BIRTHday and Back to the US

Hello All,


Greetings from the US! I have now been here nearly two weeks, but before I update you on how the trip home has been thus far, I wanted to backtrack to tell you about the amazing last week I had before leaving Honduras.


Birthdays

As you can see from the pictures and as previously mentioned in the last post, we celebrated Raúl’s 24th birthday on May 24th and my 23rd birthday on May 26th. I think we tried to out-do each other in birthday surprises. I’m wondering if this isn’t going to be a trend every year even though I suggested that we spend our birthdays next year celebrating together but resting. I got up really early on the morning of his birthday to decorate his business before he got there. I made two cakes and collaborated all week with his family and friends to plan a surprise birthday party. We had lots of food, friends, and family gathered at his mom’s house in Tatumbla for a good surprise. They all gathered before us, and it was my job to make sure that he drove us both out to Tatumbla when everyone was ready, but he sure made persuading him to go (given that it’s the rainy season, and we were going to be on a motor bike) very difficult. It was a great surprise, and we had a wonderful time giving him birthday prayers, birthday speeches, and trying to shove his face in his cake (a Honduran tradition). Overall, I think he felt very loved which was a sufficient birthday gift for me.


However, he outdid himself in everything he did for my birthday. While this may seem off-topic, for those of you who have been reading this blog for a while, you might remember that when I was in Honduras in 2009, when asking God what I was doing there at that time, God led me to the story of Elizabeth when she was pregnant with John the Baptist. He made it clear that, as The Message puts it, I was “relishing a pregnancy.” I kind of forgot about this word and thought perhaps it finished when I was in Honduras in 2010 simply because of how much time had passed, but really, I never felt closure about it. But, I forgot about it—until the night before my birthday. Bessy and Carlitos and Hermana Sandra from our church had been house sitting for Alvin and Nelly while they were in Denmark, so Raúl and I were sitting at the table talking with them about birthdays, the days and times we were born, etc. Even though I can’t really explain it, even in that moment even though I was surrounded by other people, I felt a deep loneliness coming on. As mentioned in the last post, I had just been so spiritually exhausted and lonely leading up to that point. Hermana Sandra looked at me and was talking about giving birth, and she said something that, while she might not have known at the time, I knew was very prophetic. She said, “Right before you have a baby—the night before—an unspeakable sadness comes over you. It’s hard to explain, but it’s just a deep sadness. By the next day, though, you have this new baby, and you’re just full of joy. But, the night before is long and dark.” What she said stuck with me, and I was immediately reminded of that “relishing a pregnancy” word from 2009. That evening, as Raúl was leaving, he pulled me aside and said, “Hey, I’m getting ready to leave. Are you okay? You going through something? You look like something’s going on.” At that moment, while I could feel the sadness, I couldn’t really explain why I was sad, so I brushed it off, not wanting to bother him as he was getting ready to leave. But, I went to my apartment and just started to cry. Like I said, I can’t fully explain it. Since I’ve lived in Honduras, I have been continuously reminded of just how introverted I tend to be. I often find it so difficult to trust people and truly let them in, and it often takes me a long time to let my guard down to build real friendships. It’s funny because I can tell myself that I’m just waiting for a friend to come along and that there just isn’t anyone when often, I am the one walling others out. Thus, that sadness that Hermana Sandra talked about came over me in a way I can’t explain. I sobbed much of the night and didn’t sleep. I kept telling God, “There’s nothing left. I am so exhausted. I am so empty. I can’t carry all of this on my own any more. I need love and some relief.” I told God I just wanted Him to knock me out when I got to the US because I was so exhausted, and I begged Him for an encounter with Him on my birthday because I just couldn’t see myself functioning without His presence. I was so desperate. But, as always, God is so faithful.


At 3:30 AM, I heard guitar music outside of my apartment door. I opened the door to find Raúl; Nahum; Carlitos; Bessy; Raúl’s brother, Walter; my Danish boys; and two friends of Raúl’s from Tatumbla playing guitars. I was astounded. They sang birthday songs before coming into my home to sing some more and do birthday prayers. Hermana Sandra came down and led the direction of praying. She had Nahum start, and after only a few of his words, I started crying—sobbing, ugly crying, etc. As mentioned, I was so desperate. So Hermana Sandra told everyone that he or she needed to take a turn hugging me and praying over me because I had needed to receive that love for a long time. She was right. Being someone who (if you’ve read Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages, you’ll understand) receives love through quality time and physical touch, I can’t express what that physical closeness from those embraces meant to me. Nearly all of the prayers—from Raúl and Carlitos, Hermana Sandra and Walter—talked of letting God ease my loneliness, receiving encouragement from the Holy Spirit, not allowing the enemy to beat me down, and to begin to walk in the fullness of the gifts that God has given me. I don’t know what all God was doing in those moments during those prayers and during the worship that followed, but there were tears that weren’t just my own, and God’s presence was there. God gave me my only birthday wish—an encounter with Him—and much sooner than I expected. After encouraging and loving birthday speeches, we had a breakfast of pancakes and sweet bread. I learned later that Raúl planned it all. When he left after asking me how I was, he went to Tatumbla to pick up the two guys (who had to work that day after so little sleep—Hondurans are so amazingly generous and kind to strangers). Then he wandered around at midnight looking for sweet bread to feed us. He didn’t sleep. Before leaving for work, he invited me out for the evening. I felt so bad for the baby because I knew he had to be exhausted, and he was working hard all day.


But, he showed up right on time. He took me to a mall and said, “I’m really complicated, and I had no idea what to get you. So, you can go in any of these stores and pick out whatever you want. It doesn’t matter what it costs.” While it was very sweet, it was also one of the worst ideas for someone who hates shopping (especially with other people) and who is terrible about making small decisions under pressure. The excursion ended with him picking something out for me anyway. After some ice cream and stopping to buy some eggs (I’m not too bright), we headed home. He said he figured he was going to go to sleep, and I was glad because I knew he was so tired, but then he invited me to talk to him on the porch where another surprise was waiting. The whole porch was decorated, and friends were waiting to celebrate with cake and pizza that he bought. We played games, and I was given the traditional Honduran baptism in birthday eggs to round out the evening. Overall, I was so overwhelmed by everything that he and the rest of my special friends did to make my birthday special. It was one I will not soon forget because God made His love for me so real through so many precious people, especially the kindness of Raúl.


I don’t know what exactly happened within me in that early morning encounter with God, but something just broke. It’s as if the walls I’d had up all that time came down to allow myself to really receive love from my Honduran friends and family, and it changed my interactions and level of closeness with them. I think for the first time since moving, I allowed myself to fully feel like I belonged and to recognize that not only did I feel called to Honduras and want to be there out of obedience, but that my life was having some kind of an impact on those around me enough for Hondurans to want me to be there too.


Leaving Honduras

In the days that followed, Raúl continued to out-do himself, taking me and other friends to Tatumbla for lunch at his mom’s business, planning a delicious going-away meal for me, and taking a whole vanload of us out to dinner the night before I flew out. (If you know much about Hondurans or Raúl, it’s not surprising that all of that involved food. Ha ha.) I think what meant the most to me was his willingness to just be in close proximity and to spend quality time with me before I left, especially in little things like walking home with me from his business. After waiting for such a long time to feel like I really had a close friend, my developing friendship with Raúl was such a blessing and made leaving Honduras more difficult (or perhaps easier to want to come back to).


I had a send-off at the airport by Bessy, Quendy, and Waldina (Raúl’s sister) along with Raúl who drove us. I think this may be the first time since my very first time leaving Honduras that I didn’t cry in the airport. (The first trip in 2007, I didn’t cry until I got to Miami.) After two flights and some waiting, I was met by my brother and my dad after not seeing them for nine months.


Life in the US

I won’t lie—every time I’ve ever come back to the US from Honduras, I typically spend a period of time (usually 3 to 6 months) in culture shock and in a devastated sense of restlessness and homesickness for Honduras. This trip was no exception in terms of culture shock even though I now live in Honduras, and my life and sense of home are fully there. The first week I was here, I struggled with feeling overwhelmed—from listening to people’s conversations in Houston airport, from not being able to find plantains at the local grocery store, from feeling disconnected from loved ones in Honduras, from being under time pressure, and from feeling like I live in two different worlds that in many ways contradict each other. I am a person of intense loyalty, so that disconnect between those two worlds initially left me feeling torn. It took some time of seeking God to help me realize that I don’t have to pick or be loyal to one or the other, that I can be a part of God’s culture and His Kingdom and simply love people of both countries and cultures right where they are. It’s difficult, and I’m not great at it, but that release was so what I needed. I still so desire for my two worlds to be more connected in terms of my family and close friends getting to meet my Honduran family and friends. And in terms of someone from Honduras getting to come to the US with me at some point to have a better understanding of what the last 20-something years of my life have been like. But, all of that is in good time. For now, I am so blessed that my family is so willing to listen to my stories and that my Honduran family is so quick to ask how my US family members are doing.


In the two weeks I’ve been back, I’ve had some treasured time with my family and my best friend/cousin/former road trip buddy, Gabrielle. This past weekend, we went on a camping trip with my cousins, my grandmother, my aunt, my immediate family, and a family that has been friends with my family for many years. It was a great time. It was fun to be around the people I can always be silly with and have some time to just relax and remember childhood. (It was also fun to see that my brother and I—we really could have been twins—still kill at playing the board game, Cranium.) In the two weeks or so that remain, I will be cramming in more visits with friends and a bit of traveling around the state to see the places I have called home.


Restoration

I do feel like I am being restored as I so needed to be. As odd as it may sound, being back in the US has only strengthened my assurance that I am called to Honduras, and for that reason, I am chomping at the bit to get back. Everything in my life right now keeps telling me that now is the time to go deeper with God and to start fulfilling His calling on my life in a radical way. For the first time in a while, I feel that old spark of excitement to see what God is going to do next. He proved Himself to be so faithful right before I left. This life is so short. After being out of the US for only nine months, I am astounded by the things that are transpiring in the government and in national trends. We were never meant to be of this world, and we, as Christians, cannot afford to be bought and sold by a system of the world. We can’t afford to sleep or to be complacent. There is a dying world out there full of people who have never heard of Jesus. Who else will be Jesus to them but us?

I feel as if my being so introverted is one of those weaknesses that Paul talks about in Corinthians, and I am beginning to learn that if I let it (and insecurity) silence me instead of taking my rightful authority as the daughter of the King, I will always miss out on opportunities that God had for more depth with Him. If I don’t take hold of the boldness necessary to open my mouth even when I feel intimidated, who knows what kind of blessings, healing, and hope I am withholding from other people. I don’t want that kind of responsibility on my hands, and I don’t want the regret of that lost privilege to weigh on my heart later. Thus, my current prayer is that God would give me the strength to walk in His fullness and to be more sensitive to His voice. On my birthday, one of the guys from Tatumbla told me, once again, that scripture from Psalm 37: Delight in Me, and I will give you the desires of your heart. And he also mentioned passages of Isaiah 58 which has always been a verse pertinent to my life and calling. While I may have felt lost all of this time, God has not lost sight of His vision of my future or my calling. For that, I am so grateful.


As always, thank you so much for reading and keeping up with me.


All my love,
Sarah



Happy Birthday, Bebé!



The first moment he walked into the house--SURPRISE!

Taking his time making his birthday wish/prayer...one of the few times I've seen him this serious.

Nahum, Raúl, Mami Sonia, and Richard

Birthday hug. The looks on our faces sum us up pretty well.

What I opened my door to find at 3:30 AM on my birthday

Mathias, me, and Carlitos

Visiting my home for birthday songs, prayers, and speeches

Me and Hermana Sandra--I love that lady!

The early morning birthday surprise was more than enough for me, but Raúl had planned more!

Me and my Danish boys

I had no idea Raúl was holding that egg above my head.

Quendy came for my birthday

Receiving the traditional egg baptism

I was covered in egg...

My siblings and my cousins while camping





Playing in the river

Spending time with my mama

And my sister

Finding My Place



Building a house for a lady from our church, Elena, (she is the one digging)



One of my Danish "children," Michael, doing what he does best--carpentry work!



My other Danish "child," Mathias carrying wood for the house

 

The little girl on the left, Any Yalickza, is my first little sponsor girl who has grown up so much since I started sponsoring her in 2007





I don't have a camera, and Leigh-Ann doesn't take pictures, so I'm pretty sure that this is the only picture taken of us the whole time she was here. All of these pictures are courtesy of a team member from Rawlinson Road Church



We visited the new mommies and babies at Hospital Escuela



My little buddy at the government-run orphanage, Casitas Kennedy


Hello All,
May has been one of my busiest months here, and it will culminate with a much-anticipated flight back to the US for a month-long visit. Since the last time I updated, we have had three teams here back-to-back, and I also had my first personal visitor, Leigh-Ann Robinson. As I write this, Alvin and Nelly have recently left for the US and will be leaving there within six days to visit Denmark. They won’t return to Honduras until June 11. I myself will be leaving on May 30 and won’t return to Honduras until June 30.

Yuscarán

As you may remember from updates in September, my very first month here, there is a couple from our church, Nati and Martha, who run a consistent ministry in a small town called Yuscarán south of Tegucigalpa. They go to Yuscarán every 15 days to bring blessings of food and other needed items and to have an outdoor church service in the surrounding mountain neighborhood called Aceituno. Martha also travels an hour and a half by bus every week to Yuscarán to lead a small group meeting. Nati and Martha’s ministry so blesses me because they are Hondurans helping their own people. They are sacrificing of their own personal finances and time to reach what we call in Spanish, un campo blanco—a place that could be considered unreached with the Gospel since there are no churches, missionaries, or evangelism there. Nati and Martha have three of their own sons and run two businesses, yet they still find the time to immerse themselves in giving to these people who are so hungry for more of Jesus. This wonderful couple sets such an amazing example because if they can do what they do in Honduras, there is no reason that anyone in the US couldn’t do the same. This family has always been very special to me since I moved here because they are so humble and faithful. Since I moved here, I have treasured how welcoming and friendly each member of their family is with me, and I find it so easy to feel at home with them. Thus, I was happy although rather shy to receive an invitation from Hermana Martha to travel with her to Yuscarán for the small group meeting and to share with the people there. I was rather hesitant to share because I am not one who likes to show up to a new place like I’m worth listening to or have all of the answers. However, I am ultimately here to serve in any way God opens the doors, so I agreed. As always, I feel as if I learned from them far more than they learned from me. It warmed and stirred my soul to see a visible hunger for more of God on their faces as they worshiped. That kind of desperation for the only One who matters is so rare. Yet, in the midst of poverty and hunger and quiet desolation, it is the only answer they have. God’s the only answer any of us have, really. It is just that those of us who have more distractions or more worldly “options” don’t often recognize this truth.

After that Thursday, I also went the following Sunday with the family and another family who also goes every 15 days to Yuscarán. I loved it. We shampooed the children’s hair for lice, provided a meal, and gave some provisions to the families of Aceituno. I think what I loved most was seeing how invested the believers in Yuscarán in this ministry to Aceituno. While Nati and Martha and Hermano Tomás lead the ministry, the ladies and other believers in Yuscarán are such willing servants. They made the food to take to Aceituno, and they accompany Nati and Martha during the church service in Aceituno. They collaborate so closely and are so eager to give even though many of them are also hurting in the same ways from the effects of unemployment and limited resources. Although we have been very busy with teams, and I won’t be in Honduras for a month, I hope to be more of a part of this ministry when I return because the people of Yuscarán and Aceituno have stolen a special place in my heart.

Time with Leigh-Ann

When I returned from Nicaragua, my Danish boys went to Costa Rica, and Mami Nelly went to Nicaragua. My life here is pretty simple, and when even just a few people aren’t present, it changes everything. I spend a lot of time with my Danish “children” going to the boys center, 21 de Octubre, and just hanging out in the evenings. When Papi doesn’t have anything for me to do during the days (other than simple things like recording receipts, checking e-mail, and the like), I am often home with Mami Nelly. Thus, with the absence of those three people, I felt very alone. I can say that hands-down, the greatest struggle of moving here and transitioning has been loneliness. Thus, I was overjoyed to have my very first visitor for two weeks, Leigh-Ann. Those of you who have been reading this blog for a long time may remember that she was my roommate while I was studying at language school in Mexico. She and I get along so well, and it was such a wonderful blessing that she chose to spend her money and time to visit me. I was so proud of her bravery to take part in every facet of my everyday life—riding the bus to get groceries, visiting Raúl at the business, riding on motor bikes with the boys to go to the boys center, celebrating Mother’s Day with Raúl’s family, eating catracho food at street vendors’, translating for teams, doing street ministry, building houses, and visiting the new mothers at the hospital. She was so eagerly accepted by my Honduran second family, and we’re still talking about how we miss her. What I miss the most is having someone to share my home with and to laugh with me and at me on a regular basis. Leigh-Ann is very special to me, and she will always have a warm welcome here. I look forward to many more visitors in the future as well. If you are willing to sleep, eat, and live like I do, my door is always open.

Quendy

While I don’t see many of the other girls who lived with me at the Eagle’s Nest, I do see Quendy pretty often. As I write this, she is sitting with me in my living room sewing her jeans. She lives nearby with her second “marido” or live-together boyfriend, and she is pregnant. We don’t know (and I’m not really sure if she knows or not) who the father is. She often shows up at Raúl’s business because she is hungry, and he always gives her whatever he has to eat and provides a safe place for her to spend her days. Her boyfriend is often not home, and I’m not really sure of his age or how he treats her. She has also started visiting me more often for some breakfast, to wash clothes, etc. Her willingness to still visit especially when she is in need is evidence to me that at the very least, a seed was planted that we do love her. If she didn’t know that we love her, she wouldn’t come here, but she does, and she occasionally shows up at the church as well. God isn’t done with Quendy. While her life may not look like what we had hoped for her, God is in control. Just this morning, she told me that she had a dream last night that she was back in the Eagle’s Nest and that Papi Alvin was giving her advice about current life situations, and she awoke disappointed to find where she really was. God has His own ways of bringing His children into His arms. Please pray for Quendy and her unborn child. She is still such a child who will be raising a child, and right now, she isn’t sure she is willing to do that. Please also pray that God will give Raúl and me the words to say to counsel her, encourage her, and show her God’s love.

Birthdays to Celebrate

Speaking of Raúl, he has a birthday coming up (as do I)! He will turn 24 on May 24th, and I will turn 23 on May 26th. While it is partially because sometimes I have so much time on my hands, I have been excited for his birthday for a while. He has been my most faithful friend since I moved here, and when I think of being in the US for a month, other than Alvin and Nelly, he is the person I know I will miss the most. While it isn’t often that we have the time to sit down and have a real conversation, every time we do, I am encouraged and surprised to find just how much his life and his struggles mirror my own at this time. While I feel like we’re both rather broken people in need of more of God’s love and restoration, it is a comfort to me to know that at least I am not alone. It is difficult for Raúl and me to protect ourselves or to see ourselves the way that God sees us. But, we both eagerly protect each other, serve each other, and see the potential God has in each other which I think gives us both a little hope. I am looking forward to celebrating both of our birthdays (my second one spent here in Honduras) before heading back to the US.

The Hope for Restoration

While I likely never thought that this would be the case, I am so looking forward to my trip to the US—I’m even counting down the days! It’s not so much that I miss the US because what I miss isn’t the culture or convenience. It is just the people—my friends, my family, and my overall sense of being surrounded by love and acceptance. The thought of being able to hug my dad fills me with joy and tears because I feel so in need of the physical security of his love. It is difficult for me to admit it mainly because I feel as if I don’t “do” anything that taxing that should cause me to require a break, but the truth is that I am so in need of spiritual rest and restoration. The other day I was standing in church during praise and worship, and I was so overwhelmed by an unspeakable exhaustion that took my breath away. It is an exhaustion that can’t be removed by any number of deep sighs and runs so deep that it doesn’t matter how many hours I sleep because it’s spiritual. Exhaustion like this scares me because it makes me feel as if complacency is looming and that pressing onward in my walk with Christ is like running on a treadmill and going nowhere. Thus, I know that once again, God is calling me away with Him—out of my element and routine into newness. I so desire God’s newness.
The other day when Alvin and Nelly left, he unexpectedly made me cry while he was telling me goodbye. He is undoubtedly my second dad, and I love him more than I can express, but it isn’t often that I get emotional over his traveling. But, all of my life, I’ve been one to guard emotion and absorb pain to the point that I become a glass house. I can appear (even to myself) that I am completely strong and standing on my own well, but all anyone has to do is break the glass, and I fall apart. When I was younger, all my dad would have to do when I was upset was lay a hand on my shoulder, and I lost it. Alvin just said a simple, “I love you. Thank you so much for being with me here in Honduras and for being a good example.” That kindness broke my glass house in a way I wasn’t expecting.
During the week in April when I was going to share with the small group in Yuscarán, I was again dwelling in Hebrews and the idea of God’s rest. I was researching this idea of Biblical, godly rest, and I was excited to find a reoccurring phrase of “in his place,” “in their place,” etc. In Exodus 16, it talks about the Israelites resting instead of gathering manna on the Sabbath, and it says, “See, the Lord has given you the Sabbath; therefore He gives you on the sixth day the bread for two days; let every man remain in his place; let no man leave his place on the seventh day.” In 1 Samuel 3, when Samuel first hears from God, it says, “So Eli said to Samuel, Go, lie down. And if He calls you, you shall say, Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening. So Samuel went and lay down in his place.” In 2 Chronicles 34, Josiah also provides an example of our place when it says, “Then the king stood in his place and made a covenant before the Lord—to walk after the Lord and to keep His commandments, His testimonies, and His statutes with all his heart and with all his soul, to perform in the words of the covenant that are written in this book.”

I often find myself consciously or unconsciously asking God, “Where is my place?” For the months that I’ve lived here, I have felt like I’m falling off of a bed. I know that I was obedient in moving here. I know that God sent me here to be a servant and to be the least of these. Yet, I still feel as if I am waiting for something. I have left the comfort of my mattress, pillow, and blankets, but I feel as if I am in mid-air, knowing I will hit the ground at some point, but I just don’t know when. At this point of exhaustion, I sometimes just find myself even asking God, “What am I even waiting for at this point?” Living in this place that I love and having the opportunity to be surrounded by the people who I love is a blessing that overwhelms me with gratitude on a regular basis. Honestly, it’s a gift that I feel I don’t deserve. But, being without many friends, without my own family, and without a “clear-defined” personal ministry, sometimes, I feel so lost. That sense of being lost and lacking a purpose gets heightened by loneliness and by the all-too-familiar questions from teams of, “What is it that you do?” and “What is your role?” It has taken me a long time to accept Alvin’s love and generosity in allowing me to live here. I often don't feel like I’m worth it or that I’m doing enough to “earn my keep.” Without his generosity, I really doubt that I could afford to be here. I have offered numerous times to pay some form of rent, but he won’t let me. Thus, that soft spot of feeling unworthy gets further wounded when teams ask me, “What do you have to pay Alvin in rent?” “Are you earning your rent?” Their questions, tones of voice, etc. often make me feel as if they suspect I am taking advantage of Alvin financially, and while I understand their desire to protect him because he is so well-loved, it crushes me—someone who used to be such an overachiever, workaholic, ultra-independent person. And, as I head back to the US, the question from other missionaries here (not Alvin) is often, “Are you going to go drum up support?” God made it so clear before I left (through Corrie ten Boom’s example and book, Tramp for the Lord) that I was not to “drum up” my own support that I have to answer that no, that’s not my intention in this trip. God always provides. The response is usually, “Wow. You’re so lucky. So you have your own support then? Do your parents pay for you to be here?”

I am learning that finding my place means that I have to accept God’s place. He is the One who provides. He is the One who does the work. He is the One who loves me not for what I do or what my role is in the ministry. He is the One who identifies me not by how well I’m earning my keep but by the simple truth that I am His daughter. As is always the case, this love of God hurts a little bit (sometimes to the point that we would rather run than feel it) because like a fire, it sears through our fears that we’re not worth anything and burns up our doubts that God’s wants to give us His best. It is a love that doesn’t tolerate the lie we might want to tell ourselves that we’re in control or that we can somehow earn God’s approval. In April, I was in church during worship, crying and asking God, “Where is my place?” And He gave me the image of His throne room. We were alone in this empty room of His glory, and I wanted to enter timidly with my eyes looking at the ground and my shoulders hunched. But, He told me that I must enter like a daughter and with the innocence of a child. He brought me close to Him to sit on His lap and place my head above His heart and said, “This is your place.” And it is just as it says in Hebrews 4:16, “Let us then fearlessly and confidently and boldly draw near to the throne of grace (the throne of God’s unmerited favor to us sinners), that we may receive mercy [for our failures] and find grace to help in good time for every need [appropriate help and well-timed help, coming just when we need it]."

I so need God’s help and His mercy at this time, so I look forward to this time away with Him and with so many people who I love and miss. And, I look forward with faith to the restoration that God has for me to receive and for the renewal I trust He will grant me before I return to my beloved home of Honduras.

With love,
Sarah

Lessons Illuminated

Mami Sonia, me, and Mami Sara in Bluefields, Nicaragua

The view from our panga ride on the river

(Back:) Mami Sonia, Diana (Sara's daughter), Vladimir (Diana's boyfriend), Manuel (Sara's son), Mami Sara; (Front:) Gabriel (Sara's grandson), Justin (Sara's grandson), and Vicki (Sara's daughter) 

Gabo and me--Gabriel was my beach buddy and faithful little body guard during my whole stay

Parading Jesus through the streets on Easter

A little friend we encountered

The Bluff

Another swimming spot in Bluefields

Hello All,


I have been back from Nicaragua for nearly a week although that is hard to believe since it has been very busy. The trip was very good although the travel itself was very long. It takes two six-hour bus rides and a two-hour panga or small boat ride to travel from Tegucigalpa to Bluefields, Nicaragua, where Mami Nelly and Mami Sara are from. It is more than 24 hours straight of traveling when you figure in the time waiting for the next bus. Raúl’s mom, Mami Sonia, accompanied me on the trip, and I was very proud of her stamina. I loved the panga ride. As we flew through the waters of the river with trees and small shacks and docks on either side of us, I just kept hearing the words of that song “Come Away” by Jesus Culture—Come away with Me. Come away with Me. It’s never too late. It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you. I have a plan for you. I have a plan for you. It’s going to be wild. It’s going to be great. It’s going to be full of Me. So, open up your heart and let Me in.


This trip was indeed a time to get away with God outside of what has become my normal sphere of life in Honduras. I hate to say that I needed the rest because at times I feel like I don’t do anything taxing, but at the same time, the restoration and renewed spiritual enthusiasm I felt after returning was proof to me that I had gotten tired. Even though it boggled Mami Sonia’s mind how much time I could spend reading the Bible and writing in my journal, I was so grateful for the time to just saturate myself like a sponge with the hope I find in Christ. It was uplifting to be around Sara as always, and I was so grateful for her generosity and hospitality.


While in Nicaragua, I started reading Henri Nouwen’s book, Gracias, a kind of journal from his time spent in Peru and Bolivia. I haven’t made much more progress in it since I’ve been back, but what I read there was good enough that I nearly wanted to copy the entire book into my journal because so many passages resonated with me. Here are a few:


I know that all who love God strive constantly to hear his voice more clearly (xiv).

While this may seem like such a simple concept, in the past couple months, I had found myself avoiding the voice of God because I wasn’t prepared to confront the things He wanted to show me within myself, because I was afraid that what He would tell me would create such painful longings in my heart for things that I can only believe for, and because I had begun to doubt my own capacity to recognize His voice. But, as is clearly evident here, if I truly love God, I have to be willing—and not just willing but purposeful in trying—to hear the voice of God more clearly all the time.

Peru: from the moment I entered it, I felt a deep love for this country. I do not know why. . . . I felt embraced by a loving people in a way I had not known before. . . . I had the strange emotion of homecoming. “This is where I belong. This is where I must be. This is where I will be for a very long time. This is home.” . . . for me it was a day of comfort and consolation, a day on which the decision to come to this country was affirmed. . . . On the evening of this first day in Peru, I had the sensation that all that I had heard and seen had a deep and old familiarity. Everything whispered, “Welcome home, my friend.” (2-4).

One of the greatest things that happened while I was in Nicaragua was experiencing homesickness for Honduras for the first time in seven months, since I moved. Everything that Nouwen expresses in this passage about his love for Peru echoes my own heart for Honduras. While I loved being in Nicaragua, being away only made me feel even more sure of my love and belonging to Honduras. The novelty of Honduras has completely worn off, but the love for this place remains. I was talking on the phone to Raúl while I was in Nicaragua and explained that while I liked Nicaragua, Honduras still felt like my home. Raúl replied by saying, “Good, then you’ll stay forever, right?”

True prayer always includes becoming poor. When we pray we stand naked and vulnerable in front of Our Lord and show him our true condition. If one were to do this not just for oneself, but in the name of thousands of surrounding poor people, wouldn’t that be “mission” in the true sense of being sent into the world as Jesus himself was sent into the world? . . . If God really exists, if he truly cares, if he never leaves his people alone, who is there to remind him of his promises? (11-12).

God is truly heightening my realization of the value of prayer. Sometimes, I tend to beat myself up because I’m not one to be sitting still in prayer for hours on end. But, then, I take a step back and realize that I am praying all the time. It isn’t always a conscious, “I’m going to pray right now”; instead, it’s usually just the ongoing conversation I have with God throughout every moment of the day about every little detail or every big event. With that said, I do want to become more purposeful in what I’m praying about, who I’m praying for, and interceding for the lost.

The poor themselves are the best evangelizers. . . . True liberation is freeing people from the bonds that have prevented them from giving their gifts to others. . . . It is hard for me to accept that the best I can do is probably not to give but to receive. By receiving in a true and open way, those who give to me can become aware of their own gifts. After all, we come to recognize our own gifts in the eyes of those who receive them gratefully. Gratitude then becomes the central virtue of a missionary (15-16).

One of the most rewarding aspects of living in a strange land is the experience of being loved not for what we can do, but for who we are. When we become aware that our stuttering, failing, vulnerable selves are loved even when we hardly progress, we can let go of our compulsion to prove ourselves and be free to live with others in a fellowship of the weak. . . . In the presence of God, we . . . realize that we can do nothing, absolutely nothing, without Him. . . . I, therefore, think that for those who are pulled away from their familiar surroundings and brought into a strange land where they feel again like babies, the Lord offers a unique chance not only for personal conversion but also for authentic ministry (18).


The great paradox of ministry, therefore, is that we minister above all with our weakness, a weakness that invites us to receive from those to whom we go. The more in touch we are with our own need for healing and salvation, the more open we are to receive in gratitude what others have to offer us. . . . In that sense, ministry becomes the skill of active dependency: willing to be dependent on what others have to give but often do not realize they have. . . . To go to the poor is to go to the Lord. Living this truth in our daily life makes it possible to care for people without conditions, without hesitation, without suspicion, or without the need for immediate rewards. With this sacred knowledge, we can avoid becoming burned out. The goal of education and formation for the ministry is continually to recognize the Lord’s voice, his face, and his touch in every person we meet (20).

When we have met our Lord in the silent intimacy of our prayer, then we will also meet him in the campo, in the market, and in the town square. But when we have not met him in the center of our own hearts, we cannot expect to meet him in the busyness of our daily lives (21-22).

All of the above echoes lessons that God has been teaching me over the last seven months. As we are headed into our busiest team season, I have to mentally prepare myself to receive that all-too-familiar question of: “So what is it that you do?” I have to deep sigh and try not to laugh every time that I prepare to answer because the truth is that I don’t really “do” anything worth noting. It’s not about me. The question of “Well, did you study or get any form of education?” is also common. (I did—I have a degree in secondary education which also spurs the question of, “Well, why aren’t you teaching?”) When I mention to Alvin how often I get these kinds of questions, he gets frustrated and says, “Well, why don’t people ask me those kinds of questions?” The answer, to me, is obvious. Alvin has lived and worked in Honduras long enough that he has a clearly observable ministry. He has some measure of tangible results for his toil. But Alvin and I both agree that we are not what we do. Alvin always encourages me by telling me that, to him, I am a fruit tree. When fruit trees are first planted, they don’t automatically bear fruit, and even if they do bear fruit fairly early, it’s not always the sweetest or the best developed fruit.

I recently had a conversation with one of my Danish “children,” where I just shared that I have learned that I am not here because of a job or because of anything that I think that I am accomplishing. I am here out of obedience to God. There are numerous dreams and visions for the future that I believe that God has for me in Honduras, but I have to learn to be faithful in the small things first. If I can’t demonstrate a servant’s heart in checking e-mails, translating for teams, cataloguing receipts, and just stopping to love the one person in front of me, how could I ever expect that God would give me more responsibility? I believe that this is a time of developing roots and permanence in Honduras, but my roots have to dig deeper and deeper into God before I (or anyone else) can really expect to see an abundance of fruit.

One of the things that I love about Henri Nouwen’s ministry in Peru is that he conducted his outreach with a sense of humility—not of overbearing imperialism but of dependency and weakness. The goal of the mission with which he worked was to find the gifts in others simply by seeing Jesus in someone else and pointing Him out to that person. I can think of no better place where this attitude would be useful than Honduras. The people here—even and especially in many cases, church people—are so wounded. Ministries that operate with a condescending attitude of having to teach “those poor ignorant people” or fixing their “backward culture” do so much more harm than good. Individuals who come to “minister” by doing more talking than listening, more teaching than learning, and more giving than receiving often do damage that must later be “cleaned up” by someone else.

In the months that I have been here, God has humbled me greatly and exposed just how weak I truly am. In His amazing love, He has allowed me the rare gift of understanding that He loves me not for what I do for Him but simply because I am His child. He has given me beautiful opportunities to be faithful in the small things and to learn to surrender all of my bigger dreams for the future in prayer to Him. Listening to the struggles of my Danish boys has reminded me of how far God has brought me and how much He has mellowed me out since I moved here. I think one of the biggest reasons I so love the Honduran people is that I have learned and continue to learn so much from them. I have been so blessed and continue to be blessed by their wonderful example of dependency on God, generosity, and perseverance. I have been encouraged and continue to be encouraged by their loving acceptance of me, their patience with my differences, and their interest in who I am.

One last lesson I’ll mention that was brought fully to light while I was in Nicaragua is this: God has given me the freedom to fail. I have known that for a while at least in a logical fashion, but I hadn’t really been living it to its depths because it hadn’t penetrated my heart. But recently, through a series of circumstances, I have come to recognize that there will be times when I will think that God is leading me in a certain direction (I don’t know why I’m so prone to try to figure Him out!), and I am completely wrong. But, if I cling to God and resolve to be obedient to Him above all else, whether I am wrong or not, doesn’t matter because He gives me the freedom to fail. As long as He is the one that is my greatest delight, even if I am totally blind to the direction in which He is taking me, my life isn’t ruined. For a long time, I had this concept that if I sought God, He’d always tell me the direction to go in and keep me from being embarrassed or wrong. But, now, I don’t believe that is always the case. Sometimes, He isn’t going to tell us the direction He is taking us because He wants to see if we’ll blindly put our hand in His and just follow. The result in the end may be that we have to be humbled to see that we were completely wrong, but if He is our greatest heart’s desire, we’ll also find that even though we aren’t going in the direction we thought, we’re still on God’s perfect path that actually leads to something a million times better than what we’d imagined.

This freedom to fail and the acknowledgement of this freedom in the depths of my heart feels like learning another language. To learn another language, one has to be willing to jump in and be wrong, look stupid, and trust that we have the freedom to fail (because we’re only going to learn from our failures anyway). It’s the same with learning the language of the Holy Spirit. I am coming to realize that so often I don’t invite the Holy Spirit into every moment of my life and interactions with others because I am afraid to fail. I’m afraid that if I pray for a person who is sick, they might not get healed…and then I would be wrong. I am afraid that if I share the word that I believe that God is laying on my heart for someone that I could be completely in left field, and they’re going to think I’m nuts. I am afraid to seek out opportunities to develop spiritual fluency because I haven’t really been trusting that God gives me the freedom to fail and that His grace is sufficient even when I am wrong.

Last night, I rewatched the documentary, Finger of God, and I was amazed by everything that God reminded me of through the people sharing their stories. Jesus says in John 14:12-14:
I assure you, most solemnly I tell you, if anyone steadfastly believes in Me, he will himself be able to do the things that I do; and he will do even greater things than these, because I go to the Father. And I will do [I Myself will grant] whatever you ask in My Name [as presenting all that I AM], so that the Father may be glorified and extolled in (through) the Son. [Yes] I will grant [I Myself will do for you] whatever you shall ask in My Name [as presenting all that I AM].

God gives us the freedom to fail as we learn the language of His Holy Spirit, but if we sit back and are afraid to step out, be wrong, or look stupid, as one of the guys from the documentary says, the Holy Spirit will be imprisoned in us unbelieving believers. The life that God has called Christians (followers of Jesus) to is much much more expansive than the lives that average Christians tend to lead. But, I am reaching a place where I want to do the things that Jesus did. I want to do greater things than Jesus did. As Kevin Dedmon said in Finger of God, “If we’re in Christ, all of us have the Holy Spirit. . . . All of us have God communing with us, so there’s no difference in the kingdom between those who go after the supernatural and those who don’t. We all have the same resource. We all have the same access. We’re all sons and daughters. We’re all children, and therefore, we have access and have been given the same authority as His children to release what’s in the Kingdom.”

God created our human brains in such a way that we all have the capacity to learn a second, third, etc. language, but it is a part of the brain that must be deliberately accessed. Those who use that portion and function of their brains are not any more capable or special than those humans who don’t, but they are activating a piece of themselves that opens the world and frees human interaction in more expansive ways. For those who never access that capability of the brain, they are merely living with a hidden world lying dormant at their fingertips or rather in the recesses of their brain’s potential. It is the same with the language of the Holy Spirit and the Kingdom of God. God has given all of us followers that truth that we can and will do greater things than Jesus did, but we have to deliberately access that capacity. We have to willingly decide to run recklessly after God, put Jesus’ word into obedient action, and develop fluency in bringing the Kingdom of God on earth. It isn’t a “talent” for only the most spiritual. It is a gift we’ve all been given. It is a gift that I don’t want to waste any longer.

All my love,

Sarah

My heart burns for you...

Hello All,


In the midst of packing lists and doing laundry, preparations for my upcoming trip to Nicaragua, I thought I would share a bit of an update about the kinds of things that have been going on around here. April is upon us which seems so unbelievable especially since Raúl and I talked about going to Nicaragua for Semana Santa ever since November when Sara and Sally moved. As it turns out, he can’t go because of taking care of his business, but his mom, Mami Sonia, and I will head out to Bluefields on Monday. I am very excited. It is perfect timing because I can feel the bite of the travel bug yet again, and I’m ready for a change of scenery. I am also excited to add another country to the list of those I’ve traveled to. I have no idea when I’ll be returning to Honduras as the decision is really up to Mami Sonia, but we’ll be staying with Mami Sara and will hopefully have the opportunity to help her with her ministry there.


Meanwhile, this month has been busy with teams, keeping up with my Danish volunteer “children,” and still visiting Raúl on a free day. Before the Danish volunteers came, I was talking to Mateo, a missionary who recently came to work with our ministry, and we were discussing the idea of discipleship. He pointed out that while Jesus preached to the multitude, His real discipleship took place with 12 men and even more in depth with three—Peter, James, and John. Mateo encouraged me to pray for my three, and my 12, and assured me that God would also provide “the multitude” at the right time. I completely agree with Mateo that often we can get so caught up in numbers that it becomes an issue of quantity versus quality where fruit is very sparse. I also fully believe that ministry essentially is all about relationship—relationship with God, relationships with other believers, and relationships with unbelievers. Thus, I began to pray that God would show me who the three people were that He would have me pour into and serve closely. Days later, the Danish volunteers came. While I had known they were coming, I didn’t know much about them, and I hadn’t been expecting to be so involved with them and what they were doing and experiencing here. Within hours of their arrival, it was undeniable to me that here were two of my three. As I continued to pray for my third, it became obvious that my third had been present all along—Raúl. He and I have been inseparable since I moved here, and even though I don’t feel like it’s been too much of a conscious effort for either of us, we have both been there for the other just in companionship, in service, and in encouragement. It is also through Raúl that I have found my 12 (even though there are fewer than 12) in the boys who Raúl so easily takes under his wing—Chespiro, Cristian, and Orlin. In the months since I’ve lived in the apartment, I have either been going to them at the business or the Eagle’s Nest or Raúl has been bringing them to me. The boys are all around 18 and obviously younger than Raúl and me, so together, we feed them, advise them, pick on them, and hopefully serve as good examples for them. Meanwhile, it is through the Danes that I have found my “multitude.”


One of the places that the Danes go as volunteers with the ministry is a center called 21 de Octubre, a government-run center for at-risk boys around ages 13-17. The boys who are there are sometimes sent there by the government due to stealing, drug trafficking, etc. or they are brought there by their parents for being uncontrollable, drug rehabilitation, etc. I don’t know why—perhaps because my brother and I have always been very close or perhaps because I spent so much time just hanging out and helping my dad when I was younger—but it has always been much easier for me to connect with guys than with girls. It’s not that I don’t care for or want to work with young girls; it is simply that God has given me an inexplicable ability to quickly gain the trust of boys. I know it is partially because I’m a girl, but I also know that God has given me wisdom over the years to know where I have to draw boundaries, when I have to demand respect, and how to be an example of a godly, compassionate, yet stern (when need be) woman. For this reason, from the very first time that I went to 21 de Octubre, primarily just because I was sent by Alvin to translate for the Danes, I lost my heart to these young boys. Since then, I have returned with the Danes once or twice a week—enough to build a relationship with many of the boys there. Words cannot express neither my compassion for these precious children nor how my heart breaks for these boys. They are so starved for love. The younger ones flock to me for hugs or to play while the older ones come around for a listening ear. It amazes me how even the most arrogant, the most hardened, and the least serious come just to have someone hear their stories, and let me assure you, their stories would astound you.


Words cannot express how much I value everything I read, watched, and eagerly consumed about gang life, illegal immigration, street children, and psychology of abused adolescents before moving. I have learned so much from Alvin in the years that I’ve been here about the habits of the gangs, the difficulties of incarcerated youth, and the best way to communicate with them. Alvin has taught all of his workers through the years that when you are listening to young people share their often horrid stories, you have to guard your behavior and your body language closely. If a young person is telling you his story of how he’s killed someone and you flinch or bat an eye, you will send the message that what that person has done is unforgiveable and too horrible for Jesus to redeem. Even though I’ve never been trained directly to work with these kinds of young people, I’ve picked up on the little lessons Alvin has mentioned or shared with others, and they have served me well in this experience. Plus, having been immersed in the culture here over the years, I have picked up on Honduran mannerisms, tones of voice, and street words which have also made it much easier to connect with the boys. In short, God has prepared me well, and even though it breaks my heart, every time I go to 21 de Octubre, I feel like I was made for that kind of work.


There are two older boys in particular who are very clearly leaders within the center and who carry themselves with a kind of bossy confidence that sends the signal that they’ve grown up in an environment where they’ve learned to charm others and to protect themselves. I wouldn’t have expected either of them to ever share their stories with me, but after some consistency in my visits and some time just spent picking on them and making them very aware of my boundaries and the kind of person I am in terms of my standards and expectations for myself and others, they both eventually sought me out to tell me their stories. Both of their fathers are drug traffickers, which is not surprising in terms of how they carry themselves—it’s evident that they are accustomed to what it means to be powerful. Both of the boys are 17 and only two months away from turning 18 which means that much of their decisions and directions in the next two months will decide the fate of their entire lives because once they turn 18, the likelihood that they’ll be sent to Renaciendo, the boys’ juvenile delinquent center, becomes much lower. Thus, if they fall back into the same lifestyle that brought them to 21 de Octubre, they will instead end up in prison, and the childish maneuvering and manipulation of the system (which they are all too good at) is over.


One of the boys came from a home where his father was a drug trafficker, and his mother was an alcoholic who regularly broke bottles over her son’s head. Both of his parents are still living although they are no longer together. It was his mother’s anger and alcoholism that drove this kid to the streets. As he told me about the hatred he has for his mom, his eyes filled with tears, which surprised me. He told me that he wasn’t in a gang although I rather doubt the validity of that claim, and he certainly was involved in drug trafficking due to the influence of his father. He is very very intelligent and eager to help others at the center. He is a rough kid who likes to show others who is boss, but he also tends to take the younger, more defenseless ones under his wing. This is his ninth time in the center. He has also spent two years in Renaciendo in the past. He is set to leave within two weeks. Words cannot express how my heart breaks for this child who has no real sense of home or family, who has learned to be a loner and to trust no one. It’s a compassion that exists not because of how difficult his story is but simply because I just feel the love of Jesus radiating in my heart for this child every time I’m around him. The Danes and I both were contemplating whether or not it would be possible to talk to Alvin about getting this kid into the Eagle’s Nest since it seemed for a while that he’d have nowhere to go. But, after (nearly) seven months of living here, I am very cautious about whom I stick my neck out for, and very slow to jump into a frenzy of action even if it would be based on good intentions. And, in this case, I think I was right. This past time that I went to the center, I was talking to this kid again who mentioned that he would soon be leaving to live with his dad. I pointed out that if he lives with his dad, the chances of his falling back into the same street lifestyle would increase, and without making any comments or promises, I asked if he’d be willing to live in a non-government-run home. He said no. After more discussion and joking on his part, it became clear what his real desire is—to live with his dad to once again sell drugs. He claims that he’d only sell until he had enough money to build a house so that he could live on his own. But, I know that the lifestyle of selling drugs and earning lots of money so easily (no matter what the risk and danger) is very addicting. Once you’ve had all that money and power at your fingertips, it is very difficult (although not impossible) to leave that lifestyle to work in a “normal” job and earning a “normal” paycheck. It’s a work that generally only God can do. Thus, the most I could really do in the moment was let this precious child know that I so desired better for him and that I believe that God has better for him as well. But, I also know that God has put this child in my path that I might intercede for him. There are some people who are hunting for his father and want to kill him. There are all kinds of dangers on the road that this young man is choosing, and if God does not intervene, he is headed for prison or for death.

The other young man is a gang member who carries a spirit of death all over him. Violence is his means of communication, self-confidence, and life in general. I was so surprised when he sought me out this past time to talk. He told me, “Sarah, you’ve looked sad all day. What’s going on?” When I didn’t answer, he started sharing his own stories as I asked questions. He’s from the coastal area. His father is also a gang member and drug trafficker who now doesn't want anything to do with him. He has very seriously thought of killing his father in the past. His mother was murdered by the rival gang. He joined the gang when he was 11 years old. He told me casually of how much money he’s robbed, how many people he’s killed, and how he and some other gang members blew up a bus in San Pedro Sula. He spent six years in the boys’ juvenile delinquent center for murder before he ended up at 21 de Octubre, although it looks as if he might end up in Renaciendo again. He told me that he was thinking about escaping from the center—which isn’t that hard to do, and really, is something that any of these boys (especially those who are accustomed to the center and the system) can do any time they want. He used to be very addicted to cocaine, and he has numerous scars from all of the beatings, knife fights, and shots he’s taken. He has a daughter who will be turning one year old this week, and he has no idea where she is. When I suggested that if he leaves, he could be murdered on the streets, he was quick to assure me that regardless of where he goes, death is a certainty. If he escapes, he’ll likely die on the streets. If they capture him, he’ll end up in Renaciendo again which they may send him there from 21 de Octubre anyway. If he manages to stay alive on the streets for two more months, once he turns 18, if he’s captured, he’ll be sent to adult prison where they’ll murder him.


It is possible to leave a gang to become a Christian. You have to leave the same way that you enter—by enduring so many seconds (depending on the gang) of a beating from your fellow gang members. If you survive, you’re free to be a Christian, but you’ll be watched for a period of time. If the gang sees that you aren’t living a Christian life, aren’t always carrying your Bible, aren’t going to church, etc., they’ll kill you. They take the choice to become a Christian very seriously. And, even if you’re off the hook with your own gang, you’re always at risk when it comes to rival gangs. When I asked what led this young man to join the gang, he said with no hesitation, “El Diablo” or “the devil.” While he was hesitant to indicate that he regrets joining, he did tell me that he has thought about leaving to become a Christian. I shared a bit about the Christians that I know from our own church who have left the gangs and how much I respect them. We, especially in the United States, have absolutely no idea what the word persecution even means. For these former gang members, the choice to become a Christian was and continues to be a choice of life or death. I have never met any other group of people who so has the necessity to live with an eternal mindset. They could be murdered at any time, yet they have reached a place where they trust that life isn’t about this world and that the only hope they have is in surrendering all and taking up the cross to follow Jesus.


In light of all of the stories I’m hearing from the boys at 21 de Octubre and all of the pain I see in their eyes that I am absorbing, I have been pondering the idea of violent love. I know that it seems like an odd, perhaps inappropriate, word to use in relation to love especially for those of us who have never known persecution, loss, or suffering like some of the rest of the Christians in the world. But, the longer I live in Honduras, the more I can clearly see that there is no hope without violent love, and really, I can think of no better phrase to describe Jesus’ sacrifice. The orphan spirits that these boys carry cannot be healed by a Band-Aid of education, devotions, or programs. Those are only short-term remedies to wounds that run deep into the core of who they are. If I have learned nothing else during my time here, it is that everything is spiritual. We can offer street kids all of the opportunities in the world, and they may walk the straight and narrow for a while, taking advantage of education, food, and the like, but if their orphan spirits have not been healed by the Holy Spirit and if they do not believe that they are worth more than everything they’ve ever experienced, they are not going to change and are going to return to the same lifestyle they had before. It is both heartbreaking and beautiful when you finally realize how helpless you are to make a difference in the world in and of yourself. It all has to be the work of the Holy Spirit and a work of violent love—a love that never gives up, that keeps forgiving, that is willing to suffer all, and that is willing to wait for, intercede for, and believe for the movement of the Holy Spirit in the life of another.


For the past year, when I hear stories of great pain and suffering in the lives of others, almost automatically the lyrics to a song by Jesus Culture called “Obsession” comes to mind. It is only one simple line, but it sums up my entire heart’s cry to God. And my heart burns for you. I listen to the stories of these boys, and my heart burns for them. It burns in such a way that I am beginning to realize that if my heart doesn’t burn for them, if I don’t intercede for them, if I don’t recognize that God is asking me to stop for this one person, then it will be them—they will be the ones who burn in hell without the hope of a Savior. I realize that all of this is very strong to say to an audience of primarily North Americans, but each day, God is asking me to come deeper with Him that He might be able to show me the suffering of the dying man, that my heart might burn for another, and that He might give me His violent love willing to suffer all that someone else might know Jesus. The Kingdom of God is just that real. It’s just as real as the murders these boys have committed. It’s just as real as the bullets these boys have taken. It’s just as real as the impending death that lingers over every breath that they take. And it’s more real than all of the hateful experiences they’ve ever had. And, if I, someone who claims to be a Christian (a follower of Jesus), does not take hold of this violent love and is not willing to suffer for the lost, who will? I once read a book by Elisabeth Elliot that talked of a missionary who “worked as if everything depended on God and prayed as if it all depended on her.” That is my desire. The spiritual desolation in 21 de Octubre often leaves me physically exhausted, and there are times when I’m interceding for my multitude when I feel like Moses in Exodus 17 who needs an Aaron and a Hur to lift up his arms that the Israelites would win the battle. If any of this is resonating in your spirit, in your heart, in the calling God has on your life, I would ask that you would take some time to be Aaron and to be Hur for me and for these precious children. While my cousin and I were road tripping, a pastor in Texas prophesied over me that my prayers would snatch children from the gates of hell, and with each passing day of looking into the eyes of these precious boys who I love so much, I am taking hold of that word. God is calling me to go deeper with Him. I am scared because I feel inadequate, but at the same time, my heart burns for you, for them, for Him.


One of the greatest struggles in living here especially in the past couple of months has been enduring betrayals of trust. I once read a study that said that in a national poll, 80% of Hondurans indicated that they truly feel that there is no one they can trust. I can completely understand why. Everywhere I turn in this country, there are broken marriages due to infidelity. There are broken families due to gang involvement, alcoholism, drugs, and spouse infidelity. There are broken friendships due to a selfish attitude of preserving oneself or receiving “what’s in it for me.” In the time that I’ve been here, I’ve struggled with who I can trust. Other than Alvin and Nelly who I obviously trust and rely on, who can I depend on to be sincere with me? Who can I believe? Who isn’t going to use me for selfish gain? With whom can I let my guard down? The truth is that those people are few and far between, and this fact is exhausting. Recently, we have had a thief in our midst—someone has been stealing things from my apartment (and only could have entered from the front door) and from the Eagle’s Nest where Raúl and the Danes live. This isn’t my first experience with being robbed, but it is an experience that does make one weary. As I got off of the phone with Alvin after letting him know what was missing, I just sat down in my apartment with a heavy heart. Without going into too much detail, the past couple of months have been quite eye-opening and heart-testing. The lack of security or lack of people you can depend on is quite exhausting, but God is so faithful. Within five minutes of getting off of the phone with Alvin (having not told anyone else anything—news travels fast around here), I heard the roar of Raúl’s motor bike in the driveway. He came bounding in through my door saying, “Are you okay? What did they take from you?” I just started laughing as I tried to assure him that it’s just stuff that has no eternal value. Once he was assured that I was okay, he turned to go back to his business. I said, “Wait, did you come here just for that?” “Well, Sarah, all I heard was that you were robbed, so I thought someone pointed a gun or knife at you, and I needed to know you were okay.” Later, Hermana Brenda, who was the person who mentioned to him that I had been robbed, told me that she didn’t even get to finish telling him what she heard because he cut the call so quick to jump on the bike, leave his business, and make sure I was okay. After he left, I couldn’t stop laughing because I was so blessed. Even in the midst of betrayal, uncertainty, invaded privacy, and broken trust, God is so faithful. He has truly sent me someone (Raúl) who is sincere with me, who I can believe, who I can trust, who has served me for the past seven months without ever asking for anything in return. I am so grateful.


I am also grateful for all of the difficulties, trying situations, disappointments, and heartbreaks because in the suffering and the waiting, God has been teaching me how to love. He has been hardening me to difficulties (while softening my heart), and he has been developing the beginnings of that violent love. I so long for His violent love that is the only thing that can give me the strength to believe for even those people who seem the most hopeless.


All my love,

Sarah

Ya viene la primavera...

Hello All,
A month has already passed since my last update, and I have once again celebrated another anniversary—this time six months here in my beloved Honduras! My love affair with this place and these precious people is one that continues no matter how much time passes. Recently, I’ve been reminded of the little wonders that first drew me into this life in the first place. Simple luxuries like sandy mud puddles, rolling white clouds even at night, flour tortillas, fresh mango, sun-dried laundry, lazy afternoon conversations over coffee, worship in Spanish, and the warmth of Jesus’ smile beaming over the lives of orphans still warm my heart. My thankfulness at being here renews every day—even on the difficult days.

Today is a rainy day, and as I live at the top of a mountain, when I look out the window, it’s as if I’m sitting in the midst of a cloud as I write this. The tingling of the rain on the tin roof is keeping me company, and I can smell Nicaraguan run-down (a kind of soup) in the kitchen. I never grow weary of the sound of some of the strongest women I know speaking in Spanish. I have learned so much from Nelly and Sara and so many others who pass through this house. So many have adopted me, and I feel so privileged to have so many spiritual mothers. I don’t know that they’ll ever understand how much I draw from their strength and their pushing me to be strong as well.

Just as anticipated, life has gone from quite quiet and lonely to bustling and teeming with people. I love that even though there really isn’t too much of a change of seasons here that God still brings me through spiritual winters to gloriously green spring times of growth. I feel as if God has indeed lifted me up and has taken my hand to guide me forward. I still don’t have a plan or a concrete sense of direction. I still have no idea what I’ll be doing a year from now or even a month from now. But, what is making all the difference in the world is that I can feel the Father’s hand in mine. I may not know where we’re going, but I feel His presence so close, and if He’s the One leading, I am more than willing to follow. Lately, He has allowed me the chance to catch my breath, to emerge from a fog that was only allowing me to see my life from a very limited perspective, and to reflect upon how far I’ve come.

As I read back over blog entries from my half a year of living here, I can see with great clarity that God has been so consistent and so true to every word He’s spoken through every situation, every person, and every Scripture. I love that while we humans can be a roller coaster of changing emotions and desires, God truly never changes. He writes stories that have no holes in the plot and that are a continuous, branching thread. Yesterday, I was sitting in the Eagle’s Nest and just began to remember everything that has happened in such a short span of time. Even though I don’t live there anymore, that house still feels like home, and it baffles me to know that I am a much stronger person now than I was even just six months ago. God has indeed been teaching me little by little. Last year, I ran a 5k race—my second one for the year—during a time when I was student teaching and hadn’t been running at all. The course had numerous hills and wasn’t just confined to roads, and my lack of running led to an abysmal time compared to the one I’d run only months earlier while I’d been training. I was rather discouraged, but even as I was running at a snail’s pace, I heard God clearly say, “Sometimes, your walk with Me is going to be slow. That’s okay. Just keep going.” I have come back to that simple moment so many times in the past couple of months because it is always an ongoing journey that, at times, can be quite slow. But, God is always at work.


During all of this time, Jesus has been dancing with me and holding me just as He said He would, and even though I didn’t always recognize it as such, with each new challenge, just as it talks about in Ezekiel 47, God has been inviting me to come deeper and to live in the Spirit rather than in the flesh. Even in the moments where I doubted, He was and continues to work in ways that I can’t see. Oftentimes, we read a Scripture like Isaiah 43:19: “Behold, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs forth; do you not perceive and know it and will you not give heed to it? I will even make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert,” and we think that if we do not see this new thing brewing before our eyes that God is lying. Yet, I can honestly say that this has been a wilderness time for me, but God has been doing a new thing behind the scenes and in the chambers of my own heart. He has made so many ways in the wilderness and is teaching me to heed to the new thing He is doing (even when I don’t know what it is). In the process, He has hardened me to difficulties, has developed my patience and endurance (just as He said He would), and continues to work it all for His good and His glory. This morning, while running, I could feel the purpose of the Father in every instant that my feet hit the pavement. It is just as that word that Heidi Baker gave in that podcast: I am coming into my destiny as a laid-down lover of God and in missions and in ministry. And, the way that God is bringing me into that destiny is through suffering so that, like Jesus, I may learn an active, special obedience to the Father and a sensitivity to the Holy Spirit. I am learning to once again rest in His love and to embrace the uncertainty life has to offer. While times of limbo can be very stretching, they are so much more bearable when we take hold of the truth that God is so in love with us. How could we distrust One who loves us so much, so recklessly, so relentlessly? Thus, I find myself crying out to God every morning with a heart longing to be fully possessed by the Holy Spirit and fully yielded to the calling God has upon my life.

Alvin gives the following example of the baptism of the Holy Spirit:

When we become Christians, we are like a pitcher full of water. We have accepted God’s love and salvation, so there is a measure of God’s spirit inside of us. But who is controlling the Spirit? What is controlling the water of the pitcher? When we are baptized in the Holy Spirit, it’s as if we are that same pitcher full of water but thrown into the middle of the ocean. When that is the case, what then is controlling the pitcher? Who, then, is controlling us? Are we controlling the Holy Spirit within us, or is the Holy Spirit controlling us? I so long and pray often that it would be the Holy Spirit controlling me, a loving daughter and willing vessel, rather than the other way around.

Meanwhile, I also want to give you an update on the various people who are swarming the house and who have become fixtures in my life here:
In mid-February, we had two Danish volunteers, Michael and Mathias, come to work with Manos Extendidas. They plan to be here until July or August, and I am so unbelievably grateful they are here. It is so nice to have fresh faces and to have people to keep me company. They also have joined my little group of boys that I affectionately call my “lost boys.” Ever since I was little, I have always managed to find a group of guys my age or younger who become like my adopted brothers, who I love to take care of, and who oddly end up becoming my most constant friends. My dad jokingly calls me Wendy (from Peter Pan) since I have so many “lost boys,” and while it’s silly, it’s also true because I find a following of lost boys so naturally everywhere I go. I rarely seek them out. They just seem to come to me. Thus, Michael and Mathias have joined the ranks of Raúl and the boys who hang with Raúl (Chespiro, Cristian, and Orlin). Michael has a beautifully humble heart and resonates a gentle spirit as he’s being silly with children or just listening to me ramble, and Mathias is a fearless adventurer who also scoops up children to play and carries a certain boyish sweetness that makes me playfully think of him as my little child. I am so excited to have them both here as I fully believe that God has a special blessing for them both (and because they are already great blessings to me).

Last month, we also had a team of three guys (including Mike Diehl, Tía Sally’s son) who were very easy to get along with and were fun to joke with, so it was nice to have them around. They came primarily to hang out with Alvin which was relaxing for all of us, I believe, because it was a nice change from always having teams that have to be busy or have to have a plan. Every group is different though. We also have a team right now that is sleeping and eating here but is working primarily with another ministry called Escuelas de Esperanza which helps in some impoverished schools. For anyone who knows Victor from our church, this is also the organization he has started working for.

Sara has also been in for a visit. She came around the same time as the team of three guys, and it has been so wonderful to have her here. I love that she is one of those people where it never matters how long we’ve been apart—we just pick right back up where we left off. She has been such an encouragement to me while she’s been here. I will greatly miss her when she leaves, but I do still hope to go to Nicaragua to visit for Semana Santa.

Roy’s family is still a constant presence and blessing in my life. I still see Raúl almost every day either because he comes up to eat, I visit the business, or because I’m at the Eagle’s Nest (where the Danes and Raúl live) to visit all my boys. Nahum recently had a motor bike accident that totaled his recently purchased bike and left him with some stitches and a broken leg. He is doing all right although he had Raúl and I rather scared when we first went to the hospital after the accident. Now, he’s just recuperating at home and doing his best not to be bored (which is difficult for him). Raúl, meanwhile, is still running the business although he is missing having Nahum around to help relieve some of the pressure of the work. Roy has been filling in at Nahum’s other job as an ice cream man (his cousin owns a business selling ice cream where Nahum had been working half-time), and his house is coming along quite nicely. The newest goal for the house is to lay the ceramic tile for the floor. Richard is still recovering from his broken leg, so poor Mami Sonia has her two oldest sons stuck at home. Walter is doing well, and I see him from time to time when I visit Tatumbla. Waldina is wanting to continue studying although she is also looking for teaching jobs. We recently celebrated Mami Sonia’s birthday, and as I sat in the living room surrounded by the entire family, I was once again met with a wave of gratitude and prayers that God would bless this precious family abundantly for how they have adopted and included me.

The little neighbor boys (Victor, Noland, and the twins) have all started school now, but they still visit often. Please keep Victor and Noland in your prayers especially as they live in a home with the “papa of the twins” who does not treat them with love as a father treats their sons. Please pray that God would show them a father’s love.

I’ll also give you the latest update on all of the girls from the Eagle’s Nest:

Blanca: She called Alvin recently, and she is living in a small village in the south of the country with her boyfriend—the same boyfriend she was sneaking around with when she lived in this neighborhood.

Claudia: We don’t know too much concrete information about Claudia. The only information we really have came from a phone call Claudia’s grandmother made to Raúl saying that Claudia was living with a man who beats her.

Mayra: Again, we don’t know much. In the same phone call, Claudia’s grandmother told Raúl that Chiquita has been running around in the streets. I don’t really know if that means that she’s still living with Claudia’s grandmother part of the time or not.

Quendy: Quendy is still living with her boyfriend and his family in our neighborhood. She visits often though, and she also goes to church from time to time. At the very least, her willingness to visit is evidence to me that she knows that despite of her life choices, we still love her. She turned 18 two days ago.

Kimberli: Kimberli is now living with her sister, Bessy, and her brother-in-law, Carlitos. We are still trying to get her into a school.

Lastly, my latest update is that I am hoping to visit the US for the month of June. I have Alvin’s permission to go, especially since he’ll be in Denmark with Nelly for part of that time, and I am hoping to buy my plane ticket within the next couple of days. I had been praying for a while about when I would be released to visit the US, and I didn’t receive an answer from God for quite a while. But, in light of how He is leading me and in light of ways that I’ve been obedient recently, I feel released to go at this time. I won’t lie—I’m kind of scared to go back. I miss my family and friends greatly, but I don’t miss the US. I love my life here, and my life here has become my reality rather than vice versa when I was living here during the summers and having to return to school for the majority of the year. Thus, there is a part of me that wonders what I’m going to miss while I’m gone since life will inevitably go on. But, at the same time, the thought of going home to see the people I love and miss fills me with a great excitement, and I think perhaps it could be a well-needed break and change of scenery for a renewal of perspective. Meanwhile, I think my boys (and perhaps others) are a bit worried that I won’t come back. The other day, I was telling Raúl that I was planning on going to the US for the month of June, and the conversation went as such:

“What’s that about? I thought you said you didn’t have plans to go back right now.”

“Well, I didn’t, but plane tickets have gotten cheaper, and I think it would be a good time to go in June.”

“But, why are you going?”

“I want to visit my family. This is the longest time I’ve spent away from them.”

“Ah, yeah. That’s true. But, why are you going for so long?”

“If I’m going to buy a plane ticket, I want to get the most out of my time there, especially if I don’t know when I’m going to be able to visit again.”

“Yeah, I guess so…but you’re coming back, right? When are you coming back?”

“I’ll be back at the end of June.”

“Hmmmm….okay…”


I have known for a long time that it would take a while for my Honduran friends to really trust that I am here long-term. Gaining residency has helped, but I also have known that it likely wouldn’t be until after I returned after my first visit back to the US that they would recognize that I’m committed to being here. So many gringos have said one thing and have left much sooner than they said they intended. Above all, though, I am here for as long as God directs, and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is where I am called to be. So, yes, I absolutely will return. I love this place. I love these people. I love what God is doing even when I may not be able to see it. Spring time is budding below the surface of a crusty soil; we just have to be willing to wait in Him.
All my love,

Sarah