Hello all,
I know that it's been far too long since I last updated, and I do plan to write a real update sometime soon when I get around to it. But, for the moment, on this eve of my returning to Honduras after having been in the States for a month, I just want to share a few thoughts:
When I moved to Honduras three years ago, I don't remember shedding a single tear even after saying goodbye to my parents and siblings and childhood home and college friends and having no idea when I'd see them again. I shed my skin of childhood toys and old photographs, close friendships and precious memories, and I didn't look back. I was 22 and full of zeal and vision and purpose as a missionary. I was excited to see what God could do with my little life in a foreign land that felt like home.
Now, that I have been a missionary three years and become a mom and the novelty of tajadas and Spanish and the fear of traffic has totally worn off, I find I can't contain the tears of goodbye. I return to my hometowns and see my friends buying houses and having babies. I visit my extended family and see my cousins growing taller and making big life steps, and I see my grandparents growing older. And, I know that this is time I will never get back. Life does go on when I am not here.
In this short month, God has taken me to new places and old places, and I feel like He's shown me everything that my life could be--the jobs I could have, the homes I could live in, the streets I could walk, the foods I could eat, the conveniences I could enjoy, the accolades I could receive, and the community and family I could be a part of. And He says so kindly, so gently to me, "You know, I will never love you any more or any less for where or how you choose to live. You are my child, and I delight in you regardless of your choices. You do not have to choose My plan."
And, He doesn't let me idealize my return to Honduras, because I've had to deal with rocky situations with my kids and relationships even from afar. He won't let me convince myself that life there is easier or friendlier or more exciting. I will still haul water to bathe from a bucket instead of taking a hot shower. I will still have to discipline my former street kids and fight old demons beside them. I will still have to stand confident in my value in Christ Jesus in a culture that often defines women as largely purposeless or with little value. I will still have to fight to protect the sacredness of my relationship with the Holy Spirit and our precious time together in a land where needs never end, and people never stop seeking you out for what you have and not who you are.
I look at what could have been and still could be, and I look at what is and the reality I have lived for three years. I have faced challenges I never dreamed I could overcome. I have lived on the edge of myself, waiting to fall off. I have stared death in the face and have seen angels by my side. There are no illusions about the battles that await me and the suffering at hand. And, my Jesus looks at me with eyes of love and says, "Now that you know fully what you're getting yourself into, what do you choose?" And, all I can do is mourn the time lost and the Stateside friendships fading, feel that pain of loss and let the tears fall as I sing my answer in prostrate awe:
Let this be a sacrifice; let me dedicate my life to worship You. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. My passion's burning deep inside; You're all that really satisfies. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. I was made for love. I was made for love. I was made for loving You.
And I whisper, "I still say yes to Your Kingdom and Your country in Honduras because the Lamb of God who gave it all for me is so worthy. But, please show me how."
He reminds me of His Word:
There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mothers or fathers or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time... Mark 10:29-30
And answers, "My child, just worship through it. Worship to your breakthrough. I will turn your mourning into dancing."
He lifts me to my feet and says, "Now, sing this:"
You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shores into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the love that made a way. You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shore into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the promises You made.
So, I stand and proclaim the truth He's given me even when it doesn't feel true. I lift my hands high to the heavens, and I tell God over and over, "Thank You for this privilege of laying down my little life. I do it for You."
So, I return refreshed, revived, ready. Since the days of the early New Testament church, the mark of a true missionary was passion--not for programs or numbers of souls saved or instant gratification fruit to put on display. It wasn't learning a new language or raising funding or having a five-year plan. It was just a deep realization of the worthiness of the Lamb and being deeply in love with a perfect Savior to the point that no detail of life was too big or too small to lavish in anointing oil onto the feet of Jesus. Is it any wonder that Peter and so many others were martyred? They were lovesick for the Savior who gave their little lives more value than they ever could have imagined. How could they deny the One who made them worthy? That's the kind of missionary I want to be. I want Him to consider me a trusted friend. Fruit and saved souls is a product of intimacy with the Beloved because only He can teach us how to receive and give Love. I wish to deny Him nothing no matter the cost, not from a heart of abuse, slavery, guilt, or obligation but from a heart in awe of the One who makes me eternally worthy. It's the greatest adventure to live, the only way that's made life worth living. May I never tire of loving Him with everything.
All of my love,
Sarah
