Hello All,
I think oftentimes I’ve written about the story that is my Honduran family, but I’ve avoided writing about my story as a missionary. With my family getting ever smaller and with my truly having to cling to the promise of Isaiah 54, I’ve had to face myself in many ways. The loneliness, at times, is devastating, and I’ve been grappling with that question of identity all over again. For the past two years, I’ve been mami. I’m still mami, but I have so fewer people to fight for, so much less to throw myself at 100% in abandoned service that I feel as if I have to recalculate who I am. In short, I’m in a transition phase from 100% mami to 100% I don’t know what, and to be blunt, at times, I’m bored. Since moving here, I’ve been committed not to move in ministry or mission without God’s leading even if that means I have to wait for Him and feel useless, which is pretty much where I am right now. In losing Josuan, the child who first made me a mami, I’ve had to ask myself if losing Josuan has meant that I’ve lost that part of myself or if I’m mami simply because God made me mami. The real answer is, of course, the latter.
But, I think at the heart of this season that God had already prepared for me is finding the green beneath the deadwood. It’s getting past the pain of what’s been lost, choosing not to harden my heart (which would only bring spiritual death anyway), and to let God show me how to unearth what will actually grow.
It reminds me of a chapter from The Secret Garden:
“Will there be roses?” she whispered. “Can you tell? I thought perhaps they were all dead.”
“Eh! No! Not them–not all of ’em!” he answered. “Look here!” He stepped over to the nearest tree–an old, old one with gray lichen all over its bark, but upholding a curtain of tangled sprays and branches. He took a thick knife out of his Pocket and opened one of its blades.
“There’s lots o’ dead wood as ought to be cut out,” he said. “An’ there’s a lot o’ old wood, but it made some new last year. This here’s a new bit,” and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray. Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.
“That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive quite?” Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.
“It’s as wick as you or me,” he said; and Mary remembered that Martha had told her that “wick” meant “alive" or “lively.”
I have four rose bushes that Raúl planted for me the last time I was in the States, but the ants here eat everything. So, two not only survived but are thriving and will soon bloom. But, two are so pathetic-looking, just dry and lifeless. There are days when I’d prefer to be deadwood, to cover myself over and not let my heart be vulnerable again. There have been days in the last three and a half years when I’ve told God, “I don’t want to love anyone any more. It hurts too much.” But, I always let Him have the last word.
Revealing the innocent green has come in small moments of hearing His voice, usually when I least expect it. I’ve been asking a lot of questions about who I am, and just as it was my senior year of college and first year here, I’m again grappling with that truth that I am not what I do.
When I first moved here (and I think this is really the case for any missionary), I was doing my absolute best to assimilate. That was the primary goal. And, for me, that also meant being willing to toss much of my US cultural customs to the wind. For a long time, it was easy for me to assimilate here because I could so quickly dismiss my country. I didn’t feel like I belonged in the US anyway even when I was there—too much materialism, too much convenience, too much competition, too much religion, too much ignorance about how the rest of the world lives, too much self-ambition. I didn’t want to be associated with any of that. And, frankly, the more articles I read about millennials, and the more I observe my own peers via social networking, the more I feel like this discontent is a generational reality. We want something real even if we have nowhere to turn to find it. So, my focus in my first year or so of living here was being like them—like Hondurans—as much as possible. I learned the language well. I picked up street vocabulary and gestures (that still make my family laugh). I learned how to cook Honduran food and take buses to my destinations. I went to urban areas and rural areas. I went to different churches and spent time with different families. I ate whatever was given to me—cow intestine soup, beef tongue, cow udder, chicken feet, and fish head. I washed my clothes by hand (still do). I bathed from a bucket with cold water. (I’ve upgraded now to heating water on the stove.) I rode in the back of pick-up trucks and learned how to drive in the chaos of motor bikes and cars where stoplights are often obeyed only when police are around, the speed limit is relative, and passing is fair game really anywhere. I didn’t buy imported food but learned to eat rice and beans for every meal every day when necessary. I learned to flow with Honduran time. In short, I did everything possible to smell like the sheep I hoped to have some part in shepherding to Jesus. But, I will never forget the realization, that try as I might, I would never fully be a catracha (what Hondurans call themselves). As much as my heart churned with frustration, the way that God made me (thanks possibly in part to my mother’s prayers for a blonde-haired, blue-eyed child) made it impossible to just blend in. In Honduras, though I hate calling attention to myself and would rather hide, there is no escaping me. And, I remember tearfully sending an e-mail to Alvin, struggling with being such a white girl and feeling like I just didn’t belong—not in the US, and not really here either. The majority of people here see me and think of money, a chance at a visa to go to the States, and someone to do their English homework. Many people assume that I’m judging their poverty or that I can’t speak Spanish. I’m the only white girl who lives in my neighborhood, which means that everyone knows me. I walk down the street, and people I’ve never seen before call out to me by name. And, one only has to reach my neighborhood and ask anyone where the gringa lives, and they’ll get to my house just asking around. For someone introverted, who had operated in such a longing to just assimilate and belong, the reality was hard to accept.
That, we could say, was phase one. Then I became mami, which brought its own criticisms and oppositions and questions about why my kids didn’t look like me and why I was so young. That was hard for both my kids and I to process. In the midst of so much rejection, I think as is natural whenever we are raising children (whether young and biological or older and adopted), I discovered a desire to share with them my childhood and my culture and who I was in the States. I think this is part of creating family. I took new foods to Teen Challenge, hoping to get my kids to try dishes from my home. I bought imported food items just so they could try them. I longed so much to continue the Christmas traditions that had been in place in my house with Raúl and my kids. I talked about my childhood. I talked to my kids in English, which sparked an interest in Josuan. I raised my kids hearing my dad’s words coming out of my mouth and using many of the same rules with which I was raised. I taught my kids how to save and manage money and be people of their word. And, in recognizing all the things that I’d had growing up with my family in the States, I think I valued some things about the States and began to re-evaluate my quick dismissal.
Culture shock really arrived late for me. I could deal with the slowness of Honduran time. I could eat the same dinner of beans, eggs, cheese, avocado, plantains, and tortillas night after night (and often still do). I could even deal with the general elevated level of danger and being robbed various times. But, what destroyed me and still makes my blood boil beneath my skin are things so much deeper—it’s the machismo and attitude towards women. It’s seeing women whose husbands openly cheat on them with their self-esteem in the dirt still faithfully ironing their husbands’ clothes and putting their dinners on the table and smiling at them knowing fully that after dinner they’re just going to go visit their mistresses then come home and give those devoted wives STDs. It’s been reversing my sons’ attitudes that it’s okay to cheat on girlfriends and boss me around or expect me to always be the one cooking and cleaning. It’s dealing day-in and day-out with people who are not ever true to their word, who make promises and never keep them, and even laws that are not enforced because the police are so easily bought and corrupted. (Is it any wonder than Hondurans don’t trust anyone?) It’s the lack of integrity. It’s the anarchy that ensues when a government is bought by the highest bidder in drug trafficking. It’s constantly being approached with an attitude (even often from Honduran friends) that I owe them something just because I’m a gringa or that if someone’s going to sacrifice in our relationship, it should be me. It’s the opening my heart over and over again only to be used, with the assumption that I’m just supposed to take it because I’m a missionary and that’s what I came here for. It’s everything that you would expect with a cycle of children raising children and adults who never mature. And, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about my adopted country—there are still lots of things we, from the US, could learn from Honduras. There are lots of things about the US that make my blood boil and brow furrow. But, I mention these things because they’re the very things that show us our need for grace and our need for a Savior and because they’re the reality that I live that is bringing me into a new phase.
Just last night, I was at Raúl’s mom’s house with the whole family. These are precious people I’ve been around for three and a half years, and I’m more than used to their tumultuous relationships and the loving yelling and the quirky personalities. Like many things, all of that was a novelty for me when I first moved here. Now, like many things, all of that is something I deal with. But, now that I’m in a relationship with Raúl, I wish that he could have the same experience with my family. But he doesn’t even speak English to be able to even call my family. I long to be known—not just as Honduran missionary Sarah but as toe-headed little girl Sarah and awkward homeschooled Sarah and overachiever student Sarah and proud-of-being-a-Crickenberger Sarah. I ache to have just one person have even a small grasp of what I left behind to maybe have more compassion on me. Just one person to make an effort to learn about my country, culture, language, and family as I have about Honduras. Just one person willing to sacrifice as much for me as I have for others. This is the human me talking. I am more than aware that Jesus made that all-important sacrifice. I am conscious that we take up our crosses, and we follow Jesus. I recognize that everything I do, I do for Him. I know that I’m not ever alone because He’s always with me. But, I also know that we are the Body of Christ for a reason. We weren’t created for isolation, and this is just me being real about what it means to be a missionary.
Raúl’s mom recruited me to help her make dinner (because I’m the girlfriend and clearly in this culture should be the one cooking), and I obediently started helping though I already knew how it was going to turn out because I know her. I don’t know if it’s because I’m the backward misfit in this culture or because she tends to see the worst in me, but I can’t do anything right—ever—which is particularly devastating for such a perfectionist who thrives on excellence. So much has to do with those tiny, unspoken cultural cues. It’s as simple as I’m respectful (according to my upbringing) and don’t like to invade anyone else’s kitchen or take control over someone else’s parade whereas her expectations were for me to read her mind and know exactly what I was supposed to do without her telling me. After two failures in her eyes over something so insignificant, I could feel the emotions climbing from the pit of my stomach towards my eyes, so I started breathing, calming myself down. Lucky for me, Raúl knows me enough to see when I’m reaching a breaking point, and he jumped in to save me, taking over the cooking before I could fail anymore (with his mother giving both of us side-eye). All of those thoughts and feelings from the previous paragraph were coursing through my brain, but I heard God say so clearly to me, “I like the way you cook.”
“Really, God, do You even eat? Are You like sneaking spirit bites whenever I’m cooking? How can You like the way I cook?”
“Because you cook with passion. I see the love and attention to detail and excellence that you put into cooking. I see your creativity when you’re making original recipes, and I made you that way. I like that you enjoy a gift I’ve given you when you cook. It’s a way of loving Me. I see that even when others don’t.” And the tears I’d been fighting so hard to hold back just dove from my eyes like liquid kindness overflowing from the fountain God was giving me.
And, this is the phase that I’m coming into—that I don’t want to assimilate to a Honduran culture, nor do I want to retreat to a US culture, nor do I want to be the missionary who is extremely busy because that’s what my examples are. I don’t want to worry about giving forth fruit or how much I fail or how much it seems I have failed with so many of my kids abandoning me. I just want to be His girl. I just want to bring Heaven to earth and let His Kingdom culture shine through me wherever I am. And part of the wick green that God’s peeling away to in my heart is that idea of enjoying who He made us to be and not being ashamed of who we are—white girl who sticks out like a sore thumb; single, too-young mother; una loca enamorada de Cristo included. I don’t want to be so assimilated that I turn a blind eye to a lack of maturity or enable the people around me to deny the excellence of honesty and maturity that God is calling them to. I want to be the example they’ve never seen before. I don’t want to be so comfortable with where I am or where I come from that I’m too lazy or ashamed to stand for His reign. I want who I am (not even necessarily what I do) to ALWAYS challenge those around me, to force them to see what’s possible. I think for the past few years I’ve been so focused on that element of sacrifice that I’ve forgotten how to delight in Him. It’s just been pain and suffering and nose to the grindstone determination to obey. What a novel idea—that enjoying and using my gifts, even something so simple as cooking, brings Him pleasure and joy. Being who I am, who He’s called me to be, without shame, without hiding, and without fear is a way of worshipping Him. That concept makes the idea of worship and spiritual warfare and ministry and living out the Christian life so much less of a burden and so much more of a natural, flowing rhythm of grace and identity.
I will eventually give you all an update on my kids and what’s going on, but for today, I wanted to put some thoughts, rolling like marbles in my head, a place to rest.
All my love,
Sarah
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
The Oil of Loss
Hello All,
If there was ever a time to ask for your prayers, it's now. I'm not even sure how to begin, and there's a great part of me that would rather hide than share a pain I can't even put into words. But, I recognize my desperate need for the support, prayers, and encouragement from my brothers and sisters in Christ.
As is usually the case in Honduras, things can go on undisturbed, positively boring in routine and normalcy until out of nowhere, within the snap of your fingers, the entire world has been turned upside down. I realize that I haven't written since January, so I'll try to give you some brief context. As I mentioned in a previous post, all last year God had me in a process of pruning, cutting the things, attitudes, aspects of my life that weren't ever going to give fruit. Usually, the image He gave me was of a tree burning. It has been painful to say the least. At the beginning of this year, I was really asking God for some direction and some understanding about the future and guidance for the next steps to take. But, He was so silent. The only input He did give me was the word "presence" and the guiding question of, "What would your life look like if seeking My presence was your absolute first priority?" So, that's what I set out to do--seek His presence in any way possible. This began unexpectedly with attending a conference with Raul at the peak of a phase of utter exhaustion...well, maybe I'm actually in the peak now. I don't know. At the conference, I was so tired that I told God I just wanted Him to kill me in His presence because I quite simply was not enough. I just wanted to lay myself on the altar and let Him consume me because I was so tired of myself and my limitations in the battles I was going through in life.
To be honest, since October, we had had battles with Josuan and drug relapses. It started when he went to his cousins' funerals (they were murdered) in his hometown. I didn't go with him, and I wasn't even aware that he had smoked pot there until the second relapse happened in November. He was working on a carpentry project, alone at the house. I had only left for about an hour, and his being alone and working was a totally normal part of our routine. But, when I came home, he was high on paint thinner. It was a moment of unplanned temptation where he fell. It was devastating, and we came so close to losing him back to the streets. (Details of that story at http://velvetashes.com/the-battle-of-rest/ ) But, at the end of the battle, he was repentant, so we began to pick up the pieces, find the root of his weaknesses, and do the work of restoring His relationship with God. He stopped working at home with carpentry, and I sent him to work with Raul at the tire shop. And, most of his independence was greatly limited for a period of time until little by little, he regained my trust. It wasn't long, however, until Raul was making comments that he looked like he got to work (just a ten minute walk from my house) high on marijuana. Because I couldn't always be there in the moment to see it for myself, I wasn't really sure if it was true or not. At the beginning of January, I went to visit the boys in the orphanage while Josuan went to his English class. He was set to come home and complete a ton of chores he had to do in the house, so it wasn't like he didn't have anything to do. But, when I got home, he wasn't home, and none of the chores were done. He came down the hill from my house at last, high on shoe glue. He denied it until the Holy Spirit made me see every detail--the smell from his breath, the string of glue on his shirt, and the dried toothpaste on his lips that he had taken with him up the hill to try to cover the smell. This was a breaking point because that toothpaste let me know clearly that this was no longer a fall but rather a deliberate return to his old lifestyle. And, that was a problem. I talked to him, and while he did finally admit to some of the truth, he didn't really see a problem with his actions. That, to me, was a terrible red flag, and I spent some time really asking God, "What do I do with this?" All of that happened the day before the conference.
I was at a loss. I was so exhausted from trying to protect him and also dealing with normal, everyday battles with Marvin's attitudes or struggles he was also having though not with drugs. I had next to no time alone to rest or reflect because I feared leaving Josuan by himself for fear he'd fall back into drugs. I had reached the end of myself. I was angry. I struggled with loving my kids. And, I had no joy. But, God did something at that conference. He did give me a small word in the morning, and my ungrateful reaction was, "Is that it?!" (I had to repent for that later.) It was an all-day conference that we had stumbled upon without really planning on being there all day. In the afternoon, Josuan and Estefanny, who were with me, wanted to go back to the city to go to church because they were tired and because she was scheduled to serve in the church. But, I hadn't received from God what I so desperately needed. Normally, I would have ignored my needs to fulfill my kids' obligations, but this time, I heard God so clearly ask me again, "What would your life look like if your first priority was My presence?" So, we stayed because I wasn't going to leave without whatever God had for me. At the end of the service, Raul and I went up to give an offering together, and the visiting pastor prayed for us. We went back to the sidelines, and Raul began to talk about how strongly he felt God's presence whenever the pastor prayed...I had felt nothing. But, the pastor approached and told us, "When you do a prophetic act of faith, you allow God to release your lamb of sacrifice. Just as Abraham had his arm raised with the dagger to kill Isaac and God stopped him to give him the lamb of sacrifice, God is now able to release that lamb of sacrifice in your lives. What was impossible for you naturally, God is now able to do for you supernaturally in your life, your relationship, your ministry, and your finances." And, I could only cry when a wave of peace hit me, and I understood what God was saying. I was never going to be enough for the battle with Josuan, nor in many other battles I was going through. I was willing to place myself on the altar as the sacrifice to waste myself away in utter exhaustion for my children, but God released the lamb of sacrifice, Jesus, to be enough. That was the start of a release for me, an understanding that God didn't expect me to be able to protect Josuan from himself and to understand that my son had to start doing his part.
The following day, I was in church just worshiping God when out of nowhere I heard Him say so clearly, "At this point, if any of your children return to a lifestyle of the streets, it is not your fault. There is no blood on your hands. You have done everything possible." It scared me to hear that because it let me know that it was a possibility that I was going to lose someone, but it was also a great comfort to know that I had run the race and done my part. It's a word that I now cling to minute-by-minute.
During this time, Erick decided he was going to leave Teen Challenge at the end of his two mandated years there. His mom was completely against this idea as he could stay and still study in high school and because he had caused so many problems for her every time he was on leave. But, he refused to listen, and he left Teen Challenge. Within a week, he was smoking, not going to church, and living his life however he wanted. He still lives with his mom and works and studies, but he told her outright, "I haven't accepted Jesus in my heart. I don't want anything to do with that." After two years of fighting for this kid, you can imagine our devastation. This is the kid who almost died in a hospital after being attacked in a juvenile delinquent center, whose father was murdered, and whose brother was murdered (for being associated with bad stuff). Yet, he still wants to run from Jesus. I don't get it.
In the spirit of feeling released to seek God's presence and let Him take control of taking care of my kids, I went every night of a week-long worship service that a church here (Tsebaoth) was having. They have it every year, and I've gone every year for the past three years--and God always speaks to me there. I was so desperate to hear more from Him, and He did talk to me. He didn't give me the answers about the present I so wanted, but He did show me many, many things about the future and new doors and new ministry. During that week, Raul called me to tell me that Josuan had gotten to work an hour late and had arrived high on pot. I had no idea what to do because this was a very real problem, so I called Mario, a leader from Teen Challenge, who has been such a wise friend of our family and a great help to my kids. And, using the verse, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord," the same verse that God had given me in confronting Marvin about some issues we had had last year, he told me, "Sarah, you have got to put your limit. You tell him, 'The next time I catch you high, you leave my house.'" This was difficult for me to consider because I love Josuan and because I knew that he was in no way equipped to live on his own. Marvin, though still struggling with some areas, has matured to the point that he could live on his own and seek God and not return to the streets. But, Josuan was no where near close because he had grown so accustomed to depending on me, that I'd always be the person rescuing or keeping him from returning to the streets instead of taking responsibility for seeking God himself and making wise choices himself. That night in the worship service, one of the singers spoke for nearly half an hour about that very same verse, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Though painful, I had my confirmation. So, I cornered Josuan the following day, and I told him that the next time I personally caught him high, he would have to leave. In other words, the next time he chose to get high, he would also be choosing to leave my house. He was quite angry about this and responded by blaming, manipulating, accusing Raul, and denying that he had been high at all--all reactions letting me know that Raul had been completely right.
One of the things God showed me during that week was that He was bringing a shifting from focusing on people to focusing on His presence. All this past year, the pruning I've been going through has been learning not to put my children as a higher priority than my relationship with God. My first ministry is to His Person. In a conversation we had, He told me, "Just like David had to leave his sheep to step into his destiny, you're going to experience a shift from pastor to prophet, from focusing on people to focusing on Me." So, I asked Him, "How much longer until the pruning stops?" That same night, when we had arrived (late, which I was frustrated about), we had to park in a location far from the church where there is a hill above. When we got out of the car, the entire hillside was on fire. This is relatively normal in Honduras as people set fires and they rapidly spread throughout the forests. But, we took a moment to look at this blazing hill towering above us, and I said to myself, "This means something." At the end of the service, just as I was asking God how much longer I would be pruned, we got to the car, and I had my answer. The hill that had previously been blazing was now mostly smoke and smoldering ash with only a few licks of flame left. I wouldn't be burning in purification for too much longer.
I so wanted more of God, so Nelly and I enrolled in Tsebaoth's School of Prophets even though it cost much more than I would ever want to spend on myself. To be honest with you, I've been struggling with lowered financial support since December and having to be careful in how I budget--and even so with car problems, Josuan's school supplies and fees, etc., have had to live off of some savings.
The School of Prophets was such an incredible blessing to me. Words can't describe how much I learned and how filled with God's presence I was during that very intense week of classes from 8:30 AM to 9 PM some nights. God showed me so many things (again, not about my present problems) and gave me confirmations and encouraged me greatly. It was a time of being strengthened that I had so desperately needed. And, most of the words I received there from God and from other people was that the time had come to stop being defensive against the enemy and to take offensive action. And, God laid it on my heart to have a meeting with my kids to pray over them, to take spiritual control over my house, and to establish worship in my house again. I learned what demons had been tormenting us, and I was ready to take a stand. So, on Sunday, February 1, we made it our first priority. I taught my kids about the demons that had been manipulating them and taught them how those spirits are given power in our lives--things I had learned from those classes. And, we had a time of worship where I prayed over them. I led them in renouncing those spirits that have worked so hard to cause destruction in their lives and our family. Marvin was very willing, but Josuan refused. I still prayed for him as God showed me a dark shadow descending over him, but it was a disappointing sign of what was to come.
God had also told me to sprinkle salt around my house as a prophetic act of sealing that territory as His (Judges 9:45...salt was also used in Bible times to supernaturally decontaminate water). So, after our meeting, I walked around my house, seven times as God told me to, praying and sprinkling salt. As soon as I walked outside my door, the smell of smoke hit me. The hill beside our house was on fire, and my house was filling with ashes. (I had just learned that ashes symbolize the past, mourning, and death within the Kingdom of God.) And, I thought to myself, "This is not a coincidence. This is retaliation." But, I put my house in God's hands. I left my house, and hours later, Josuan told me that the fire had reached our property and was coming ever-closer before the police finally came to put it out. It made me wonder what would have happened to my house if I hadn't obeyed. When I finally got home that night, there was not even smoke remaining. The burning had stopped.
On that Monday, I'd had Jonathan on leave and had to take him to the doctor. Josuan was also starting high school classes at the high school beside our house. He went and came back to the house with everything normal. Then he got ready to go to work and left. But, he came back to the house to go to the bathroom and left again. Not too long after, Raul called me to tell me that Josuan had arrived high on marijuana. I had told Josuan that the next time Raul called me, that I'd go and see for myself if it was true. I can tell you whole-heartedly that I didn't want to go. I drove down praying the entire way, "Please don't let it be true. Please." But, as soon as I saw those red eyes and started asking questions, it was so obviously true. He was livid and defensive, blaming me and everyone. And, before I even had the chance to tell him to leave, he was already volunteering. He left the business to get high on paint thinner. Then he went to the market to get high on shoe glue. I still had to leave Jonathan at the bus, and I didn't have time to let Josuan in to get his stuff. But, that night, he arrived at the house like nothing had happened. He came in, got himself some food, and acted like he hadn't done anything. I told him, "You have an hour to eat, get your stuff, and leave," but he replied, "I'm not leaving."
To make a long story short, he did stay that night, acting repentant, saying he knew he wasn't ready to live on his own, etc. To be honest, I didn't feel like he was truly repentant at all, but I told myself that I'd rather err on the side of mercy than on the side of judgment. So, he stayed after making me a list of all of the things he was going to do to pick himself up and to restore his relationship with God (like getting up early to pray and read the Bible, etc.). The following day he went to school, and I began to research just how many things he'd lied about. I went to Raul's business to retrieve his cell phone he'd left charging. He was on his last chance with me, and in my house, cell phones are privileges, not rights. When he found out I'd confiscated his cell phone, he had his excuse and decided to leave for good...which he did except that he left his things here. I knew he'd come back to try to manipulate his way back into the house, so I took Marvin and we got out of town for a few days to rest and so I could get a definitive word from God about how to handle Josuan. We went to the same place where Raul had taken us to the conference. The pastor offered to take Josuan in there since he works with young people and has a home for former drug addicts, so that was my option. God made it painfully clear that Josuan was the last thing being pruned from my life and that I was not allowed to be the one helping him this time because he had come to rely on me as a crutch instead of seeking God for himself. During the time we were out of town, Josuan brought one of his drug addict friends from the market to my house, where they got on my roof trying to get in, bathed with the water from our tanks, and slept on my porch. But, I returned to the city ready to face what I needed to.
Since returning, it has been an intense battle for Marvin and I. Just as I was for ten months, I've been struggling with stomach sickness, losing weight, battling nausea due to emotions, and having to force myself to eat. And, Josuan has lived in the rocks beside our house, bathing in my pila, and tormenting outside of my house every night while high. The first night, it was like hearing demons speak to me through my son--one minute he was crying and tapping my window and saying "mami" over and over, saying, "Mami, it's your son Josuan. I'm your son. Why don't you recognize me? Please, mami, don't let me get lost. Don't you love me?" It was heart-wrenching, and I can honestly say that had it not been for God adamantly saying no, I would've caved and brought him in. But, when I didn't respond and kept ignoring him, the voice changed, and it was angry and accusatory and threatening suicide. This went on all night. Marvin and I didn't sleep. The following day, I gave Josuan all of his stuff, and he had no further excuse to come to my house. Though sober, he cried at the top of his lungs that he'd lost everything and started cutting himself. I ignored him, and as soon as Raul got to my house, he flipped a switch like a little man and was proud and not crying. When I offered to take him to the pastor's home, he refused. That day, we went to Teen Challenge, and when I came home, he was high with all of his stuff in the rocks beside my house. I was beside myself with exhaustion. He had gone to the church high, and Estefanny was devastated and crying. And, Marvin and I were physically and emotionally spent. I talked to Alvin, and he counseled me to call the police if Josuan started bothering again with the mindset that it'd be better for him if he had somewhere to sleep and eat and maybe be sent to a center. So, Sunday night, he was outside Marvin's window, crying, cutting himself, saying nobody loved him, and threatening suicide. Marvin was beside himself, crying, and saying, "Mami, this hurts too much. I've never loved anyone like I love my brother, Josuan. Not even my own family. Why does this have to happen?" We've just been crying together. So, we called the police, and they took him away.
Yesterday, I went to the police station where they were holding him with the hope to be able to talk to him while he was sober. I was wrong as he had smoked pot that he'd hidden from the police even while in the jail. I presented his options of going to the pastor's to get help and be restored or that I was going to get him expelled from school (because I had signed to be responsible and he was going sometimes still but while high) and was going to put an order out that he legally couldn't come to my house. He said he was going to go to the pastor's house, but I felt in my spirit that it was a lie, that he was just using me to get out of jail. They were only going to hold him for 24 hours anyway, and they weren't going to send him to a center. He turns 18 tomorrow and will legally be an adult. So, I got him out. He no sooner got in the car before stating outright that he wasn't going to go. So, I told him to get out of the car, and he left, saying that it'd be better for everyone to assume he was dead. He arrived later at Raul's to pick up some stuff and was cursing me at every turn. Marvin and I got home last night, fearing his revenge. But, last night, we slept free from torment.
I don't think there are really any words for how I'm feeling right now. I have moments in the day when I just collapse in tears from so much pain, and there are moments in the day when I'm really battling anger and hatred because the betrayal is so great and the pain so searing. But, I choose over and over to forgive him and to focus on Jesus because I don't battle flesh and blood anyway. It's a struggle to be in this house and in this place where I have two years of memories with my son who I still love so dearly. Sometimes, I just want to abandon being a mom and just escape. Cleaning out his room was like a funeral. And, I'm not really sure which is more difficult--hearing demons speak through him to me every night outside my window or knowing that there is a spirit of death pursuing him and not knowing where he is or how he is. I've never known a pain like this, but I don't regret any of it. I don't regret loving my boy with all I had. I don't regret the hours spent together nor the stories shared. I don't regret the money spent or memories made. I don't regret the sacrifice of two years of my life because it was all for Jesus. Astoundingly, I have found myself in the midst of so much pain, looking up at a sunset or feeling a breeze and being overwhelmed by His beauty. He is still worthy. He doesn't ever stop being worthy even when I don't understand. And, I am captivated by something I heard Bill Johnson teach--that when we get to heaven, there won't be any pain, which means we have a unique opportunity to offer up to God here on earth offerings of praise in the midst of pain and suffering. It's a fragrance of worship that comes only from earth because there is no sorrow in heaven. I just want to lavish it all at His feet.
I still have hope for Josuan. I still love him, and I still intercede for him, asking God to have mercy for him. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if he'll return to Jesus or not. But, I believe in God's goodness. I declare that Jesus beat death, that Jesus still wins even when circumstances don't depict that. And, my kids and I are clinging to the truth that my son is a son birthed from a promise that God gave to me. Believe me that there are times that Satan attacks me with, "What's the name of your ministry? Family of Promise? Some family you have. They've all deserted you." But, I respond with the promise God granted me in Isaiah 54.
There are still a lot of answers I'm waiting on from God. There is a part of me that feels like this is the end of a chapter. The pruning is over, and that means new growth, new direction. But, I do still have Marvin and Jonathan, who I love dearly, and I want to love them well and ensure that they are given the greatest opportunity to succeed in their lives as sons of light. But, I also recognize now more than ever that none of this is about me. I can try to be the greatest mom on earth, but that doesn't guarantee a victory. It's all His work and His way. I've never wanted to seek His face more in my life than now. May we wash His feet with our tears, and may the pain of this loss be a fragrant oil to anoint His head.
Please pray for us. Pray for Josuan that God would break the chains of drug addiction in his life, that God would rescue him from a spirit of death, and that God would restore him as His son. Estefanny and Marvin need strength in their faith to keep moving forward and to let this be a wake-up call for them to take care of their relationship with Jesus. Raul has been faithful in being by my side. I don't know any other man who would've stayed through so many trials. I love him so much, and I have been so blessed to see him move into his destiny as a father. (He was the very first to buy food to take to Josuan in jail.) Please pray that God gives us strength to care for one another and let this difficulty bring us closer together as a family. And, I just need more of Him--His grace, His healing, His love that covers a multitude of sins, and His direction for the future.
Thanks so much for reading and for partaking of our story written by His grace.
All my love,
Sarah
If there was ever a time to ask for your prayers, it's now. I'm not even sure how to begin, and there's a great part of me that would rather hide than share a pain I can't even put into words. But, I recognize my desperate need for the support, prayers, and encouragement from my brothers and sisters in Christ.
As is usually the case in Honduras, things can go on undisturbed, positively boring in routine and normalcy until out of nowhere, within the snap of your fingers, the entire world has been turned upside down. I realize that I haven't written since January, so I'll try to give you some brief context. As I mentioned in a previous post, all last year God had me in a process of pruning, cutting the things, attitudes, aspects of my life that weren't ever going to give fruit. Usually, the image He gave me was of a tree burning. It has been painful to say the least. At the beginning of this year, I was really asking God for some direction and some understanding about the future and guidance for the next steps to take. But, He was so silent. The only input He did give me was the word "presence" and the guiding question of, "What would your life look like if seeking My presence was your absolute first priority?" So, that's what I set out to do--seek His presence in any way possible. This began unexpectedly with attending a conference with Raul at the peak of a phase of utter exhaustion...well, maybe I'm actually in the peak now. I don't know. At the conference, I was so tired that I told God I just wanted Him to kill me in His presence because I quite simply was not enough. I just wanted to lay myself on the altar and let Him consume me because I was so tired of myself and my limitations in the battles I was going through in life.
To be honest, since October, we had had battles with Josuan and drug relapses. It started when he went to his cousins' funerals (they were murdered) in his hometown. I didn't go with him, and I wasn't even aware that he had smoked pot there until the second relapse happened in November. He was working on a carpentry project, alone at the house. I had only left for about an hour, and his being alone and working was a totally normal part of our routine. But, when I came home, he was high on paint thinner. It was a moment of unplanned temptation where he fell. It was devastating, and we came so close to losing him back to the streets. (Details of that story at http://velvetashes.com/the-battle-of-rest/ ) But, at the end of the battle, he was repentant, so we began to pick up the pieces, find the root of his weaknesses, and do the work of restoring His relationship with God. He stopped working at home with carpentry, and I sent him to work with Raul at the tire shop. And, most of his independence was greatly limited for a period of time until little by little, he regained my trust. It wasn't long, however, until Raul was making comments that he looked like he got to work (just a ten minute walk from my house) high on marijuana. Because I couldn't always be there in the moment to see it for myself, I wasn't really sure if it was true or not. At the beginning of January, I went to visit the boys in the orphanage while Josuan went to his English class. He was set to come home and complete a ton of chores he had to do in the house, so it wasn't like he didn't have anything to do. But, when I got home, he wasn't home, and none of the chores were done. He came down the hill from my house at last, high on shoe glue. He denied it until the Holy Spirit made me see every detail--the smell from his breath, the string of glue on his shirt, and the dried toothpaste on his lips that he had taken with him up the hill to try to cover the smell. This was a breaking point because that toothpaste let me know clearly that this was no longer a fall but rather a deliberate return to his old lifestyle. And, that was a problem. I talked to him, and while he did finally admit to some of the truth, he didn't really see a problem with his actions. That, to me, was a terrible red flag, and I spent some time really asking God, "What do I do with this?" All of that happened the day before the conference.
I was at a loss. I was so exhausted from trying to protect him and also dealing with normal, everyday battles with Marvin's attitudes or struggles he was also having though not with drugs. I had next to no time alone to rest or reflect because I feared leaving Josuan by himself for fear he'd fall back into drugs. I had reached the end of myself. I was angry. I struggled with loving my kids. And, I had no joy. But, God did something at that conference. He did give me a small word in the morning, and my ungrateful reaction was, "Is that it?!" (I had to repent for that later.) It was an all-day conference that we had stumbled upon without really planning on being there all day. In the afternoon, Josuan and Estefanny, who were with me, wanted to go back to the city to go to church because they were tired and because she was scheduled to serve in the church. But, I hadn't received from God what I so desperately needed. Normally, I would have ignored my needs to fulfill my kids' obligations, but this time, I heard God so clearly ask me again, "What would your life look like if your first priority was My presence?" So, we stayed because I wasn't going to leave without whatever God had for me. At the end of the service, Raul and I went up to give an offering together, and the visiting pastor prayed for us. We went back to the sidelines, and Raul began to talk about how strongly he felt God's presence whenever the pastor prayed...I had felt nothing. But, the pastor approached and told us, "When you do a prophetic act of faith, you allow God to release your lamb of sacrifice. Just as Abraham had his arm raised with the dagger to kill Isaac and God stopped him to give him the lamb of sacrifice, God is now able to release that lamb of sacrifice in your lives. What was impossible for you naturally, God is now able to do for you supernaturally in your life, your relationship, your ministry, and your finances." And, I could only cry when a wave of peace hit me, and I understood what God was saying. I was never going to be enough for the battle with Josuan, nor in many other battles I was going through. I was willing to place myself on the altar as the sacrifice to waste myself away in utter exhaustion for my children, but God released the lamb of sacrifice, Jesus, to be enough. That was the start of a release for me, an understanding that God didn't expect me to be able to protect Josuan from himself and to understand that my son had to start doing his part.
The following day, I was in church just worshiping God when out of nowhere I heard Him say so clearly, "At this point, if any of your children return to a lifestyle of the streets, it is not your fault. There is no blood on your hands. You have done everything possible." It scared me to hear that because it let me know that it was a possibility that I was going to lose someone, but it was also a great comfort to know that I had run the race and done my part. It's a word that I now cling to minute-by-minute.
During this time, Erick decided he was going to leave Teen Challenge at the end of his two mandated years there. His mom was completely against this idea as he could stay and still study in high school and because he had caused so many problems for her every time he was on leave. But, he refused to listen, and he left Teen Challenge. Within a week, he was smoking, not going to church, and living his life however he wanted. He still lives with his mom and works and studies, but he told her outright, "I haven't accepted Jesus in my heart. I don't want anything to do with that." After two years of fighting for this kid, you can imagine our devastation. This is the kid who almost died in a hospital after being attacked in a juvenile delinquent center, whose father was murdered, and whose brother was murdered (for being associated with bad stuff). Yet, he still wants to run from Jesus. I don't get it.
In the spirit of feeling released to seek God's presence and let Him take control of taking care of my kids, I went every night of a week-long worship service that a church here (Tsebaoth) was having. They have it every year, and I've gone every year for the past three years--and God always speaks to me there. I was so desperate to hear more from Him, and He did talk to me. He didn't give me the answers about the present I so wanted, but He did show me many, many things about the future and new doors and new ministry. During that week, Raul called me to tell me that Josuan had gotten to work an hour late and had arrived high on pot. I had no idea what to do because this was a very real problem, so I called Mario, a leader from Teen Challenge, who has been such a wise friend of our family and a great help to my kids. And, using the verse, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord," the same verse that God had given me in confronting Marvin about some issues we had had last year, he told me, "Sarah, you have got to put your limit. You tell him, 'The next time I catch you high, you leave my house.'" This was difficult for me to consider because I love Josuan and because I knew that he was in no way equipped to live on his own. Marvin, though still struggling with some areas, has matured to the point that he could live on his own and seek God and not return to the streets. But, Josuan was no where near close because he had grown so accustomed to depending on me, that I'd always be the person rescuing or keeping him from returning to the streets instead of taking responsibility for seeking God himself and making wise choices himself. That night in the worship service, one of the singers spoke for nearly half an hour about that very same verse, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Though painful, I had my confirmation. So, I cornered Josuan the following day, and I told him that the next time I personally caught him high, he would have to leave. In other words, the next time he chose to get high, he would also be choosing to leave my house. He was quite angry about this and responded by blaming, manipulating, accusing Raul, and denying that he had been high at all--all reactions letting me know that Raul had been completely right.
One of the things God showed me during that week was that He was bringing a shifting from focusing on people to focusing on His presence. All this past year, the pruning I've been going through has been learning not to put my children as a higher priority than my relationship with God. My first ministry is to His Person. In a conversation we had, He told me, "Just like David had to leave his sheep to step into his destiny, you're going to experience a shift from pastor to prophet, from focusing on people to focusing on Me." So, I asked Him, "How much longer until the pruning stops?" That same night, when we had arrived (late, which I was frustrated about), we had to park in a location far from the church where there is a hill above. When we got out of the car, the entire hillside was on fire. This is relatively normal in Honduras as people set fires and they rapidly spread throughout the forests. But, we took a moment to look at this blazing hill towering above us, and I said to myself, "This means something." At the end of the service, just as I was asking God how much longer I would be pruned, we got to the car, and I had my answer. The hill that had previously been blazing was now mostly smoke and smoldering ash with only a few licks of flame left. I wouldn't be burning in purification for too much longer.
I so wanted more of God, so Nelly and I enrolled in Tsebaoth's School of Prophets even though it cost much more than I would ever want to spend on myself. To be honest with you, I've been struggling with lowered financial support since December and having to be careful in how I budget--and even so with car problems, Josuan's school supplies and fees, etc., have had to live off of some savings.
The School of Prophets was such an incredible blessing to me. Words can't describe how much I learned and how filled with God's presence I was during that very intense week of classes from 8:30 AM to 9 PM some nights. God showed me so many things (again, not about my present problems) and gave me confirmations and encouraged me greatly. It was a time of being strengthened that I had so desperately needed. And, most of the words I received there from God and from other people was that the time had come to stop being defensive against the enemy and to take offensive action. And, God laid it on my heart to have a meeting with my kids to pray over them, to take spiritual control over my house, and to establish worship in my house again. I learned what demons had been tormenting us, and I was ready to take a stand. So, on Sunday, February 1, we made it our first priority. I taught my kids about the demons that had been manipulating them and taught them how those spirits are given power in our lives--things I had learned from those classes. And, we had a time of worship where I prayed over them. I led them in renouncing those spirits that have worked so hard to cause destruction in their lives and our family. Marvin was very willing, but Josuan refused. I still prayed for him as God showed me a dark shadow descending over him, but it was a disappointing sign of what was to come.
God had also told me to sprinkle salt around my house as a prophetic act of sealing that territory as His (Judges 9:45...salt was also used in Bible times to supernaturally decontaminate water). So, after our meeting, I walked around my house, seven times as God told me to, praying and sprinkling salt. As soon as I walked outside my door, the smell of smoke hit me. The hill beside our house was on fire, and my house was filling with ashes. (I had just learned that ashes symbolize the past, mourning, and death within the Kingdom of God.) And, I thought to myself, "This is not a coincidence. This is retaliation." But, I put my house in God's hands. I left my house, and hours later, Josuan told me that the fire had reached our property and was coming ever-closer before the police finally came to put it out. It made me wonder what would have happened to my house if I hadn't obeyed. When I finally got home that night, there was not even smoke remaining. The burning had stopped.
On that Monday, I'd had Jonathan on leave and had to take him to the doctor. Josuan was also starting high school classes at the high school beside our house. He went and came back to the house with everything normal. Then he got ready to go to work and left. But, he came back to the house to go to the bathroom and left again. Not too long after, Raul called me to tell me that Josuan had arrived high on marijuana. I had told Josuan that the next time Raul called me, that I'd go and see for myself if it was true. I can tell you whole-heartedly that I didn't want to go. I drove down praying the entire way, "Please don't let it be true. Please." But, as soon as I saw those red eyes and started asking questions, it was so obviously true. He was livid and defensive, blaming me and everyone. And, before I even had the chance to tell him to leave, he was already volunteering. He left the business to get high on paint thinner. Then he went to the market to get high on shoe glue. I still had to leave Jonathan at the bus, and I didn't have time to let Josuan in to get his stuff. But, that night, he arrived at the house like nothing had happened. He came in, got himself some food, and acted like he hadn't done anything. I told him, "You have an hour to eat, get your stuff, and leave," but he replied, "I'm not leaving."
To make a long story short, he did stay that night, acting repentant, saying he knew he wasn't ready to live on his own, etc. To be honest, I didn't feel like he was truly repentant at all, but I told myself that I'd rather err on the side of mercy than on the side of judgment. So, he stayed after making me a list of all of the things he was going to do to pick himself up and to restore his relationship with God (like getting up early to pray and read the Bible, etc.). The following day he went to school, and I began to research just how many things he'd lied about. I went to Raul's business to retrieve his cell phone he'd left charging. He was on his last chance with me, and in my house, cell phones are privileges, not rights. When he found out I'd confiscated his cell phone, he had his excuse and decided to leave for good...which he did except that he left his things here. I knew he'd come back to try to manipulate his way back into the house, so I took Marvin and we got out of town for a few days to rest and so I could get a definitive word from God about how to handle Josuan. We went to the same place where Raul had taken us to the conference. The pastor offered to take Josuan in there since he works with young people and has a home for former drug addicts, so that was my option. God made it painfully clear that Josuan was the last thing being pruned from my life and that I was not allowed to be the one helping him this time because he had come to rely on me as a crutch instead of seeking God for himself. During the time we were out of town, Josuan brought one of his drug addict friends from the market to my house, where they got on my roof trying to get in, bathed with the water from our tanks, and slept on my porch. But, I returned to the city ready to face what I needed to.
Since returning, it has been an intense battle for Marvin and I. Just as I was for ten months, I've been struggling with stomach sickness, losing weight, battling nausea due to emotions, and having to force myself to eat. And, Josuan has lived in the rocks beside our house, bathing in my pila, and tormenting outside of my house every night while high. The first night, it was like hearing demons speak to me through my son--one minute he was crying and tapping my window and saying "mami" over and over, saying, "Mami, it's your son Josuan. I'm your son. Why don't you recognize me? Please, mami, don't let me get lost. Don't you love me?" It was heart-wrenching, and I can honestly say that had it not been for God adamantly saying no, I would've caved and brought him in. But, when I didn't respond and kept ignoring him, the voice changed, and it was angry and accusatory and threatening suicide. This went on all night. Marvin and I didn't sleep. The following day, I gave Josuan all of his stuff, and he had no further excuse to come to my house. Though sober, he cried at the top of his lungs that he'd lost everything and started cutting himself. I ignored him, and as soon as Raul got to my house, he flipped a switch like a little man and was proud and not crying. When I offered to take him to the pastor's home, he refused. That day, we went to Teen Challenge, and when I came home, he was high with all of his stuff in the rocks beside my house. I was beside myself with exhaustion. He had gone to the church high, and Estefanny was devastated and crying. And, Marvin and I were physically and emotionally spent. I talked to Alvin, and he counseled me to call the police if Josuan started bothering again with the mindset that it'd be better for him if he had somewhere to sleep and eat and maybe be sent to a center. So, Sunday night, he was outside Marvin's window, crying, cutting himself, saying nobody loved him, and threatening suicide. Marvin was beside himself, crying, and saying, "Mami, this hurts too much. I've never loved anyone like I love my brother, Josuan. Not even my own family. Why does this have to happen?" We've just been crying together. So, we called the police, and they took him away.
Yesterday, I went to the police station where they were holding him with the hope to be able to talk to him while he was sober. I was wrong as he had smoked pot that he'd hidden from the police even while in the jail. I presented his options of going to the pastor's to get help and be restored or that I was going to get him expelled from school (because I had signed to be responsible and he was going sometimes still but while high) and was going to put an order out that he legally couldn't come to my house. He said he was going to go to the pastor's house, but I felt in my spirit that it was a lie, that he was just using me to get out of jail. They were only going to hold him for 24 hours anyway, and they weren't going to send him to a center. He turns 18 tomorrow and will legally be an adult. So, I got him out. He no sooner got in the car before stating outright that he wasn't going to go. So, I told him to get out of the car, and he left, saying that it'd be better for everyone to assume he was dead. He arrived later at Raul's to pick up some stuff and was cursing me at every turn. Marvin and I got home last night, fearing his revenge. But, last night, we slept free from torment.
I don't think there are really any words for how I'm feeling right now. I have moments in the day when I just collapse in tears from so much pain, and there are moments in the day when I'm really battling anger and hatred because the betrayal is so great and the pain so searing. But, I choose over and over to forgive him and to focus on Jesus because I don't battle flesh and blood anyway. It's a struggle to be in this house and in this place where I have two years of memories with my son who I still love so dearly. Sometimes, I just want to abandon being a mom and just escape. Cleaning out his room was like a funeral. And, I'm not really sure which is more difficult--hearing demons speak through him to me every night outside my window or knowing that there is a spirit of death pursuing him and not knowing where he is or how he is. I've never known a pain like this, but I don't regret any of it. I don't regret loving my boy with all I had. I don't regret the hours spent together nor the stories shared. I don't regret the money spent or memories made. I don't regret the sacrifice of two years of my life because it was all for Jesus. Astoundingly, I have found myself in the midst of so much pain, looking up at a sunset or feeling a breeze and being overwhelmed by His beauty. He is still worthy. He doesn't ever stop being worthy even when I don't understand. And, I am captivated by something I heard Bill Johnson teach--that when we get to heaven, there won't be any pain, which means we have a unique opportunity to offer up to God here on earth offerings of praise in the midst of pain and suffering. It's a fragrance of worship that comes only from earth because there is no sorrow in heaven. I just want to lavish it all at His feet.
I still have hope for Josuan. I still love him, and I still intercede for him, asking God to have mercy for him. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if he'll return to Jesus or not. But, I believe in God's goodness. I declare that Jesus beat death, that Jesus still wins even when circumstances don't depict that. And, my kids and I are clinging to the truth that my son is a son birthed from a promise that God gave to me. Believe me that there are times that Satan attacks me with, "What's the name of your ministry? Family of Promise? Some family you have. They've all deserted you." But, I respond with the promise God granted me in Isaiah 54.
There are still a lot of answers I'm waiting on from God. There is a part of me that feels like this is the end of a chapter. The pruning is over, and that means new growth, new direction. But, I do still have Marvin and Jonathan, who I love dearly, and I want to love them well and ensure that they are given the greatest opportunity to succeed in their lives as sons of light. But, I also recognize now more than ever that none of this is about me. I can try to be the greatest mom on earth, but that doesn't guarantee a victory. It's all His work and His way. I've never wanted to seek His face more in my life than now. May we wash His feet with our tears, and may the pain of this loss be a fragrant oil to anoint His head.
Please pray for us. Pray for Josuan that God would break the chains of drug addiction in his life, that God would rescue him from a spirit of death, and that God would restore him as His son. Estefanny and Marvin need strength in their faith to keep moving forward and to let this be a wake-up call for them to take care of their relationship with Jesus. Raul has been faithful in being by my side. I don't know any other man who would've stayed through so many trials. I love him so much, and I have been so blessed to see him move into his destiny as a father. (He was the very first to buy food to take to Josuan in jail.) Please pray that God gives us strength to care for one another and let this difficulty bring us closer together as a family. And, I just need more of Him--His grace, His healing, His love that covers a multitude of sins, and His direction for the future.
Thanks so much for reading and for partaking of our story written by His grace.
All my love,
Sarah
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Velvet Ashes
Hello All,
I just wanted to share a link to a story of mine that was published today on the website Velvet Ashes--an online community of encouragement for cross-cultural workers.
http://velvetashes.com/the-battle-of-rest/
Thanks for reading and keeping up with us!
All of my love,
Sarah
I just wanted to share a link to a story of mine that was published today on the website Velvet Ashes--an online community of encouragement for cross-cultural workers.
http://velvetashes.com/the-battle-of-rest/
Thanks for reading and keeping up with us!
All of my love,
Sarah
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Words of Hope
Hello All,
I'll be headed to Teen Challenge in just a little bit and still have to cook and get ready, etc., but I wanted to find a spare moment this morning to do a little reflecting. I was reading in the past week on the website Velvet Ashes (velvetashes.com) about the initiative to focus on just one word in the coming year rather than making resolutions. I've never really been one to make resolutions because I know myself too well and am too realistic. But, in thinking about this concept of one word, I reflected on what words would describe this past year of 2014. I also live with this idea of one word and have, rather unconsciously, since moving here, but the one word is really one passage of scripture that I ask God for to give me direction and a purpose and a guide for what to expect for the future. For the first three years of living here, my guiding passage of scripture was Isaiah 37:30-32:
"This will be the sign for you, O Hezekiah: "This year you will eat what grows by itself, and the second year what springs from that. But in the third year sow and reap, plant vineyards and eat their fruit. Once more a remnant of the house of Judah will take root below and bear fruit above. For out of Jerusalem will come a remnant, and out of Mount Zion a band of survivors. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.
That passage sustained me for three years. God gave me plenty of other rhema words for specific situations, but these verses were a reoccurring anchor. It was what God prophesied over my life, and its truth was revealed with each passing year. My first year in Honduras, I worked in areas that were already sown by Alvin and Nelly and was just trying to find my niche. The second year, I worked with seeds already sown by others in 21 de Octubre, and now 21 de Octubre, the building, is being used for adolescent girls and what was the institution of 21 de Octubre now doesn't exist after Honduras' IHNFA (Child Services Department) was abolished. But, in my third year of living here, God gave me the privilege of being the one planting in the lives of my children and to a certain point, reaping. It was in the third year that my weary prayers for Raúl were finally answered, and he renewed his commitment and relationship with Jesus and began to take root once again in his Christian life. I knew because of this verse to hold on for that breakthrough until the third year, without giving up on him. I also knew because of this verse that I would only be left with a remnant of children, a band of survivors. After having up to 9 in Teen Challenge, I am left with that small remnant, and to be honest, there are days where I wonder if it may turn out to be even smaller when the dust settles.
This year, my passage was Isaiah 27:2-6:
In that day-- "Sing about a fruitful vineyard: I, the Lord, watch over it; I water it continually. I guard it day and night so that no one may harm it. I am not angry. If only there were briers and thorns confronting me! I would march against them in battle; I would set them all on fire. Or else let them come to me for refuge; let them make peace with me." In days to come Jacob will take root, Israel will bud and blossom and fill all the world with fruit.
Every time I would pray about my spiritual life and relationship with Raúl and what God was doing when things seemed just exhausting or hopeless, God brought me back to this verse. And He showed me on more than one occasion a massive tree with a thick trunk, the branches were ablaze, burning away all the deadwood that wasn't giving forth fruit, to expose new green growth beneath. Meanwhile, the roots tunneled forward and deeper, curling into the depths of the soil with more and more shoots multiplying. I was the branches, and Raúl was the roots. And, it's been an accurate picture because a good word to describe this year would be prune. I look back on this year, and I see just how God has restored me, purified me, and strengthened me through placing me in tests and situations to confront past fears, to pick myself up to receive healing, and to take a stand against the darkness. I know I say it every year (but every year it's true)--this has been the hardest year of my life. I think that's how it's supposed to be, so I keep growing and maturing, but it is painful! On numerous occasions this year, I have asked God, moaning in small-child agony, "How much longer? How much more pain do I have to go through?" This was my cry even just last night after spending a day crying nonstop, just wanting a relief, a hope. How much longer? The thing about being pruned is that it's not an action the self can do. It's a condition induced by someone else. The tree cannot move to escape the flame. It is anchored by the roots. It cannot do anything to make the process go by faster. It just remains still and lets itself burn. I am, perhaps, not a very good tree because I've struggled with letting God burn me to life and have wanted and tried to speed up the process or move the roots to escape the pain. But, no one said purification was easy or pain-free, but it is necessary.
I look back at this year and realize that God gave me irreplaceable opportunities to re-face demons that had defeated me before, knowing that our rematch would result in victory, strengthening my faith. I have had to make numerous decisions of sacrifice this year laying my deepest heart's desires at the feet of Jesus and leaving others' judgments of me in His capable hands. I've had to learn (and keep learning) to keep silent and let God defend me instead of trying to defend myself and that my greatest weapon oftentimes is actually REST. Yes, rest. No one ever thinks about going to battle armed only with rest, but the Kingdom of God is always backwards. 2 Chronicles 20 gives us a prime example of how joy and worship can deliver victories, and Jesus showed us the way when he slept on the boat in the middle of the violent storm. We've had major battles as a family this year. We confronted issues that I thought we'd never get out of. But, God's faithfulness has been endless, and His mercy has sustained us, making me understand just what is possible if we only believe and receive instead of striving. (I'm still not great at it.)
In the past couple of months, I have been praying for a new word, for a heads-up about what is coming and how much longer this pruning process is going to last. I can't say for sure whether these words are what God intends to be in place for the entirety of this coming year or if it perhaps even applies for years to come, but they do give me hope even if I don't have a set finish line for this marathon or a date of relief.
Habakkuk 2:2-3
Then the Lord replied: "Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.
Ezekiel 12:21-23, 28
The word of the Lord came to me: "Son of man, what is this proverb you have in the land of Israel: 'The days go by and every vision comes to nothing'? Say to them, "This is what the Sovereign Lord says: I am going to put an end to this proverb, and they will no longer quote it in Israel.' Say to them, "The days are near when every vision will be fulfilled. . . . Therefore say to them, 'This is what the Sovereign Lord says: None of my words will be delayed any longer; whatever I say will be fulfilled, declares the Sovereign Lord.'"
Thus, I enter this new year holding onto these words and words prophesied over me in 2014. I choose to keep delighting in Jesus, trusting that He will, in His time, give me the desires of my heart. There are days when it's incredibly difficult. I see pictures of friends' weddings and engagements, announcements about births and new homes bought, nice cars purchased and dream jobs acquired. I look at my reality as a single mom without a "real job" with children that sometimes have attitudes that make me cry and want to hop on a plane in escape. I ponder the independence lost since I can't just leave my former drug addict sons at home by themselves all the time, which means I can't just pick up and go out with my boyfriend whenever I want. (And, trust me when I say there is absolutely no one lining up at my door wanting to give me an evening of relief.) I examine our little rented house on the hill and sigh about my ever-dirty car that had such nice interior before kids, that has a trunk that fills with water when it rains, whose door handle has broken now 10 times. I think about how much longer it'll be before God releases me to get married, or whenever the little girls from church come sit in my lap, think about the little girl I'd like to have (in the midst of all these boys!). And in moments of doubt, I wonder if He's forgotten my heart's desires. But, when I put my eyes on Jesus, when I ponder the sacrifice He made--how He left Love itself, streets of gold, choirs of angels, and the land of perfection to become a poor, unattractive, homeless, adopted carpenter, seemingly illegitimately born to die a violent, undeserved death--my heart burns with passion again. My eyes fill with tears and my mind with the deep belief that all of this is worth it because He is so worth it. He never stops being worthy no matter the cost. He is the prize. He is the reward. He is the Lover of My Soul. There is no other.
So, we start 2015. And, I let the words of a spontaneous worship song by Bethel Music be the song of my weary, still burning, still-ablaze-from-pruning heart...
Don't give up the fight. Don't grow weary. He will come like the rain. Don't grow weary. If you walk, you will not faint. He will come like the rain. He will come like the rain. Won't You come? Won't You come? Won't You come like the rain?
All my love and blessings for a new year full of new miracles,
Sarah
I'll be headed to Teen Challenge in just a little bit and still have to cook and get ready, etc., but I wanted to find a spare moment this morning to do a little reflecting. I was reading in the past week on the website Velvet Ashes (velvetashes.com) about the initiative to focus on just one word in the coming year rather than making resolutions. I've never really been one to make resolutions because I know myself too well and am too realistic. But, in thinking about this concept of one word, I reflected on what words would describe this past year of 2014. I also live with this idea of one word and have, rather unconsciously, since moving here, but the one word is really one passage of scripture that I ask God for to give me direction and a purpose and a guide for what to expect for the future. For the first three years of living here, my guiding passage of scripture was Isaiah 37:30-32:
"This will be the sign for you, O Hezekiah: "This year you will eat what grows by itself, and the second year what springs from that. But in the third year sow and reap, plant vineyards and eat their fruit. Once more a remnant of the house of Judah will take root below and bear fruit above. For out of Jerusalem will come a remnant, and out of Mount Zion a band of survivors. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this.
That passage sustained me for three years. God gave me plenty of other rhema words for specific situations, but these verses were a reoccurring anchor. It was what God prophesied over my life, and its truth was revealed with each passing year. My first year in Honduras, I worked in areas that were already sown by Alvin and Nelly and was just trying to find my niche. The second year, I worked with seeds already sown by others in 21 de Octubre, and now 21 de Octubre, the building, is being used for adolescent girls and what was the institution of 21 de Octubre now doesn't exist after Honduras' IHNFA (Child Services Department) was abolished. But, in my third year of living here, God gave me the privilege of being the one planting in the lives of my children and to a certain point, reaping. It was in the third year that my weary prayers for Raúl were finally answered, and he renewed his commitment and relationship with Jesus and began to take root once again in his Christian life. I knew because of this verse to hold on for that breakthrough until the third year, without giving up on him. I also knew because of this verse that I would only be left with a remnant of children, a band of survivors. After having up to 9 in Teen Challenge, I am left with that small remnant, and to be honest, there are days where I wonder if it may turn out to be even smaller when the dust settles.
This year, my passage was Isaiah 27:2-6:
In that day-- "Sing about a fruitful vineyard: I, the Lord, watch over it; I water it continually. I guard it day and night so that no one may harm it. I am not angry. If only there were briers and thorns confronting me! I would march against them in battle; I would set them all on fire. Or else let them come to me for refuge; let them make peace with me." In days to come Jacob will take root, Israel will bud and blossom and fill all the world with fruit.
Every time I would pray about my spiritual life and relationship with Raúl and what God was doing when things seemed just exhausting or hopeless, God brought me back to this verse. And He showed me on more than one occasion a massive tree with a thick trunk, the branches were ablaze, burning away all the deadwood that wasn't giving forth fruit, to expose new green growth beneath. Meanwhile, the roots tunneled forward and deeper, curling into the depths of the soil with more and more shoots multiplying. I was the branches, and Raúl was the roots. And, it's been an accurate picture because a good word to describe this year would be prune. I look back on this year, and I see just how God has restored me, purified me, and strengthened me through placing me in tests and situations to confront past fears, to pick myself up to receive healing, and to take a stand against the darkness. I know I say it every year (but every year it's true)--this has been the hardest year of my life. I think that's how it's supposed to be, so I keep growing and maturing, but it is painful! On numerous occasions this year, I have asked God, moaning in small-child agony, "How much longer? How much more pain do I have to go through?" This was my cry even just last night after spending a day crying nonstop, just wanting a relief, a hope. How much longer? The thing about being pruned is that it's not an action the self can do. It's a condition induced by someone else. The tree cannot move to escape the flame. It is anchored by the roots. It cannot do anything to make the process go by faster. It just remains still and lets itself burn. I am, perhaps, not a very good tree because I've struggled with letting God burn me to life and have wanted and tried to speed up the process or move the roots to escape the pain. But, no one said purification was easy or pain-free, but it is necessary.
I look back at this year and realize that God gave me irreplaceable opportunities to re-face demons that had defeated me before, knowing that our rematch would result in victory, strengthening my faith. I have had to make numerous decisions of sacrifice this year laying my deepest heart's desires at the feet of Jesus and leaving others' judgments of me in His capable hands. I've had to learn (and keep learning) to keep silent and let God defend me instead of trying to defend myself and that my greatest weapon oftentimes is actually REST. Yes, rest. No one ever thinks about going to battle armed only with rest, but the Kingdom of God is always backwards. 2 Chronicles 20 gives us a prime example of how joy and worship can deliver victories, and Jesus showed us the way when he slept on the boat in the middle of the violent storm. We've had major battles as a family this year. We confronted issues that I thought we'd never get out of. But, God's faithfulness has been endless, and His mercy has sustained us, making me understand just what is possible if we only believe and receive instead of striving. (I'm still not great at it.)
In the past couple of months, I have been praying for a new word, for a heads-up about what is coming and how much longer this pruning process is going to last. I can't say for sure whether these words are what God intends to be in place for the entirety of this coming year or if it perhaps even applies for years to come, but they do give me hope even if I don't have a set finish line for this marathon or a date of relief.
Habakkuk 2:2-3
Then the Lord replied: "Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.
Ezekiel 12:21-23, 28
The word of the Lord came to me: "Son of man, what is this proverb you have in the land of Israel: 'The days go by and every vision comes to nothing'? Say to them, "This is what the Sovereign Lord says: I am going to put an end to this proverb, and they will no longer quote it in Israel.' Say to them, "The days are near when every vision will be fulfilled. . . . Therefore say to them, 'This is what the Sovereign Lord says: None of my words will be delayed any longer; whatever I say will be fulfilled, declares the Sovereign Lord.'"
Thus, I enter this new year holding onto these words and words prophesied over me in 2014. I choose to keep delighting in Jesus, trusting that He will, in His time, give me the desires of my heart. There are days when it's incredibly difficult. I see pictures of friends' weddings and engagements, announcements about births and new homes bought, nice cars purchased and dream jobs acquired. I look at my reality as a single mom without a "real job" with children that sometimes have attitudes that make me cry and want to hop on a plane in escape. I ponder the independence lost since I can't just leave my former drug addict sons at home by themselves all the time, which means I can't just pick up and go out with my boyfriend whenever I want. (And, trust me when I say there is absolutely no one lining up at my door wanting to give me an evening of relief.) I examine our little rented house on the hill and sigh about my ever-dirty car that had such nice interior before kids, that has a trunk that fills with water when it rains, whose door handle has broken now 10 times. I think about how much longer it'll be before God releases me to get married, or whenever the little girls from church come sit in my lap, think about the little girl I'd like to have (in the midst of all these boys!). And in moments of doubt, I wonder if He's forgotten my heart's desires. But, when I put my eyes on Jesus, when I ponder the sacrifice He made--how He left Love itself, streets of gold, choirs of angels, and the land of perfection to become a poor, unattractive, homeless, adopted carpenter, seemingly illegitimately born to die a violent, undeserved death--my heart burns with passion again. My eyes fill with tears and my mind with the deep belief that all of this is worth it because He is so worth it. He never stops being worthy no matter the cost. He is the prize. He is the reward. He is the Lover of My Soul. There is no other.
So, we start 2015. And, I let the words of a spontaneous worship song by Bethel Music be the song of my weary, still burning, still-ablaze-from-pruning heart...
Don't give up the fight. Don't grow weary. He will come like the rain. Don't grow weary. If you walk, you will not faint. He will come like the rain. He will come like the rain. Won't You come? Won't You come? Won't You come like the rain?
All my love and blessings for a new year full of new miracles,
Sarah
Monday, December 29, 2014
November Moments
I haven't had a lot of time to update, and I'm not sure when I'll get a free moment. So, I decided just to update some pictures to share. I hope you all have had blessed holidays, and we look forward with you to what the New Year will bring.
All my love,
Sarah
All my love,
Sarah
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| Josuan frying the Thanksgiving turkey--it was so cold outside! |
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| Princess Stef |
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| Josuan and Mami Yessi |
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| Praying for the food at our first Thanksgiving gathering |
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| Josuan's fried turkey masterpiece |
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| Christmas finally arrived at our house |
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| Marvin posing with the Christmas tree |
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| Me and Mami Yessi |
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| Tío Mario and Marvin |
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| Josuan and Tío Mario |
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| Our dear friends, Tío Mario and Tía Iveth, at their wedding at Teen Challenge |
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| Family photo at their wedding-- Mami Yessi, Erick, Raúl, Me, Marvin, Josuan, Cristofer, and Jonathan |
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| Marvin's birthday |
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| First time celebrating his birthday in family |
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| Friends from our church |
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| Marvin and his little buddy Cristofer |
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| Estefanny and Josuan |
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| The Birthday Boy and I |
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| Josuan and his little friend, Yennifer |
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| The ladies-- Julissa, me, Estefanny, and Juanita |
Monday, November 3, 2014
Keeping Connected
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| Maryuri--one of the girls from church who calls me Mami--and I after she was baptized |
Hello All,
It's been a long hiatus. I can assure you that blogging has been on my to-do list for months, but for lack of time and lack of inspiration, I kept silent. It’d be impossible to catch you up on all the things that have happened over the past several months, so I think I’ll just focus on where we are now.
I’ve been back from the States for a month and a half, and it’s been a process to put into practice what I learned while I was in the States. More than anything, God was able to show me my need to guard my heart, my time, and my needs. I am such a 100% or nothing kind of person. When I have a cause to work for, it consumes me. I love doing things well and whole-heartedly, but in the process, I often wear myself out or allow others to cross that sacred boundary of my time of intimacy with the Father. As a result, I get tired, and the oil in my lamp goes out.
While I was in the States, I attended the Iris Ministries Go Conference in Nashville, Tennessee. To be honest with you, that’s the biggest reason I returned to the States this year—because I was burnt-out and needed life and His presence so desperately. Being a missionary, you really can’t have a “spoon-feed-me” mentality as we as Christians often fall into in the routine of going to church, activities, etc. So many people depend on you to be the one feeding and discipling them. I am often surrounded by new, immature Christians, which, at times, makes it easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. Going to that conference gave me so many answers that I had been waiting for. God healed wounds in my heart from letting myself get disconnected from the Vine of His presence, and He gave me a new mission and direction.
Many people ask me what a typical day in my life is like, and honestly, there is no typical day, and no day is that glamorous or exotic. I spend entire days doing loads of laundry by hand. I am a mom in every sense of the word even if it is to adopted, former street kid, teenage boys. I spend my days cleaning up after my children and furiously stewing because Marvin lazily tossed the silverware in the serving spoon drawer again and re-washing dishes that still have food stuck to them even after my children supposedly washed them. My grocery bills are outrageous because I have growing, teenage boys. And, most of my time is spent cleaning, cooking, and running errands. It’s “Mom! Pick me up at 2 for dance team practice,” and “Mom! I need a $100 dictionary for Bible class” and “Mom! My tool broke again! Can you go a third time this week to get it fixed?” My life is, “Mom! When are you going to the store again? We don’t have any apples” (when I went to the store and bought apples yesterday) and “Mom! Do I have to sweep today? I’ll do it tomorrow” (that’s what he said yesterday) and “Mom! Why did you make this for lunch instead of that” (after I spent my entire morning cooking). I’m 25, and I did not have the infant, toddler, kid, learning curve, and I cannot lie to you—there are days when Raúl comes to visit me, and all I can do is cry and let him hug me because I feel like I have no value other than what people can suck out of me. I am the bank. I am the chauffeur. I am the cook. I am the maid. I’m Mami.
And, if I have recognized nothing else about myself through all of this, it’s that I’m still a selfish person, and I still need a lot of grace. Ministry is not so much in what we do. It’s in presence and heart condition and attitude. It’s that question of, “Am I cursing Marvin again for lazily throwing the silverware in the wrong drawer and causing more work for me or am I delighted by the fact that God is using me to change my son’s life one day at a time even if it’s in the small things like cleaning up after him?” Regretfully, I’m still working on that attitude and heart condition part. The novelty of being a missionary has worn off. The novelty of Honduras and its culture has disappeared. The novelty of being a mom has dissipated after nearly two years. And, my attitude springs from that place of intimacy with Jesus or lack thereof. When I get tired, I get defensive and angry. When I get tired, I lose sight of the long-term vision and forget how far we’ve come. When I get tired, I lose hope and feel like I’m going to be fighting the same demons with my kids forever. And, it’s that same intimacy they have with God that determines much of how they relate to me. Are they selfish? Are they ungrateful? Are they struggling with how they view or talk about women? Are they angry? Are they judgmental? Are they demanding? Then they’re disconnected from the Vine, and THAT is my primary concern—not the symptoms. A common phrase in our house is, “I know you by your fruit,” which lets my kids know that their suffering relationship with God is showing through in their treatment of me.
That heart connection firstly with Jesus and secondly with each other is what really matters. My kids can get an education and eat well and sleep safely and learn a trade and get jobs, but if they lose sight of Jesus and His love for them, I have missed the vision. Ministry, even in family, is all about Jesus and intimacy with Jesus. It’s not enough to take them to church. It’s not enough to say, “Well, the pastor preached what they needed to hear.” What about my example? Am I showing them what life is really about—that it’s about intimacy with Jesus and listening to the Holy Spirit? I have seen changes in my kids according to my changes of dedicating more time to God and passing the tests of saying no to distractions or situations that want to steal that sacred, secret place. The atmosphere in my house is different with my kids when I set the tone of placing His presence first. My heart overflows with joy whenever I hear Josuan washing the dishes and praying in tongues, or I walk out of my bedroom to see Marvin kneeled at his bedside praying in the morning because they’ve seen me seek God first thing in the morning and heard me sing in tongues and put that emphasis on keeping my spirit connected to His.
And, I’m learning to place boundaries with my kids and others. To say no to that third trip to get that tool fixed when I’m already tired and frustrated. To say no to going to that second small group meeting for today so that I can rest at home. It’s not easy because people often react with demands and guilt trips. But, I am the only one who controls me, and they are the only ones who control how they choose to react to my boundaries. Even Jesus did not heal every sick person He saw. He only did what the Father led Him to do. And, often, He got away from the crowds to spend time with the Father.
Anyway, that’s what I’m in the process of learning. God’s always in the process of making heart changes within our family dynamic, so I’ll give you a little update on our family:
Raúl and I have been together as a couple since July. I won’t say that it’s been smooth sailing because we’re both broken people who have needed healing, but even when we have our big conflicts and breaking points, when we run to God for that healing, we have found that He brings us back together with new patience and compassion instead of pulling us apart. We’re both learning to love like Jesus and let Him be the one making our lives and vision and ministry mesh in unity without humanly forcing anything. God has worked absolute miracles in Raúl’s heart, to be honest with you. My sweetheart had such a broken heart protected by walls of stone, and he was determined for so long to not let anyone in. But, for this cause, and those kinds of hurt people, I am called. My entire family is full of broken, rescued people who have cost me tears and pain and cultivated a patience and endurance in me that I never knew I was capable of. They have brought me into deeper intimacy with Jesus because without Him, I couldn’t have held on. Just yesterday, Raúl was staring off into space, and I asked, “What are you thinking about?” And he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I was this broken, damaged person who had separated myself from God’s presence and His love. But He sent this person to come alongside me and speak life and suffer patiently at my side, loving me like Jesus when I was so unlovable. And I will never forget that person. I will carry that person in my heart forever. And that was you.”
The dynamic between Raúl and my kids has been nothing short of a God-given miracle. When Marvin first came to live with me, Raúl and Marvin hated each other and had no problem stating how they felt about the other. Now, Marvin works at Raúl’s business, and when Marvin had a motor bike accident, the first person he called wasn’t me—it was Raúl. They laugh together. They joke together. Marvin gets up extra early to be the first person to help Raúl open the business, and Raúl will go out of his way to take care of Marvin (example being when he took him to the hospital after the accident…he’s fine by the way). I always knew that they’d eventually get along because they’re so alike—hyperactive, extroverted, attention-calling, hard workers. Josuan is always going to be more of a mama’s boy, but he also is learning how to relate better to Raúl even though their personalities are so different. He was just telling me yesterday how he was able to calm Raúl down when he was angry. My being away for a month in the States opened the door for those relationships to be cultivated more. Now, Raúl is part of our family, and I have someone to lean on. We face the conflicts together and consult each other about the business and the kids.
I look back at who Estefanny was when I first met her, and I don’t recognize the person that she is today. She still struggles, but she has so learned to run to Jesus. I am so grateful that my baby girl, after spending so much time with no friends and having to learn to stand alone with Jesus, has finally found a circle of Christian friends within the church. That has been a prayer of several months answered. She dances with confidence and jokes and laughs and serves in the church—not even a shadow of the hurt and confused little one she was before. We’re not sure what’s going to happen with Fefi (as we affectionately call her). Her family has to move from their house in a couple days. She’ll be living in the same neighborhood in a rented house for a while, but her family is building a house on a property they’re buying, and that house will be far away from us. We’re not sure how that’s going to affect her involvement in church and in our family, but we trust that God is in control and knows best.
I continue to visit Jorge and Elvis. Currently, the idea is to try to get a court order so that they could leave the orphanage to spend Christmas with us, but that will depend on the directors, the social worker, and the court system.
Jonathan has been in Teen Challenge for eight months now, and while I can’t say I know him well enough to know what’s going on in his heart, I can say that God has His hand on him. Jonathan is the only one left of all of his room of four guys who did not escape from Teen Challenge. He had ample opportunity to leave with them, but he chose to stay and it’s for a reason.
Erick will finish his second year in Teen Challenge in February. He is doing incredibly well in school and may receive scholarships as a result. I had been thinking for quite some time about what was going to happen once he leaves Teen Challenge, and to be honest, I was worried. There is a part of his heart that does want to change, but he’s had several issues when he’s been on leave. The more I examined the situation, the more I recognized that placing him in his same environment from before he went to Teen Challenge would be setting him up for failure. But, I didn’t think I had an answer because I didn’t think I could handle another son living with me after so many extreme battles with Marvin and Josuan. But, Erick and his mom approached me about his living here whenever he gets out, and I would’ve immediately said no had it been six months ago. But, I recognize that a soul is at stake here. All of his friends from before have gotten out of jail and have been showing up to his house looking for him. If his mom is working, and he’s home alone, it’ll only be a matter of time before it’s too much pressure for him to withstand. He’s just as scared about falling into his old lifestyle and losing what he’s learned the past two years as his mom is. And, I recognize that if I don’t take him fresh out of Teen Challenge, it’s likely his mom will be calling me a month later wanting help because she’s lost him, which will be a much more difficult circumstance to come out of. So, I’m praying about it even though I already feel like I know the answer. “If you know the good you ought to do and don’t do it, that to you is sin.” I am mildly terrified about having another son living in the house just because I feel so unprepared. That was not my plan. But, I wasn’t fully prepared for Marvin, nor for Josuan, yet here we are, moving forward in God’s grace. I don’t think we’re ever fully prepared for God’s plans because they’re supernatural. We won’t feel perfectly assured of our preparation because that’s the purpose of intimacy; it’s not about us; it’s about Him.
There are more elements of this situation that I’m praying about, but I may share those later. For the moment, the current project is gathering a team to go to the streets on a weekly basis. The primary purpose is to bring light to the darkness through worship. Worship is the first priority followed by evangelism and bringing food to the needy. God has made it clear to me that wherever we worship, He’ll give us that spiritual territory and the souls within. He’s been teaching me that in ministry we often make the mistake of placing the souls as more important than the Soul Saver, and for that reason, we lead people to us and not to Him and see no lasting fruit or change. Often, we tell people on the streets, “seek God,” but how will they know how to seek God if we don’t show them? How will they meet the Holy Spirit if we don’t carry His presence to where they are? This is my current passion, and I am biting at the bit to get started, but there are doors that we need God to open. Raúl has been in the process of buying a van for the past six months, but the owner has hardened his heart and has been very unfair. We won’t all fit in my little car. I’m waiting to talk to the pastor of our church to see if he’d be open to some of his church members participating with us even if the work is not under the covering of his church. And there are also the finances of developing a feasible budget of gas and food to go on a weekly basis. But, it’s God’s vision, so He’ll birth it in His time.
On that note, I’ll leave you with some encouraging words from what I’m reading from Heidi Baker’s Birthing the Miraculous:
Some of you may have carried prophetic words for years, and yet have never stepped out into them because they seem too costly, too foolish, or too impossible. Maybe you do not feel you are prepared enough, or maybe you are afraid for anyone to know what you feel God said to you, be held responsible for acting on His words. Perhaps His promises come with such serious social stigma that you aren’t sure you really want to carry them. There may be a steep price for what God has placed inside you, but if you want Him, you will choose to pay it. You may have a whole bag of promises, but what are you going to do with them? Will you bear the possible reproach and carry to full term that which God put inside of you? It is easy to hear a great prophetic word but often costly and challenging to bring it to birth. God has predestined every single one of us for fruitfulness. . . . We need to be familiar with a place of divine intimacy in which we are so consumed by the Holy Spirit that we will nurture and protect the seed He places in us. We need to fearlessly step out and activate His promises. It is intimacy that gives us the grace and strength we need to push through suffering, pain, and inconvenience (16).
Here is a look at some of our pictures from the past several months:
It's been a long hiatus. I can assure you that blogging has been on my to-do list for months, but for lack of time and lack of inspiration, I kept silent. It’d be impossible to catch you up on all the things that have happened over the past several months, so I think I’ll just focus on where we are now.
I’ve been back from the States for a month and a half, and it’s been a process to put into practice what I learned while I was in the States. More than anything, God was able to show me my need to guard my heart, my time, and my needs. I am such a 100% or nothing kind of person. When I have a cause to work for, it consumes me. I love doing things well and whole-heartedly, but in the process, I often wear myself out or allow others to cross that sacred boundary of my time of intimacy with the Father. As a result, I get tired, and the oil in my lamp goes out.
While I was in the States, I attended the Iris Ministries Go Conference in Nashville, Tennessee. To be honest with you, that’s the biggest reason I returned to the States this year—because I was burnt-out and needed life and His presence so desperately. Being a missionary, you really can’t have a “spoon-feed-me” mentality as we as Christians often fall into in the routine of going to church, activities, etc. So many people depend on you to be the one feeding and discipling them. I am often surrounded by new, immature Christians, which, at times, makes it easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. Going to that conference gave me so many answers that I had been waiting for. God healed wounds in my heart from letting myself get disconnected from the Vine of His presence, and He gave me a new mission and direction.
Many people ask me what a typical day in my life is like, and honestly, there is no typical day, and no day is that glamorous or exotic. I spend entire days doing loads of laundry by hand. I am a mom in every sense of the word even if it is to adopted, former street kid, teenage boys. I spend my days cleaning up after my children and furiously stewing because Marvin lazily tossed the silverware in the serving spoon drawer again and re-washing dishes that still have food stuck to them even after my children supposedly washed them. My grocery bills are outrageous because I have growing, teenage boys. And, most of my time is spent cleaning, cooking, and running errands. It’s “Mom! Pick me up at 2 for dance team practice,” and “Mom! I need a $100 dictionary for Bible class” and “Mom! My tool broke again! Can you go a third time this week to get it fixed?” My life is, “Mom! When are you going to the store again? We don’t have any apples” (when I went to the store and bought apples yesterday) and “Mom! Do I have to sweep today? I’ll do it tomorrow” (that’s what he said yesterday) and “Mom! Why did you make this for lunch instead of that” (after I spent my entire morning cooking). I’m 25, and I did not have the infant, toddler, kid, learning curve, and I cannot lie to you—there are days when Raúl comes to visit me, and all I can do is cry and let him hug me because I feel like I have no value other than what people can suck out of me. I am the bank. I am the chauffeur. I am the cook. I am the maid. I’m Mami.
And, if I have recognized nothing else about myself through all of this, it’s that I’m still a selfish person, and I still need a lot of grace. Ministry is not so much in what we do. It’s in presence and heart condition and attitude. It’s that question of, “Am I cursing Marvin again for lazily throwing the silverware in the wrong drawer and causing more work for me or am I delighted by the fact that God is using me to change my son’s life one day at a time even if it’s in the small things like cleaning up after him?” Regretfully, I’m still working on that attitude and heart condition part. The novelty of being a missionary has worn off. The novelty of Honduras and its culture has disappeared. The novelty of being a mom has dissipated after nearly two years. And, my attitude springs from that place of intimacy with Jesus or lack thereof. When I get tired, I get defensive and angry. When I get tired, I lose sight of the long-term vision and forget how far we’ve come. When I get tired, I lose hope and feel like I’m going to be fighting the same demons with my kids forever. And, it’s that same intimacy they have with God that determines much of how they relate to me. Are they selfish? Are they ungrateful? Are they struggling with how they view or talk about women? Are they angry? Are they judgmental? Are they demanding? Then they’re disconnected from the Vine, and THAT is my primary concern—not the symptoms. A common phrase in our house is, “I know you by your fruit,” which lets my kids know that their suffering relationship with God is showing through in their treatment of me.
That heart connection firstly with Jesus and secondly with each other is what really matters. My kids can get an education and eat well and sleep safely and learn a trade and get jobs, but if they lose sight of Jesus and His love for them, I have missed the vision. Ministry, even in family, is all about Jesus and intimacy with Jesus. It’s not enough to take them to church. It’s not enough to say, “Well, the pastor preached what they needed to hear.” What about my example? Am I showing them what life is really about—that it’s about intimacy with Jesus and listening to the Holy Spirit? I have seen changes in my kids according to my changes of dedicating more time to God and passing the tests of saying no to distractions or situations that want to steal that sacred, secret place. The atmosphere in my house is different with my kids when I set the tone of placing His presence first. My heart overflows with joy whenever I hear Josuan washing the dishes and praying in tongues, or I walk out of my bedroom to see Marvin kneeled at his bedside praying in the morning because they’ve seen me seek God first thing in the morning and heard me sing in tongues and put that emphasis on keeping my spirit connected to His.
And, I’m learning to place boundaries with my kids and others. To say no to that third trip to get that tool fixed when I’m already tired and frustrated. To say no to going to that second small group meeting for today so that I can rest at home. It’s not easy because people often react with demands and guilt trips. But, I am the only one who controls me, and they are the only ones who control how they choose to react to my boundaries. Even Jesus did not heal every sick person He saw. He only did what the Father led Him to do. And, often, He got away from the crowds to spend time with the Father.
Anyway, that’s what I’m in the process of learning. God’s always in the process of making heart changes within our family dynamic, so I’ll give you a little update on our family:
Raúl and I have been together as a couple since July. I won’t say that it’s been smooth sailing because we’re both broken people who have needed healing, but even when we have our big conflicts and breaking points, when we run to God for that healing, we have found that He brings us back together with new patience and compassion instead of pulling us apart. We’re both learning to love like Jesus and let Him be the one making our lives and vision and ministry mesh in unity without humanly forcing anything. God has worked absolute miracles in Raúl’s heart, to be honest with you. My sweetheart had such a broken heart protected by walls of stone, and he was determined for so long to not let anyone in. But, for this cause, and those kinds of hurt people, I am called. My entire family is full of broken, rescued people who have cost me tears and pain and cultivated a patience and endurance in me that I never knew I was capable of. They have brought me into deeper intimacy with Jesus because without Him, I couldn’t have held on. Just yesterday, Raúl was staring off into space, and I asked, “What are you thinking about?” And he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I was this broken, damaged person who had separated myself from God’s presence and His love. But He sent this person to come alongside me and speak life and suffer patiently at my side, loving me like Jesus when I was so unlovable. And I will never forget that person. I will carry that person in my heart forever. And that was you.”
The dynamic between Raúl and my kids has been nothing short of a God-given miracle. When Marvin first came to live with me, Raúl and Marvin hated each other and had no problem stating how they felt about the other. Now, Marvin works at Raúl’s business, and when Marvin had a motor bike accident, the first person he called wasn’t me—it was Raúl. They laugh together. They joke together. Marvin gets up extra early to be the first person to help Raúl open the business, and Raúl will go out of his way to take care of Marvin (example being when he took him to the hospital after the accident…he’s fine by the way). I always knew that they’d eventually get along because they’re so alike—hyperactive, extroverted, attention-calling, hard workers. Josuan is always going to be more of a mama’s boy, but he also is learning how to relate better to Raúl even though their personalities are so different. He was just telling me yesterday how he was able to calm Raúl down when he was angry. My being away for a month in the States opened the door for those relationships to be cultivated more. Now, Raúl is part of our family, and I have someone to lean on. We face the conflicts together and consult each other about the business and the kids.
I look back at who Estefanny was when I first met her, and I don’t recognize the person that she is today. She still struggles, but she has so learned to run to Jesus. I am so grateful that my baby girl, after spending so much time with no friends and having to learn to stand alone with Jesus, has finally found a circle of Christian friends within the church. That has been a prayer of several months answered. She dances with confidence and jokes and laughs and serves in the church—not even a shadow of the hurt and confused little one she was before. We’re not sure what’s going to happen with Fefi (as we affectionately call her). Her family has to move from their house in a couple days. She’ll be living in the same neighborhood in a rented house for a while, but her family is building a house on a property they’re buying, and that house will be far away from us. We’re not sure how that’s going to affect her involvement in church and in our family, but we trust that God is in control and knows best.
I continue to visit Jorge and Elvis. Currently, the idea is to try to get a court order so that they could leave the orphanage to spend Christmas with us, but that will depend on the directors, the social worker, and the court system.
Jonathan has been in Teen Challenge for eight months now, and while I can’t say I know him well enough to know what’s going on in his heart, I can say that God has His hand on him. Jonathan is the only one left of all of his room of four guys who did not escape from Teen Challenge. He had ample opportunity to leave with them, but he chose to stay and it’s for a reason.
Erick will finish his second year in Teen Challenge in February. He is doing incredibly well in school and may receive scholarships as a result. I had been thinking for quite some time about what was going to happen once he leaves Teen Challenge, and to be honest, I was worried. There is a part of his heart that does want to change, but he’s had several issues when he’s been on leave. The more I examined the situation, the more I recognized that placing him in his same environment from before he went to Teen Challenge would be setting him up for failure. But, I didn’t think I had an answer because I didn’t think I could handle another son living with me after so many extreme battles with Marvin and Josuan. But, Erick and his mom approached me about his living here whenever he gets out, and I would’ve immediately said no had it been six months ago. But, I recognize that a soul is at stake here. All of his friends from before have gotten out of jail and have been showing up to his house looking for him. If his mom is working, and he’s home alone, it’ll only be a matter of time before it’s too much pressure for him to withstand. He’s just as scared about falling into his old lifestyle and losing what he’s learned the past two years as his mom is. And, I recognize that if I don’t take him fresh out of Teen Challenge, it’s likely his mom will be calling me a month later wanting help because she’s lost him, which will be a much more difficult circumstance to come out of. So, I’m praying about it even though I already feel like I know the answer. “If you know the good you ought to do and don’t do it, that to you is sin.” I am mildly terrified about having another son living in the house just because I feel so unprepared. That was not my plan. But, I wasn’t fully prepared for Marvin, nor for Josuan, yet here we are, moving forward in God’s grace. I don’t think we’re ever fully prepared for God’s plans because they’re supernatural. We won’t feel perfectly assured of our preparation because that’s the purpose of intimacy; it’s not about us; it’s about Him.
There are more elements of this situation that I’m praying about, but I may share those later. For the moment, the current project is gathering a team to go to the streets on a weekly basis. The primary purpose is to bring light to the darkness through worship. Worship is the first priority followed by evangelism and bringing food to the needy. God has made it clear to me that wherever we worship, He’ll give us that spiritual territory and the souls within. He’s been teaching me that in ministry we often make the mistake of placing the souls as more important than the Soul Saver, and for that reason, we lead people to us and not to Him and see no lasting fruit or change. Often, we tell people on the streets, “seek God,” but how will they know how to seek God if we don’t show them? How will they meet the Holy Spirit if we don’t carry His presence to where they are? This is my current passion, and I am biting at the bit to get started, but there are doors that we need God to open. Raúl has been in the process of buying a van for the past six months, but the owner has hardened his heart and has been very unfair. We won’t all fit in my little car. I’m waiting to talk to the pastor of our church to see if he’d be open to some of his church members participating with us even if the work is not under the covering of his church. And there are also the finances of developing a feasible budget of gas and food to go on a weekly basis. But, it’s God’s vision, so He’ll birth it in His time.
On that note, I’ll leave you with some encouraging words from what I’m reading from Heidi Baker’s Birthing the Miraculous:
Some of you may have carried prophetic words for years, and yet have never stepped out into them because they seem too costly, too foolish, or too impossible. Maybe you do not feel you are prepared enough, or maybe you are afraid for anyone to know what you feel God said to you, be held responsible for acting on His words. Perhaps His promises come with such serious social stigma that you aren’t sure you really want to carry them. There may be a steep price for what God has placed inside you, but if you want Him, you will choose to pay it. You may have a whole bag of promises, but what are you going to do with them? Will you bear the possible reproach and carry to full term that which God put inside of you? It is easy to hear a great prophetic word but often costly and challenging to bring it to birth. God has predestined every single one of us for fruitfulness. . . . We need to be familiar with a place of divine intimacy in which we are so consumed by the Holy Spirit that we will nurture and protect the seed He places in us. We need to fearlessly step out and activate His promises. It is intimacy that gives us the grace and strength we need to push through suffering, pain, and inconvenience (16).
Here is a look at some of our pictures from the past several months:
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| One of Josuan's works to sell after buying him his own tools |
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| Estefanny being baptized |
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| Marvin on a trip to Oropoli to visit Josuan's grandparents
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| A group of women with whom I had the privilege of ministering at a women's conference
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Sunday, September 21, 2014
I Still Say Yes
Hello all,
I know that it's been far too long since I last updated, and I do plan to write a real update sometime soon when I get around to it. But, for the moment, on this eve of my returning to Honduras after having been in the States for a month, I just want to share a few thoughts:
When I moved to Honduras three years ago, I don't remember shedding a single tear even after saying goodbye to my parents and siblings and childhood home and college friends and having no idea when I'd see them again. I shed my skin of childhood toys and old photographs, close friendships and precious memories, and I didn't look back. I was 22 and full of zeal and vision and purpose as a missionary. I was excited to see what God could do with my little life in a foreign land that felt like home.
Now, that I have been a missionary three years and become a mom and the novelty of tajadas and Spanish and the fear of traffic has totally worn off, I find I can't contain the tears of goodbye. I return to my hometowns and see my friends buying houses and having babies. I visit my extended family and see my cousins growing taller and making big life steps, and I see my grandparents growing older. And, I know that this is time I will never get back. Life does go on when I am not here.
In this short month, God has taken me to new places and old places, and I feel like He's shown me everything that my life could be--the jobs I could have, the homes I could live in, the streets I could walk, the foods I could eat, the conveniences I could enjoy, the accolades I could receive, and the community and family I could be a part of. And He says so kindly, so gently to me, "You know, I will never love you any more or any less for where or how you choose to live. You are my child, and I delight in you regardless of your choices. You do not have to choose My plan."
And, He doesn't let me idealize my return to Honduras, because I've had to deal with rocky situations with my kids and relationships even from afar. He won't let me convince myself that life there is easier or friendlier or more exciting. I will still haul water to bathe from a bucket instead of taking a hot shower. I will still have to discipline my former street kids and fight old demons beside them. I will still have to stand confident in my value in Christ Jesus in a culture that often defines women as largely purposeless or with little value. I will still have to fight to protect the sacredness of my relationship with the Holy Spirit and our precious time together in a land where needs never end, and people never stop seeking you out for what you have and not who you are.
I look at what could have been and still could be, and I look at what is and the reality I have lived for three years. I have faced challenges I never dreamed I could overcome. I have lived on the edge of myself, waiting to fall off. I have stared death in the face and have seen angels by my side. There are no illusions about the battles that await me and the suffering at hand. And, my Jesus looks at me with eyes of love and says, "Now that you know fully what you're getting yourself into, what do you choose?" And, all I can do is mourn the time lost and the Stateside friendships fading, feel that pain of loss and let the tears fall as I sing my answer in prostrate awe:
Let this be a sacrifice; let me dedicate my life to worship You. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. My passion's burning deep inside; You're all that really satisfies. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. I was made for love. I was made for love. I was made for loving You.
And I whisper, "I still say yes to Your Kingdom and Your country in Honduras because the Lamb of God who gave it all for me is so worthy. But, please show me how."
He reminds me of His Word:
There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mothers or fathers or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time... Mark 10:29-30
And answers, "My child, just worship through it. Worship to your breakthrough. I will turn your mourning into dancing."
He lifts me to my feet and says, "Now, sing this:"
You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shores into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the love that made a way. You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shore into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the promises You made.
So, I stand and proclaim the truth He's given me even when it doesn't feel true. I lift my hands high to the heavens, and I tell God over and over, "Thank You for this privilege of laying down my little life. I do it for You."
So, I return refreshed, revived, ready. Since the days of the early New Testament church, the mark of a true missionary was passion--not for programs or numbers of souls saved or instant gratification fruit to put on display. It wasn't learning a new language or raising funding or having a five-year plan. It was just a deep realization of the worthiness of the Lamb and being deeply in love with a perfect Savior to the point that no detail of life was too big or too small to lavish in anointing oil onto the feet of Jesus. Is it any wonder that Peter and so many others were martyred? They were lovesick for the Savior who gave their little lives more value than they ever could have imagined. How could they deny the One who made them worthy? That's the kind of missionary I want to be. I want Him to consider me a trusted friend. Fruit and saved souls is a product of intimacy with the Beloved because only He can teach us how to receive and give Love. I wish to deny Him nothing no matter the cost, not from a heart of abuse, slavery, guilt, or obligation but from a heart in awe of the One who makes me eternally worthy. It's the greatest adventure to live, the only way that's made life worth living. May I never tire of loving Him with everything.
All of my love,
Sarah
I know that it's been far too long since I last updated, and I do plan to write a real update sometime soon when I get around to it. But, for the moment, on this eve of my returning to Honduras after having been in the States for a month, I just want to share a few thoughts:
When I moved to Honduras three years ago, I don't remember shedding a single tear even after saying goodbye to my parents and siblings and childhood home and college friends and having no idea when I'd see them again. I shed my skin of childhood toys and old photographs, close friendships and precious memories, and I didn't look back. I was 22 and full of zeal and vision and purpose as a missionary. I was excited to see what God could do with my little life in a foreign land that felt like home.
Now, that I have been a missionary three years and become a mom and the novelty of tajadas and Spanish and the fear of traffic has totally worn off, I find I can't contain the tears of goodbye. I return to my hometowns and see my friends buying houses and having babies. I visit my extended family and see my cousins growing taller and making big life steps, and I see my grandparents growing older. And, I know that this is time I will never get back. Life does go on when I am not here.
In this short month, God has taken me to new places and old places, and I feel like He's shown me everything that my life could be--the jobs I could have, the homes I could live in, the streets I could walk, the foods I could eat, the conveniences I could enjoy, the accolades I could receive, and the community and family I could be a part of. And He says so kindly, so gently to me, "You know, I will never love you any more or any less for where or how you choose to live. You are my child, and I delight in you regardless of your choices. You do not have to choose My plan."
And, He doesn't let me idealize my return to Honduras, because I've had to deal with rocky situations with my kids and relationships even from afar. He won't let me convince myself that life there is easier or friendlier or more exciting. I will still haul water to bathe from a bucket instead of taking a hot shower. I will still have to discipline my former street kids and fight old demons beside them. I will still have to stand confident in my value in Christ Jesus in a culture that often defines women as largely purposeless or with little value. I will still have to fight to protect the sacredness of my relationship with the Holy Spirit and our precious time together in a land where needs never end, and people never stop seeking you out for what you have and not who you are.
I look at what could have been and still could be, and I look at what is and the reality I have lived for three years. I have faced challenges I never dreamed I could overcome. I have lived on the edge of myself, waiting to fall off. I have stared death in the face and have seen angels by my side. There are no illusions about the battles that await me and the suffering at hand. And, my Jesus looks at me with eyes of love and says, "Now that you know fully what you're getting yourself into, what do you choose?" And, all I can do is mourn the time lost and the Stateside friendships fading, feel that pain of loss and let the tears fall as I sing my answer in prostrate awe:
Let this be a sacrifice; let me dedicate my life to worship You. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. My passion's burning deep inside; You're all that really satisfies. I'm a lover of Your presence. That's all I want to be. I was made for love. I was made for love. I was made for loving You.
And I whisper, "I still say yes to Your Kingdom and Your country in Honduras because the Lamb of God who gave it all for me is so worthy. But, please show me how."
He reminds me of His Word:
There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mothers or fathers or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time... Mark 10:29-30
And answers, "My child, just worship through it. Worship to your breakthrough. I will turn your mourning into dancing."
He lifts me to my feet and says, "Now, sing this:"
You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shores into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the love that made a way. You make me brave. You make me brave. You call me out beyond the shore into the waves. You make me brave. You make me brave. No fear can hinder now the promises You made.
So, I stand and proclaim the truth He's given me even when it doesn't feel true. I lift my hands high to the heavens, and I tell God over and over, "Thank You for this privilege of laying down my little life. I do it for You."
So, I return refreshed, revived, ready. Since the days of the early New Testament church, the mark of a true missionary was passion--not for programs or numbers of souls saved or instant gratification fruit to put on display. It wasn't learning a new language or raising funding or having a five-year plan. It was just a deep realization of the worthiness of the Lamb and being deeply in love with a perfect Savior to the point that no detail of life was too big or too small to lavish in anointing oil onto the feet of Jesus. Is it any wonder that Peter and so many others were martyred? They were lovesick for the Savior who gave their little lives more value than they ever could have imagined. How could they deny the One who made them worthy? That's the kind of missionary I want to be. I want Him to consider me a trusted friend. Fruit and saved souls is a product of intimacy with the Beloved because only He can teach us how to receive and give Love. I wish to deny Him nothing no matter the cost, not from a heart of abuse, slavery, guilt, or obligation but from a heart in awe of the One who makes me eternally worthy. It's the greatest adventure to live, the only way that's made life worth living. May I never tire of loving Him with everything.
All of my love,
Sarah
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