A Mother's Heart

 

 

Josuan and I at Teen Challenge before he broke his leg


Josuan
I went to bed last night with a text in English from my son, Josuan, still playing in my mind. “Good night mother. Love you forever.” We’ve spent nearly three weeks together while he’s been living at Raúl’s, and I’ve been going every day to take care of him. I wouldn’t trade these three weeks for anything in the world even though they haven’t been the easiest. It’s scary to be a mom. I’ve never been the only person responsible for someone else’s life before, and it’s a heavy responsibility that keeps me running to Jesus. Just two weeks into motherhood, I was already fielding questions like, “Mom, I have to ask your permission to have a girlfriend, right? How old do I have to be before you’ll give me permission to have a girlfriend?” I pretty much thought I was just going to have to crawl in a hole and hide because I couldn’t believe that this young man who has spent the past four years on the streets independently is willing to submit himself to my rules. But, instead, I called my own dad ready to laugh-cry telling him that I’m not ready to be a mom. Every day, I hear my parents’ words, advice, and rules leaving my own mouth, and while this is often a young person’s worst nightmare, it’s something for which I’m very grateful. It means that I have good parents. It means that I had a good example. It means that unlike the majority of parents in this country, even though I’m still learning how to be a good parent, I had a guideline and still have people just a phone call away who can offer me advice and direction.


I won’t lie—it has been a stretching three weeks, but God has been so faithful! Towards the middle of February, I was looking at my finances, having just made a payment to Alvin for what I still owed him for my car, and I was budgeting. I was thinking about what large costs would be coming to be able to budget myself until my next deposit at the end of the month. I was going to be fine, and I wasn’t worried even though I didn’t know how much the deposit from Outreach Christian Fellowship was going to be. But, then all of this with Josuan happened—an expense I was in no way expecting. When they told me how much it was going to cost to buy the pins to operate on his leg, I was mentally referring to my bank account to know if I was going to be able to do it. The money was there. Then there have been the expenses of paying a nurse to come to the house to clean his wound and take out his stitches. There have been the expenses of everyday living—food, water, and helping Raúl out. At the end of February/beginning of March, I was watching my bank account dwindle and laugh-crying because I had no idea how I was going to make it work. I knew I had the deposit from Outreach coming, but I never know how much it’s going to be. One month it was $25. Others it’s been much more. When I finally found out how much the deposit was, I nearly cried with joy but was even further surprised when I got a text from my mom telling me to call her about my finances. I thought, “Poor Mom, she doesn’t know that I already got the good news before she could tell me.” But, I was wrong. She had more good news—I had gotten more support sent directly to my house rather than just through Outreach. And, all in all, the money I received was the most I’d ever received in all the time that I’ve lived here. It was enough to pay off my debt to Alvin and has been more than enough to sustain my son, (Raúl), and I in the past month. And, in all of this, as I’m reaching out to my son and hoping that he’s learning that he’s not an orphan, God is teaching me that I’m not an orphan either. I have a Heavenly Father with untamed riches who always knows my needs and who provides right when I need it.


In the past three weeks, my son and I have spent countless hours talking. We’ve been over every detail of the day he went back to the streets—where he went, what drugs he bought, how much they cost, who he hung out with, etc. We’ve been over a typical day in his life as a street kid. We’ve talked about his childhood, his past girlfriends, his past hurts, when he accepted Jesus at the age of 12, and his difficulty to forgive his parents. His sense of family is lacking especially since he grew up with his grandparents—with a sweet yet naïve grandmother and an alcoholic, womanizing grandfather who drank the family into great poverty and was abusive to my son’s grandmother. He has been shuffled around or has moved around from house to house, center to center, and has had numerous people try to help him. He’s gone through phases where he’s done well, been off drugs, and working, but they’ve never lasted more than a couple months. Hearing these stories of other relatives, strangers, and even other Christians who have tried to help him leave his drug addictions behind scares me and makes me think, “What makes me any different?” But, I’m not in this for results. I’m in this for love and obedience. But, it’s inevitable that the more time I spend with him, and the more he becomes mine, the more I love him. And, because of that love, there is a part of me so scared of losing my baby. But, this is all God’s work. I have to believe that God’s furious, raging love is enough to rescue my son. The frequency of my prayers for him have become like breathing, and I proclaim the words of Kim Walker-Smith’s song “Break Every Chain” over his life every day. There is power in the name of Jesus to break every chain, break every chain, break every chain. Sometimes, the conviction and authority I feel in declaring those words makes me feel as if I’m slashing the darkness with invisible power, with my song. My son confides in me that he thinks his grandfather practices witchcraft, and the more we talk, the more I realize that this drug addiction is indeed a chain—a generational curse. His great grandfather was a drunk; his grandfather is a drunk; his father who abandoned him is addicted to marijuana and alcohol, and he has a long list of drugs he’s addicted to. But, I make it clear to him that his life does not have to continue in that path. He can be the one to run to Jesus to break that generational curse. His life doesn’t have to continue like his fathers’ before him, and his children’s lives can be different as well.


This past Sunday, we went to Teen Challenge to visit my other sons, and they were celebrating Father’s Day here. The boys performed a drama to a song, “Donde Estas” by Alex Zurdo. The song is a like a letter from a son to an absentee father who perhaps sends child support but who has no real presence or role in the son’s life. Sitting beside Josuan and knowing his story—knowing that his father left for Mexico when he was little, knowing the only thing his father ever gave him was a treasured bicycle, and that the only father figure he’s ever had was a womanizing, abusive alcoholic—I feel the pain of my baby even though he’s looking forward seriously and saying nothing. I call you. I search for you. I don’t have any other attention. Where are you? Where are you? I’m your blood, your son lacking your love. Where are you? Where are you? I put my arm around him in an embrace, and he buries his head in my shoulder where the tears fall as he whispers in my ear, “I just don’t have a dad.” I hold him tightly, but what can I say? I love my child more than life itself. He’s my son. I’m his mom, but I can’t be his dad. I look up talking to my Heavenly Father with a broken heart, “Daddy, please be my baby’s father, and please give me a father for my sons.” On the way home, my son is explaining to Hermana Martha why he was crying, but he assures her, “It’s okay though. I may not have a dad, but I DO have a mom.” And I reply, “You have a Heavenly Father. And we’re trusting God to provide you an earthly father.”


This past Monday, we went to the Teen Challenge office to talk to the pastor. The earliest he’ll be able to go is April 1 because he has to go to his check-up first to know if he needs a cast or physical therapy and because the week of Easter, the Teen Challenge office will be closed. Part of me is incredibly exhausted and—I won’t lie—is looking forward to a rest. But the majority of me knows that when he does go to Teen Challenge, he’s going to leave a massive hole in my heart, my life, and my time. My days are spent visiting him, helping him with walking on crutches to the bathroom and the shower, and now that he can move around on crutches well, running errands with him. We celebrate little victories every day when he can move more or farther or easier on crutches. When I had someone else taking care of him during the days I had to help translate for the team from Canada who was here, I would call him numerous times a day to make sure he’d eaten, taken his medicine, and just check in because I missed him. My evenings are spent with my little family—Josuan and Raúl. Because I’m going through the trouble of cooking for Josuan and myself, I bring food for Raúl too. And we eat together and watch movies together before I go home. It blesses me how Raúl has helped me with Josuan, when he's concerned about buying him socks, or when he gives me advice when I'm at a loss for an answer. I like to watch my son joking with Raúl, and I can’t help but smile when he makes comments to me about how he wants to buy a motor bike just like Raúl and have the same hobby of motocross. Before I go to sleep, I ask God to hold my heart because I know that when my baby leaves, even though I know he needs to be in Teen Challenge, my heart’s going to break. I’m going to miss our little family.


This time has been so precious to me and has been such a God-given blessing for my son as well. He struggles often with the question of “Why me? Why did my mom abandon only me? Why did she keep all of my brothers and sisters with her but not me?” Initially, he was really jealous of his adopted brothers at 21, on the street, and Teen Challenge and told me often that he wanted to be my only son. I just had to laugh and tell him that he was going to have to get over it because God told me a long time ago that I was going to be a mother of nations. Since Sunday, though, I have seen a change in his attitude. He’s ready and excited to be with his brothers. And, I feel reassured to know that he’s going to be surrounded by love and family. It's going to be hard to let him go and put him in God's protective hands, but I'm excited to see what God is capable of doing in his life and heart. I don’t know what God is doing with my life; I don’t know what He has for me next. But, my life this year has opened my heart radically and has exploded with love, and I’m excited for the next adventure of obedience.


Teen Challenge a month ago during the church service



Teen Challenge



Hermano Nati with Josuan a month ago at Teen Challenge



Some of my sons with me at Teen Challenge a month ago--
Josuan, Marvin, and John

Teen Challenge

This past Sunday, I headed to Teen Challenge to visit my sons with Josuan, Hermana Martha, Ashley, and Marelyn. (Those young women are all involved in Yuscaran ministry and street ministry with me.) Words cannot express the joy I felt in my heart in seeing a much happier, much more settled in Jesús dancing up front during praise and worship. When I met my precious son, he couldn’t stand or walk or talk, but now, he is dancing for Jesus. Is there any greater miracle? Is there anything more beautiful? My child had no one. My child didn’t know where he was going to go or what he was going to do. The path of his life was leading to death through drugs and gang life, but now, I see joy on his face. There is hope for my Jesús just like there is hope for John, for Marvin, for Eric, and for Josuan. “Mom! I’m already changing because Jesus is helping me!” There is no greater joy for this proud mama. When the service was over, and we had all eaten together, Jesús wanted to take some pictures together. As I mentioned, they were celebrating Father’s Day, and my heart broke thinking of Jesús whose father died when he was around 10, but God is holding each one of my sons in His hands. “I want to get a picture in front of the mural of Jesus because God’s my Heavenly Father!”


It was a great day. Marvin entertained us all with jokes and took me around to see each house for each tribe. John had to work guarding the gate, but we got to see him when we were leaving. He and Josuan have known each other for a long time, and hearing my oldest son advising and encouraging Josuan blessed me in a way I can’t explain. John has such a gift of being a leader, and when I first met him a year ago, my dream was to see my son using that amazing gift of leadership for the Kingdom of God. Months and months of prayer later, here he is doing just that. I am so unbelievably privileged that I just get to be here to witness it. And it has been such a blessing to have people like Nati, Martha, Marelyn, and Ashley who are such ready partners in this motherhood and are there to encourage me and my sons.


Some days, I feel like a terrible mom. Some days, I feel like I’m not enough or like I’m so tired that I’m going to collapse. Some days, I beg God to not make me continue to be a single mom. This role as mami is so humbling because I have no idea what I’m doing. Some days, I feel so overwhelmed when faced with the question from John or Jesús or Josuan of, “After my year in Teen Challenge, where am I going to go, Mom?” And, I don’t have an answer. A lot can happen in a year, and I certainly hope it does. And, it’s certain that I want my sons close to me, but we just have to wait on God because only He knows how He is going to provide for our needs. He has worked so miraculously in the lives of my sons with such little effort from myself that I have to trust that while I can't make anything happen, He is making everything happen in ways that I never dreamed possible. All He asks of me is supernatural love and enough obedience to say "yes" to Jesus when the Holy Spirit is tugging on my heart.

Jesús with his Heavenly Father

  

 Proud, joyful mother and precious son




Just spending time with my boys...



Street Ministry

For a little over the past month, Hermano Nati, Hermana Martha, and I have been going with a varying collection of friends that usually includes Marelyn and Ashley and sometimes others to give out food on the streets of Comayaguela at night. We go on behalf of Papi Alvin, who has already built a reputation and trust with the street dwellers, but Papi has never gone with our little group. As money permits, we go once a week. In the past couple of weeks, we’ve taken sweatshirts and sweatpants because God graciously provided the money to buy some bales of used sweatshirts and sweatpants that were at half price. We are doing our best to learn names and stories and just spend some time at each of our various stops. At one of our stops, that is primarily full of impoverished (and often hungry) families, we put on a cartoon movie about Jesus’ miracles and had a bit of evangelization time. The kids there are already asking when we’ll bring another movie.

Each stop is uniquely different, with different faces and different attitudes. Just like the dynamic of every class for a teacher is different, the dynamic of each one of our stops is completely different. The majority of our people are young people, but we see small children, adults, and elderly as well. One of the places we go is where my son, Josuan, used to hang out. I happen to like that spot a lot simply because it’s almost guaranteed that I’ll see several of my 21 boys. I see Jonathan from time to time and my son’s best friend, Fredy.

I think the biggest amazement for us as a group is less about what we’re doing for these kids—it’s more about what God is doing in our own hearts. We are absolutely compelled by love. We anticipate with excitement when the day approaches that we’re going to the streets because it’s like going to see our own children. God has given us a heart of adoption, and it’s evident not only in the love that He’s placed in our hearts but also in the ways that the children themselves call us “Mami” and “Papi.” While this has been the case for me for a long time in the IHNFA centers, etc., it continues with us that we go to a stop and see or talk to a kid and feel an instant connection that tells us, “This child is yours.” And while we go for all of the children and adults, there is a special search that takes place each time we go to a spot where one of our children lives. Our eyes scan the crowds methodically until we see our precious child’s face, or we ask around until we know where he or she is.

We have big dreams with this work, but we also have a commitment to obey only God’s direction. We’re not in this to build our own kingdom or frantically or forcefully try to make our needs be met or dreams come to fruition. There is a learning curve. There are no shortcuts with God, and if and when He means for us to have more or do more, He Himself will lead the way. For the moment, even though I’m sometimes overwhelmed by the need to have a place to take the street kids who want to leave the life of the streets, I’m almost afraid to have more on my shoulders because I’m overwhelmed with just one son who came from the streets. I need the learning curve. I need the preparation. I need God to give me the patience, wisdom, and endurance at His pace because if I go at mine, I’ll burn out. We’re making a start. We’re doing our best to be faithful in the small things. We know that there are more needs than just food once a week. We know that a sweatshirt can’t warm a heart like Jesus. But, we want to love in His way, not ours. We want to show them Jesus consistently not just in handing them a tract or giving them a sermon and ditching. We want to come alongside them. We want them to feel like part of a loving family. We want them to see Jesus in us as much or more than they hear about Jesus. We don’t just want to do the easy thing in handing them a sandwich, inviting them to church, and not taking the time to hear them and really see them. We want to fulfill the Great Commission to go into the darkest corners with the light of the Gospel rather than expecting a broken, often ashamed collection of beautiful people to have the bravery to grace our church doors. Jesus told us to go and preach the Gospel. He didn’t say go tell people to come to your church to hear the Gospel. And, as St. Francis of Assisi said, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words.” We are the temples of the Holy Spirit which means that we can bring Him to them wherever we go. And the Gospel really is as simple as, “Stop for the One and stop for the one.” The Gospel sometimes looks like holding a sleepy child. Sometimes, it looks like a plate of rice. Sometimes, it looks like thumb wrestling with a dirty kid, high on shoe glue. More than anything, the Gospel is Love manifested, and it’s radical obedience, and we feel privileged that God is letting us be a part of his precious work with our friends and sons and daughters who live on the streets.

Some of our kids and I. The little guy in my arms is my special friend, Wilmer. He is SO PRECIOUS!



Benjamin and Nick



Marelyn and Ashley with one of our boys

Playing the movie in the middle of the dirt

This boy recognized me because he was at 21 during Christmas time and received a gift from me.

Ariel and I--he's one of my 21 boys, and he cries every time I leave.

 

Thomas with our kids

Sorting through sweatpants with Hermana Martha

Hermano Nati with his adoptive son, Oscar

"Morry" and I--he never wants to tell me his real name

The boy in the picture is Fredy, my son, Josuan's best friend

Sorting through sweatshirts with Hermano Nati

Junior (who is my 11-year-old son) with Nick

Canada Team
We recently had a great team from a church in Canada, Lifebridge, who took part in street ministry with us (as well as every other part of the ministry). These very special 18 people took the time to listen to our stories and to encourage us. We were so blessed by their generosity, their interest in the lives of our adopted sons and daughters, and their support.

Moises, Dave, and Junior



Some of the Lifebridge team

What's Next?

Personally, I feel as if I'm back to where I was a month ago. It's kind of a, "This is good. I know I'm being obedient to God. I'm tired but I'm full of joy and amazed by the depth of the love He's put in my heart. But, what's next? There's got to be more, so what's next?" That’s how I was feeling a month ago, like something was lacking. And that’s exactly when all of this adventure with Josuan happened. If someone would have told me even in January that I’d be taking care of a street kid (not just any street kid but my adopted son) in Raúl’s house for a month, I would’ve thought that person was crazy. But my heart has just burst wide open in a way I never expected simply by saying “yes” to Jesus. God Himself is teaching me. The Holy Spirit is giving me the wisdom and endurance day by day. But, once my son goes to Teen Challenge and this adventure is over, what’s next? I can’t be content with being a “normal,” comfortable missionary. I can’t be content with a “normal,” comfortable ministry. His love is deeper, wider, and more unpredictable than that. I can’t be satisfied with falling into a routine of what it means to love or what it means to minister when God has made it clear through this experience that He has more, He asks for more, and longs to let me be a part of more. I don’t want to miss any opportunity to become more like Jesus. So, Papá God, what’s next?

All of my love,
Sarah

I Mean Everything to You Part II

It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m on the phone with my mom. I’m trying to explain to her what I feel in my heart for my son, how torn I feel, and yet how overcome with love I am, and all I can do is cry. I’m not hurt. I’m not upset. I’m not scared. Well, I'm not that scared. I’m just overcome. The passion that is burning in my heart is just flowing from my eyes and down my cheeks. I have talked with every possible person in my life, looking for advice. I have prayed and prayed. I have weighed my options. God’s been getting me up at 4:15 AM every morning no matter how late I am up the night before, and I’m wide-awake, so I just start praying. The more I pray, the more I read the Word, the more I know that the Gospel is so simple. Either the Bible is true, or it’s not. Stop for the one. Love the one. Love your neighbor as yourself. The majority of advice I’ve gotten from people trying to protect me has been to put Josuan in 21 de Octubre until he can recover enough to go to Teen Challenge. Months ago, before ever adopting any of these boys, I had texted Raúl randomly telling him that I NEVER wanted to put any of my children—adopted or biological—in an IHNFA center, especially not 21 de Octubre and that my children could kill me first before I would abandon them in that form. My standard for myself in adoption even long before adopting has always been that I want to treat my adopted children the same way I would treat my biological children (who don’t even exist yet). God has no ugly stepchildren in His Kingdom. He doesn’t treat us like we’re second-class. He loves us all as His children in the same way that He loves Jesus. How can I be any different in my love for my children? So, I’m struggling because I’m not a rebellious person. I’m actually very submissive to the advice and ideas of others, but I cannot deny what I feel so strongly to be true—that love does not look like putting my son in a center where they treat the children like animals just because it’s more convenient, safer, or financially cheaper for me. All I can think of is what the Bible says that whatever we’re doing to the least of these, it’s as if we’re doing it to/for Jesus. If Jesus, my loving Lord and precious Savior, were to be in the same situation as my son—with a broken leg, with no family willing to take him, and in need of rehabilitation because of years of hurt and drug abuse, would I really put Jesus in a center where I wouldn’t even send my dog? Obviously not. So, how could I do the same with my son who I love more than I never knew possible? I always want to respect the ideas and wisdom of others, and I appreciate the concern that so many people in my life have, but I cannot shake the deep deep conviction that it would be a grand sin to toss my son into whatever convenient location is possible. The Bible doesn’t say to love your neighbor as yourself only if you think the person is going to change. It doesn’t say love your neighbor as yourself if you’ve known your neighbor for x amount of time and can trust him or her. It doesn’t say love your neighbor as yourself only if it won’t disturb your comfortable, convenient life. It says love your neighbor as yourself. Period. Would I want to be in 21? Absolutely never.


I reach a point where I feel like however I handle myself in this situation is going to determine my life as a missionary from this point on. I can feel the weight in this decision not just for Josuan but for myself, for my character, for my faith, and for my future. I begin to think about how it’s going to be necessary to stop going to 21 de Octubre, Sagrado Corazón, and Casitas so that I have sufficient time to take care of my son. And, I’m worried about how that’s going to look since that’s more or less all that I do other than office stuff. But, I have to analyze what my being a missionary really means. Is ministry going to these centers to “minister” to children who are just like my son—street kids, with drug addictions, with sad stories, etc.—with teaching and prayer within the comfort of those four walls where I can come and go as I please? Yes, but ministry also has to be very simple and very practical. How can I call myself a missionary if I can’t do this basic thing of stopping for the one? How can I call myself a missionary if I refuse to love this precious child back to life by caring for him until he recovers just because it’s going to mean letting go of my “ministry” for a time? How can I call myself a missionary if I don’t feel enough compassion to feed, clothe, provide shelter, and demonstrate love tangibly? I can’t. And, if I’m only here loving and helping others in order to see results or in order to fill a Christian quota or in order to make myself look good, I better just pack my suitcases now. No, this goes deeper. This is about intimacy with God. This all boils down to my motives. This boils down to the question of who do I love, fear, or respect most—man or God? Whose opinion and direction is more important to me? The heart of a missionary has to be a heart of intimacy with God, and my work as a missionary has to spring from a motive of love and being in love with God. Christ’s love COMPELS me—not because it’s what I’m supposed to do to somehow earn God’s love. It’s not because other Christians are going to approve of me. It’s not to build some grand, spiritual kingdom of numbers and programs and strategies. It’s about love and being in love with Jesus in such a way that even the thought of treating someone—a wreck of a human being in human eyes or the most upstanding citizen—any less than how we’d treat Jesus or want ourselves to be treated that it grieves our spirit just as it grieves the Holy Spirit.


I spend a significant span of time talking to Raúl about this, and I get overwhelmed with his protectiveness and advice because I feel lectured as if I’m doing something wrong when all I want to do is obey God and love like Jesus. I finally explain that while I appreciate his concern and protection, he is presenting me with problems without giving me a solution. I don’t mind being protected. I like being protected and receiving the perspectives of other people—and in this case, Christian men especially—to help me make my decisions. But, what good does it do me to receive so much advice and perspectives on possible problems if I’m not being presented a solution? Talk is cheap. Action and support mean everything and make accepting protection actually possible and enjoyable.


It’s Wednesday night, and I’m sitting beside my son’s hospital bed. We’ve been laughing and joking and talking about all kinds of things. I can’t help but feel that I am so privileged to have this time with him. I treasure it. I treasure each little thing I’m learning about him. I feel often that I’m not a very good mom because I’ve never had the experience of being a mom. So, a lot of things that normally occur to moms, don’t occur to me. It doesn’t occur to me that I should probably bring him some food until I am right outside the hospital ready to go inside. It doesn’t occur to me that I should probably demand to talk to a doctor to know what pain medication I should be buying him. It doesn’t occur to me that I should probably bring him a toothbrush and toothpaste and other hygiene items. I’m just not used to being the only person that someone has. I’m not used to being the sole provider or only person responsible. I don’t dislike being in the position I’m in, and I definitely don’t regret opening my heart so wide to help my baby. But, I am constantly learning and feeling inadequate and begging God to teach me.


As we’re talking, some doctors come over without introducing themselves and start discussing his case. (It’s called Hospital Escuela [School] for a reason.) They mention in their conversation that he should be ready to go home tomorrow, and I can feel the panic rise up within me. I knew it wouldn’t be too long after he was operated on that they’d release him, but I have nothing in place. I haven’t found a room to put him in. I haven’t found out if Teen Challenge will take him while he is on crutches. I haven’t gotten his clothes from his mom. And, when they leave, the question I anticipated but dreaded came up, “So, where am I going to go tomorrow?” I have no reason to ever lie to my children, so I told him clearly what my options were—finding a room on terribly short notice or putting him back in 21. As a single, young woman living on the property of another family, there is no way it would be appropriate or respectful for me to take him to my house. He, himself, tells me that I should put him in 21 so as not to spend so much money and time on him. But, to me, that’s the point. I want to spend time and money on him because I want him to know he’s not some random street kid to me. He’s my son. I love him. What a great opportunity to show my child the love of Jesus. How could I miss that? But, my son starts trying to convince me to put him in Casa Alianza. As mentioned in the previous post, the things I’ve heard about Casa Alianza do not in any way make me excited to send him there. However, in talking to him, I can see that in comparison to 21, it is better. So, I feel slightly more at peace that if I absolutely have to put him in a center, that at least he wouldn’t be treated like an animal in Casa Alianza. But, I’m terrified of losing him to drugs again, and I don’t want to put him in an environment that sets him up for failure. But, what are my options realistically for tomorrow?


When Raúl picks me up to take me home, we talk. I explain what my son has told me about Casa Alianza, and I’m surprised at how adamant Raúl is that that isn’t a good idea—for the same reason I don’t like the idea. I will lose him to drugs because of the proximity and easy accessibility in that center. This is coming from the man who just lectured me about not renting a room and told me to put him in 21. How am I supposed to win? We talk some more and weigh the options together, although at the end of the day, he stands by the truth that this is really my problem, not his. I go to bed having no idea where I will take my son tomorrow.


I get up early this morning and start praying. I tell God that I trust Him, that I’m ready to have an adventure with Him today, and that I believe He’s already giving me favor and opening the doors. I read Isaiah 49 that has been so wildly encouraging and such a personal promise to me. And, I head out my door ready to tackle whatever the day holds with a worshipful heart and a smile. I go first down to Raúl’s business to check and see if Nahum was able to bring the crutches he’s loaning me. (I’ve pretty much pulled out all the stops in asking for favors from everyone I know for this very special case.) As I’m walking to the business, God reminds me of something I had forgotten long ago. But, like a flash, it’s such a beautiful confirmation that I’m doing the right thing that I can’t help but laugh and dwell on God’s goodness. When I was around 16-years-old, I felt God very clearly tell me that my first son’s name was going to be Joshua. I thought that meant that I needed to name my firstborn son Joshua. But, it’s one of those things I felt like God told me but later forgot about or thought that had come from my own head, etc. In any case, it was long buried until this morning. Although Josuan’s name is not spelled like the English name Joshua, it is pronounced by him and his mother as we pronounce Joshua in English. He is the first of my adopted boys who has become mine outside the four walls of a center. He’s the first who has become mine in the sense of complete responsibility, and he got out before Jesús. He was first. God knew eight years ago that all of this was going to happen, and He told me in an obscure, random moment so that I could have that strong confirmation on just this day. What an amazing story teller!


I head to see his mom to pick up his clothes and surprisingly run into another one of my sons from 21. He’s one that wasn’t there for long, and I really only helped him by contacting his family to let them know where he was and to come visit him (since no one in the office had let them know where their missing son was). “Sarah!” He calls out to me with a giant smile and a hug and proudly tells me that he’s working with his uncle and that he’s doing well. And I hear words from Isaiah 49 echo in my head:
Lift up your eyes and look around; all your children gather and come to you. You will wear them all as ornaments; you will put them on, like a bride. . . . Then you will say in your heart, ‘Who bore me these? I was bereaved and barren; I was exiled and rejected. Who brought these up? I was left all alone, but these—where have they come from?’ . . . Then you will know that I am the Lord; those who hope in me will not be disappointed. I spend a lot of time talking to Josuan’s mom, and I hear a lot of her side of the story for the first time. I won’t lie—I still struggle to understand how a mother can refuse to visit her wayward son in the hospital, but I have a better understanding and greater compassion for her own hurts and struggles after hearing her experiences. It’s impossible to give a Love you’ve never received.


Next, I head to the Teen Challenge office, and I cautiously ask the secretary if they accept boys who are on crutches temporarily, and I think I’ll jump out of my skin with gratefulness to God when I hear that they will. So, I start making plans. I can get his medical tests done today. I can scan the picture I have that is necessary. I can get his birth certificate from his mom today. And, I can take him to his interview tomorrow. He could go as early as tomorrow. I excitedly call Raúl to let him know and ask him if he wouldn’t mind talking to Estiven (who lives with him) about Josuan’s staying there just until he’s accepted at Teen Challenge. He agrees to talk to Estiven and to let me know. I call Raúl’s dad who has agreed to help me pick up my son to take him wherever he’s going to go. He can’t until the middle of the day, though, so that buys me some time.

I head to the hospital, but they won’t let me on my son’s floor. As always, God sent me some friends (of course, they were in it to try to get my phone number) to help. When I arrive, I talk to one of his doctors and find out that he can indeed go home today but that he’s going to need his wound cleaned every other day, his stitches taken out in two weeks, and a check up in three. That changes the game plan. So, I call Raúl to let him know. I ask if he can still stay there even if it’s just for a few days until I can find another room or another option. He says that’s fine. When I return from calling Raúl, my son has visitors. His grandmother and a man are there. My heart sinks. In a flash, I can just envision this elderly woman who has raised him more than any other person in his life demanding to take him home with her, and I feel like I’ll drown because this is my son. I love him like mine. I’ve worked so hard this week to take care of him and to make him see that he is loved and that his life is worth getting help in Teen Challenge, and in a second, I could lose him because I have no legal rights. But, I also know that I have to be content with what I’ve always said that even if nothing changes, if I never see any results, if I’ve been obedient to love like Jesus and please God, I’m content.

But, it becomes apparent that he has no intent of deserting me. When the nurse comes in, she sees me and the grandmother and asks Josuan if his grandmother is his mom. He points at me and says, “No, she’s my mom.” And, knowing that his grandmother might feel slighted, I quickly explained, “And she’s his grandmother.” Josuan explains to his grandmother how I’ve been there for him, paid for his operation, and have plans to take him to Teen Challenge. And, I feel such an intense relief when I hear his grandmother say, “I’m so glad. God is going to bless you for helping him. All I want to know is how I can visit him there.” Now, I not only have my son’s permission to act as his mom, but I also have his biological mother’s permission and his grandmother’s permission. He is mine in every sense of the word.


Raúl’s dad arrives, and we finally start heading home. But, it becomes apparent with each passing moment, each grimace of pain on my baby’s face, and each difficulty in the slightest movement that there is no way I’m just going to be able to put him into Teen Challenge immediately. He is going to need some recovery time, and I don’t know if Raúl and Estiven are willing to bear with me for that long. But, I just decide to focus on this moment. The road to Raúl’s apartment is so terrible, steep, and full of giant, rocky bumps. I have never had my own kids, so I, perhaps, cannot truly speak about this. But, hearing my child literally yelling in pain as we drive up the road and as we carry him down the stairs to Raúl’s apartment and not being able to do anything about it is the worst feeling in the world. It makes me sick to my stomach even now to think about it. But he is finally situated. Estiven asks me how long he’ll be there, and I can’t answer that question. The thought of putting him through the kind of pain I saw him experience today just to move him pains me.


After some hours of recovery sleep, he is awake, reading some books I brought, and telling me how hot it is. I spend the afternoon with him. We talk about a lot of things including stories from the past. And I let him call his sister who is his best friend. I contact the nurse from 21 who just happens to be a neighbor to ask her to come clean his wound rather than having to drive him to a health center every other day. She readily agrees. I didn’t even know this woman was my neighbor until about a month ago. God is so good to me. I talk to Orlin (who is back around with Papi and trying to leave behind his own drug addictions) about helping my son bathe, and he also readily agrees. I ask Mami Nelly to let me have some food from the house to take him just for today since I have no groceries in my own house (since I haven’t been home all this week—I also have piles of dirty laundry and clutter because I’ve been running so much), and she readily agrees. And this is the beauty of obedience—that I take a step (even in defying all of these people’s advice), and my own faith and adamant obedience in love releases those same people to be compassionate, obedient, and loving, letting their own guards down even just a little. Undoubtedly, the biggest change I’ve seen in the ripple effect of my own obedience is in Raúl. Words cannot express my gratitude for how he is helping me in allowing Josuan to stay there. And this is coming from the man who adamantly insisted that I put Josuan in 21.


It’s getting later, and Raúl is planning to try to find something to eat. I haven’t eaten all day since I’ve been in Mom mode, so I ask if I can go with him and if he can take me home afterward. He agrees. I do a final check of my son who is reading a newspaper, and he assures me that he’s fine and doesn’t need anything else, so I tell him good night and leave. As Raúl and I sit together eating greasy, fried chicken and drinking Fresca, I feel so grateful to be able to leave Mom mode for even just a little bit of time and to have someone to share the stories with. And, he starts telling me about his own situations with some young female family members of a friend of ours who showed up needing a place to stay because their mother kicked them out. I am appalled at myself at how quickly I jump into protective advice mode just as he has done with me—not so much in the act of helping but in doing so in a way that is appropriate for a single guy with two teenage girls. I have to catch myself and backtrack and even as I’m protectively lecturing him, I also cautiously add just as he has that it’s his life and his decisions, but I’m always willing to support him and help him in any way I can. Because of respect for Mami and Papi and the fact that I live on their property, I can’t tell him to tell them to come stay with me. But, if I were in a position where I didn’t have to consider the privacy, etc. of Mami and Papi, I would, because my heart is to support him in his desire to help others just as he is doing for me. At the very least, he can send them my way for a female listening ear and some advice.


Now, I’m sitting in my bed so unbelievably sore from walking the long, long walk from my house to Raúl’s apartment about four times today. (And that’s only going to increase.) I’m realizing that my child doesn’t have any deodorant, probably has dirty clothes I need to wash, and I have no idea what I’m going to give him for breakfast. And I’m marveling that today has fallen so perfectly into place and has been an amazing adventure and that tomorrow is another day. This year thus far has been crazy in the absolute best way. As has always been the case for me in my life, when I finally let go of how I think my life is supposed to look or how my life purpose is supposed to unfold and just let God dream for me, my life explodes with greater meaning that I ever knew was possible. I can’t help but smile knowing that God knew ages ago and told me eight years ago that my first son would be Josuan, and while I never thought I’d be pushing my first (16-year-old) son in a wheelchair instead of as a baby in a stroller, I can think of nothing more perfect to commence my motherhood. As Nahum told me this morning (after lecturing me just like everyone else), “Really, Sarah, it’s about time. I’m surprised you haven’t started opening your heart to help like this sooner. It’s about time.”


What a beautiful life I lead. What a privilege it is. What an unspeakable joy to know that just as this son means everything to me more and more each day. He, Raúl, and I all mean everything to God. And so do you. Do you feel that love? As soon as you let yourself, it will turn your world perfectly upside down.