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| My son, Josuan--have you ever seen anyone so lovable in your life? I think not. |
What a whirlwind couple of weeks it has been! I spent my Easter week taking an adventure with my son to Oropoli, the small pueblo where he is from that is an hour further on the same road where Yuscaran is. This was my first road trip as a driver here in Honduras, and even though it was only three hours away, in some ways, it was worlds apart from my reality. We stayed with my son’s grandparents, who raised him until he left for the streets at age 12. They’re both in their eighties, and they live in a house in the middle of nowhere—you wouldn’t believe the places I drove my little car—with no electricity or indoor plumbing. We took some food with us because I never like to go places empty-handed, and it was good that we did. We spent peaceful days going to swim in some hot springs and in the river, and we ate coconuts, mangoes, and yucca grown on their property. We listened to the radio by candlelight at night and went to a Church of Christ service with Josuan’s uncle, whose life has completely turned around after being an alcoholic who was in jail for a time. It is very tricky to be an adoptive mom to someone who still has family. His grandparents were very sweet and accepting of me, and his grandmother told me that she considers me to be part of the family. But, I looked at this living situation and this woman who spent her life mercifully raising my son (and she obviously does care greatly for him), and I couldn’t help but feel like, “Who am I? What qualifications or right do I have to be raising this kid?” Hearing my son calling me “Mami” in front of his grandmother and being sensitive to her feelings or being constantly loved on and embraced by my son in front of his family was surprisingly very difficult for me because I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I have a month and a half of being his mom in the sense of being the one responsible for him compared to the years his grandparents have struggled with him. And, quite honestly, even as my son was giving me hugs and telling me, “I love you so much, Mami,” I could feel myself just freezing up inside and building walls around my heart because I didn’t feel worthy of that love. I’m perfectly comfortable being the one loving, serving, and giving, but when that love is reciprocated, I have great difficulty in receiving it. When we went to the church service with Josuan’s uncle, in typical God-fashion, in a worship service that didn’t include any flash or instruments and consisted of dry voices and worn song books, He found me. He reminded me of the very same thing He told me in October of last year when I was convinced that God had picked the wrong girl to be a missionary here because I didn’t feel like I had enough patience or compassion to do a good job. He told me, “I chose you. You’re Josuan’s mom because I chose you. That is what qualifies you.” And I couldn’t help but cry as my son wrapped me up in his arms and buried his head in my shoulder because there is no greater privilege or greater reassurance than that the God of the universe picked you.
It was a good trip, very eye-opening. I can see how my son went astray, and I can see much pain that resides in each member of the family. And, as I was praying that God would show me how to love them, I think the answer I received was that my role was to love Josuan back to life, and through Josuan, God’s going to do the rest of the restoring in the rest of the family.
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| Josuan with his Mamá (grandmother) |
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| What a little man... |
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| The hot springs |
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| The river |
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Josuan's Papá (grandfather) and I
Motherhood I’m the kind of person who gives 100% or nothing. This has been true in my short span of motherhood as well, but there’s a catch to this aspect of my personality. I only have the strength (especially as an introvert) to give 100% of myself when I have a set deadline and know how long I have to last until I can rest. Thus, because I received my son in a baby-like state when he couldn’t walk, I set myself up doing everything for him even though he’s 16 because he couldn’t do it himself and because I was so afraid of being a bad mom. (I’m way more difficult on myself than anyone else ever is on me.) Thus, even though I’ve been exhausted not just from washing laundry by hand, trying to figure out how to feed someone who after spending years eating out of dumpsters is surprisingly a very picky eater, and from running between Raúl’s house and my house but also because I have someone demanding my undivided time and attention at all times, I just kept telling myself that it was just until he goes to Teen Challenge—not much longer. Thus, he was being a bit spoiled, really, after he could start moving around on crutches because I thought, “How long am I going to have him with me? I might as well take advantage of the time together.” So, I took him to his first movie and his first time to the circus. I’m learning so much about being a parent, more than I could ever express, but I will say that one of the joys I’ve discovered in being a parent is seeing the wonder on your child’s face when he or she is experiencing something for the first time. It makes the world seem new again. So, these were definite joys, but the exhaustion and lack of time to be by myself to reflect, recharge, and even just to sleep has been wearing on me.
The honeymoon phase has worn off. Thus, my son gets angry when he doesn’t get his way, and as a single mom, I have absolutely no one to back me up. Thankfully, he’s never back-talked me or gotten physical in any way; he just acts like a five-year-old all angry and serious and looking back at me every so often to see if his behavior is going to make me cave and give him what he wants (it’s not). My child is so precious that I have to laugh at this moment (that I’m thankfully not on mom duty because Raúl is graciously giving me a break) at the fact that he fake sneezes, acts like he’s falling with his crutches, or repeats Raúl’s jokes or phrases or the nickname Raúl gave me that I hate (La Jefa—the boss woman) over and over just to get my attention, but it does wear me out. I am learning to say no and how to tune out nagging. I’m learning not to let my fear that my kid is going to leave me and return to a life of drugs keep me from disciplining him when he needs it. It’s not easy, and like I said, I’ve been telling myself, “Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer.”
In the past week, I’ve had three people on separate occasions tell me that I’m looking really skinny, and I don’t get the impression that they’re complimenting me. It could be because I don’t even remember to eat, or if I do, it’s an orange or a piece of bread or whatever happens to be within reach as I’m running out the door to make sure my son has eaten, has done his physical therapy exercises, or is ready to go to his doctor’s appointment. Sleep is also limited because when I get home from whatever has occupied my day and after being surrounded by people or bombarded with, “Mami, look at this! Mami, I want this! Jefa, please? Jefa, why not?”, my brain needs some time to digest and recharge even before it’ll let me sleep. My grocery bills are outrageous. My house is in a general state of mess. And, it’s more or less a miracle if I can get through a day without crying at some point. I say all of this and know that none of this is new for many of you who have years and years of being parents. This, however, is all very very new for me. I never thought my first child would be a 16-year-old with drug problems who’s lived for the past four years on the streets off and on. I never thought I’d be a single mom. I never realized I’d be fielding questions like, “Why can Hermano Nati’s children go to do street ministry with you, but I can’t?” or comments like, “Mami, please don’t tell people I’m your adopted son. I don’t like the sound of that. People don’t have to know I’m adopted.” It, of course, does not matter that we look incredibly different, nor does it matter that I usually can’t even pass for 23 much less old enough to have a 16-year-old son. Thus, when we went to the Teen Challenge office for what was probably a fourth or fifth time, I was begging God to have mercy on me. We’d gone on April 1, waited all morning, and were told that he should wait until Friday, April 5, just to give him more time to recuperate. We come back on Friday, wait all morning, and were told by the pastor that he’d definitely go on Monday. I thought I was going to collapse with exhaustion, and that weekend we spent together nearly drove me to my breaking point, but we’ll get to that in a second. We go on Monday of this week, wait all morning, and the pastor sends his assistant to tell us that they won’t accept him until he can walk without crutches. I nearly cried. The assistant told me in English, so my son is excitedly asking me, “I’m not leaving yet? Are we going home?” and I’m trying to fathom how I’m going to maintain my sanity for another month and half at least. I let him know what was said and let him into the car to wait for me while I pay for Jesús. I’m doing my best to breathe, but all I can envision is dropping my son off at Raúl’s house and going to Raúl’s business to collapse into exhaustion tears. But, when I enter the car, I see pain all over my son’s face, and he tells me bravely, “If it’s too much, if you’re too tired, if you need to, you can put me in Casa Alianza. It’s ok.” I just about died, and just like a defibrillator shocking me back to life, I feel a surge of love within me that screams that there is no way I can do that. It would be the greatest mistake of my life. So, I pull his face to look at mine, stare into his eyes and tell him, “Honey, there is no way I’m going to do that. You don’t stop being my son just because you’re not going to Teen Challenge yet. You don’t stop being my son just because I’m tired. I’m going to find a way to take a rest, and I’m going to be okay, and we’ll be fine.” He looks away, unconvinced, and we start talking about how I need help. Now that he can wash his own clothes, he needs to. We can bring my little two-burner stove to Raúl’s, so he can help cook some of his own meals. I need him to quit nagging me so much about practicing to drive, etc. and to learn that when I say no, I mean no. We stop to get groceries, so the whole process can begin again, but before we get out of the car, I give him a hug and tell him, “You’re not a burden. You’re my son, and I love you. Don’t worry. Don’t feel bad. We’re okay.” And, within hours, he’s back to himself, telling me, “Jefa, I’m been thinking about what I want for my birthday…” His birthday is in February, ladies and gentlemen. Violent Love This past weekend, I had my first experience of the violence that gets proclaimed in every newspaper in Honduras every day. Because I thought I was only going to have my son for another weekend and because I was wondering what I was going to do with that time, I decided to teach him how to drive. The fracture is in his femur, so he can move his feet just fine. We went to a place where Estiven had told me to go with Benjamin months ago whenever I was practicing driving. I hadn’t had any problems there—it’s just an empty spot on the side of the main road heading towards the city—so I figured we’d be okay. We were there for an hour or so, and I was loving the look on his face as he’s telling me excitedly, “Jefa! Look at me! I’m actually driving!” We were talking about leaving and were stopped, so he could practice the equilibrium of the clutch and accelerator when two guys headed towards us. They looked serious, and I thought they were going to tell us we needed to leave. Had I been in the driver’s seat, I wouldn’t have waited for them to get to us. I would’ve just left. But, I wasn’t in the driver’s seat, and my son can’t drive that well yet. I knew we were in trouble when they came to both sides of the car casually and confidently. The young man on the side of my son yanked the keys from the ignition and had his other hand beneath his shirt. “Give me all you’ve got, or I’ll stick a bullet in you. You’re walking home.” I won’t lie—at no point in time did it cross my mind that he was actually going to shoot me or that I could die. We never actually saw a gun. That may be a little absurd seeing as Honduras is the murder capital of the world, and life is so cheap here. But, it just didn’t cross my mind. Instead, I was telling God, “Please, not my car. Please?” I apparently wasn’t moving fast enough as they took the cell phone I’d loaned to my son and his $5 watch. So, the guy looked at me and told me again, “Give me what you have, or I’ll shoot you!” The other guy on my side thrust his hand inside the door to feel my pocket, so I handed him my cell phone. He grabbed my purse, but I told him, “Wait, I’ll get the money out for you.” I don’t know why I said that other than the thought of losing my debit card, residency card, driver’s license, etc. was just too much, and because like I said, it never actually occurred to me that I was in physical danger. Surprisingly enough, the young man waited for me to take out the near $35 dollars and let me keep my purse. They also didn’t take my rings, and when they were leaving, they threw the keys to my car back at me. My son’s first response was, “You see how God is?” So, we had a long conversation about how there is no reason to blame God. If anything, we should be grateful. Nothing happened to us. They didn’t take some of my most valuable items, miraculously didn’t take the car, and what we did lose was minimal. “I don’t even think they had a gun. I wasn’t going to give them anything!” My son was fuming until I reminded him, “What makes you any different from them?” The majority of assaults like that happen because of drug addictions to crack—a drug to which my son is addicted. While I didn’t know it when I took him in, he later told me that he’d wandered the streets with a knife robbing people to buy crack. “Yeah, but that was me before! I’m not like that now!” “Josuan, everyone has a before. Everyone has a history. The only difference is a matter of time. There is hope for everyone.” “I hope those guys get cancer.” “Honey, let’s analyze here—when you were robbing people, it’s possible someone said something like that about you. Do you want to get cancer?” “No.” “Well, then there is no reason for you to wish that upon them. If anything, we need to forgive them and pray for them. What a sad life—a life you know well—empty and high on drugs without Jesus.” I recovered my phone number the same day and called the phone number of the cell phone that I’d loaned to my son (since I didn’t recover that number). I don’t really know what I had in mind other than I wanted to witness to the thieves, tell them God loves them, and that I forgave them. But, they didn’t answer. In the evening, I dared to ask my son, “When you robbed people at knife point, if they refused to give you what you wanted, what did you do?” “I stabbed them. I never killed anybody, but sometimes, people were bleeding.” And this is the reason that I share this with you: It’s not to scare you. It’s not even to prompt you to pray for my safety (although those prayers are always needed and appreciated). It’s to let you know something God made very clear to me through this experience. The only way to change a country as violent as Honduras is to love as violently as the thieves, rapists, gang members, murderers, and drug addicts rage. And that is possible! It is possible because I’m living it. My son used to be a thief. My son used to rob people at knife point. My son has stabbed people before. But, I look at his life, and first of all, I know that he is forgiven, that his past is no match for God’s grace. And, secondly, I see how furiously God is loving my son and how that is changing his heart and his life. I see the way that God is rescuing him from his drug addictions. I see the bravery and strength that God has placed in my own heart to take him in. I see the sincerity of his heart during worship services, and I feel so loved in his embrace. I marvel at his capacity to forgive his parents. I am surprised that he hasn’t left me for the streets because he truly wants to change. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that 1 John 4:4 is true: You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.
So, why should I fear? Why should I feel weary? God has already overcome the world. My son may be one person, but this one person loved back to life, loved into the Kingdom of God, can wreak just as much havoc in the spiritual realm for the Kingdom of God as he used to wreak in the natural for his empty heart and drug addictions. It brings me to tears when he tells me about waking up from dreams of praying for people and seeing them liberated. It brings me to tears to watch him worship and know that the places God is going to take my son and the call of God on his life are so much greater than I can imagine. I am just one little person. One new, inexperienced, adoptive mom. But, tired or not, how can I not continue to stop for this one person? How can I grow weary in doing this good when I know that stopping for this one can mean that he'll stop for another one and can mean that Honduras changes one person at a time?
I'll leave you with the scripture that has been keeping me going the past couple of days: Isaiah 40:27-31: Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, "My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God"? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. All my love, Sarah
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Beautiful, Sarah! Just beautiful :)
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