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