Some of my favorite memories of this place will always be the times where Leigh Ann and I are just sharing stories and laughing--often till we cry. I adore laughing. It is one of my favorite things to do, but it is always so much more precious when spent with someone else who can also release joy unbridled. Today, we ventured out for the first time since the orphanage, and this time, we were walking. We are going to Taxco and Teotihuacan this weekend, and we needed to go to an ATM. So, we walked to the local super market and back. While at the Superama, we were looking around and were fascinated by some new sweets and other dulces we had never seen before. All kinds of candies were arranged on a table, including a neatly wrapped brown package of something including both chocolate and cinnamon. That sounded like a magic recipe to me, and it was a cheap package, so I decided to buy it although we couldn't actually see what was inside. (Which Mama Bear Leigh Ann lectured me about. . ."Of course, you would buy the one thing that you can't tell what it actually looks like, Sarah.") The outside of the package said tabletas, so I figured that they were cookies of some sort. We had a delightful walk (although hot and uphill--I'm super out-of-shape), and when we returned, we decided to break out the cookies. I upwrapped the brown package to find individually wrapped, dark circular wonders that smelled delicious. I bit into it, and although it was hard, I was pleasantly struck by the taste of dark chocolate with a hint of cinnamon. Leigh Ann tried one bite and thought it tasted too strong, so she didn't eat the rest. Meanwhile, I am devouring this cookie. It was really sweet--you could actually feel the crunch of the sugar between your teeth--but there was also a dark chocolate, spicy bitterness to it. I was chatting with my brother via Skype and started bragging about how I was eating the best cookie ever. As I was licking the crumbs off of my fingers, I began to wonder if I could make them at home and remembered that there was a section on the package that said how it was made. You would think that it would have occurred to me that cookie makers don't give out their secret recipes or expose how they make their delicious confections, but I was in "best cookie ever" ecstacy, so common sense was absent. As I began to read, I started laughing until tears streamed down my face. In short, in Spanish, it said:
"Heat a liter of water or milk before (word I didn't know at the time. . .it's "boiling") (another word I didn't know. . ."place") a tablet of chocolate for (another word I didn't know. . ."hot chocolate") (another word I didn't know. . ."dissolve") (yet another. . ."beating") with a (when am I ever going to be fluent?!. . ."grinder") until it makes a (froth)."
The sad thing is that it wouldn't even have mattered if I knew those words because I ate it without reading the package. I ate an entire liter's worth of hot chocolate. Leigh Ann and I died laughing with tears streaming down our faces. Then, at dinner tonight, we told our host mother and housemates, and we had yet another laugh. Needless to say, I may not be sleeping tonight, but at least I had the best cookie I've ever eaten.
With laughs and love,
Sarah
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Call
There is much that I could share about today, but I will merely state that even in my times of greatest weakness and fragility, God is always faithful. Sometimes, I just need to take the time to actively seek Him.
I learned yesterday (for lack of much news consumption here) that there was a major tropical storm that hit Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador this past weekend. It resulted in some major damage, and there have been numerous casualties. Guatemala received the brunt of the storm although the flooding and mudslides in all three countries have been equally dangerous. Before the tropical storm, a volcano in Guatemala City started erupting, spewing ash into the city. Thus, they shut the airport down to remove the ash. Unfortunately, the storm made this task much more difficult, and to my knowledge, the airport is still closed. This is an interesting fact since that is the airport where I am to have a layover between Mexico and Honduras. It could make for an interesting change of plans perhaps, but God knows and is in control. Thankfully, I talked to Melvin from Manos Extendidas, and he informed me that everything related to MEH is safe and escaped unharmed.
Meanwhile, please pray for all of those people in those countries that are suffering as they've lost loved ones, their homes, and their livelihood.
It is now 10 days until I leave for Honduras, and it feels closer in presence than ever before. I miss it so very much. Appropriately, I've been listening to Regina Spektor's song called "The Call." The lyrics echo my heart for Honduras:
"The Call" by Regina Spektor
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never
Been this way before
All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war
Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light
You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye
Ever content,
Sarah
I learned yesterday (for lack of much news consumption here) that there was a major tropical storm that hit Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador this past weekend. It resulted in some major damage, and there have been numerous casualties. Guatemala received the brunt of the storm although the flooding and mudslides in all three countries have been equally dangerous. Before the tropical storm, a volcano in Guatemala City started erupting, spewing ash into the city. Thus, they shut the airport down to remove the ash. Unfortunately, the storm made this task much more difficult, and to my knowledge, the airport is still closed. This is an interesting fact since that is the airport where I am to have a layover between Mexico and Honduras. It could make for an interesting change of plans perhaps, but God knows and is in control. Thankfully, I talked to Melvin from Manos Extendidas, and he informed me that everything related to MEH is safe and escaped unharmed.
Meanwhile, please pray for all of those people in those countries that are suffering as they've lost loved ones, their homes, and their livelihood.
It is now 10 days until I leave for Honduras, and it feels closer in presence than ever before. I miss it so very much. Appropriately, I've been listening to Regina Spektor's song called "The Call." The lyrics echo my heart for Honduras:
"The Call" by Regina Spektor
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never
Been this way before
All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war
Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light
You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye
Ever content,
Sarah
Monday, May 31, 2010
Running the Road
Another element of the Somervilles' church that reminded me of God's constant hand on my life was the reading of Ephesians 4 during youth group. It is a scripture that God has brought to me time and time again since I returned from Honduras:
"In light of all this, here's what I want you to do. While I'm locked up here, a prisoner for the Master, I want you to get out there and walk--better yet, run!--on the road God called you to travel. I don't want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don't want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline--not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick at mending fences."
This was the scripture that God delivered to me whenever I had first returned from Honduras. I struggled so much with re-entry. I was heartbroken to leave Honduras, and I felt like an alien in my own home, at my school, in my job. I didn't know how to be a human being in that place, but that was the place that God had me. Thus, because that was the road that God had called me to travel at that moment, that was the place I was called to run.
I like to run. I am by no means a serious runner, but I enjoy the motion of running, the challenge of keeping a pace and traveling a distance that my mind rejects. This scripture is true, though; running can't be done in fits and starts--complacency and energy. In reality, every time we let ourselves slip into a habit of laziness or complacency, we lose time, muscle, conditioning. This is the case in the Christian path as well. I spent a lot of last year going in fits and starts of complacency and seeking, busyness and unity with the Father. I would not consider this past year a consistent run, but the desire of my heart is that this year would be--a dedicated chase after the heart of the Father, ever closer to Him.
Another part of that passage in Ephesians 4 is the following:
And so I insist--and God backs me up on this--that there be no going along with the crowd, the empty-headed, mindless crowd. . . . we do not have excuse of ignorance, everything--and I do mean everything--connected with that old way of life has to go. It's rotten through and through. Get rid of it! And then take on an entirely different life--a God-fashioned life, a life renewed from the inside and working itself into your conduct as God accurately reproduces His character in you. . . . Don't grieve God. Don't break His heart. His Holy Spirit, moving and breathing in you, is the most intimate part of your life, making you fit for himself. Don't take such a gift for granted.
So here I am. I won't lie--the heaviness has returned. I am rather burnt out on school. They switched my class today. I'm now in a grammar class that seems to be more of a lower level, but it is also the first Spanish class I've had with other students. I think I've been spoiled by individual attention. It is still beneficial though as I'm reviewing grammar concepts that I haven't had since high school. Not having all of the attention and pressure on me makes the class go so much faster which I appreciate. I still have the same literature class which I enjoy since I am comfortable with the professor and other student, and Marielle and Sam are still my conversation class.
Meanwhile, I am homesick although not for the U.S. I don't even know what I'm really homesick for. When I experience this homesickness, my default is usually that I am homesick for Honduras, but I don't really know what it is I'm homesick for. Perhaps, it is something I've never actually had before. I long for roots and permanence, stability and fruition. But, it is all in God's time. I am here in Mexico. This is the road where God has called me at this moment, so I want to run, not walk, with the purpose God has for me here.
Meanwhile, we have two new girls that just arrived to live in our house. I enjoy having our house full with a makeshift, temporary feel of family. And now, I am off to conquer some homework.
Thanks for reading,
Sarah
"In light of all this, here's what I want you to do. While I'm locked up here, a prisoner for the Master, I want you to get out there and walk--better yet, run!--on the road God called you to travel. I don't want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don't want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline--not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick at mending fences."
This was the scripture that God delivered to me whenever I had first returned from Honduras. I struggled so much with re-entry. I was heartbroken to leave Honduras, and I felt like an alien in my own home, at my school, in my job. I didn't know how to be a human being in that place, but that was the place that God had me. Thus, because that was the road that God had called me to travel at that moment, that was the place I was called to run.
I like to run. I am by no means a serious runner, but I enjoy the motion of running, the challenge of keeping a pace and traveling a distance that my mind rejects. This scripture is true, though; running can't be done in fits and starts--complacency and energy. In reality, every time we let ourselves slip into a habit of laziness or complacency, we lose time, muscle, conditioning. This is the case in the Christian path as well. I spent a lot of last year going in fits and starts of complacency and seeking, busyness and unity with the Father. I would not consider this past year a consistent run, but the desire of my heart is that this year would be--a dedicated chase after the heart of the Father, ever closer to Him.
Another part of that passage in Ephesians 4 is the following:
And so I insist--and God backs me up on this--that there be no going along with the crowd, the empty-headed, mindless crowd. . . . we do not have excuse of ignorance, everything--and I do mean everything--connected with that old way of life has to go. It's rotten through and through. Get rid of it! And then take on an entirely different life--a God-fashioned life, a life renewed from the inside and working itself into your conduct as God accurately reproduces His character in you. . . . Don't grieve God. Don't break His heart. His Holy Spirit, moving and breathing in you, is the most intimate part of your life, making you fit for himself. Don't take such a gift for granted.
So here I am. I won't lie--the heaviness has returned. I am rather burnt out on school. They switched my class today. I'm now in a grammar class that seems to be more of a lower level, but it is also the first Spanish class I've had with other students. I think I've been spoiled by individual attention. It is still beneficial though as I'm reviewing grammar concepts that I haven't had since high school. Not having all of the attention and pressure on me makes the class go so much faster which I appreciate. I still have the same literature class which I enjoy since I am comfortable with the professor and other student, and Marielle and Sam are still my conversation class.
Meanwhile, I am homesick although not for the U.S. I don't even know what I'm really homesick for. When I experience this homesickness, my default is usually that I am homesick for Honduras, but I don't really know what it is I'm homesick for. Perhaps, it is something I've never actually had before. I long for roots and permanence, stability and fruition. But, it is all in God's time. I am here in Mexico. This is the road where God has called me at this moment, so I want to run, not walk, with the purpose God has for me here.
Meanwhile, we have two new girls that just arrived to live in our house. I enjoy having our house full with a makeshift, temporary feel of family. And now, I am off to conquer some homework.
Thanks for reading,
Sarah
Sunday, May 30, 2010
El Monte
Hello All,
I'll begin with some sidenotes:
1) In addition to our cockroach family, we now have another addition to our shower. A small, black scorpion. Luckily for likely both Leigh Ann and myself, I was the one that discovered this little fellow as I was in the shower. He left me alone, though, so I left him alone too. . .much to Leigh Ann's dismay.
2) We had ice cream the other day! I had a kind called Tigre which is vanilla, chocolate, and what we believe to be nutmeg ice cream. Very good.
This past weekend went very well. Yesterday, Leigh Ann and I ventured by taxi to a store called Mega in order to meet Debbie Somerville. We stayed with Debbie and Ed Somerville and their family this weekend at El Monte. (www.elmontemexico.com) To give you a little back story of how we came across the Somervilles, let me explain that Ed and Debbie lived in Pocahontas County, West Virginia when my dad was growing up in Hillsboro. Ed was my Dad's seventh grade English teacher, and Debbie was my uncle's first grade teacher. Growing up, my father often told us of the impact that the Somervilles had on his life--mainly that they were some of the first people who showed him what true Christians looked like and how they lived. My dad somehow or another heard years ago that the Somervilles had moved to Mexico to be missionaries. Thus, when I found out that I would be going to language school in Cuernavaca, we found out where they were located, and miraculously, they were only about an hour or so away. I happen to believe that this is a God thing. (And what a small world!)
I had never met the Somervilles before, but they so kindly opened their home and shared so willingly with me and Leigh Ann. It was such a blessing to meet them and their children--Becky, Scott, Rachel, and Walter. In all, the Somervilles have eight kids. The ones that we met were the ones still around for part or all of the summer. You can look at their website for more detailed information about their mission and ministry. In short, they run a large facility that is used for Christian camps, pastor retreats, and as a missionary training school. They have an amazing testimony as to how they got there and how God provided.
Any time I'm around missionaries, I once again feel like a sponge. At that party that we went to last week, Coco introduced me as a "misionera." I think that's the first time I've ever individually been referred to as such, and although it was in an odd social context, I felt the weight of responsibility of that title. I enjoyed hearing Ed and Debbie's stories of the way that God called them and showed Himself to be faithful, and I especially enjoyed hearing the honest input from their children about the pros and cons of being a missionary kid. Leigh Ann and I went to youth group and Sunday morning church with the Somervilles, and it was lovely to spend that time with them. I was truly touched by their generosity.
I also greatly enjoyed going to church with them. I have now been to a church in every country I've been to. While this may seem normal for someone who wants to be a missionary, it's rather odd for me personally. I hesitate to explain, not because I am ashamed or because my faith in God's leading falters, but because I have grown accustomed to the topic of church bringing about judgment and well-intentioned lectures. However, truth is truth, and God knows my heart.
I haven't been "in church" since I graduated high school. I grew up in a family of avid churchgoers, and I was raised primarily in nondenominational churches (whatever that means). My parents usually were involved in children's or youth ministry and were usually part of the dedicated, "inner" circle. Our family was generally there whenever the doors were open although I will gladly say that my parents did their very best to make sure that our family came before church. For that, I am very grateful. As previously written, my own faith, aside from my parents', developed significantly whenever we moved to Barbour County from Greenbrier County, West Virginia. I began to turn to God in my time of change and loneliness, and He made himself real. Like my parents, I spent many years being very active in the church, and I went to public high school with the knowledge that I only had one chance to show the love of Jesus to my peers. I didn't want to mess it up (although I know that I did countless times). Without really knowing it, I was still unconsciously trying to earn God's love and was bound by an unacknowledged belief that God would only love me if I was doing what I was supposed to do for Him. That was my means of operation for a while, and although I was still growing as a Christian, there was an unseen wall of guilt between me and God.
My journey toward missions and also to questioning the church began with World Vision. I worked at World Vision for the summer after my junior year of high school. World Vision is an international Christian outreach program that has a base in Barbour County. During that summer, I was kind of a miscellaneous worker, helping with the work teams of campers that came in to do construction projects and vacation Bible schools. During one of those weeks, we were stationed at Camp Muffly outside of Morgantown when I heard a life-changing message from a guest speaker named Mark. To this day, I don't know his last name. He talked about the importance of world missions and gave startling statistics of how much of the world had never even heard the name of Jesus, how much of the world consisted of nominal Christians, the poverty and persecution many Christians faced, etc. I had always grown up around missions as my parents have always been avid supporters of missionaries in other countries. But, that was the first time that missions was real to me. From that point on, I felt led to go on a short-term mission trip. In the weeks leading up to going to Honduras in my senior year of high school, I did a lot of research. My mission trip to Honduras was my high school senior project, so I stumbled upon financial statistics of how much of the Western church's money (without regard to denominations) goes to foreign missions. The results were heart-breaking and made me ask questions. My intense questioning only increased after I had been to Honduras.
At the time, most of the mainstream Christian messages that I heard on TV, at church, from other Christians, etc. were about prosperity and God's blessings. "God's about ready to bless. . ." was a frequent echo in my ears. Before Honduras, I was already questioning what true worship was, why we have pastors, why we have buildings, and why we are constantly struggling to bring people into churches to "get saved." I was even questioning the use of ostracizing "Christianese." When I went to Honduras, I was exposed to a beautiful people who, by the United States' standards, had nothing, yet they worshipped God with their songs, their sacrifices, and their entire lives--not asking God to give them prosperity. They didn't hold back. They brought their needs to God, sure, but their hearts were different. They brought their needs to God with a humble attitude of dependency--not an inflated sense of entitlement. It was humbling to hear sermons in the Honduran church of serving one another, encouraging one another, and sacrificing of oneself for more of God. Simple, but they seared to the heart of my questioning. They were real Christians. The lives that they led showed true dependency on God. They were content rather than restless, and passionately seeking Him at all costs, rather than complacent. Honduras was real life.
Needless to say, I experienced great difficulty in returning to the church in the United States. Let me make clear that it wasn't just a specific church that troubled me--it was the entire attitude that I saw in the Christianity portrayed in the U.S. We went to church the following morning right after we got back from Honduras, and I spent the entire service bawling. Since that Sunday, nearly every time I go to church, I cry. I can't really explain it, and it can be for any number of reasons that I know or don't. Perhaps, that is my natural response to God. I don't know. At any rate, I struggled with anger and frustration while I was in church, and when I moved to North Carolina for the summer following my high school graduation, I left, relieved to know I wouldn't have to go to church.
I, sadly, spent that summer in a rather complacent, bitter state. To put it bluntly, what I was going through was a form of church-detox. I had to realize that my entire identity and foundation as a Christian was not Christ Himself but was the church--the appearance of innocence that being a churchgoer brought, the validation that doing things for God provided, etc. I had to understand that my entire Christian existence was less of a personal relationship and more of a fearful performance. It was a difficult realization to contend with at 18. When I went to college, although I went "church shopping" a few times, I just didn't want to have anything to do with church as an institution. I stopped going. Instead, I started spending every Sunday going to the park, taking a lunch, and reading the Bible and praying on my own. While this may not have been the best situation, God worked through that time to heal my heart and to make Himself more real to me on a personal level. It wasn't long after I stopped going to church that my family, who had also been struggling with the same questions, stopped going as well. They had been having "house church" for a while where there was no leader, everyone present was free to share whatever God was speaking, and there was no time frame or agenda. This is a practice that my family continues from time to time, although presently, my mother has found a new church that she attends with my brother and sister. Meanwhile, my dad and I are still the black sheep of the family who don't go.
I want to make clear that although there are many things about mainstream U.S. churches that I don't agree with, I have reached a place where I am no longer angry or upset with church. I have reached a place where although I don't want to be a permanent member or to serve an institutional church in the United States, I can go to any church happily. Of my own choosing, I have been to Quaker services, Assembly of God services, Methodist services, Baptist services, etc. over the past year and have participated in their services as God leads. Generally, any time I go to any church, I simply tell God, "Lord, today, I just want to worship you and be obedient. This is about me and You, and I just want to be in Your presence today." I usually close my eyes during worship and stand still and silent, crying before God. And, each time, no matter what kind of church I am in, He honors that request.
I know the stigma that goes along with not being "in church." I know it well because when I was younger, I would have been one of those people silently judging someone's absence from church. Now, though, the center of my life as a follower of Christ is Christ Himself. Jesus is our way to the Father, not a pastor. I fully believe that God wants to and can speak directly to each one of us. I fully believe that we are all on the same equal playing field. Yes, God gives each of us different gifts, but we are only at the mercy of our Father. I think He expects us to ask questions.
During my time out of church, God has made Himself unbelievably real to me. He exposed some insecurities and past guilt that I had never dealt with, and He revealed to me my own tendency to keep both Him and people at an arm's length. Since the surfacing of those deeply-rooted hurts, God has uprooted much of my past and has healed my heart. After I surrendered my preconceived notions of who He was and what He was like, He showed me who He really is. After I gave up my own plans and my own view of myself, He began to show me who I really am in Him. It is beautiful. Sometimes He speaks through the Bible, sometimes through a sunset, sometimes through a song, sometimes through a roommate, sometimes through homework, sometimes through a pastor. However He speaks, I have finally reached a place of vulnerability with Him that I am willing to listen. In short, the time that I have spent out of church was totally necessary, and I believe was God-led. Without that time, I would have continued on a spiritual foundation of sand. Without that time, I would never have dealt with the walls that held me back from truly receiving God's love because for me, church was the perfect environment to continue to try to earn God's love rather than getting real with Him. Without that time, my relationship would have stagnated and remained superficial.
I share all of this lengthy story partly because it shapes who I am but also partly because it makes me truly appreciate those times when I am in a church and feel the sincerity of the people. This was the case for me in the Somervilles' church. While there were elements of the service that were different for me, as I closed my eyes, I could feel the intense sincerity of their worship. For the first time since I walked out of the airport, I felt at home here in Mexico. He is real no matter where you go, and there is an overarching sense of family among Christians truly seeking Him. When I am in churches like these, I feel so very privileged and think, "If you only knew how rare this is. If you only knew how blessed you are to be in a worship service so pure, so free from show and hype."
I can't pretend that I know what's best for others, and I would never direct someone to stay at or leave a church. I would only ever advise that in all things, you seek God confidently for yourself, daring to believe that the Creator loves you enough to speak words of love and direction directly to you. Jesus is our way to the Father.
With love,
Sarah
I'll begin with some sidenotes:
1) In addition to our cockroach family, we now have another addition to our shower. A small, black scorpion. Luckily for likely both Leigh Ann and myself, I was the one that discovered this little fellow as I was in the shower. He left me alone, though, so I left him alone too. . .much to Leigh Ann's dismay.
2) We had ice cream the other day! I had a kind called Tigre which is vanilla, chocolate, and what we believe to be nutmeg ice cream. Very good.
This past weekend went very well. Yesterday, Leigh Ann and I ventured by taxi to a store called Mega in order to meet Debbie Somerville. We stayed with Debbie and Ed Somerville and their family this weekend at El Monte. (www.elmontemexico.com) To give you a little back story of how we came across the Somervilles, let me explain that Ed and Debbie lived in Pocahontas County, West Virginia when my dad was growing up in Hillsboro. Ed was my Dad's seventh grade English teacher, and Debbie was my uncle's first grade teacher. Growing up, my father often told us of the impact that the Somervilles had on his life--mainly that they were some of the first people who showed him what true Christians looked like and how they lived. My dad somehow or another heard years ago that the Somervilles had moved to Mexico to be missionaries. Thus, when I found out that I would be going to language school in Cuernavaca, we found out where they were located, and miraculously, they were only about an hour or so away. I happen to believe that this is a God thing. (And what a small world!)
I had never met the Somervilles before, but they so kindly opened their home and shared so willingly with me and Leigh Ann. It was such a blessing to meet them and their children--Becky, Scott, Rachel, and Walter. In all, the Somervilles have eight kids. The ones that we met were the ones still around for part or all of the summer. You can look at their website for more detailed information about their mission and ministry. In short, they run a large facility that is used for Christian camps, pastor retreats, and as a missionary training school. They have an amazing testimony as to how they got there and how God provided.
Any time I'm around missionaries, I once again feel like a sponge. At that party that we went to last week, Coco introduced me as a "misionera." I think that's the first time I've ever individually been referred to as such, and although it was in an odd social context, I felt the weight of responsibility of that title. I enjoyed hearing Ed and Debbie's stories of the way that God called them and showed Himself to be faithful, and I especially enjoyed hearing the honest input from their children about the pros and cons of being a missionary kid. Leigh Ann and I went to youth group and Sunday morning church with the Somervilles, and it was lovely to spend that time with them. I was truly touched by their generosity.
I also greatly enjoyed going to church with them. I have now been to a church in every country I've been to. While this may seem normal for someone who wants to be a missionary, it's rather odd for me personally. I hesitate to explain, not because I am ashamed or because my faith in God's leading falters, but because I have grown accustomed to the topic of church bringing about judgment and well-intentioned lectures. However, truth is truth, and God knows my heart.
I haven't been "in church" since I graduated high school. I grew up in a family of avid churchgoers, and I was raised primarily in nondenominational churches (whatever that means). My parents usually were involved in children's or youth ministry and were usually part of the dedicated, "inner" circle. Our family was generally there whenever the doors were open although I will gladly say that my parents did their very best to make sure that our family came before church. For that, I am very grateful. As previously written, my own faith, aside from my parents', developed significantly whenever we moved to Barbour County from Greenbrier County, West Virginia. I began to turn to God in my time of change and loneliness, and He made himself real. Like my parents, I spent many years being very active in the church, and I went to public high school with the knowledge that I only had one chance to show the love of Jesus to my peers. I didn't want to mess it up (although I know that I did countless times). Without really knowing it, I was still unconsciously trying to earn God's love and was bound by an unacknowledged belief that God would only love me if I was doing what I was supposed to do for Him. That was my means of operation for a while, and although I was still growing as a Christian, there was an unseen wall of guilt between me and God.
My journey toward missions and also to questioning the church began with World Vision. I worked at World Vision for the summer after my junior year of high school. World Vision is an international Christian outreach program that has a base in Barbour County. During that summer, I was kind of a miscellaneous worker, helping with the work teams of campers that came in to do construction projects and vacation Bible schools. During one of those weeks, we were stationed at Camp Muffly outside of Morgantown when I heard a life-changing message from a guest speaker named Mark. To this day, I don't know his last name. He talked about the importance of world missions and gave startling statistics of how much of the world had never even heard the name of Jesus, how much of the world consisted of nominal Christians, the poverty and persecution many Christians faced, etc. I had always grown up around missions as my parents have always been avid supporters of missionaries in other countries. But, that was the first time that missions was real to me. From that point on, I felt led to go on a short-term mission trip. In the weeks leading up to going to Honduras in my senior year of high school, I did a lot of research. My mission trip to Honduras was my high school senior project, so I stumbled upon financial statistics of how much of the Western church's money (without regard to denominations) goes to foreign missions. The results were heart-breaking and made me ask questions. My intense questioning only increased after I had been to Honduras.
At the time, most of the mainstream Christian messages that I heard on TV, at church, from other Christians, etc. were about prosperity and God's blessings. "God's about ready to bless. . ." was a frequent echo in my ears. Before Honduras, I was already questioning what true worship was, why we have pastors, why we have buildings, and why we are constantly struggling to bring people into churches to "get saved." I was even questioning the use of ostracizing "Christianese." When I went to Honduras, I was exposed to a beautiful people who, by the United States' standards, had nothing, yet they worshipped God with their songs, their sacrifices, and their entire lives--not asking God to give them prosperity. They didn't hold back. They brought their needs to God, sure, but their hearts were different. They brought their needs to God with a humble attitude of dependency--not an inflated sense of entitlement. It was humbling to hear sermons in the Honduran church of serving one another, encouraging one another, and sacrificing of oneself for more of God. Simple, but they seared to the heart of my questioning. They were real Christians. The lives that they led showed true dependency on God. They were content rather than restless, and passionately seeking Him at all costs, rather than complacent. Honduras was real life.
Needless to say, I experienced great difficulty in returning to the church in the United States. Let me make clear that it wasn't just a specific church that troubled me--it was the entire attitude that I saw in the Christianity portrayed in the U.S. We went to church the following morning right after we got back from Honduras, and I spent the entire service bawling. Since that Sunday, nearly every time I go to church, I cry. I can't really explain it, and it can be for any number of reasons that I know or don't. Perhaps, that is my natural response to God. I don't know. At any rate, I struggled with anger and frustration while I was in church, and when I moved to North Carolina for the summer following my high school graduation, I left, relieved to know I wouldn't have to go to church.
I, sadly, spent that summer in a rather complacent, bitter state. To put it bluntly, what I was going through was a form of church-detox. I had to realize that my entire identity and foundation as a Christian was not Christ Himself but was the church--the appearance of innocence that being a churchgoer brought, the validation that doing things for God provided, etc. I had to understand that my entire Christian existence was less of a personal relationship and more of a fearful performance. It was a difficult realization to contend with at 18. When I went to college, although I went "church shopping" a few times, I just didn't want to have anything to do with church as an institution. I stopped going. Instead, I started spending every Sunday going to the park, taking a lunch, and reading the Bible and praying on my own. While this may not have been the best situation, God worked through that time to heal my heart and to make Himself more real to me on a personal level. It wasn't long after I stopped going to church that my family, who had also been struggling with the same questions, stopped going as well. They had been having "house church" for a while where there was no leader, everyone present was free to share whatever God was speaking, and there was no time frame or agenda. This is a practice that my family continues from time to time, although presently, my mother has found a new church that she attends with my brother and sister. Meanwhile, my dad and I are still the black sheep of the family who don't go.
I want to make clear that although there are many things about mainstream U.S. churches that I don't agree with, I have reached a place where I am no longer angry or upset with church. I have reached a place where although I don't want to be a permanent member or to serve an institutional church in the United States, I can go to any church happily. Of my own choosing, I have been to Quaker services, Assembly of God services, Methodist services, Baptist services, etc. over the past year and have participated in their services as God leads. Generally, any time I go to any church, I simply tell God, "Lord, today, I just want to worship you and be obedient. This is about me and You, and I just want to be in Your presence today." I usually close my eyes during worship and stand still and silent, crying before God. And, each time, no matter what kind of church I am in, He honors that request.
I know the stigma that goes along with not being "in church." I know it well because when I was younger, I would have been one of those people silently judging someone's absence from church. Now, though, the center of my life as a follower of Christ is Christ Himself. Jesus is our way to the Father, not a pastor. I fully believe that God wants to and can speak directly to each one of us. I fully believe that we are all on the same equal playing field. Yes, God gives each of us different gifts, but we are only at the mercy of our Father. I think He expects us to ask questions.
During my time out of church, God has made Himself unbelievably real to me. He exposed some insecurities and past guilt that I had never dealt with, and He revealed to me my own tendency to keep both Him and people at an arm's length. Since the surfacing of those deeply-rooted hurts, God has uprooted much of my past and has healed my heart. After I surrendered my preconceived notions of who He was and what He was like, He showed me who He really is. After I gave up my own plans and my own view of myself, He began to show me who I really am in Him. It is beautiful. Sometimes He speaks through the Bible, sometimes through a sunset, sometimes through a song, sometimes through a roommate, sometimes through homework, sometimes through a pastor. However He speaks, I have finally reached a place of vulnerability with Him that I am willing to listen. In short, the time that I have spent out of church was totally necessary, and I believe was God-led. Without that time, I would have continued on a spiritual foundation of sand. Without that time, I would never have dealt with the walls that held me back from truly receiving God's love because for me, church was the perfect environment to continue to try to earn God's love rather than getting real with Him. Without that time, my relationship would have stagnated and remained superficial.
I share all of this lengthy story partly because it shapes who I am but also partly because it makes me truly appreciate those times when I am in a church and feel the sincerity of the people. This was the case for me in the Somervilles' church. While there were elements of the service that were different for me, as I closed my eyes, I could feel the intense sincerity of their worship. For the first time since I walked out of the airport, I felt at home here in Mexico. He is real no matter where you go, and there is an overarching sense of family among Christians truly seeking Him. When I am in churches like these, I feel so very privileged and think, "If you only knew how rare this is. If you only knew how blessed you are to be in a worship service so pure, so free from show and hype."
I can't pretend that I know what's best for others, and I would never direct someone to stay at or leave a church. I would only ever advise that in all things, you seek God confidently for yourself, daring to believe that the Creator loves you enough to speak words of love and direction directly to you. Jesus is our way to the Father.
With love,
Sarah
Friday, May 28, 2010
Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos
Hello All,
Yesterday, I went to an orphanage called Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos (www.nph.org). I have now visited an orphanage in every country I´ve been to (except the U.S., oddly enough). That orphanage yesterday was phenomenal. It was essentially its own little town. It was founded in 1954 by a priest, Father Wasson, from the United States who was stationed in Cuernavaca. He had no intention of starting any orphanage, and he had no intention of staying in Cuernavaca. However, God had other plans in mind when a little boy was caught stealing the communion bread from Father Wasson´s church. The little boy was taken to jail, but Father Wasson decided to visit him. Upon this visitation, Father Wasson learned that the young man hadn´t eaten for a week, so he agreed to take in the child. Soon, the jailer gave Father Wasson nine more children who were in the same situation. That is where it all began. Now, NPH has orphanages in Peru, Bolivia, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Mexico, and Honduras. Father Wasson died in 2002.
The orphanage that I visited was roughly an hour from Cuernavaca and was located on land donated by the Mexican government that included an old, respected building built by Cortés himself. Over 500 orphans--most often economic orphans that have family who can´t afford to take care of them--live there. Along beautiful cobblestone paths, they have a school with standard classes required by the Mexican government, along with English and computer literacy classes. They also have their own clinic with a doctor and nurses, their own cafeteria, their own store, their own church, and their own farm. They are completely self-sustaining, maintaining crops and livestock for the children they house. Their children are divided by section and are housed there until our equivalent of ninth grade. They work with Mexican social workers to bring in orphans, and they have several psychologists who work with children who have been physically or sexually abused.
The woman who gave us the tour told us a little about a day in the life of her own section of girls: They wake up at 5 in the morning, shower, dress, and then go to the cafeteria to eat first breakfast--usually bread and milk. Next, they go to classes until second breakfast which is eaten during a recess. Then they have more classes until lunch and after lunch. After classes, they come back to their dorms, take off their uniforms and wash them immediately, hanging them out to dry to be worn the next day. All the kids of age wash their own clothes. Next, they usually have some sort of activity planned by the section caregiver--usually playing sports. Each section also has their assigned chores. They don´t use corporal punishment at the orphanage. Rather, if a child misbehaves, he or she must complete more chores. If their behavior is particularly severe, they may be assigned to miss a day of classes to complete manual labor--for boys, it is working on the farm and for girls, it is helping in the kitchen or cleaning. Following their activity time, the children do homework for one or two hours. Dinner is at 7, and the children are usually in bed by 8. On the weekends, the children have more free time, but they don´t often leave the complex. Every Saturday, they have mandatory mass, and throughout the week they have mass that students can choose to go to. While NPH is Catholic by nature, Father Wasson specifically chose not to establish NPH through the Catholic church. Thus, the Catholic church has no ties or control over NPH.
Once a child graduates ninth grade, he or she may go to NPH´s high school in Cuernavaca. Life at the high school is more independent and is less of a regimen. However, once any pequeño (that´s what they call them rather than ¨orphans¨) reaches the age of 17, he or she is free to go if they choose. If, however, after high school, the pequeño chooses to, he or she can serve for two years as a volunteer caring for younger pequeños at the main house (orphanage). Once this time of service is complete, NPH will pay for that student to go to a university--often either UNAM or one in Monterey, although they currently have a student now who is attending a college in Michigan.
A sidenote about UNAM: My conversation teacher told me that UNAM, located in Mexico City, is one of the most important international universities in the world. She believed that it was ranked at #26 on a list of best international colleges, and it has the greatest reputation of any college in Mexico or Central America. An interesting element of UNAM is their philosophy of education. They believe that every student has the right to an education. Although they are a public university, they are not funded or affiliated with the Mexican government. Any Mexican student (I´m not sure about foreign students) only has to pay 20 centavos--less than one peso--a year to go there. To put that into perspective, the exchange rate here is 12.50 pesos to one U.S. dollar. And, according to Marielle, students aren´t even required to pay that. The university has many partners that help fund their endeavors. However, the university is also incredibly selective. Because of connections between NPH and UNAM, any pequeño that can make the grades to get into UNAM, can go there for free.
The rate of pequeños that go on to university and higher education is 40%--the national average of Mexican students that go on to higher education is only 10%. Not all pequeños go on to a university. Many stay to help in various positions or choose to be tortilla makers, taxi drivers, etc.
While we were there, one woman asked our tour guide how the students are able to overcome the stigma of being ¨orphans.¨ The guide explained that while many pequeños, upon reaching high school, must grapple with the idea that their parents didn´t want them, in general the pequeños don´t face much of an ostrization because they are sharing the struggle together as a grand family. Many pequeños have biological brothers and sisters in the house, and the neighborhood around Cuernavaca actually calls the pequeños ¨fresas¨ which literally means ¨strawberries¨ but carries the connotation of ¨privileged¨ perhaps to the point of being snobs. This attitude is due to the fact that pequeños receive more opportunities and a better quality of life than many of the people in the city itself.
NPH reminded me greatly of Emmanuel Orphanage in Honduras, which I visited while I was there last summer. (www.orphanageemmanuel.com) It, too, was huge in size and was started by a couple from the U.S. The opportunities and quality of life at Emmanuel was amazing. They were self-sustaining, had wi-fi internet, had safe-to-drink tap water, and were almost like a mini-U.S. in the middle of nowhere, Honduras. The trouble that I had with Emmanuel and a bit with NPH as well was the idea of what happens when the orphans leave. At Emmanuel, they experience an amazing quality of life and become pretty accustomed to some of the luxuries and opportunities of the U.S., but when they must leave around 18-20, they don´t know how to live as Hondurans. They don´t know how to take a bus, find a job, find a place to live, etc., and they have become accustomed to a gringo life of luxury in many ways. In this regard, NPH seems better equipped because of the opportunities of higher education and remaining to help.
At every orphanage I have been to, I feel like a sponge, trying to soak in all the lessons the place has to offer, all the revelations God can show me in that space. I don´t fully know why I feel such an urgency in these places to understand and to discern. When I walk through the quarters of orphans and see the smiles and hold the hands of orphan babies, I just get a heavy sense of belonging, of purpose. A preview, perhaps. There are many words and things that God has shown me that hang in the air when I´m in these places. The best way I can describe it is to give you the words from one of my favorite songs--¨Waiting for My Real Life to Begin¨ by Colin Hay: ¨On a clear day, I can see, see for a long way.¨ Sometimes days and experiences are clear, and I get a strong sense of what God has planned for me, and other times, they are not.
One element of the orphanages--both Emmanuel and NPH--that struck me was how they both began--with obedience. None of the founders of either ever set out to start something big. They didn´t draw up blueprints. They didn´t start a building fund. They didn´t write grants for their marvelous plans. They didn´t intend to do anything big, and they likely had no idea of what they were going to be doing at all. They were just obedient. I initially struggled with the grandeur of these places because I just struggle in general with institutions and establishments on a grand scale; however, when I look at how they started, I know that it´s a God thing. God starts from the ground up. He gives us small responsibilities first and asks us to be faithful with those and to be content with being irrelevant. He typically doesn´t just smack us in the face with a huge task or a magic manifestation of big things--big buildings, big congregations, big anything. With God, there is a learning curve, and He gives more responsibility, more blessing, more tasks when we learn to be dependent on Him and obedient with what we have. It´s a simple principle that I believe in many cases the church in the U.S. does not get. We constantly expect that just because we´re God´s children that we´re meant for greatness, that we deserve prosperity, that we´re entitled to the blessings of all kinds of things. And while I do believe that God does want what is best for His children, I also believe that He has an order to it. He calls us to submit everything we have--small or large, prosperous or meager--first. Otherwise, how would learn trust and dependency in even the small things?
The people who started these orphanages are now impacting hundreds and thousands of children. The impact of Father Wasson, one man, has spread over a span of several countries! They are operating in a way that I believe blesses God´s heart. As I was walking through NPH surrounded by beautiful flowers and heart-warming architecture, I initially struggled with just how amazing it all was because sometimes, I think that I assume that God expects us to be poor and lacking. But, God reminded me that this is what He does--He brings joy to the captives, He elevates the poor, He grants a full life in the emptiest of places. It is a way of showing His glory because these people didn´t force anything. He provided it all in His way and His timing, often unbeknownst to the receivers themselves. What, however, I am also reminded is that He does still expect us to go forth, to not be complacent even in the grace of warmth and blessing. It pleases His heart most when even after He´s granted us prosperity or ease that we once again offer it up to Him, fully willing to lose it all, so that He can choose what is best for us and what gives Him the most glory.
I don´t know why I was born in the United States and was so blessed to have every need met throughout my life. I don´t know why I wasn´t born in extreme poverty, dying of starvation in Africa. I know that my birth had nothing to do with me, and because I am not entitled to anything and because I want God to have glory throughout the world, I want to willingly and gladly be obedient in surrendering all that isn´t mine anyway.
When I was in middle school after our family had just moved, I was really struggling. I didn´t have any friends. Although unseen, there was a small emptiness and a wall between me and my family, and I was very lonely. It was in that time of change and frustration that my faith became real to me. I began to read the Bible, seeking Him when I had nothing else that seemed stable. During that time, God gave me Isaiah 58, and I remember that it was my favorite chapter although I didn´t really know why and didn´t really know its significance to me at the time. As time passed, I forgot about it. Before I went to Honduras, though, my dad once again brought that section of verses to my attention, specifically 9-12:
A Full Life in the Emptiest of Places
¨If you get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping about other people´s sins, if you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out, your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. I will always show you where to go. I´ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places--firm muscles, strong bones. You´ll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You´ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You´ll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.¨
When I was in Honduras, a Christian woman and friend of Nellie Anderson, prayed for me and gave me word, telling me that I am called to leave it all behind. I am not to be afraid because God goes before me, preparing the way. I am called to rebuild the lives of many young people, and I will be looked to for advice and support, love and wisdom. I am called to be a woman of constant prayer.
I don´t know the how or the when and, in some cases, even the specific where or the why, but I do know that I am called to Honduras, that I am called to leave it all behind. And as many of the verses I´ve included in earlier posts indicate, God has given me an adoptive spirit for a reason because His words for me echo ¨many children.¨
I appreciate all of your prayers and am blessed that you read,
Sarah
Yesterday, I went to an orphanage called Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos (www.nph.org). I have now visited an orphanage in every country I´ve been to (except the U.S., oddly enough). That orphanage yesterday was phenomenal. It was essentially its own little town. It was founded in 1954 by a priest, Father Wasson, from the United States who was stationed in Cuernavaca. He had no intention of starting any orphanage, and he had no intention of staying in Cuernavaca. However, God had other plans in mind when a little boy was caught stealing the communion bread from Father Wasson´s church. The little boy was taken to jail, but Father Wasson decided to visit him. Upon this visitation, Father Wasson learned that the young man hadn´t eaten for a week, so he agreed to take in the child. Soon, the jailer gave Father Wasson nine more children who were in the same situation. That is where it all began. Now, NPH has orphanages in Peru, Bolivia, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Mexico, and Honduras. Father Wasson died in 2002.
The orphanage that I visited was roughly an hour from Cuernavaca and was located on land donated by the Mexican government that included an old, respected building built by Cortés himself. Over 500 orphans--most often economic orphans that have family who can´t afford to take care of them--live there. Along beautiful cobblestone paths, they have a school with standard classes required by the Mexican government, along with English and computer literacy classes. They also have their own clinic with a doctor and nurses, their own cafeteria, their own store, their own church, and their own farm. They are completely self-sustaining, maintaining crops and livestock for the children they house. Their children are divided by section and are housed there until our equivalent of ninth grade. They work with Mexican social workers to bring in orphans, and they have several psychologists who work with children who have been physically or sexually abused.
The woman who gave us the tour told us a little about a day in the life of her own section of girls: They wake up at 5 in the morning, shower, dress, and then go to the cafeteria to eat first breakfast--usually bread and milk. Next, they go to classes until second breakfast which is eaten during a recess. Then they have more classes until lunch and after lunch. After classes, they come back to their dorms, take off their uniforms and wash them immediately, hanging them out to dry to be worn the next day. All the kids of age wash their own clothes. Next, they usually have some sort of activity planned by the section caregiver--usually playing sports. Each section also has their assigned chores. They don´t use corporal punishment at the orphanage. Rather, if a child misbehaves, he or she must complete more chores. If their behavior is particularly severe, they may be assigned to miss a day of classes to complete manual labor--for boys, it is working on the farm and for girls, it is helping in the kitchen or cleaning. Following their activity time, the children do homework for one or two hours. Dinner is at 7, and the children are usually in bed by 8. On the weekends, the children have more free time, but they don´t often leave the complex. Every Saturday, they have mandatory mass, and throughout the week they have mass that students can choose to go to. While NPH is Catholic by nature, Father Wasson specifically chose not to establish NPH through the Catholic church. Thus, the Catholic church has no ties or control over NPH.
Once a child graduates ninth grade, he or she may go to NPH´s high school in Cuernavaca. Life at the high school is more independent and is less of a regimen. However, once any pequeño (that´s what they call them rather than ¨orphans¨) reaches the age of 17, he or she is free to go if they choose. If, however, after high school, the pequeño chooses to, he or she can serve for two years as a volunteer caring for younger pequeños at the main house (orphanage). Once this time of service is complete, NPH will pay for that student to go to a university--often either UNAM or one in Monterey, although they currently have a student now who is attending a college in Michigan.
A sidenote about UNAM: My conversation teacher told me that UNAM, located in Mexico City, is one of the most important international universities in the world. She believed that it was ranked at #26 on a list of best international colleges, and it has the greatest reputation of any college in Mexico or Central America. An interesting element of UNAM is their philosophy of education. They believe that every student has the right to an education. Although they are a public university, they are not funded or affiliated with the Mexican government. Any Mexican student (I´m not sure about foreign students) only has to pay 20 centavos--less than one peso--a year to go there. To put that into perspective, the exchange rate here is 12.50 pesos to one U.S. dollar. And, according to Marielle, students aren´t even required to pay that. The university has many partners that help fund their endeavors. However, the university is also incredibly selective. Because of connections between NPH and UNAM, any pequeño that can make the grades to get into UNAM, can go there for free.
The rate of pequeños that go on to university and higher education is 40%--the national average of Mexican students that go on to higher education is only 10%. Not all pequeños go on to a university. Many stay to help in various positions or choose to be tortilla makers, taxi drivers, etc.
While we were there, one woman asked our tour guide how the students are able to overcome the stigma of being ¨orphans.¨ The guide explained that while many pequeños, upon reaching high school, must grapple with the idea that their parents didn´t want them, in general the pequeños don´t face much of an ostrization because they are sharing the struggle together as a grand family. Many pequeños have biological brothers and sisters in the house, and the neighborhood around Cuernavaca actually calls the pequeños ¨fresas¨ which literally means ¨strawberries¨ but carries the connotation of ¨privileged¨ perhaps to the point of being snobs. This attitude is due to the fact that pequeños receive more opportunities and a better quality of life than many of the people in the city itself.
NPH reminded me greatly of Emmanuel Orphanage in Honduras, which I visited while I was there last summer. (www.orphanageemmanuel.com) It, too, was huge in size and was started by a couple from the U.S. The opportunities and quality of life at Emmanuel was amazing. They were self-sustaining, had wi-fi internet, had safe-to-drink tap water, and were almost like a mini-U.S. in the middle of nowhere, Honduras. The trouble that I had with Emmanuel and a bit with NPH as well was the idea of what happens when the orphans leave. At Emmanuel, they experience an amazing quality of life and become pretty accustomed to some of the luxuries and opportunities of the U.S., but when they must leave around 18-20, they don´t know how to live as Hondurans. They don´t know how to take a bus, find a job, find a place to live, etc., and they have become accustomed to a gringo life of luxury in many ways. In this regard, NPH seems better equipped because of the opportunities of higher education and remaining to help.
At every orphanage I have been to, I feel like a sponge, trying to soak in all the lessons the place has to offer, all the revelations God can show me in that space. I don´t fully know why I feel such an urgency in these places to understand and to discern. When I walk through the quarters of orphans and see the smiles and hold the hands of orphan babies, I just get a heavy sense of belonging, of purpose. A preview, perhaps. There are many words and things that God has shown me that hang in the air when I´m in these places. The best way I can describe it is to give you the words from one of my favorite songs--¨Waiting for My Real Life to Begin¨ by Colin Hay: ¨On a clear day, I can see, see for a long way.¨ Sometimes days and experiences are clear, and I get a strong sense of what God has planned for me, and other times, they are not.
One element of the orphanages--both Emmanuel and NPH--that struck me was how they both began--with obedience. None of the founders of either ever set out to start something big. They didn´t draw up blueprints. They didn´t start a building fund. They didn´t write grants for their marvelous plans. They didn´t intend to do anything big, and they likely had no idea of what they were going to be doing at all. They were just obedient. I initially struggled with the grandeur of these places because I just struggle in general with institutions and establishments on a grand scale; however, when I look at how they started, I know that it´s a God thing. God starts from the ground up. He gives us small responsibilities first and asks us to be faithful with those and to be content with being irrelevant. He typically doesn´t just smack us in the face with a huge task or a magic manifestation of big things--big buildings, big congregations, big anything. With God, there is a learning curve, and He gives more responsibility, more blessing, more tasks when we learn to be dependent on Him and obedient with what we have. It´s a simple principle that I believe in many cases the church in the U.S. does not get. We constantly expect that just because we´re God´s children that we´re meant for greatness, that we deserve prosperity, that we´re entitled to the blessings of all kinds of things. And while I do believe that God does want what is best for His children, I also believe that He has an order to it. He calls us to submit everything we have--small or large, prosperous or meager--first. Otherwise, how would learn trust and dependency in even the small things?
The people who started these orphanages are now impacting hundreds and thousands of children. The impact of Father Wasson, one man, has spread over a span of several countries! They are operating in a way that I believe blesses God´s heart. As I was walking through NPH surrounded by beautiful flowers and heart-warming architecture, I initially struggled with just how amazing it all was because sometimes, I think that I assume that God expects us to be poor and lacking. But, God reminded me that this is what He does--He brings joy to the captives, He elevates the poor, He grants a full life in the emptiest of places. It is a way of showing His glory because these people didn´t force anything. He provided it all in His way and His timing, often unbeknownst to the receivers themselves. What, however, I am also reminded is that He does still expect us to go forth, to not be complacent even in the grace of warmth and blessing. It pleases His heart most when even after He´s granted us prosperity or ease that we once again offer it up to Him, fully willing to lose it all, so that He can choose what is best for us and what gives Him the most glory.
I don´t know why I was born in the United States and was so blessed to have every need met throughout my life. I don´t know why I wasn´t born in extreme poverty, dying of starvation in Africa. I know that my birth had nothing to do with me, and because I am not entitled to anything and because I want God to have glory throughout the world, I want to willingly and gladly be obedient in surrendering all that isn´t mine anyway.
When I was in middle school after our family had just moved, I was really struggling. I didn´t have any friends. Although unseen, there was a small emptiness and a wall between me and my family, and I was very lonely. It was in that time of change and frustration that my faith became real to me. I began to read the Bible, seeking Him when I had nothing else that seemed stable. During that time, God gave me Isaiah 58, and I remember that it was my favorite chapter although I didn´t really know why and didn´t really know its significance to me at the time. As time passed, I forgot about it. Before I went to Honduras, though, my dad once again brought that section of verses to my attention, specifically 9-12:
A Full Life in the Emptiest of Places
¨If you get rid of unfair practices, quit blaming victims, quit gossiping about other people´s sins, if you are generous with the hungry and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out, your lives will begin to glow in the darkness, your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight. I will always show you where to go. I´ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places--firm muscles, strong bones. You´ll be like a well-watered garden, a gurgling spring that never runs dry. You´ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew, rebuild the foundations from out of your past. You´ll be known as those who can fix anything, restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate, make the community livable again.¨
When I was in Honduras, a Christian woman and friend of Nellie Anderson, prayed for me and gave me word, telling me that I am called to leave it all behind. I am not to be afraid because God goes before me, preparing the way. I am called to rebuild the lives of many young people, and I will be looked to for advice and support, love and wisdom. I am called to be a woman of constant prayer.
I don´t know the how or the when and, in some cases, even the specific where or the why, but I do know that I am called to Honduras, that I am called to leave it all behind. And as many of the verses I´ve included in earlier posts indicate, God has given me an adoptive spirit for a reason because His words for me echo ¨many children.¨
I appreciate all of your prayers and am blessed that you read,
Sarah
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Brisas and Birthday Songs
Just a quick update:
Today was my birthday, and while the overall events of the day were rather normal, I couldn't have felt more blessed. I went to class as usual, and a few funny/mildly amusing things happened:
1) I told one of my professors that I want to live in Honduras, and he lectured me about how dangerous it would be. Everywhere I go, everyone tells me that the next place I'm going will be dangerous. When I was in Honduras, someone told me that he wouldn't go to Mexico because it's so dangerous. When I left the States, everyone told me not to go to Mexico because it's so dangerous, and now that I'm in Mexico, someone is telling me it's too dangerous to live in Honduras. Hilarious. Good thing I rarely ever worry about my physical protection. I'm contently blind in security.
2) We worked on tongue twisters in conversation class. We did tongue exercises--all those things you do as a kid have a purpose! If you don't have a strong and muscular tongue, you can't roll your double r's adequately. Tomorrow I have to say:
Erre con erre cigarro, erre con erre barril, rápido corren los carros, por el ferrocarril. Say that ten times fast, rolling your double r's. Not easy.
After class, we came home and had lunch. Because it was my birthday, Coco made tortilla soup and chicken with mole. It's a celebratory food, traditionally fixed for birthdays and weddings. Absolutely delicious.
Then, before we left for the movies, I had a delightful conversation with Roy via Skype phone. He surprised me by singing "Happy Birthday" in English, and I now have a secure ride from the airport when I get to Honduras because as he said, it's un placer. Seventeen days until home, and I couldn't be more excited.
Finally, we--Leigh Ann, Lisa, and our host mother--went to the movies and saw Robin Hood, mainly because Coco likes to think of Russell Crowe as her boyfriend. She is so adorable. The movie, although not one that I was initially super excited about, was really good.
All in all, a good day. I need to finish up my neglected homework. But. . .tomorrow the orphanage!
Love love love love love love,
Sarah
Today was my birthday, and while the overall events of the day were rather normal, I couldn't have felt more blessed. I went to class as usual, and a few funny/mildly amusing things happened:
1) I told one of my professors that I want to live in Honduras, and he lectured me about how dangerous it would be. Everywhere I go, everyone tells me that the next place I'm going will be dangerous. When I was in Honduras, someone told me that he wouldn't go to Mexico because it's so dangerous. When I left the States, everyone told me not to go to Mexico because it's so dangerous, and now that I'm in Mexico, someone is telling me it's too dangerous to live in Honduras. Hilarious. Good thing I rarely ever worry about my physical protection. I'm contently blind in security.
2) We worked on tongue twisters in conversation class. We did tongue exercises--all those things you do as a kid have a purpose! If you don't have a strong and muscular tongue, you can't roll your double r's adequately. Tomorrow I have to say:
Erre con erre cigarro, erre con erre barril, rápido corren los carros, por el ferrocarril. Say that ten times fast, rolling your double r's. Not easy.
After class, we came home and had lunch. Because it was my birthday, Coco made tortilla soup and chicken with mole. It's a celebratory food, traditionally fixed for birthdays and weddings. Absolutely delicious.
Then, before we left for the movies, I had a delightful conversation with Roy via Skype phone. He surprised me by singing "Happy Birthday" in English, and I now have a secure ride from the airport when I get to Honduras because as he said, it's un placer. Seventeen days until home, and I couldn't be more excited.
Finally, we--Leigh Ann, Lisa, and our host mother--went to the movies and saw Robin Hood, mainly because Coco likes to think of Russell Crowe as her boyfriend. She is so adorable. The movie, although not one that I was initially super excited about, was really good.
All in all, a good day. I need to finish up my neglected homework. But. . .tomorrow the orphanage!
Love love love love love love,
Sarah
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Perils of Language
Being in another country and learning to speak another language is always humbling. When you're out of your element that much, it's pretty impossible to "fake it till you make it." But, some of the funniest moments happen in the midst of embarrassing mistakes. For example, my conversation teacher, Mariel, always asks me what I had to eat the day before. It's a cultural conversation starter. Yesterday, we had meatballs. However, I didn't know the word for "meatball" in Spanish, so, using circumlocution to get around it, I just said "pelota de carne" or "ball (generally a sports ball) of meat." Mariel laughed and laughed, and naturally, I joined in. When I told my host mother the story, she also laughed heartily, explaining a common idiomatic expression here: When there is a baby who is overly pudgy with cute rolls of fat and such, people call him or her "una bola de carne," which also translates to "ball of meat." So, I more or less said that I ate a pudgy baby for dinner yesterday. Way to go, Sarah. :D
Meanwhile, today went well. It was my last day of being 20-years-old. Twenty-one isn't really that big of a deal for me--not being a big drinker and all that--but it is exciting nonetheless. Last year was truly amazing, and I had no idea all of the things that God had in store for my twentieth year. So to awkwardly do a quick memory montage, let me recount some fantastic times: Going to Honduras. Meeting some amazing people and having God truly show me that Honduras is home. Survivig re-entry. Remembering that I love to write. My last year as an RA with wonderful residents. Guacamole nights with Anthony, my best friend. Learning to depend on God in the midst of fears--knowing that truly no one can snatch me from God's hands. Going to Jamaica. Having an amazing RA staff. Having wonderful classes and professors. Painting again. Living with loving and mothering roommates who truly kept me sane. Outings with my creative writing ladies. Working for The Picket, Shepherd University's newspaper--truly a valued learning experience. Tutoring. Moments of peace and laughter with my family. New friends and old friends. This year was quite a blessed one, and I can only imagine what amazing things God has in store for this one. It is unbelievably exciting because He has orchestrated every detail of my life. Last year, I spent my birthday in Honduras, and this year I spend it in Mexico! How very blessed I am and humbled by His infinite love.
With hope for His best,
Sarah
Meanwhile, today went well. It was my last day of being 20-years-old. Twenty-one isn't really that big of a deal for me--not being a big drinker and all that--but it is exciting nonetheless. Last year was truly amazing, and I had no idea all of the things that God had in store for my twentieth year. So to awkwardly do a quick memory montage, let me recount some fantastic times: Going to Honduras. Meeting some amazing people and having God truly show me that Honduras is home. Survivig re-entry. Remembering that I love to write. My last year as an RA with wonderful residents. Guacamole nights with Anthony, my best friend. Learning to depend on God in the midst of fears--knowing that truly no one can snatch me from God's hands. Going to Jamaica. Having an amazing RA staff. Having wonderful classes and professors. Painting again. Living with loving and mothering roommates who truly kept me sane. Outings with my creative writing ladies. Working for The Picket, Shepherd University's newspaper--truly a valued learning experience. Tutoring. Moments of peace and laughter with my family. New friends and old friends. This year was quite a blessed one, and I can only imagine what amazing things God has in store for this one. It is unbelievably exciting because He has orchestrated every detail of my life. Last year, I spent my birthday in Honduras, and this year I spend it in Mexico! How very blessed I am and humbled by His infinite love.
With hope for His best,
Sarah
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