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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 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. |
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| Jesús with his Heavenly Father |
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Proud, joyful mother and precious son
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. |
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| Some of our kids and I. The little guy in my arms is my special friend, Wilmer. He is SO PRECIOUS!
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| Playing the movie in the middle of the dirt |
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| This boy recognized me because he was at 21 during Christmas time and received a gift from me. |
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| Ariel and I--he's one of my 21 boys, and he cries every time I leave. |
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| Thomas with our kids |
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| Sorting through sweatpants with Hermana Martha |
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| Hermano Nati with his adoptive son, Oscar |
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| "Morry" and I--he never wants to tell me his real name |
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| The boy in the picture is Fredy, my son, Josuan's best friend |
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| Sorting through sweatshirts with Hermano Nati |
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| 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. |
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| Moises, Dave, and Junior |
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| 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
All of my love,
Sarah
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