Hello All,
I made it to La Esperanza safely and have already begun teaching. It is an awesome experience thus far. I left Tegus with some difficulty--more than I expected which doesn´t bode well for August. Every year, it gets harder to leave.
So, to give you an idea of my typical day here, here is my new daily routine:
I generally wake up a little before the sun--around 4 or so. I have difficulty going back to sleep because it's pretty flipping cold here at nights and in the mornings. So, I lay in bed in my hoodie and sweat pants and soccer socks until there is enough light outside to bathe, as the shower is outside. Although there is a shower here, they typically only have water for two hours every day or so; thus, if you happen to snag some water (and hot water at that), it´s like hitting the lottery. Rather than waiting around, I just use the ice cold water from the pila (rainwater). Let me tell you, dunking your head in an ice cold bucket of water at 5 in the morning in a shower that is outside after you´ve been nestled in bed is quite a wake up process. Being a fanatic shaver, my legs and I are slowly growing accustomed to perpetually having the worst case of razor burn known to man. Ha ha. After shivering, bathing, and laughing myself awake, I crawl back into bed to keep warm before breakfast. We eat at 7.
We head to school after that by walking to a truck stop. We catch a ride to Chilicotoro (I highly doubt that´s spelled correctly) where the school is. The school is 30 minutes from La Esperanza, and we ride in truck taxis--in other words, you flag down a truck that is going your direction, you hop in the back, and hold on for dear life until you reach your destination. It´s the cheapest and best roller coaster ride I´ve ever had since it costs all of 50 cents and lasts for 30 minutes. We sit on the railings that surround the truck bed, and it´s a trick to balance yourself amidst numerous other people and whatever they happen to be carrying. The difficulty of this task is heightened by the fact that roads include mini-Grand Canyons, and the truck drivers drive like crazy men. By the time the ride is over, I am covered in dust, I have crazy, wind-blown hippie hair, and my back is stiff from trying to maintain my bony butt on the metal bar. I love it! It´s one of my favorite parts of the day.
Teaching is going quite well. Classes start at 8 and end at 12. I team teach with two other volunteers--Lindsay, 20, from South Carolina who has been here for a while now, and Mary Claire, 23, my roommate from Ireland. They are both lovely to work with. We typically make lesson plans together. We teach 1st-6th grades although the days alternate. It can be a real challenge as some of the classes are huge. The 6th grade has 49 students. We try to divide and do as many smaller group activities as possible to improve individualized education. It´s an amazing experience, and the classes themselves remind me of Jamaica. I am so thankful that I had a practicum teaching experience in Jamaica because I think I´ve adjusted much easier to the system here as a result.
As worried as I was about this experience, the teaching itself comes quite naturally, and I find it to be a real joy. I am so blessed by the fact that teaching English in Spanish has really been quite smooth. Realistically, the kids have no English basis. Some of them have memorized some basic vocabulary or conversational questions and answers, but they seem to have no grammar or even phonics/pronunciation basis. Thus, today, we worked with the fourth grade teaching the English alphabet and their sounds. I am learning to be quick on my feet and to adjust my loose lesson plans to better fit the environment and the disposition of the kids. Games are always the way to go. They keep them engaged and help them to learn without them even realizing that they´re learning. Meanwhile, I have been so thankful for all of the items that were donated that I dragged from the US to Mexico to Honduras since the schools seriously lack materials. Because of a lack of consistent teaching of English (and the fact that the next volunteer teachers won´t come until January), it´s difficult to know what the goal should be. We were given a set of Honduran standards, but realistically, there is no way that they´ll be reached. There simply isn´t the time or the materials to do so. Thus, my personal goals have just been the following: to show the love of Jesus to every child, to instill a desire (however small) in that child to learn English, and to teach something (anything) new to any child willing to learn. With those simple goals in mind, it is going very well, and naturally, I am learning a lot in the process.
I love teaching. I really do. I love how at home I feel in this environment. I feel as if the US school system and my field work through Shepherd has left a bad taste in my mouth in regard to teaching. However, the elements of teaching that transcend politics and standards, testing and salaries, thrill me and bless me greatly. Teaching and learning here, while the system seems rather horrific in some regards, are just simpler, and in some ways, better.
Anyway, after teaching, we ride back on the truck into La Esperanza for lunch. Our afternoons are free, and everything in La Esperanza is in walking distance. Esperanza is a pueblo--it´s small. There is only one paved road in the whole town. It is such a charming place with a central park as well, which reminds me of the zocalos in Mexico. I really like it here. I enjoy walking by myself and feel safe wandering the town. While I always love my time in Villa Vieja and Tegus, I am so grateful for this experience because of the independence it provides me. While I love having people to take care of me, and I greatly appreciate the protection and guidance of everyone from MEH, I am thankful to be all alone here. It is encouraging to me because every little victory as a single person with only the help of God further demonstrates that I can live in this country without problems.
We live with a host family--it´s actually a collection of relatives scattered in adjoining houses. In total, there are five of us volunteers. The other two are Anh--26, from Texas, and Tina, 21, from Holland and Alabama. We all get along very well, and I enjoy our time together. The family we stay with feeds us breakfast and dinner, and they are very kind. They have numerous kids that at times can be a handful. But, overall, my living situation is quite lovely as is my time here.
God has been so good to me this summer, and I am infinitely grateful that I still have time left here! Who knows what more He will do?
With love,
Sarah
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
La Esperanza--The Hope
Hello All,
Sorry for the blogging hiatus. It has been a necessary time of personal reflection and God-guided changes. Once again, He is showing me so much of Himself and His plans in this place. I feel overwhelmed with joy and find myself laughing for no apparent reason, much to the confusion (or shared joy) of others around me. While my first couple of days here were a time of testing, where God was asking me if I was willing to give up Honduras and put my heart's deepest loves and desires on His altar (I was), the past few days have been burdens lifted and a sweet soaking in of His tender love. His time is infinitely perfect! I have been reminded of several words that God gave me last summer: Although I have been accustomed to being pushed around, God's touch is gentle. He is taking His time with me--not because He wants to be cruel, but because He knows I will wait for Him and because He wants to take the time to woo me. It's a marvelous thing, and I want to savor every part of the journey. His stories are always the best, with each intricate detail simultaneously working for His glory and working to impress me with His keen eye and meticulous hand. His stories aren't the kind to be devoured and dismissed. Stories that merely entertain and eat time lack cleverly woven plots. God is an author with an expertise in symbolism and foreshadowing; you can't devour His works because you'll miss some element of their beauty.
I have received further, deeper, confirmation that I do have a calling to be a missionary, and that I am, indeed, called to Honduras. I don't feel called to a specific task here at this time. I don't want a position. I don't want a title. I don't even really want a niche. I don't even know that I will teach. I only feel led to be irrelevant, a servant, the least of these. I feel very called to those that are forgotten. I feel called to the places where no one else wishes to go so that I can bring the love of Christ to those who have fallen through the cracks. It is not a complicated work. It involves no plans, no programs. It's not about funding or about mission statements. It's just about intimacy with God, obedience to Him without self-importance, and an extreme dependency on the Father at all times, in every moment. I am reminded of Matthew 10:
Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously. Don't think you have to put on a fund-raising campaign before you start. You don't need a lot of equipment. You are the equipment, and all you need to keep that going is three meals a day. Travel light.
God has been so good in showing me the depth of His love, and I've once again been stuck in Isaiah.
Isaiah 43:
But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob, the One who got you started, Israel: "Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and hard place, it won't be a dead end--because I am God, your personal God, the Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you.
Isaiah 44:
So what is coming next? Anyone want to venture a try? Don't be afraid, and don't worry: Haven't I always kept you informed, told you what was going on? You're my eyewitnesses: Have you ever come across a God, a real God, other than me? There's no Rock like me that I know of.
Isaiah 45:
I'll go ahead of you, clearing and paving the road. I'll break down bronze city gates, smash padlocks, kick down barred entrances. I'll lead you to buried treasures, secret caches of valuables--confirmations that it is, in fact, I, God, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name. It's because of my dear servant Jacob, Israel my chosen, that I've singled you out, called you by name, and given you this privileged work. . . . Clearly, you are a God who works behind the scenes, God of Israel, Savior God. . . . Who told you, and a long time ago, what's going on here? Who made sense of things for you? Wasn't I the one? God? It had to be me. I'm the only God there is--the only God who does things right and knows how to help.
Isaiah 46:
From the very beginning telling you what the ending will be, all along letting you in on what is going to happen, assuring you, "I'm in this for the long haul, I'll do exactly what I set out to do." . . . I've said it, and I'll most certainly do it. I've planned it, so it's as good as done.
God knows all the plans that He has for me. His will is rich and humbling. It's so unbelievable all that He has planned, and I know from the Scriptures above that He will carry it all out in His time. I only have to wait and rest in His extravagant love. What a privilege to be prepared delicately by a perfect Father.
Finally, I was incredibly blessed by Isaiah 50:
Listen to me, all you who are serious about right living and committed to seeking God. Ponder the rock from which you were cut, the quarry from which you were dug. Yes, ponder Abraham, your father, and Sarah, who bore you. Think of it! One solitary man when I called him, but once I blessed him, he multiplied.
With today being Father's Day, I am especially touched by Isaiah 50. I am blessed by the ripple effect of the obedience of the fathers in my life. My very own father is an amazing man, and I feel blessed beyond words that God granted me a father who points me to the Father first and foremost. My dad has taught me many things--how to be a strong and not governed by emotions, to seek out the outcasts and love the unloveable, to be content and not high maintenance, and that I only need to depend on one man--just Jesus. I am quite grateful that my father has also been missions-minded, for he planted many seeds in my life that are now coming to fruition for God's glory. I was cut from the rock of my parents, and they have had immeasureable, beautiful effects on my own life.
Another father that has had unspeakable impact on my life is Alvin Anderson, the man who started Manos Extendidas (www.mehonduras.org). If it wasn't for his obedience to come to Honduras 14 years ago (the anniversary just happens to be my birthday. . .accident? I think not!), I wouldn't be here today. It brings me to tears to think of all of the intricate details of obedience that God orchestrated for me to be here and be who I am today. Alvin echoes Isaiah 50. He was one solitary man when he was called, but God has multiplied his servant's heart in mighty ways. I see his obedience everywhere here--in Quendy, in Mayra, in Blanca, in Sara, in Kevin, in Bladimir, in Roy, and in my own life. Alvin's prayer echoes 2 Timothy 2: "Become the kind of container God can use to present any and every kind of gift to his guests for their blessing."I can't remember which time it was when we were here, but my dad, Joe, asked Alvin what we could pray for him, what needs he had. Alvin's response blew us away because instead of asking for money for a project or help for a plan or program, he merely asked that we'd pray that God would purify him to be a clean vessel for others. I find that this is now also my prayer.
And knowing with great gratitude from where I was cut, I lovingly wish these--my two fathers--a very Happy Father's Day!
Meanwhile, it's been a little bit of a rocky time here at the house, and we would appreciate your prayers. For whatever reason, the public school here gave every school child 400 lempiras which is roughly the equivalent of $20. With this in her pocket, Blanca decided to leave us. She got it into her head that she would leave, would go back to live with her grandmother (who left her with Child Services to begin with), and eventually would find a job in the US. Blanca is 13. As a minor, she had to be taken to the police station to be processed with Child Services again. However, they don't work on Saturdays--which is when all this transpired. Thus, after Roy and Sara had carted her down there, they carted her right back with her three trash bags of stuff. Blanca had a conversation with Papi Alvin and decided to stay instead of leave. I don't know what sparked this desire to leave, and prayers for Blanca and the situation are still needed.
This is most definitely a house of women--strong-willed ones at that. There are times when the girls butt heads or argue with Sally and Sara. It is an interesting environment. All of the girls crave male attention. We can all be sitting in our shared back bedroom, and the second a male voice passes through this place, every single girl is up and running to see who it is. There is unending talk of Papi Alvin and Roy--the two loving men who care for these girls on a regular basis. Papi is the one who brings the girls here, who adopts them, who disciplines them, loves on them, and encourages them. Roy is the one who takes them to school, offers them a smile and a joke, and quietly protects them within the neighborhood (whether they're aware of it or not). It is a good environment here. While Sally does not speak Spanish, she does keep the household running with her no-nonsense practicality and with her grandmotherly charm. Sara, meanwhile, governs the girls with a fiery but delicate disposition. She demands utmost respect, but she also loves with abandon. And, the girls are escaping their pasts as a result.
I don't know Blanca's story specifically, but I know she has a past. Quendy was sexually abused by her own father and abused physically by her mother. Mayra, my little Spanish-spewing fireball, was sexually abused by the man who is both her father and grandfather. She is the one who turned him in once she learned how babies are made. I love all of my girls here. They are my adopted little sisters. Mayra especially has blessed my heart while she's been here. We've had several conversations about how she doesn't need a boyfriend although boys may want to date her. She wants to focus on her studies and wants to further her future. She is the first one to serve, always cleaning, always caring for others, and every spare moment that she has, she spends reading her Bible. Let that soak in long enough, and it'll be convicting. I know it is for me.
I went to church again today. It was much different than last Sunday. It's hard to explain, but it left me with a peaceful sense that God knows what He is doing. He is shifting that congregation. He is moving in that place. And I welcome the work of His hands and marvel that He allows me the privilege of sharing in it.
Anyway, while I have loved this short span of time here, the time has come for me to venture to La Esperanza for the next part of my adventure. It will most definitely be out of my comfort zone. Even just that short bit of time spent trying to teach Roy, my 23-year-old student, showed me just how difficult teaching English will be. I have no experience and no lesson plans. I don't even know what age group I'll be teaching. In short, I am in over my head. But I know that when I am in rough waters, I will not go down. Ultimately, God works best when I am the one lacking. Bring on the weakness and may God have all control. I will meet the director and an incoming volunteer at the airport tomorrow. From there, we will spend a night in La Valle de Los Angeles for orientation, and on Tuesday it's off to La Esperanza by bus.
I don't believe that it is any accident that I am going to La Esperanza--"The Hope." I believe I've already mentioned the dual meaning of "esperar"--to wait and to hope. It is an appropriate place to be in for me at this time. I am waiting on my Father, on the fruition of all His good works, and as I wait, I reside in The Hope. I hope that you do too.
Thank you for reading my transparent confessions and for all of your prayers offered up on my behalf. I don't know what internet access will be like at this new place, but I will do my best to keep you updated.
Los quiero,
Sarah
Sorry for the blogging hiatus. It has been a necessary time of personal reflection and God-guided changes. Once again, He is showing me so much of Himself and His plans in this place. I feel overwhelmed with joy and find myself laughing for no apparent reason, much to the confusion (or shared joy) of others around me. While my first couple of days here were a time of testing, where God was asking me if I was willing to give up Honduras and put my heart's deepest loves and desires on His altar (I was), the past few days have been burdens lifted and a sweet soaking in of His tender love. His time is infinitely perfect! I have been reminded of several words that God gave me last summer: Although I have been accustomed to being pushed around, God's touch is gentle. He is taking His time with me--not because He wants to be cruel, but because He knows I will wait for Him and because He wants to take the time to woo me. It's a marvelous thing, and I want to savor every part of the journey. His stories are always the best, with each intricate detail simultaneously working for His glory and working to impress me with His keen eye and meticulous hand. His stories aren't the kind to be devoured and dismissed. Stories that merely entertain and eat time lack cleverly woven plots. God is an author with an expertise in symbolism and foreshadowing; you can't devour His works because you'll miss some element of their beauty.
I have received further, deeper, confirmation that I do have a calling to be a missionary, and that I am, indeed, called to Honduras. I don't feel called to a specific task here at this time. I don't want a position. I don't want a title. I don't even really want a niche. I don't even know that I will teach. I only feel led to be irrelevant, a servant, the least of these. I feel very called to those that are forgotten. I feel called to the places where no one else wishes to go so that I can bring the love of Christ to those who have fallen through the cracks. It is not a complicated work. It involves no plans, no programs. It's not about funding or about mission statements. It's just about intimacy with God, obedience to Him without self-importance, and an extreme dependency on the Father at all times, in every moment. I am reminded of Matthew 10:
Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously. Don't think you have to put on a fund-raising campaign before you start. You don't need a lot of equipment. You are the equipment, and all you need to keep that going is three meals a day. Travel light.
God has been so good in showing me the depth of His love, and I've once again been stuck in Isaiah.
Isaiah 43:
But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob, the One who got you started, Israel: "Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and hard place, it won't be a dead end--because I am God, your personal God, the Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you.
Isaiah 44:
So what is coming next? Anyone want to venture a try? Don't be afraid, and don't worry: Haven't I always kept you informed, told you what was going on? You're my eyewitnesses: Have you ever come across a God, a real God, other than me? There's no Rock like me that I know of.
Isaiah 45:
I'll go ahead of you, clearing and paving the road. I'll break down bronze city gates, smash padlocks, kick down barred entrances. I'll lead you to buried treasures, secret caches of valuables--confirmations that it is, in fact, I, God, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name. It's because of my dear servant Jacob, Israel my chosen, that I've singled you out, called you by name, and given you this privileged work. . . . Clearly, you are a God who works behind the scenes, God of Israel, Savior God. . . . Who told you, and a long time ago, what's going on here? Who made sense of things for you? Wasn't I the one? God? It had to be me. I'm the only God there is--the only God who does things right and knows how to help.
Isaiah 46:
From the very beginning telling you what the ending will be, all along letting you in on what is going to happen, assuring you, "I'm in this for the long haul, I'll do exactly what I set out to do." . . . I've said it, and I'll most certainly do it. I've planned it, so it's as good as done.
God knows all the plans that He has for me. His will is rich and humbling. It's so unbelievable all that He has planned, and I know from the Scriptures above that He will carry it all out in His time. I only have to wait and rest in His extravagant love. What a privilege to be prepared delicately by a perfect Father.
Finally, I was incredibly blessed by Isaiah 50:
Listen to me, all you who are serious about right living and committed to seeking God. Ponder the rock from which you were cut, the quarry from which you were dug. Yes, ponder Abraham, your father, and Sarah, who bore you. Think of it! One solitary man when I called him, but once I blessed him, he multiplied.
With today being Father's Day, I am especially touched by Isaiah 50. I am blessed by the ripple effect of the obedience of the fathers in my life. My very own father is an amazing man, and I feel blessed beyond words that God granted me a father who points me to the Father first and foremost. My dad has taught me many things--how to be a strong and not governed by emotions, to seek out the outcasts and love the unloveable, to be content and not high maintenance, and that I only need to depend on one man--just Jesus. I am quite grateful that my father has also been missions-minded, for he planted many seeds in my life that are now coming to fruition for God's glory. I was cut from the rock of my parents, and they have had immeasureable, beautiful effects on my own life.
Another father that has had unspeakable impact on my life is Alvin Anderson, the man who started Manos Extendidas (www.mehonduras.org). If it wasn't for his obedience to come to Honduras 14 years ago (the anniversary just happens to be my birthday. . .accident? I think not!), I wouldn't be here today. It brings me to tears to think of all of the intricate details of obedience that God orchestrated for me to be here and be who I am today. Alvin echoes Isaiah 50. He was one solitary man when he was called, but God has multiplied his servant's heart in mighty ways. I see his obedience everywhere here--in Quendy, in Mayra, in Blanca, in Sara, in Kevin, in Bladimir, in Roy, and in my own life. Alvin's prayer echoes 2 Timothy 2: "Become the kind of container God can use to present any and every kind of gift to his guests for their blessing."I can't remember which time it was when we were here, but my dad, Joe, asked Alvin what we could pray for him, what needs he had. Alvin's response blew us away because instead of asking for money for a project or help for a plan or program, he merely asked that we'd pray that God would purify him to be a clean vessel for others. I find that this is now also my prayer.
And knowing with great gratitude from where I was cut, I lovingly wish these--my two fathers--a very Happy Father's Day!
Meanwhile, it's been a little bit of a rocky time here at the house, and we would appreciate your prayers. For whatever reason, the public school here gave every school child 400 lempiras which is roughly the equivalent of $20. With this in her pocket, Blanca decided to leave us. She got it into her head that she would leave, would go back to live with her grandmother (who left her with Child Services to begin with), and eventually would find a job in the US. Blanca is 13. As a minor, she had to be taken to the police station to be processed with Child Services again. However, they don't work on Saturdays--which is when all this transpired. Thus, after Roy and Sara had carted her down there, they carted her right back with her three trash bags of stuff. Blanca had a conversation with Papi Alvin and decided to stay instead of leave. I don't know what sparked this desire to leave, and prayers for Blanca and the situation are still needed.
This is most definitely a house of women--strong-willed ones at that. There are times when the girls butt heads or argue with Sally and Sara. It is an interesting environment. All of the girls crave male attention. We can all be sitting in our shared back bedroom, and the second a male voice passes through this place, every single girl is up and running to see who it is. There is unending talk of Papi Alvin and Roy--the two loving men who care for these girls on a regular basis. Papi is the one who brings the girls here, who adopts them, who disciplines them, loves on them, and encourages them. Roy is the one who takes them to school, offers them a smile and a joke, and quietly protects them within the neighborhood (whether they're aware of it or not). It is a good environment here. While Sally does not speak Spanish, she does keep the household running with her no-nonsense practicality and with her grandmotherly charm. Sara, meanwhile, governs the girls with a fiery but delicate disposition. She demands utmost respect, but she also loves with abandon. And, the girls are escaping their pasts as a result.
I don't know Blanca's story specifically, but I know she has a past. Quendy was sexually abused by her own father and abused physically by her mother. Mayra, my little Spanish-spewing fireball, was sexually abused by the man who is both her father and grandfather. She is the one who turned him in once she learned how babies are made. I love all of my girls here. They are my adopted little sisters. Mayra especially has blessed my heart while she's been here. We've had several conversations about how she doesn't need a boyfriend although boys may want to date her. She wants to focus on her studies and wants to further her future. She is the first one to serve, always cleaning, always caring for others, and every spare moment that she has, she spends reading her Bible. Let that soak in long enough, and it'll be convicting. I know it is for me.
I went to church again today. It was much different than last Sunday. It's hard to explain, but it left me with a peaceful sense that God knows what He is doing. He is shifting that congregation. He is moving in that place. And I welcome the work of His hands and marvel that He allows me the privilege of sharing in it.
Anyway, while I have loved this short span of time here, the time has come for me to venture to La Esperanza for the next part of my adventure. It will most definitely be out of my comfort zone. Even just that short bit of time spent trying to teach Roy, my 23-year-old student, showed me just how difficult teaching English will be. I have no experience and no lesson plans. I don't even know what age group I'll be teaching. In short, I am in over my head. But I know that when I am in rough waters, I will not go down. Ultimately, God works best when I am the one lacking. Bring on the weakness and may God have all control. I will meet the director and an incoming volunteer at the airport tomorrow. From there, we will spend a night in La Valle de Los Angeles for orientation, and on Tuesday it's off to La Esperanza by bus.
I don't believe that it is any accident that I am going to La Esperanza--"The Hope." I believe I've already mentioned the dual meaning of "esperar"--to wait and to hope. It is an appropriate place to be in for me at this time. I am waiting on my Father, on the fruition of all His good works, and as I wait, I reside in The Hope. I hope that you do too.
Thank you for reading my transparent confessions and for all of your prayers offered up on my behalf. I don't know what internet access will be like at this new place, but I will do my best to keep you updated.
Los quiero,
Sarah
Friday, June 18, 2010
Sonrisas. . .Muchas Sonrisas
Hello All,
I won't take the time to write about all of the beautiful things that happened today. (They are too many to count or remember.) I'll only take the time to say that God is always infinitely in control, and waiting on Him always pays off.
With great love,
Sarah
I won't take the time to write about all of the beautiful things that happened today. (They are too many to count or remember.) I'll only take the time to say that God is always infinitely in control, and waiting on Him always pays off.
With great love,
Sarah
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I'm Just a Chiquitita
Hello All,
Well, the day started with an early morning game of World Cup soccer between Honduras and Chile which, sadly, resulted in a loss. Watching the game was still a good time, though, as we huddled in the dark of the living room on the couches at five in the morning to cheer on our team. I still wore my Honduras jersey today for solidarity. We followed the game with some early-morning prayer.
I am learning once again how blessed I can be by the little things. For example, generally, milk here is either bought in bags or is bought in powdered form and mixed with water. We typically have powdered milk and when we put it on our cereal, unless someone has put some in the refrigerator, it is room temperature. This is a little odd for this gringa, but I still eat it gladly. This morning, though, we had cold milk! I was so blessed by God's little gift that I sat in my seat, swaying and humming and slurping my cold milk and bran flakes like a jovial toddler.
My days here are tranquil. I read a lot and pray and journal extensively. It is a needed phase at this time, and it will only last so long before teaching will begin on Tuesday. Yikes! This week is going by so quickly. This evening, we will go to church again. I have come to enjoy the fact that when I have no real expectations or pressures for this place to be home, it becomes home again. I am learning that Honduras has always seemed like home because of the level of submission God always brings me to in this place. It is not this country in and of itself (although we did have chicken tacos with pickled cabbage and carrot salad for lunch, and I will readily say that I will gladly adopt the food!).
For example, today Roy, Sally, Sara, and I all went to the market in Kennedy to buy some fruits, vegetables, and other needed items. Roy and I carried the bags although he's stubborn and wouldn't actually let me carry that much. As we wandered by the stands, a lady made a comment on my Honduras jersey. She gave a big speech about how odd it was to see a gringa sporting catracho colors on game day after they'd just lost--especially when the U.S. is a qualifying team as well. She, herself, was wearing a Honduras jersey, and apparently, someone had told her that she should take it off since they lost. But, she affirmed that win or lose, she's always a catracha. She spoke very quickly, so it was hard for me to catch it all, and her tone of voice changed so drastically so many times that I wondered for a second if she was insulting me or praising me for my choice in clothing. But, the laughter and look on Roy's face reassured me that she meant well. It was a funny moment because it was a little eye-opening to the truth that if I live here, no matter how well I get acclimated, because of the color of my skin, I can only ever be a catracha at heart.
Meanwhile, today has been very good. I am quite joyful and am reminded of many beautiful things. On my flight here, I was reminding myself that I am in God's hands. Then God gave me a fantastic mental image--the terrain below me at that time was green rolling hills and ridges with streaks of rivers and roads. So much like the palm of a jolly, green, giant hand. It was a fun thought to think of myself nestled amidst the hill ridges of His skin, the road wrinkles of his flesh, and the river creases of His palm.
Yesterday, we had a fresh and comforting rain in the evening. The sound of rain on a tin roof is wonderful. I looked out at the mountain that towers above Villa Vieja, and I noticed a thick fog. It reminded me of my all-too-familiar favorite song, "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay: On a clear day, I can see. . .see for a long way. Well, it's no longer a clear day for me. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but that doesn't make the day any less beautiful. And so I live moment by delicious moment.
I have continued reading Elisabeth Elliot's book, Passion and Purity, and I have found it to be very helpful. Below are only a few of my favorite excerpts:
"My heart was saying, 'Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long.' The Lord was answering, 'I must teach you to long for something better.'"
(from T.C. Upham's Inward Divine Guidance) "The disposition . . . to leave the dearest objects of our hearts in the sublime keeping of the general and unspecific belief that God is now answering our prayers in His own time and way, and in the best manner, involves a present process of inward crucifixion which is obviously unfavorable to the growth and even the existence of the life of self."
I also wish to tell you how much I love my family here. I live at the Eagle's Nest (for more info, go to www.mehonduras.org) with Aunt Sara and Aunt Sally, two strong-willed widows who I love very much along with the girls. It is no accident that I am surrounded perpetually by women--strong ones at that. Sally speaks her mind freely (a liberty she claims at the insistence of age--she's in her seventies). And Sara is a Nicaraguan fireball. She doesn't take anybody's nonsense, and she can call anyone out for anything at the drop of a hat. She's not afraid to state what needs to be said, but she does so with sharp wisdom and maternal tenderness. I admire that. Meanwhile, I also live with strong girls, most of whom have escaped the abuse of men.
I love our "buen provechos" at every meal. I love watching Jeopardy with Sara and Sally, as Sally and I try to answer, and Sara looks at us like we're crazy. I love listening to Quendy and Mayra sing "La Nina de Tus Ojos" loudly. They are His daughters, undoubtedly. I love Blanca's rabid snore at night. I love the mother-daughter interactions between Sara and Diana. I love Mayra's mile-a-minute Spanish, and her insistence today that I am a part of her new family. I love Quendy's spontaneous hugs, and Blanca's eye-rolling jokes. I enjoy our girly primping (with our cold water bucket bathing) and shared struggles as women. I love the power of femininity that I see in them. It is encouraging to be surrounded by them at this time.
My girls and I had an honest conversation today that I thought was funny just because of who all was in earshot. We were all sitting at the kitchen table as they worked on homework. Quendy looked up at me and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. All of the girls at the table gasped and looked at me like I was a crazy person. Mayra apparently didn't understand because she asked me my boyfriend's name. No lo tengo. What? Why? They asked. I just laughed and shook my head, but they persisted. How are old are you? Twenty-one. Twenty-one? With no boyfriend? (Apparently, I am an old maid.) I started laughing, and I said that I didn't have a boyfriend because I only want the person that God has for me. Sweet little Mayra said, "Who is that?" I started laughing again. Blanca then insisted that I do have a boyfriend--and she pointed above. And in this innocent movement, she is correct. I so love my girls; they strengthen my heart.
This conversation echoes some of the words of Elisabeth Elliot as well:
"If your goal is purity of heart, be prepared to be thought very odd." Ain't that the truth. With that thought, I am reminded of a funny day in Mexico. On two occasions in one day, my oddities were brought to light. In my grammar class, we were asked to use the subjunctive tense to describe our ideal man. Let's just say that my ideals were strikingly different from those of my fellow female classmates. It was after that day that my professor, Daniel, starting calling me the "good girl" of the class. Thanks for that further ostracization. . .it's not like I wasn't weird enough as it is. :) Then, in my conversation class, our theme was the history of the kiss. We were asked during the conversation to share the story of our first kiss if we felt comfortable to do so. I politely refused (for the simple reason that I don't have one). At some point in life, due to the social pressures of peers, it would have been difficult to admit this. But, at this age, this is a not a fact of which I am ashamed. I get that it seems homeschool--perhaps being homeschooled has contributed to this fact of me. I don't know. Please understand though that it doesn't have to do with legalism or rigid morality. All that I know is that I have always been the kind of person who is typically governed by logic. Even in the perilous waves of adolescence, my parents--Dad especially--always raised me to recognize that I could control my emotions, that they were fickle, and that I did not have to be at their mercy. With this in mind, I soon recognized in myself a tendency to be excruciatingly loyal and not someone that lets go of people easily. Thus, I knew early on that I was not about to engage in a "for funzies" relationship that would only lead to unnecessary heartbreak. And, as a result, I was spared a lot of unnecessary heartache. I suppose as a combination of many components--my upbringing, my personality, my own fears, my stubborn nature, etc.--I am who I am in this realm. I have wanted and have chosen to wait for "the real thing" for a long time now. I genuinely only want the person that God has for me. For the most part, I am not one for compromise or settling although, like any human, I've had my screw ups. I have learned over the years that a real marriage that lasts--one that is God-ordained between people that are first and foremost seeking and fulfilled by Him, hand-picked, and coordinated at precisely the right time and in the right way--is nothing short of a miracle. With that said, I also think it is completely possible. But, as it says in Zechariah, "These things only come about by My Spirit." So, perhaps, I shouldn't be this honest. But this is voluntary reading after all, and I'm just trying to be real. I'm a saver--I always have been. I hoarded birthday and Christmas money for years, and my family used to pick on me when I was a kid for my candy stash that included 2-year-old Easter peeps and flaking chocolate that tasted funny. I suppose that I treasure the ability to make even the tiniest things in life sacred. This child-like tendency gives life even more joy. After all, something you've waited for extensively is much more precious than something easily obtained. This realm of life is no different.
So with these admissions out of the way, I will leave you with a song I've come to greatly enjoy:
The Valley Song by Jars of Clay
You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On my back, bruised and broken
I'm crying out to You
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
When death, like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek Your face
But I fear You aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that is Yours
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
While we wait for a rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground, using our hands
To cover the fatal cut
Though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
And higher mountains have come down
I will sing of your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Sporting braids and slurping cold milk,
Sarah
Well, the day started with an early morning game of World Cup soccer between Honduras and Chile which, sadly, resulted in a loss. Watching the game was still a good time, though, as we huddled in the dark of the living room on the couches at five in the morning to cheer on our team. I still wore my Honduras jersey today for solidarity. We followed the game with some early-morning prayer.
I am learning once again how blessed I can be by the little things. For example, generally, milk here is either bought in bags or is bought in powdered form and mixed with water. We typically have powdered milk and when we put it on our cereal, unless someone has put some in the refrigerator, it is room temperature. This is a little odd for this gringa, but I still eat it gladly. This morning, though, we had cold milk! I was so blessed by God's little gift that I sat in my seat, swaying and humming and slurping my cold milk and bran flakes like a jovial toddler.
My days here are tranquil. I read a lot and pray and journal extensively. It is a needed phase at this time, and it will only last so long before teaching will begin on Tuesday. Yikes! This week is going by so quickly. This evening, we will go to church again. I have come to enjoy the fact that when I have no real expectations or pressures for this place to be home, it becomes home again. I am learning that Honduras has always seemed like home because of the level of submission God always brings me to in this place. It is not this country in and of itself (although we did have chicken tacos with pickled cabbage and carrot salad for lunch, and I will readily say that I will gladly adopt the food!).
For example, today Roy, Sally, Sara, and I all went to the market in Kennedy to buy some fruits, vegetables, and other needed items. Roy and I carried the bags although he's stubborn and wouldn't actually let me carry that much. As we wandered by the stands, a lady made a comment on my Honduras jersey. She gave a big speech about how odd it was to see a gringa sporting catracho colors on game day after they'd just lost--especially when the U.S. is a qualifying team as well. She, herself, was wearing a Honduras jersey, and apparently, someone had told her that she should take it off since they lost. But, she affirmed that win or lose, she's always a catracha. She spoke very quickly, so it was hard for me to catch it all, and her tone of voice changed so drastically so many times that I wondered for a second if she was insulting me or praising me for my choice in clothing. But, the laughter and look on Roy's face reassured me that she meant well. It was a funny moment because it was a little eye-opening to the truth that if I live here, no matter how well I get acclimated, because of the color of my skin, I can only ever be a catracha at heart.
Meanwhile, today has been very good. I am quite joyful and am reminded of many beautiful things. On my flight here, I was reminding myself that I am in God's hands. Then God gave me a fantastic mental image--the terrain below me at that time was green rolling hills and ridges with streaks of rivers and roads. So much like the palm of a jolly, green, giant hand. It was a fun thought to think of myself nestled amidst the hill ridges of His skin, the road wrinkles of his flesh, and the river creases of His palm.
Yesterday, we had a fresh and comforting rain in the evening. The sound of rain on a tin roof is wonderful. I looked out at the mountain that towers above Villa Vieja, and I noticed a thick fog. It reminded me of my all-too-familiar favorite song, "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay: On a clear day, I can see. . .see for a long way. Well, it's no longer a clear day for me. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but that doesn't make the day any less beautiful. And so I live moment by delicious moment.
I have continued reading Elisabeth Elliot's book, Passion and Purity, and I have found it to be very helpful. Below are only a few of my favorite excerpts:
"My heart was saying, 'Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long.' The Lord was answering, 'I must teach you to long for something better.'"
(from T.C. Upham's Inward Divine Guidance) "The disposition . . . to leave the dearest objects of our hearts in the sublime keeping of the general and unspecific belief that God is now answering our prayers in His own time and way, and in the best manner, involves a present process of inward crucifixion which is obviously unfavorable to the growth and even the existence of the life of self."
I also wish to tell you how much I love my family here. I live at the Eagle's Nest (for more info, go to www.mehonduras.org) with Aunt Sara and Aunt Sally, two strong-willed widows who I love very much along with the girls. It is no accident that I am surrounded perpetually by women--strong ones at that. Sally speaks her mind freely (a liberty she claims at the insistence of age--she's in her seventies). And Sara is a Nicaraguan fireball. She doesn't take anybody's nonsense, and she can call anyone out for anything at the drop of a hat. She's not afraid to state what needs to be said, but she does so with sharp wisdom and maternal tenderness. I admire that. Meanwhile, I also live with strong girls, most of whom have escaped the abuse of men.
I love our "buen provechos" at every meal. I love watching Jeopardy with Sara and Sally, as Sally and I try to answer, and Sara looks at us like we're crazy. I love listening to Quendy and Mayra sing "La Nina de Tus Ojos" loudly. They are His daughters, undoubtedly. I love Blanca's rabid snore at night. I love the mother-daughter interactions between Sara and Diana. I love Mayra's mile-a-minute Spanish, and her insistence today that I am a part of her new family. I love Quendy's spontaneous hugs, and Blanca's eye-rolling jokes. I enjoy our girly primping (with our cold water bucket bathing) and shared struggles as women. I love the power of femininity that I see in them. It is encouraging to be surrounded by them at this time.
My girls and I had an honest conversation today that I thought was funny just because of who all was in earshot. We were all sitting at the kitchen table as they worked on homework. Quendy looked up at me and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. All of the girls at the table gasped and looked at me like I was a crazy person. Mayra apparently didn't understand because she asked me my boyfriend's name. No lo tengo. What? Why? They asked. I just laughed and shook my head, but they persisted. How are old are you? Twenty-one. Twenty-one? With no boyfriend? (Apparently, I am an old maid.) I started laughing, and I said that I didn't have a boyfriend because I only want the person that God has for me. Sweet little Mayra said, "Who is that?" I started laughing again. Blanca then insisted that I do have a boyfriend--and she pointed above. And in this innocent movement, she is correct. I so love my girls; they strengthen my heart.
This conversation echoes some of the words of Elisabeth Elliot as well:
"If your goal is purity of heart, be prepared to be thought very odd." Ain't that the truth. With that thought, I am reminded of a funny day in Mexico. On two occasions in one day, my oddities were brought to light. In my grammar class, we were asked to use the subjunctive tense to describe our ideal man. Let's just say that my ideals were strikingly different from those of my fellow female classmates. It was after that day that my professor, Daniel, starting calling me the "good girl" of the class. Thanks for that further ostracization. . .it's not like I wasn't weird enough as it is. :) Then, in my conversation class, our theme was the history of the kiss. We were asked during the conversation to share the story of our first kiss if we felt comfortable to do so. I politely refused (for the simple reason that I don't have one). At some point in life, due to the social pressures of peers, it would have been difficult to admit this. But, at this age, this is a not a fact of which I am ashamed. I get that it seems homeschool--perhaps being homeschooled has contributed to this fact of me. I don't know. Please understand though that it doesn't have to do with legalism or rigid morality. All that I know is that I have always been the kind of person who is typically governed by logic. Even in the perilous waves of adolescence, my parents--Dad especially--always raised me to recognize that I could control my emotions, that they were fickle, and that I did not have to be at their mercy. With this in mind, I soon recognized in myself a tendency to be excruciatingly loyal and not someone that lets go of people easily. Thus, I knew early on that I was not about to engage in a "for funzies" relationship that would only lead to unnecessary heartbreak. And, as a result, I was spared a lot of unnecessary heartache. I suppose as a combination of many components--my upbringing, my personality, my own fears, my stubborn nature, etc.--I am who I am in this realm. I have wanted and have chosen to wait for "the real thing" for a long time now. I genuinely only want the person that God has for me. For the most part, I am not one for compromise or settling although, like any human, I've had my screw ups. I have learned over the years that a real marriage that lasts--one that is God-ordained between people that are first and foremost seeking and fulfilled by Him, hand-picked, and coordinated at precisely the right time and in the right way--is nothing short of a miracle. With that said, I also think it is completely possible. But, as it says in Zechariah, "These things only come about by My Spirit." So, perhaps, I shouldn't be this honest. But this is voluntary reading after all, and I'm just trying to be real. I'm a saver--I always have been. I hoarded birthday and Christmas money for years, and my family used to pick on me when I was a kid for my candy stash that included 2-year-old Easter peeps and flaking chocolate that tasted funny. I suppose that I treasure the ability to make even the tiniest things in life sacred. This child-like tendency gives life even more joy. After all, something you've waited for extensively is much more precious than something easily obtained. This realm of life is no different.
So with these admissions out of the way, I will leave you with a song I've come to greatly enjoy:
The Valley Song by Jars of Clay
You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On my back, bruised and broken
I'm crying out to You
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
When death, like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek Your face
But I fear You aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that is Yours
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
While we wait for a rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground, using our hands
To cover the fatal cut
Though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
And higher mountains have come down
I will sing of your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Sporting braids and slurping cold milk,
Sarah
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Back to Sleep
I love the smell of a new journal. Mmmm. Fresh, clean pages not littered with feelings or thoughts, quotations or words. No bleeding ink marks. Fresh smells of manufactured paper and the glue of the binding are welcoming for me. I finished my last little journal this morning--a purple one that was a birthday gift from Mama Cheryl. As of May 17, I have been journaling (more or less) consistently for a year. What a good journey it has been, and I am glad that this is a habit I've developed. It has been so nice to revisit old memories, old struggles, and old prayers. Some of them remain the same while others seem so trivial now. I wish I had last summer's journals with me. I intended to bring them, but as I was trying to shed luggage poundage and embrace the new adventure before me, I left them at home. It would be nice to have them now just on the off-chance that my own words from the past would be comforting to me. But I suppose that even these would be a substitute for just seeking God alone right now in this moment and this place.
Last night, we went to church (Roy, me, Kevin--mi hermanito who I have missed so much!--, and the girls from the Eagle's Nest). As a side note, the girls from the Eagle's Nest are my saving grace in many ways. They readily love on me and feel so much like my sisters. They allow me into their home, their room, and their lives with such ease that they revive the idea of Honduras as home. Kendi (who now actually chooses to spell her name "Quendy") hugs me the most as she remembers our last summer together, and I love sharing laughing glances with her that give me some release. Blanca and Diana tend to keep to themselves, but they, too, were here last summer and are very dear to me. Finally, there is Mayra--a precious soul who talks a mile a minute in Spanish (so I catch all of five words if that) and is a tiny little girl although she is 15-years-old. I love her as she has become like a little security blanket to me in situations where I feel like I'm drowning in my own emotions. She is my right-hand friend who sits with me at church and welcomes me to the world every morning. I am so grateful for her.
Anyway, we went to church last night, and Pastor Marcus started talking about making unselfish choices, bringing each decision to God who sees the bigger picture rather than automatically taking the best for ourselves. Good word. Good reminder for me of how I need to serve, even those that cause my heart the most ache.
After church, Roy needed help with some English. His brother, Nahum, is taking an intermediate English class and made arrangements for Roy to take a placement test into that class. Roy wanted to take the basic class originally but just didn't have time. As we were going over present tense, negative sentences in the present tense, and the present progressive tense, I realized just how difficult English is. There seems to be no method to the madness, and teaching it next week is going to be wildly interesting. I'm not even remotely prepared. Roy has a really great level of English reading comprehension, but he hasn't had grammar instruction since high school. Since he's 23, it's been quite a while, and he was really struggling. To be honest, I think he decided not to take the test after we talked because I told him that he needs the structure of learning the tenses and not just from piecing it together from his brother's worksheet. If I had more time, I could teach him without any problems. He is smart, and he learns quickly. But, languages need to be learned in stages, so even if he passed the test, he'd be lost at the intermediate level. It was an interesting experience. I do like to teach. I feel like my experiences at Shepherd have left a bad taste of teaching in my mouth in general, but there is still a part of me that greatly enjoys the challenge of teaching.
After we were done with that, he left, and I went to bed around 11. By 12:30 AM, I was wide awake for no apparent reason. So, I e-mailed my mom, prayed, and waited for sleep. I have no idea why I'm having such a hard time sleeping here. Eating has also been a bit of a challenge although I have been recently reminded of how much I love the delicious simplicity of rice, beans, and mantequilla. I was doing all right this morning. Roy and I took two of the girls to Casitas Kennedy so that they could go to classes. Later that morning, though, the roller coaster once again commenced, so I escaped to my room to revamp my suitcases and sort through my teaching supplies. While trying to stay busy, I started listening to Alli Rogers' song "Nothing to Cry About." Ironically enough, it was listening to this song that released a good, yet needed, cry. The lyrics were very appropriate:
Nothing to Cry About by Alli Rogers
There's nothing to cry about tonight
All your thoughts are brave
But they make you tired
It's only us and the world is small and new
Like I don't know anything
But how I'm in love with you
I'll hold you when the nights get long
I'll hold you when the times get tough
I'll love you when you've had too much
And love you when you can't get enough
Baby, close your eyes
'Cause we are in the angels' keep
Push your worries all aside
And let me rock you back to sleep
There's nothing to cry about tonight
It's not your job to know if everyone's all right
Let me tell you how perfect you are to me
And we're all that matters now as far as I can see
I'll hold you when the nights get long
I'll hold you when the times get tough
I'll love you when you've had too much
And love you when you can't get enough
Baby, close your eyes
'Cause we are in the angels' keep
Push your worries all aside
And let me rock you back to sleep
Back to sleep
That song was perfect for me because I imagined God singing it to me. I think I have forgotten the reality of the depth of God's love. It's amazing, really. Meanwhile, what stuck with me was the idea of sleep--not so strange for someone who is rather sleep-deprived and exhausted at the moment. Last summer, I prayed that God would just put me to sleep in His will. . .that I wouldn't be looking for certain things or making plans because I just wanted to take the time to be in love with Him. Today, with this song, I was reminded of this prayer. And I can think of nothing better than allowing God to rock me back to sleep because I am so tired of my own thoughts and struggles. Like a lamb caught in a fence, I've only exhausted myself by struggling against the wires, and I've only gotten myself deeper in captivity. So, asleep in trust it is!
God is definitely dealing with me here. This morning I was reading in Matthew 10:
If you don't go all the way with me, through thick and thin, you don't deserve me. If your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you'll find both yourself and me.
And Matthew 11:
Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.
Furthermore, I started reading Elisabeth Elliot's Passion and Purity for about the millionth time. Oddly enough, I already knew before I left that it would be a very helpful book during this phase of life. In it, she references the story of Abraham being asked by God to sacrifice Isaac. Wildly appropriate for me right now. God is asking me to give up the very things that He has given me. How much do I love Him? How much do I trust Him and His best? In the book, Elliot references a book by Lilias Trotter called Parables of the Cross:
The fair new petals must fall, and for no visible reason. No one seems enriched by the stripping. And the first step into the realm of giving is a like surrender--not manward but Godward: an utter yielding of our best. So long as our idea of surrender is limited to the renouncing of unlawful things, we have never grasped its true meaning: that is not worthy of the name for "no polluted thing" can be offered.
She also includes a quotation from Ruth Stull:
If my life is to be broken when given to Jesus, it is because pieces will feed a multitude, while a loaf will satisfy only a little lad.
S. D. Gordon was also featured:
Steadfastness, that is holding on;
patience, that is holding back;
expectancy, that is holding the face up;
obedience, that is holding one's self in readiness to go or do;
listening, that is holding quiet and still so as to hear.
I ask that God would lead me in doing all of them. And although my heart echoes Elisabeth Elliot's question of "How long, Lord, must I wait?" I also hear His same answer to her: "Never mind, child. Trust me."
And, in the spirit of hilarity, I have decided to include some early labor advice for birthing mothers because it makes me laugh and is awkwardly relevant.
"Things to Do in Early Labor" by Robin Elise Weiss
"Early labor is often a time when people panic. It's not that they are experiencing a lot of pain from contractions, it's simply that they don't know what they should be doing and work themselves up. . . . When a mom becomes anxious early on in her labor it really sets the tone. This can mean that labor may be longer or more painful because of the mother's inability to relax."
"Sources of Unnecessary Pain in Childbirth"
"Many women become obsessed with timing . . . For some, there is a fear that if you do not pay attention, you may miss something. Some of the signs of progress in labor can be subtle, but you will not miss the major signs. When contractions begin, ignore them and go about your day for as long as you can. When the contractions demand more attention, give them only as much as they demand. . . . Don't waste your energy by paying attention too early."
I hope, quite sincerely, that you are laughing with me. Life is infinitely better when not taken too seriously.
:D Sarah
Last night, we went to church (Roy, me, Kevin--mi hermanito who I have missed so much!--, and the girls from the Eagle's Nest). As a side note, the girls from the Eagle's Nest are my saving grace in many ways. They readily love on me and feel so much like my sisters. They allow me into their home, their room, and their lives with such ease that they revive the idea of Honduras as home. Kendi (who now actually chooses to spell her name "Quendy") hugs me the most as she remembers our last summer together, and I love sharing laughing glances with her that give me some release. Blanca and Diana tend to keep to themselves, but they, too, were here last summer and are very dear to me. Finally, there is Mayra--a precious soul who talks a mile a minute in Spanish (so I catch all of five words if that) and is a tiny little girl although she is 15-years-old. I love her as she has become like a little security blanket to me in situations where I feel like I'm drowning in my own emotions. She is my right-hand friend who sits with me at church and welcomes me to the world every morning. I am so grateful for her.
Anyway, we went to church last night, and Pastor Marcus started talking about making unselfish choices, bringing each decision to God who sees the bigger picture rather than automatically taking the best for ourselves. Good word. Good reminder for me of how I need to serve, even those that cause my heart the most ache.
After church, Roy needed help with some English. His brother, Nahum, is taking an intermediate English class and made arrangements for Roy to take a placement test into that class. Roy wanted to take the basic class originally but just didn't have time. As we were going over present tense, negative sentences in the present tense, and the present progressive tense, I realized just how difficult English is. There seems to be no method to the madness, and teaching it next week is going to be wildly interesting. I'm not even remotely prepared. Roy has a really great level of English reading comprehension, but he hasn't had grammar instruction since high school. Since he's 23, it's been quite a while, and he was really struggling. To be honest, I think he decided not to take the test after we talked because I told him that he needs the structure of learning the tenses and not just from piecing it together from his brother's worksheet. If I had more time, I could teach him without any problems. He is smart, and he learns quickly. But, languages need to be learned in stages, so even if he passed the test, he'd be lost at the intermediate level. It was an interesting experience. I do like to teach. I feel like my experiences at Shepherd have left a bad taste of teaching in my mouth in general, but there is still a part of me that greatly enjoys the challenge of teaching.
After we were done with that, he left, and I went to bed around 11. By 12:30 AM, I was wide awake for no apparent reason. So, I e-mailed my mom, prayed, and waited for sleep. I have no idea why I'm having such a hard time sleeping here. Eating has also been a bit of a challenge although I have been recently reminded of how much I love the delicious simplicity of rice, beans, and mantequilla. I was doing all right this morning. Roy and I took two of the girls to Casitas Kennedy so that they could go to classes. Later that morning, though, the roller coaster once again commenced, so I escaped to my room to revamp my suitcases and sort through my teaching supplies. While trying to stay busy, I started listening to Alli Rogers' song "Nothing to Cry About." Ironically enough, it was listening to this song that released a good, yet needed, cry. The lyrics were very appropriate:
Nothing to Cry About by Alli Rogers
There's nothing to cry about tonight
All your thoughts are brave
But they make you tired
It's only us and the world is small and new
Like I don't know anything
But how I'm in love with you
I'll hold you when the nights get long
I'll hold you when the times get tough
I'll love you when you've had too much
And love you when you can't get enough
Baby, close your eyes
'Cause we are in the angels' keep
Push your worries all aside
And let me rock you back to sleep
There's nothing to cry about tonight
It's not your job to know if everyone's all right
Let me tell you how perfect you are to me
And we're all that matters now as far as I can see
I'll hold you when the nights get long
I'll hold you when the times get tough
I'll love you when you've had too much
And love you when you can't get enough
Baby, close your eyes
'Cause we are in the angels' keep
Push your worries all aside
And let me rock you back to sleep
Back to sleep
That song was perfect for me because I imagined God singing it to me. I think I have forgotten the reality of the depth of God's love. It's amazing, really. Meanwhile, what stuck with me was the idea of sleep--not so strange for someone who is rather sleep-deprived and exhausted at the moment. Last summer, I prayed that God would just put me to sleep in His will. . .that I wouldn't be looking for certain things or making plans because I just wanted to take the time to be in love with Him. Today, with this song, I was reminded of this prayer. And I can think of nothing better than allowing God to rock me back to sleep because I am so tired of my own thoughts and struggles. Like a lamb caught in a fence, I've only exhausted myself by struggling against the wires, and I've only gotten myself deeper in captivity. So, asleep in trust it is!
God is definitely dealing with me here. This morning I was reading in Matthew 10:
If you don't go all the way with me, through thick and thin, you don't deserve me. If your first concern is to look after yourself, you'll never find yourself. But if you forget about yourself and look to me, you'll find both yourself and me.
And Matthew 11:
Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me--watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.
Furthermore, I started reading Elisabeth Elliot's Passion and Purity for about the millionth time. Oddly enough, I already knew before I left that it would be a very helpful book during this phase of life. In it, she references the story of Abraham being asked by God to sacrifice Isaac. Wildly appropriate for me right now. God is asking me to give up the very things that He has given me. How much do I love Him? How much do I trust Him and His best? In the book, Elliot references a book by Lilias Trotter called Parables of the Cross:
The fair new petals must fall, and for no visible reason. No one seems enriched by the stripping. And the first step into the realm of giving is a like surrender--not manward but Godward: an utter yielding of our best. So long as our idea of surrender is limited to the renouncing of unlawful things, we have never grasped its true meaning: that is not worthy of the name for "no polluted thing" can be offered.
She also includes a quotation from Ruth Stull:
If my life is to be broken when given to Jesus, it is because pieces will feed a multitude, while a loaf will satisfy only a little lad.
S. D. Gordon was also featured:
Steadfastness, that is holding on;
patience, that is holding back;
expectancy, that is holding the face up;
obedience, that is holding one's self in readiness to go or do;
listening, that is holding quiet and still so as to hear.
I ask that God would lead me in doing all of them. And although my heart echoes Elisabeth Elliot's question of "How long, Lord, must I wait?" I also hear His same answer to her: "Never mind, child. Trust me."
And, in the spirit of hilarity, I have decided to include some early labor advice for birthing mothers because it makes me laugh and is awkwardly relevant.
"Things to Do in Early Labor" by Robin Elise Weiss
"Early labor is often a time when people panic. It's not that they are experiencing a lot of pain from contractions, it's simply that they don't know what they should be doing and work themselves up. . . . When a mom becomes anxious early on in her labor it really sets the tone. This can mean that labor may be longer or more painful because of the mother's inability to relax."
"Sources of Unnecessary Pain in Childbirth"
"Many women become obsessed with timing . . . For some, there is a fear that if you do not pay attention, you may miss something. Some of the signs of progress in labor can be subtle, but you will not miss the major signs. When contractions begin, ignore them and go about your day for as long as you can. When the contractions demand more attention, give them only as much as they demand. . . . Don't waste your energy by paying attention too early."
I hope, quite sincerely, that you are laughing with me. Life is infinitely better when not taken too seriously.
:D Sarah
Monday, June 14, 2010
Excuse Me While I Get Naked
Hello All,
Well now has come the inevitable point where I choose to sugarcoat or be real with you, my readers. I pretty much guessed that at some point I would have to make a tough call as to what should be public reading and what I should keep to myself, but the more I look at it, the more I realize that if I can be transparent in the times that are sunny and golden (or at least in the past and thus easier to bear in retrospect), I should also be transparent in times of struggle. I am a human after all. I have been avoiding updating because I don't really want to face truth and because I don't know what to say exactly. So, deep sighing. . .here it goes.
I have been here for two and a half days now, and I mildly feel as if the rug has been yanked from under me. It's disheartening and sobering to say the least. For any of you that know me (whether intimately or merely as an acquaintance), you know that for the past several years (since 2007 really), I have been obsessed with Honduras. Even that seems like an understatement. When I came here for the first time, I immediately felt like it was home; I felt called here. And that trip completely changed my life--my ideas of the future, my conviction of what God had in store for me, and the desires of my heart. Every time I have been in Honduras, I have learned so much about myself, God's nature, and His plans. This trip--my fourth--is no exception. Everyone that knows me automatically associates me with Honduras, and any time someone wants to talk about what's most important to me, in addition to God, Honduras is always in the mix.
I knew that this summer would be a bit different. I'm only here with Manos Extendidas for 19 days in total, and I don't really have a concrete "purpose" in being here at least until my volunteer position. Furthermore, I knew it would be different because Alvin and his family are in the States for the entire summer--I'm not likely to see them at all this summer. However, God guided me to this place, so I know that He has a purpose even when I can't see it.
So, now that I've been skirting for a few paragraphs, let me just get naked and be real: I am struggling here in a way that I did not expect. I knew at some point that I was going to have to lose Honduras--or at least what it has come to mean to me. I constantly say that Honduras is home while that quiet Voice in the back of my mind every time says, "But, Sarah, I am your home." I know that realistically as Christians, we don't have homes. We weren't called to fit into a culture or lifestyle here. This is difficult for me. It was difficult when I first realized this fact when I left home after I graduated to work in North Carolina, and it's difficult now. Honduras had been my saving grace from the scary fact that the only home I really have is in God's will. But, now, it is not. It is difficult to describe, and I'll likely skip the details, but I am reaching a place where I am questioning everything and realizing that I have no concrete answers--only a Father who loves me who I know I can trust. It is hard to be stripped of the very thing that captured your heart, of the very place that made God real for you. But I know that it is a necessary refining.
I knew that this summer was going to be one of exceptional stretching. . .but the reality of this stretching is unbelievable. I am learning, quite literally, to surrender to God every second of every day, taking each moment as an opportunity--far greater even, a necessity--of dependence on God. It is incredibly painful because I feel as if I am losing everything--my home, my security, and several concrete ideas of my future. And what I am left with demands that I be vulnerable and honest, sharing openly when all I want to do is run away or build walls of protection so that I won't get hurt.
If we are going back to the pregnancy word and metaphor, I am most definitely in labor. This isn't even just a spiritual thing any more. I am having difficulty sleeping. I don't really feel like eating because I just feel a dull sickness--a weight more than anything, like someone is constantly sitting on me. And I am an emotional wreck, about to burst into tears at any moment--often the most ridiculous moments. I wonder how pregnant, birthing women do it--bare it all for the sake of their child. When you're in labor, I am told, you end up doing things involuntarily in front of others that you would never choose to do in any other circumstance. You lose all dignity. Well, in a matter of speaking, that's where I am as well. I've never been good at hiding anything, but I am especially now unable to maintain my composure. Realistically, it's pretty hilarious. Personally, it's mortifying.
God's words are still true though. He is still showing me things even if they seem so foreign from what I would have expected. He keeps saying "many nations." He keeps echoing impending roots--where, now, I have no idea. Once again, I am back in Isaiah 26: We're in no hurry, God. We're content to linger in the path sign-posted with your decisions. . . . O God, they begged you for help when they were in trouble, when they were in so heavy they could barely whisper a prayer. I am also back to my old friend, Romans 8: We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. . . . Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. And finally Jeremiah 29 offers comfort as well: I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out--plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. "When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen. When you come looking for me, you'll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I'll make sure you won't be disappointed."
So, at the risk of being really transparent, I feel it appropriate to include an excerpt from my own personal journal to best express where I am:
"God, please take it all. . . . I am clueless. I know nothing. I don't want to hold onto anything. Send me wherever You desire. Let my life be poured out wherever Your will leads according to Your glory. Strip it all away. I gladly give it to You. It's just You and me. Nothing concrete except Your love. I trust You, God. I trust that whatever You have for me, however different from my own ideas, is Your best for my life and Your glory. . . .'Slow down. Take a deep breath. What's the hurry? Why wear yourself out? Just what are you after anyway?' -- Jeremiah 2 Talk about a conviction. God, I just want to be after you, waiting on You. Deal with me, God. I invite You into the intimate parts of my heart to see my worst and refine it with Your love. I have no answers. I have nothing, am nothing. I only ask in Your name for more of You and for the fruition of Your promises. . . . And so I wait. And I trust that He will keep my heart even when I feel the dangerous pain of vulnerability."
At any rate, all prayers are desperately appreciated. I'm a pretty big mess. Not that there's anything new about that. ;) Something about dependency demands brokenness. . .it's mildly disconcerting. :D
With transparent love and overwhelmed laugh-crying,
Sarah
Well now has come the inevitable point where I choose to sugarcoat or be real with you, my readers. I pretty much guessed that at some point I would have to make a tough call as to what should be public reading and what I should keep to myself, but the more I look at it, the more I realize that if I can be transparent in the times that are sunny and golden (or at least in the past and thus easier to bear in retrospect), I should also be transparent in times of struggle. I am a human after all. I have been avoiding updating because I don't really want to face truth and because I don't know what to say exactly. So, deep sighing. . .here it goes.
I have been here for two and a half days now, and I mildly feel as if the rug has been yanked from under me. It's disheartening and sobering to say the least. For any of you that know me (whether intimately or merely as an acquaintance), you know that for the past several years (since 2007 really), I have been obsessed with Honduras. Even that seems like an understatement. When I came here for the first time, I immediately felt like it was home; I felt called here. And that trip completely changed my life--my ideas of the future, my conviction of what God had in store for me, and the desires of my heart. Every time I have been in Honduras, I have learned so much about myself, God's nature, and His plans. This trip--my fourth--is no exception. Everyone that knows me automatically associates me with Honduras, and any time someone wants to talk about what's most important to me, in addition to God, Honduras is always in the mix.
I knew that this summer would be a bit different. I'm only here with Manos Extendidas for 19 days in total, and I don't really have a concrete "purpose" in being here at least until my volunteer position. Furthermore, I knew it would be different because Alvin and his family are in the States for the entire summer--I'm not likely to see them at all this summer. However, God guided me to this place, so I know that He has a purpose even when I can't see it.
So, now that I've been skirting for a few paragraphs, let me just get naked and be real: I am struggling here in a way that I did not expect. I knew at some point that I was going to have to lose Honduras--or at least what it has come to mean to me. I constantly say that Honduras is home while that quiet Voice in the back of my mind every time says, "But, Sarah, I am your home." I know that realistically as Christians, we don't have homes. We weren't called to fit into a culture or lifestyle here. This is difficult for me. It was difficult when I first realized this fact when I left home after I graduated to work in North Carolina, and it's difficult now. Honduras had been my saving grace from the scary fact that the only home I really have is in God's will. But, now, it is not. It is difficult to describe, and I'll likely skip the details, but I am reaching a place where I am questioning everything and realizing that I have no concrete answers--only a Father who loves me who I know I can trust. It is hard to be stripped of the very thing that captured your heart, of the very place that made God real for you. But I know that it is a necessary refining.
I knew that this summer was going to be one of exceptional stretching. . .but the reality of this stretching is unbelievable. I am learning, quite literally, to surrender to God every second of every day, taking each moment as an opportunity--far greater even, a necessity--of dependence on God. It is incredibly painful because I feel as if I am losing everything--my home, my security, and several concrete ideas of my future. And what I am left with demands that I be vulnerable and honest, sharing openly when all I want to do is run away or build walls of protection so that I won't get hurt.
If we are going back to the pregnancy word and metaphor, I am most definitely in labor. This isn't even just a spiritual thing any more. I am having difficulty sleeping. I don't really feel like eating because I just feel a dull sickness--a weight more than anything, like someone is constantly sitting on me. And I am an emotional wreck, about to burst into tears at any moment--often the most ridiculous moments. I wonder how pregnant, birthing women do it--bare it all for the sake of their child. When you're in labor, I am told, you end up doing things involuntarily in front of others that you would never choose to do in any other circumstance. You lose all dignity. Well, in a matter of speaking, that's where I am as well. I've never been good at hiding anything, but I am especially now unable to maintain my composure. Realistically, it's pretty hilarious. Personally, it's mortifying.
God's words are still true though. He is still showing me things even if they seem so foreign from what I would have expected. He keeps saying "many nations." He keeps echoing impending roots--where, now, I have no idea. Once again, I am back in Isaiah 26: We're in no hurry, God. We're content to linger in the path sign-posted with your decisions. . . . O God, they begged you for help when they were in trouble, when they were in so heavy they could barely whisper a prayer. I am also back to my old friend, Romans 8: We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. . . . Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. And finally Jeremiah 29 offers comfort as well: I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out--plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. "When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen. When you come looking for me, you'll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I'll make sure you won't be disappointed."
So, at the risk of being really transparent, I feel it appropriate to include an excerpt from my own personal journal to best express where I am:
"God, please take it all. . . . I am clueless. I know nothing. I don't want to hold onto anything. Send me wherever You desire. Let my life be poured out wherever Your will leads according to Your glory. Strip it all away. I gladly give it to You. It's just You and me. Nothing concrete except Your love. I trust You, God. I trust that whatever You have for me, however different from my own ideas, is Your best for my life and Your glory. . . .'Slow down. Take a deep breath. What's the hurry? Why wear yourself out? Just what are you after anyway?' -- Jeremiah 2 Talk about a conviction. God, I just want to be after you, waiting on You. Deal with me, God. I invite You into the intimate parts of my heart to see my worst and refine it with Your love. I have no answers. I have nothing, am nothing. I only ask in Your name for more of You and for the fruition of Your promises. . . . And so I wait. And I trust that He will keep my heart even when I feel the dangerous pain of vulnerability."
At any rate, all prayers are desperately appreciated. I'm a pretty big mess. Not that there's anything new about that. ;) Something about dependency demands brokenness. . .it's mildly disconcerting. :D
With transparent love and overwhelmed laugh-crying,
Sarah
Saturday, June 12, 2010
This Is Home
Hello All,
I'll try to keep this pretty short because I'm pretty exhausted, but I figured since we have internet access at our house, I should update you all.
I had an unbelievably smooth and blessed trip to Honduras today. I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the plane because of how excited I was, but it was inevitable. I can't believe how at home I am here. It's as if I never left. Every time I get a little hint of doubt that this place is not really home, that I am only blowing it up in my mind, I get here, and I can't explain it. I'm just home.
There are so many details of today and the things that God was showing me while I was in the Mexico City airport that I could share, but I feel as if I don't even truly have the words. Let me just say that I may internally combust before this week is over. So many things have already happened today that I can't believe. . .who knows what tomorrow holds? I've only been here half a day!
Roy picked me up at the airport, and we picked up our friendship where we left off. . .as if I'd never left. And Sally and Sara have been unbelievably hospitable, and it is quite a blessing to be sharing a bedroom with Mayra, Blanca, and Kendi--the girls at the Eagle's Nest. Tomorrow, I'm going to church, and once again, I'm pretty sure I'm going to combust. God is so very good. There are no words to express His grandeur, no acts of worship that can demonstrate His immeasurable perfection, no tears fluid enough to show the depth of my gratitude. He is all that I want.
With ecstatic love,
Sarah
I'll try to keep this pretty short because I'm pretty exhausted, but I figured since we have internet access at our house, I should update you all.
I had an unbelievably smooth and blessed trip to Honduras today. I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the plane because of how excited I was, but it was inevitable. I can't believe how at home I am here. It's as if I never left. Every time I get a little hint of doubt that this place is not really home, that I am only blowing it up in my mind, I get here, and I can't explain it. I'm just home.
There are so many details of today and the things that God was showing me while I was in the Mexico City airport that I could share, but I feel as if I don't even truly have the words. Let me just say that I may internally combust before this week is over. So many things have already happened today that I can't believe. . .who knows what tomorrow holds? I've only been here half a day!
Roy picked me up at the airport, and we picked up our friendship where we left off. . .as if I'd never left. And Sally and Sara have been unbelievably hospitable, and it is quite a blessing to be sharing a bedroom with Mayra, Blanca, and Kendi--the girls at the Eagle's Nest. Tomorrow, I'm going to church, and once again, I'm pretty sure I'm going to combust. God is so very good. There are no words to express His grandeur, no acts of worship that can demonstrate His immeasurable perfection, no tears fluid enough to show the depth of my gratitude. He is all that I want.
With ecstatic love,
Sarah
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)