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.