I Mean Everything to You Part I



Let me paint a picture of my life over the past few days…

It’s Friday night, and Nati and Martha bring me back to my house after a church service. We’re eating dinner together and laughing when my phone starts to ring. As soon as I remind myself of the hour (around 9:30 PM) and see the name, I already know what I’m about to be told, and my heart sinks. It’s Josuan’s mom. “He went back to the streets, Sarah.” She is obviously quite upset and never wants to see him again. I know I’ll cry about it later, so I just answer calmly, say my goodbyes to Nati and Martha when they leave, and wait for the tears to come while laying in my bed listening to music. I was not surprised to hear that Josuan had gone back to the streets. I could feel it coming. We had gone to Teen Challenge to see my other sons, and standing beside him during worship, I knew quite clearly that this young man needed much more than I was giving him (or seemingly was able to give him) at that point. We were spending Sundays together, and I was in contact with him throughout the week by phone, but that Sunday morning, it was clear that that wasn’t enough. John also told me that he was worried about Josuan, that he could see the anxiousness for drugs in his behavior. But, I hadn’t been sure of what else I could do in terms of time. So, I was praying about it and examining my options before all of this happened. I had taken Friday off so to speak. I don’t have a set schedule or anyone demanding that I do anything, so I’m always free, but I often slave drive myself. I was feeling incredibly drained, and while it may be viewed as a weakness, I am learning to recognize that it is imperative for me to take the time to let God love on me and fill me up because without that time, I’m not going to last. So, I just spent Friday during the day in worship instead of going to any IHNFA center, and I know why God laid it on my heart to do that because it was vital preparation for everything that happened immediately after.


As I’m curled in my bed, the words to pray won’t even come. I’m not angry at him for going back to the streets. We don’t battle against flesh and blood, and I had already felt this coming. But, I just imagine where my baby could be, dirty, likely high, and not knowing how deeply he is loved, and I just begin to sob violently.


You placed the stars into motion.
You called the light, and it came into place.
Every detail of our beings You created.
Like a good Father, You take care. You hold my being.
You wrap Yourself around every detail of my life.
You place everything into motion.
And all I have to do is stand in the palm of Your hand
Because I mean everything to You.
I mean everything to You!
I mean everything to You!
And You mean everything to me.
You mean everything to me.
Daddy God, You mean everything to me!
I bear my soul completely before You!
I’m Yours.
Because You mean everything to me!
Everything in this world…


The words trickle into my ears soft and slow and soothing even as I am crying and shaking with such an ache in my heart for my child that I cannot explain. Oh, Daddy, I just want to hold my baby. I want him to know Your love. I want You to hold his broken heart in Your healing hands. And as these words, “I mean everything to You,” sound in my ears, I suddenly have a very life-changing revelation. The same way that I feel about my son, Josuan—that ache for him to know how much he is loved, to hold him with a healing embrace, to rescue him from all of the evil that has imprisoned him, to protect him from any more hurt, and how much I genuinely like who he is and see his beautiful potential—is the same way that God feels about me, about each one of us. My sons are everything to me. I say that, and I mean it, but I don’t even know the depth of it because I’m so human, and my love is so limited. But, that feeling is enough to show me a new depth to God’s love. I mean everything to God? My son means everything to God too? The crying doesn’t cease, but in the midst of the ache and hurt, an unspeakable, beautiful peace floods my whole being. I’ve never felt God’s love and approval so strongly in my life, so I cry because in the midst of the hurt, I am so overwhelmed with His love that just embraces every darkness in my soul. And, even though I still ache for my baby, my heart is still, knowing that he means everything to God too, so I need not worry. He’s standing in the palm of my Daddy God’s hand. And as if to seal up my mourning with words and give me rest, I get a text from Raul, “It’s ok, Sarita. Don’t worry. Jesus is taking control. God’s going to take care of him.” And, I know it’s true, so I sleep at last.


It’s Sunday night around 11:30 PM, and I know where my son is. I had talked to his mother earlier in the day because Josuan’s sister still wanted to go to Yuscaran with me, and she informed me that she’d heard he was in the hospital with a broken leg. Later, his cousin called me telling me that he’d asked her to tell me he was in the hospital. Before the cousin even called me, I had already talked to Raul to work out my transportation to the hospital to go see him. My phone buzzes and lights up, and I pick it up to see a text from an unknown number: “Hi Mami Sarah. This is Josuan, and I’m very ashamed. I’m in the hospital. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sending this message because I’m too ashamed to call you. I know you’re probably mad at me. I understand. I’m a failure.” Oh, words cannot express how much I love my son. I know he’s not a failure. He has a drug addiction. He needs help that he wasn’t getting. I’m not angry, and I want to help him, but he has to want help. I text back, but the phone had been loaned to him. So, instead, the owner, a young lady, answers, “God has big plans for your son!” I couldn’t agree more. I was told that visiting hours at the hospital were from 3-5 PM and that it wouldn’t be possible to enter earlier, so I wait until after going to 21 to visit him. I was thinking that someone from his family had already been to see him since they obviously knew where he was and that they would have already operated on him. During that time, he calls me twice from borrowed phones asking if I am going to come, and he tells me he’s still being held in the emergency room, which means I could have come earlier. I’m so grateful to God that he knows I love him enough to come (or perhaps it’s just because he doesn’t have anyone else—either way, I’m grateful). At lunch, I read Numbers 14, and while I don’t necessarily know why God directed me to this scripture, the words that echo in my heart over and over, knowing I will soon see my wayward son are, “The Lord is slow to anger, abounding in love and forgiving sin and rebellion.”


When I arrive at the hospital, it’s a bit of a struggle to convince the guards to let me into the emergency room where he is still being kept since Saturday night. “I just need to see my son. He broke his leg.” Of course, being a gringa going to what is often known as “the poor man’s hospital,” they look at me like I’m crazy. “How old is your son?” “He’s sixteen.” Well, now, clearly I must be crazy since the majority of the time people don’t even think I’m 23 much less old enough to have a 16-year-old son. “He’s an adopted son.” “Oh, okay. Go ahead.” I ask for him, but the guy guarding the surgery side of the emergency room doesn’t know who he is and just tells me to go look for him. I enter scanning faces and preparing myself for how my baby is going to look since I have no idea how his leg was broken while he was on the streets. And, at last, I see him asleep in a dark corner with a large scab on his face, scruffy hair, and a very swollen leg. There aren’t any chairs so I just park myself right beside his bed on the floor, eye-level with him before gently touching his arm. He wakes up, and his eyes fill with tears as soon as he realizes it is me. “Mami Sarah, please forgive me. I failed you. Please forgive me. I’m such a failure.” I stroke my son’s hair and wipe away his tears. I don’t even have to ask if he’d been on drugs while on the streets because I can smell the glue on his breath. “You’re forgiven, honey.” But, he just keeps crying. “I’m so ashamed to even be near you.” He wears his sadness like a blanket that seems to settle into every facet of my son, and while he feels like he’s worth nothing, I struggle not to smile inappropriately because I love my son, and I know he’s not a failure. “I’m so happy to see you, son. I’m so happy to know where you are and that you’re alive.” In the midst of our conversation, the doctor comes and scolds me for sitting on the dirty floor and informs me that they haven’t operated on him because he’s going to need pins to repair his broken femur. No one from his family has visited him. He’s been alone. And, with no one to buy the pins (one must buy all of his or her own medical supplies because the hospital doesn’t have them), they have just kept him in the ER. We start talking about what pins will be necessary and how I can buy them. When that’s taken care of, Josuan just stares at me and says, “I don’t want to be a burden for you. I don’t want you to waste your money on me.” Son, no one is forcing me be here right now. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t.” “I’m going to pay you back.” “I’m not worried about that right now.” I won’t lie—I don’t have a tree that gives forth the fruit of cash, so I am mentally checking my bank account to know where I stand financially after paying for the pins to operate on him, but I’m also reminding myself that I serve a big God, that I’m a daughter of the King, and that He has ALWAYS been faithful to provide.


Then, the question that I was already anticipating comes, “What am I going to do now?” I had spent much thought and sleepless hours of prayer contemplating that very question because I knew he’d want an answer from me. His mom is angry. She is a woman full of hurt herself, and she has other children to take care of. She wants nothing to do with him. This is obvious because she never came to the hospital to see him. It is clear to me that he needs more help than he is ever going to get in that environment anyway. I want to send him to Teen Challenge, but the issue is going to be how to take care of him while he’s recuperating from this broken leg. I’m secretly grateful that it’s a broken leg because it means that he won’t be going anywhere—especially the streets. I don’t address all of that just yet because I want to get a good understanding of why he returned to the streets anyway. “Why did you leave your house, honey?” The tears start to flow again as he explains, “I don’t know what happened. I just feel like the devil just entered my mind because I was fine in my house. I felt good being there with my family, but I had just sold all of these bracelets. And seeing all of that money in my hands, I don’t know, I just felt the urge to bolt.” The very first Sunday we spent together, he had asked me for 100 lempiras to buy yarn to make bracelets. We had a conversation in that moment where I explained that I didn’t want to give him money in his hand because it’s too much of a temptation. “What, you don’t trust me? Don’t even talk to me about going back to the streets. I never want to go back there.” “It’s not a matter of trusting you. It’s a matter of protecting you. It’s a matter of not putting you in a dangerous situation that could tempt you to go back to the streets.” He didn’t understand then, but now, he does. I’m grateful for that moment because it gives me more credibility now.


“What am I going to do, Sarah? I want to change. I don’t want to be this way anymore. Every time I’ve wanted to change, and I mess up, something like this happens to me. I never thought I’d break my leg.” “How did this happen?” He recounts the story of how two guys stole some money from him and took a baseball bat to his leg. The X-ray is tremendous, but at least it’s a clean break and isn’t shattered. I explain that I don’t believe that God is punishing him but rather that God is working everything for His glory. The fact that he has a broken leg is really a blessing because if he wouldn’t have broken his leg, he’d probably still be on the streets, and I would have been in the same situation with him as I am with Jonathan and Juliano—I want to help but until they’re ready to change and accept the sacrifice it’s going to mean to receive help, all I can do is visit them, love on them, and pray. He wouldn’t be here with me, with a heart more willing to receive help, and with an injury that is actually protecting him from himself.


I explain that I want to send him to Teen Challenge, and, as I expected, his heart sinks. “I don’t want to be imprisoned.” (The word that he uses isn’t quite as strong as imprisoned, but there isn’t an easy way to translate in English. More or less, he doesn’t want to be shut up somewhere with limited independence.) So, this is when I have to get really honest. “Look, if you want to change, at some point, you’re going to have to make the sacrifices necessary to change your life in the long run. I want to help you, but I can’t force you. If you don’t want help, my hands are tied.” “What about Casa Alianza?” Casa Alianza is a center that is famously popular among young street kids because they have so much freedom (which also means that the stories of drugs and corruption on the inside are unending). Josuan has been in Casa Alianza before. He has escaped from there numerous times. He himself has told me the stories, and as a protective mama, that center is not good enough for my son. Even just its location so close to the heart of drugs and street life would be problematic. For me, the answer is no. “Honey, I’m not going to half-help you. Either you’re going to be in a place where you will actually get the help that you need, or I can’t do anything for you. You cannot fight this addiction on your own. You need a lot. You need God to heal your heart. You need God to free you. You haven’t even told me the majority of your stories, but I know you’ve been very hurt. You need God to enter those places of your heart that even you and I can’t see. We’re all humans. We’re all going to mess up. You’re not a failure. We don’t fight against flesh and blood. We fight against evil spirits that fill our minds with those thoughts just like what made you leave your house. You can think you’re doing okay, but all of the sudden, the enemy attacks with those thoughts. And, if you’re not firm and haven’t been taught how to be firm in Christ, you’re not going to be able to win against that enemy. You are so valuable to God. We only come to God and move forward in life, free from our vices, because of the sacrifice of Jesus and because of God’s grace. The whole point in Jesus coming to die for our sins was because we cannot, in and of our own strength, rescue ourselves. We have to let Him rescue us, but it means we have to stop lying to ourselves that we can do it on our own.” He avoids looking in my eyes and stays quiet for a bit. “I’ve seen the way that Teen Challenge has changed the lives of others because it teaches you how to let God strengthen and heal you. You’re my son, and I love you. I want God’s best for you. I believe that your life doesn’t have to be like this, but if you’re not willing to sacrifice your independence on the short-term, you will not see the change in your life and heart in the long-term. If you go there, you’re not going to be alone. You already have brothers there. You know John. You know Jesús.” “How long will it be that I won’t be able to see you? How long will I have to wait to have visits from you?” “Well, you already know that I go once a month anyway, and I’m thinking about going twice a month on those Sundays when I don’t go to Yuscaran. It’s just going to depend on my financial situation. I don’t want you to be far from me either because you’re my son, and I love you, and I want you close to me. But, I also want what’s best for you, and you already know that I can’t give you everything you need. I don’t have a house to take you to or a father to give you. I can’t heal your heart like Jesus can. The commitment to go to Teen Challenge is for a year. I don’t know what God’s going to do in my life in a year, but regardless, you’re mine. As long as you’re willing to let me help you, even when you leave Teen Challenge after a year, I’m willing to help you.” He gets quiet again, but eventually says, “Ok. Whatever you feel like is best for me and is necessary to help me, I trust you.” “No, this can’t just be a decision based on what I want. You have to want to go, or they’re not even going to accept you.” “No, I do because I want to change, and if that’s where I need to go to change, I want to go to Teen Challenge.”


Raúl comes to pick me up hours later, and as I imagined, he has a heart change. He called me protectively questioning and lecturing me about spending money on buying the pins and not taking on burdens that don’t belong to me and being mindful of how much other people like Mami and Papi have suffered in sticking their necks out so much for street kids. But, I calmly remind him that he knows me better—I never want to love or help someone because I expect results or to receive something in return. I want to love and help others unconditionally because it’s what God commands us to do and because He has placed this love in my heart. Even if I never see any results, if I’m obeying God, that is enough. Even if Josuan returns to the streets, escapes from Teen Challenge, and never leaves a life of drugs, every penny, every second of time, and every heartache has to be worth it because the love of Christ compels me—not the desire to see results. And, as I expected, when Raúl sees Josuan, looks at his X-ray, and realizes that no one from his family has come, I see the change on his face. His heart isn’t completely opened, but the proximity to this child makes it impossible for this soft-hearted man to be so adamant in protecting me. When we’re headed home, he tells me, “You don’t have to be doing what you’re doing, but I’m glad you are.” “How can I not help this child, Raúl? He has no one else. You lecture me, and I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but I know you—if you were in the same situation with someone you love, you’d do the same. I’m not interested in having some big ministry. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t think that I’m some magical miracle worker or somehow better than everything that Mami and Papi have experienced, but I can’t ignore the simplicity of the gospel. It’s just that this is a person who I love who has a need, and if I can meet that need, how can I not help him?” “No, you’re right in helping him. And I want to be supportive of that because like you said, you’re not doing it for results. It’s for obedience and for love.”


It’s 6:30 AM when I reach the hospital the following day with Raúl’s dad, a retired X-ray tech, for Josuan’s operation. Hours (and lots of run-around and an angry gringa mama) later, he is finally taken to be operated on. I wait for hours and hours for him to leave the recovery room. In the mean time, a young man, Wilman, starts talking to me. He’s 16 and comes with his adopted mom every ten days to spend four days in the hospital while she is on dialysis. For that reason and because he’s so outgoing, he has friends all over the hospital. We talk about everything—my son, my being a missionary, my other sons in Teen Challenge, his life, his past on the streets, and his love for his adopted mom. When my son finally does leave the recovery room, he has returned to his normal self, eager to eat and joking with me, and my new friend, Wilman, helps me wheel his bed back to the ER since they don’t have space for him on the post-op floor. God always leads me to people who can help me, and if I’m faithful to be compassionate and kind towards them (even when I’m tired), it is always rewarding. Hours and hours of waiting later (and more scolding from the doctor for sitting on the dirty floor), I finally just let my son know I’m going to bring him something to eat and will be back. I haven’t eaten all day. I smell terrible after hours in the summer heat and from loving on a street child who hasn’t bathed in five days. I take a breather, eat a little bit, and turn the question over and over and over in my mind—what am I going to do with him while he’s recovering? I’ve thought about it. I’ve prayed about it. I’ve begged God to give me direction. I’ve called a lady in Tatumbla who has taken in street kids in the past, but she said no. And, the more I weigh my options, the more I know that I really only have one option that is not so much an option but a wonderful opportunity…