my children had around 9 AM and reminded me not to hold back, and by His grace and His provision, at 2 PM, that need was completely and perfectly fulfilled.

The workers from Orphan Helpers gave out the sweatshirts that same day, but this morning was the first day that I got to walk in and see my sons so nice and warm. My heart just swelled with joy especially during praise and worship. These boys are often painted as the hopeless cases. I think one of the things that so draws me to 21 is that it's kind of the forgotten center in the sense that foreign teams don't usually go there, and unlike other places, like the girls' juvenile detention center, the boys don't receive educational opportunities. These boys are typically the ones that no permanent center wants to deal with because they're known for escaping, having drug problems, etc. But, when my children--thieves, drug addicts, gang members, and orphans--start to worship God, they lift their hands and close their eyes and sing with an innocence that just radiates from their respectful hearts and beautiful faces. I see Jesus in their broken worship.

I can say quite honestly that all of the boys I've talked to are in 21 because of something that is rooted in their home lives. It may be that they're there because of drugs or running around on the streets, but the reason that so many of them resort to drugs and street life is that there is no one at home giving them love or attention. I would venture to say that the greatest problem in this country (and many others) is an orphan spirit. My sons carry an orphan spirit that breaks my heart everyday, and I so desperately long for the Holy Spirit to move in their lives and heal their hearts. But, this morning, as I looked out over my boys in their sweatshirts, I heard God say, "If you will surrender your children to Me, I will do more than clothe them." And this simple promise made me cry.

I am a fiercely loyal person with a heart that beats loudest with a rhythm of adoption. While I am normally a quiet, flexible, pacifistic person, when I love someone, I can be a force to be reckoned with. My difficulty is often in reminding myself that my force of love is something that the powers of darkness should reckon with--not the flesh and blood before me. Often, it is so difficult for me to see the potential and value that my loved ones have and yet feel so helpless because I can't force them to see themselves as I see them or as God sees them. They have to make their own decisions, and they have to value themselves enough to make their needed life changes. I can't do that for them, but I can trust that they are fully capable of receiving and hearing from the Holy Spirit. I can trust that if I surrender my children (even the ones I don't know yet) to God, He IS going to do more than clothe them. I believe He's going to heal them, restore them, and bless them in ways that even this passionately adoptive mother could never do.

This is my current lesson. All during the retreat, I was with women who are struggling with their children, and as they were receiving lessons of surrendering their children to God, I was too--even though I don't yet have children of my own. Sometimes, I get so protective of the things that God has promised me that I forget that He's the One that has promised me these things--these children--anyway. I was further reminded on Sunday when I went to Yuscaran. We had our first mother voluntarily want to dedicate her son to God within our congregation. Hermano Tomás was sharing a testimony of what it truly means to dedicate one's children to God.

He has several daughters, but his youngest child is a son. His wife waited to have a son for a long time, and when he was born, he filled a void that had existed in her heart--a longing, an ache. But, during his first year of life, the son was often sick and in the hospital. Hermano Tomás' wife was struggling with God because she didn't want to lose her son, but Hermano Tomás reminded her that she had dedicated her son to God. She thought she had, but really, in her heart, she hadn't. Finally, when she told God that if He desired to take her son that she surrendered him to Him but that her heart's desire was for God to loan this child to her, her son began to get well.

Hearing this story was God speaking to me and asking me to surrender my children--the children I don't even have yet, who I haven't met, who I haven't held, who I haven't seen. I know that God has promised me many children, and sometimes, my heart aches for my children. But, I have to surrender them to Him. So while it brings me so much joy to hear my boys in 21 say in their Spanish-accented English, "Sarah! My mother! My name is Juan Crickenberger," I feel the Holy Spirit stroking my heart and reminding me that if I'll keep my children surrendered to Him, He will do more than clothe them.  

Lots of love,
Sarah