Jacob Wrestling with God

Hello all,

A month or so ago, I was listening to a Jason Upton podcast when I caught a part where Jason says that often we think we're struggling against Satan when we're actually avoiding the cross and struggling with God. The cross is the place of being reborn. In hearing this, God reminded me of the story of Jacob wrestling God.
The story comes from Genesis 32, and it's important to look at the background. Jacob was approaching his brother Esau and wanted his mercy, so he sent some messengers to talk to him. After these messengers, Esau was approaching Jacob with 400 men. Jacob, given the past history with his brother (stealing his brother's birthright, etc.), was worried that his brother was angry. As Esau continues to approach, Jacob divides up what he owns:
Then Jacob was greatly afraid and distressed; and he divided the people who were with him, and the flocks and herds and camels, into two groups, thinking, if Esau comes to the one group and smites it, then the other group which is left will escape. I don't pretend to have a great understanding of Hebrew or the roots of words, but they do fascinate me. I am the kind of person who likes to reach the root of everything, constantly digging deeper. According to abarim-publications.com (http://www.abarim-publications.com/Meaning/Esau.html), the name Esau although usually accepted as meaning "hairy" on a superficial level, "to a Hebrew audience the name Esau means doer." It comes from a verb that means "to do, to fashion, to accomplish." With this information, this story takes on a different light for me.

Jacob is preparing to meet the revenge of his brother, Esau; he is fearful and anticipating death by a doer. He keeps dividing up his life in an effort to appease the doer and preserve his life. How often do we compartmentalize our lives, striving to get it all done, trying to please our inner "doer"? How often do we try to be in too many places at once and are committed to too many people? How often do we feel the stress of everything that we think we have to do or accomplish lingering over our heads like a dark cloud? What is worse is that just like Jacob, in trying to preserve ourselves and our way of a doing life, we have divided hearts. So often, it's even the task we're trying to do for God that is stealing our time and attention to God. Just like Jacob, we keep dividing and trying to conquer in order to prevent the failure, the loss of our accomplishments, and to avoid this part of ourselves dying--when that it exactly what God calls us to and exactly what we need.

The story continues:
Deliver me, I pray You, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he come and smite us all, the mothers with the children. And You said, I will surely do you good and make your descendants as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.
Notice that God did not say Jacob would accomplish this. He didn't say that Jacob would do good or that he would somehow make this happen. It's God's work. God's the One who said He'd do it, not Jacob.

Jacob keeps sending gifts ahead of him to meet Esau:
For he said, I will appease him with the present that goes before me, and afterward I will see his face; perhaps he will accept me.I identify with this attitude because I struggle so often with deceiving myself into thinking that I can't come to God empty-handed. My life is so little, so insignificant, that I think I have to constantly be doing something for Him. But the truth is that the gift that He wants isn't my feeble attempts to outdo Him and His work--it's my life. He just wants my life. And the truth is that He always accepts me and you and everyone regardless of how small we are. So often, the one we're trying to appease isn't God, but ourselves. We are afraid of seeing His face and being in His presence without something to hide behind because we do not love ourselves or see ourselves as He does. The greatest gift we could ever give the Father is to grasp that Christ in us is enough to abide with Him.

But he rose up that [same] night and took his two wives, his two women servants, and his eleven sons and passed over the ford [of the] Jabbok. And he took them and sent them across the brook; also he sent over all that he had. Jacob prepares for fighting Esau during the night--the place of waiting, the place of painful patience. To prepare, he sends his family and everything he owns away, across the Jabbok River. Jacob is entirely alone. It is only when he is finally alone--stripped of family, security, power, and possessions--that he can encounter God.

And Jacob was left alone, and a Man wrestled him until daybreak. And when [the Man] saw that he did not prevail against [Jacob], He touched the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob's thigh was put out of joint as he wrestled with Him. It's interesting that Jacob had just been steeped in fear of Esau, yet he now fights with all he has.

The He said, Let Me go, for day is breaking. But Jacob said, I will not let You go unless You declare a blessing upon me.
Daybreak in this case could mean a new birth; he's alerting Jacob that he's about to be reborn. It's also been argued that if Jacob were to see God in the light of day, he'd die, for no one can see God's face and live. God was trying to spare Jacob's life, but Jacob demands more--a blessing. The Man doesn't refuse because when does God refuse those who earnestly ask for more of Him?

[The Man] asked him, What is your name? And [in shock of realization, whispering] he said, Jacob [supplanter, schemer, trickster, swindler]! This is the exact same question that Isaac asks Jacob when Jacob is stealing Esau's birthright. Jacob, in that moment with Isaac, calls himself Esau, "doer," trying to deceive his father so that he could receive a blessing. But when the Man (God) asks Jacob what his name is, he is finally truthful with himself and God--he's already been stripped of everything in his life--and says his name is Jacob. In that moment of confession, he realizes that his name is appropriate, that he is a trickster. He has tried to deceive himself, God, and others that he could do it all. Now, he has to acknowledge that he can't trick God into blessing him. The message in all of this is clear to me. Who do we think we're kidding when we try to do it all? God is not capable of loving us any more because of what we do. He already loves us enough. Our works do not win His approval. He already approves of us. He made us. How desolate is a life that tries to trick God into giving a blessing...as if He were some kind of a slot machine? We have to reach an honest place where we are no longer trying to trick others, ourselves, or God with our works. God already knows we can nothing of eternal value on our own, and He won't bless the work we do outside of His will, His yoke--because He is interested in bringing Himself glory and not us.

And He said, Your name shall be called no more Jacob [supplanter], but Israel [contender with God]; for you have contended and have power with God and with men and have prevailed. According to the aforementioned website, (http://www.abarim-publications.com/Meaning/Israel.html), Israel in deeper etymology means "God strives." What a volume that should speak to us! God takes a deceitful trickster of a man who once tried to portray himself as an Esau, a "doer," and renames him "God strives." He takes the burden of doing and making himself someone and hiding behind his gifts and replaces it with the assurance that He's the one doing. He's the one working on Jacob's (now Israel's) behalf. But this supernatural name change could only come about after Jacob had finally confessed his weakness and who he really was to God.

Then Jacob asked Him, Tell me, I pray You, what [in contrast] is Your name? But He said, Why is it that you ask My name? And [the Angel of God declared] a blessing on [Jacob] there. And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel [the face of God], saying, For I have seen God face to face, and my life is spared and not snatched away. By this time, it is daybreak, and he has a new name and is reborn. I think contending with God and man represents contending with man-pleasing and letting God deal with him. He pursued God for more (insisting on the blessing) and got it. He defeats the doer and the trickster to become a true prince of God.

And as he passed Penuel [Peniel], the sun rose upon him, and he was limping because of his thigh. According to the exegesis, "An Exegetical Analysis of Genesis 32:22-32" by Philip Higley (2004) of Northwest University, "the contrast of having a new name (Israel) and a new limp is also important because the new name of Israel will last forever while his new limp will forever remind him that God has complete control over him." (http://eagle.northwestu.edu/academic/ministry/faculty/bstallman/BibInterp/Fame/04FA-ex/c1_Higley.pdf)

If you start reading the chapter after this story, he meets up with Esau who accepts him happily. Before wrestling God, Jacob was moving across the land quickly in an attempt to better manage Esau's response to him (man-pleasing), but in chapter 33, Esau is prompting Jacob to move faster, and Jacob gently refuses saying:
You know, my lord, that the children are tender and delicate and need gentle care, and the flocks and herds with young are of concern to me; for if the men should overdrive them for a single day, the whole of the flocks would die. Let my lord, I pray you, pass over before his servant; and I will lead on slowly, governed by [consideration for] the livestock that set the pace before me and the endurance of the children Jacob's behavior has changed. As usual, Esau is eager to get to work doing, but I imagine that having a God-given limp slowed down Jacob and made him empathetic to the children and the flocks. As the chapter continues, Jacob does travel slowly, but he stops and takes the time to build an altar and worship God.

I draw several general conclusions from this study:
1) God does not call us to be the doers. He calls us to contend with Him, making our petitions known and spending time in His presence on behalf of others. He is the One to be doing His work for His glory, not ours.
2) To be reborn, we have to come to terms with the ways that we may be trying to hide behind our works and be willing to confess that we can't do it all. We have to be willing to be stripped of everything--home, family, possessions, wealth, and even our name and who we think we are or are supposed to be.
3) At the root of our doing and compartmentalized, divided heart living is man-pleasing--even if the only humans we're pleasing are ourselves.
4) We need God to knock us out of joint. We need to have the "handicap" (in the world's eyes) of insatiable hunger for God above all else. Then He can set us in the appropriate pace for His kingdom.

I also take away many personal lessons from this story. While it may seem odd, my biggest fear in moving to Honduras is not the culture or the language. It's not the lack of comfortable conveniences. It's not even leaving home and family (although I know that will be difficult). My biggest fear is that I might lose sight of God, becoming too busy doing things for Him that I forget to spend time with Him. The need is so intensely great in Honduras, and the lifestyle of the ministry is so fast-paced. And as I have demonstrated time and time again, I have such a weakness in trying to do it all, in being a workaholic. I am known for compromising sleep and health and sanity for work, and as my dear friends, Anthony and Gabrielle, have quietly been teaching me in accordance with the Word, resting is Biblical. Rest to me means abiding with Him in all moments of the day. It means taking on His yoke ONLY and surrendering my own and even the yokes that others would like to put on me. It means spending time in worship with Him. My struggle with this fear--especially that I am inadequate and that I will fall into this trap yet again once I move--comes in waves. Yesterday was one of them, but I found comfort in an excerpt from Elisabeth Elliot's book Keep a Quiet Heart:
...our insignificance does not matter at all, we do not come to the Father in our own name but in the Name of His beloved Son. His ear is always open to that Name. Of this we can be certain. ... he [Satan] is much more afraid of our prayer than our work.
This past week (and month really) has been a busy one in Honduras, and from talking to Roy and hearing a voicemail from Papí Alvin, I know that there has been much recent heartache. I can hear the stress and exhaustion in both of their voices, and while I'm not there yet, I feel the burdens they carry. It's a heaviness that weighs on me so much that I just cry and beg God to show me what to do to ease it. And He always leads me to extensive prayer, and given the excerpt above, it is no wonder why. (The scriptures Elisabeth Elliot lists in that chapter of Isaiah 40, Psalm 27:8, Isaiah 45:19, 1 John 5:14-15, and Philippians 4:6-7 were also great encouragements.)

I particularly love the last part of what God showed me in that story of Jacob. Last night, on a whim, I took a couple of spiritual gifting-type assessments online just out of curiosity. Shepherding and showing mercy were top attributes for me on all of them. In wanting to be a missionary, I sometimes forget how I don't really fit the stereotypical idea of a missionary. I'm not much of a preacher and am fairly soft-spoken although public speaking doesn't frighten me. Just as I mentioned before, I am the kind of person who is constantly digging for the root--of a problem, of a person, of a passage, of God's purposes. Thus, while I love Jesus dearly, my means of sharing Him is often not through going up to strangers and giving a standard run-down of the Gospel. I think every person is different and receives Jesus differently. Therefore, it takes me so much longer to verbally share Jesus with others because I am so relationship-oriented. I want to share in people's struggle and life story before I spout off about what I think they need to do with their lives. Growing up in church, I always kind of felt like a failure because I'm not a big "soul winner" in the conventional meaning of the Christianese concept. I just seek to love as Jesus does. Sometimes, that means being direct and verbal about the Gospel, but often, it does not. Being out of church for this long has taught me that it truly does take all kinds, that God works through people differently even if it doesn't lead to immediate, tangible results or numbers.

Last night, after reading the results of those spiritual gifting assessments (which weren't surprising to me), I found myself asking God how I can be an "effective" missionary when my means of reaching out to others isn't preaching and immediate results evangelism. It's slow--it's showing mercy and coming alongside people in the midst of what they're feeling and dealing with and encouraging them. It's seed planting which means I exit from various groups of people and phases of life wondering if my love ever impacted anyone because the fruit isn't immediate usually. The truth is that I may never see it. I find a lot of encouragement in Jacob's "slowness" in chapter 33. Discipleship has always been very close to my heart. The western church seems to put so much emphasis on numbers and praying the salvation prayer, that it seems to forget that people keep existing and dealing with everyday life after they pray that happy, little, repeat-after-me prayer. We tend to hound people to "get involved" and take on a role or position in the church hierarchy so they can reach more and more numbers and "find their niche" without stopping to consider if they've had a chance to fall in love with Jesus, without leading them to depth in their relationship with Christ. And then we wonder why the church looks good superficially with lots of leaders and flash but behind closed doors is falling apart in sin. There's no depth.

You know, my lord, that the children are tender and delicate and need gentle care, and the flocks and herds with young are of concern to me; for if the men should overdrive them for a single day, the whole of the flocks would die. Let my lord, I pray you, pass over before his servant; and I will lead on slowly, governed by [consideration for] the livestock that set the pace before me and the endurance of the children


I think this passage is God's answer to my question, His purpose for my life. It does take all kinds, and my heart is with the children--the children of age but also the children in spiritual maturity as well. I don't want to see the church in Honduras or the US or anywhere overdriving the children. I want them to be able to reach spiritual maturity, and my heart is to come alongside them to help make that possible according to how God sees fit. I don't want flocks to die because their relationships with God don't have depth yet. While I can't pretend that I know what this looks like in a practical sense, I want to be willing to be a voice of slowing, even if that means I look weird to other believers, even if that means I seem lazy or unfruitful. I want to be obedient to the Father in setting an example of resting in Him--which means not filling every second of my time with something to "do" for Him. It means taking the time to soak in the sweetness of His presence, letting Him fill me so that it is truly His presence and love that overflows onto others.

With love and resting,
Sarah

Orchids and Sign Language

Hello All,
Well, I haven't even been home for a full week, but it's already been productive. I have been through everything that I own from my apartment and in my parents' house. I only have one more place of storage to go through things. It's actually been so much easier to shed the past and the stuff than I thought it would be. I have great incentive. I am so homesick for Honduras as always. Last night, I watched a documentary called Which Way Home. It was amazing and felt so much like home. It's about these children who leave from various Central American countries to get to the United States. And do you know one of the biggest reasons each child (many from Honduras) listed for risking their lives to get to the US? They do not have the love of a father or a mother. Their fathers and mothers don't want them, or they are trying to earn the love of their fathers and mothers by reaching the great US to send financial help home. That heartbreaking fact alone is the reason that I am moving. It's the reason that I don't want to live in the US--because I was sitting in my comfortable living room, wrapped up in a blanket, with my loving parents snoring beside me while these children are all alone riding trains to reach an illusion of hope. I wanted to love each one of those children as my own.

If you are reading this, please pray for Honduras. I talked to Roy last night, and he was sharing with me some of the struggles of the ministry right now. It has to be God's work. You can offer a child food, shelter, godly instruction, education, and even a sense of family, but if that child does not believe in his or her heart that he or she is loved (which is a revelation only within God's power to reveal), it is not enough. He is the only thing that is enough. . .which means that once again, the ministry doesn't really need more money, more food, more programs, or even more workers. What the ministry always needs is more of God and His presence.

Anyway, as I was going through some stuff recently--old papers and the like--I came across this reflective paper that had written last year following a trip to Washington, D.C. I just thought I'd share it now:

Life unfolds like a blossom--quiet, at its own pace, and with unexpected curls and aromas. It's not to be forced or willed into our time frames. It takes much undivided attention, or it will be missed. My trip to Washington, D. C. was a slice of this life, a continuation of an unfolding blossom. Free of concrete plans and full of glorified wanderings, my trip with Emma was charming with hints of God's aroma and curls of His presence in the most unlikely places.

I have a tendency whenever I meet some people to feel an inexplicable drawing towards them. It is as if parts of their souls are greeting parts of mine that don't speak but wave hello in shared glances and common laughter. Emma was one of those people. In her plaid, with her coffee, she moved with a wind that asked me to follow, so I took the opportunity. I didn't know how the trip would go, but I knew we'd be instant friends when, in the morning, I saw Emma snap her fingers the way that I learned in Honduras-- a snap that is more commonly associated with tobacco chewing in the US. I know of no other woman in the United States who can correctly do this gesture.

This finding set the kindred tone for the entire trip. When we exited the train, we set off like women on a mission although neither of us had really prepared with directions to Galladeut University--the only defined aspect of our day. When we arrived after making a few necessary loops, it was a delightful haven in the midst of concrete grime. Emma signed with a lady at the information kiosk, and I was amazed at her ability to carry her own in the conversation. I took sign language class when I was homeschooled, but that was many years ago, and I have lost almost all of what I learned.

The campus was understandably quiet--silent in fact. It was a peace I don't believe I've been exposed to before. Very few students were milling around; the place appeared abandoned. We found our way to the information building, and after a short wait, we began a tour. The tour was so beautiful. The idea of a language where you must watch the person intently in order to understand is mesmerizing. There is no possibility of half listening. Suddenly, I began to think from the perspective of a deaf person, and the world had an entirely different light. The campus was gorgeous with visually-stimulating architecture and serenity--a place I believe deaf individuals could appreciate more than perhaps the hearing.

During the tour, we heard of a man who adopted deaf, orphaned children and worked to establish a school where they could receive an education. My heart was captured by that part of the story. While we were in the student center, amidst all of the quiet, suddenly, a piercing, unbridled laugh invaded our standing existences, and I decided that the laugh of a deaf person had to be one of the most beautiful sounds in the world because they are unafraid. They don't try to stifle themselves for fear of being too loud. They don't muffle the joy that erupts--it's a strain of unblemished happiness straight to the ears of God because in some cases, there is no one else around to enjoy that sound.

Touring Galladeut solidified my desire to take a sign language class next semester. I may not always know how knowledge that I consume in college will be used in my future--perhaps it never will--but I am ever intrigued by the ways that God reaches me or teaches me something new in the most unlikely of places. As Emma and I left, discussing our love for languages, Quakers practices, and our plans (or lack thereof), He was there.

Our next stop, following lunch, ended up being the Botanical Gardens which we traveled to on a whim. It was amidst the giant room of nothing but a variety of orchids that I wondered if God doesn't speak sign language to us sometimes. As Emma and I traipsed through the room enchanted by a number of colors, patterns, shapes, and names or orchids, I thought of all the beauty that we miss because perhaps we don't speak--or rather listen--in God's language.

We keep asking God questions, sometimes speaking louder thinking that perhaps He'll understand better if we do. We keep begging Him to explain Himself, to be real, to do something for us so that it is easier to trust Him. And He answers, but not always in the language we feel He should speak. We want audible, concrete words, but he gives us orchids. We want tangible signs and wonders, and He grants us the shade of an oak tree. We get frustrated, and we're only half listening anyway as we scramble down the pathway of of life until finally circumstances--an obstacle, a heartbreak out of our control--forces us to look up. We see His hands. They are moving in a dance of meaning, swirling in significance. Sometimes, we understand; sometimes, we look away, searching elsewhere. All the while, His hands are a flurry of action trying to spell out His truth for us, yet we miss it, refusing to learn His language.

In actuality, even the language of His hands, the graceful movement of His fingers in and through our lives sculpting cacti and babies' hair, love stories and families, tears and dimples, is more than mere words. His hands and their work are only a greater invitation to look at His face, to see the love mouthed by His lips, to read the tenderness of His eyes. I believe there are times that God speaks sign language because He wants us to finally seek His face. Only His eyes can see the stories of our hearts. Only His hands hold the keys to time. Only His face speaks the comfort we seek.

Thus, my time with Emma in Washington, D. C.--so outwardly ordinary--was amazing because I saw a glimpse of His hands as He made the petals of orchids. I knew a few of His phrases from the signs of our tour guide. I saw the tenderness of His eyes in Emma's kind smile. And life further blossomed as the day unfolded.


Lots of love,
Sarah

Always learning...

Hello All,
I don't really have too much to say at this point. I'm still in Shepherdstown until graduation which is quickly approaching. In the midst of cleaning and packing, I have been so amused by so many things. My current lesson for the day: Straight vinegar cleans soap scum out of showers. While it is sad and difficult to start the string of many goodbyes, I find myself so at peace. I pray often for the people I am leaving. I have come to the very real conclusion that no one needs me; all just need more of Jesus. So I ask often that God would send someone else to show His love to the children, students, friends, and family who have stolen my heart. I have conducted my life for a while now--since high school--with the very real understanding that each phase in life is temporary. I only get so much time with the people that I love, and I have to use that time wisely. I think one of the most astounding things about leaving is seeing how loved I am. It's actually very difficult for me to realize and accept this love. If I could express anything about this school year, it has been that God has lavished so much of His love on me through the people in my life, and I am just drowning in it (in a good way). I have been so very blessed with amazing students, wonderful friends, loving adopted and biological family, and a great community here at Shepherd and in other places in my life. It's astounding.

Meanwhile, I dream of Honduras every night and awake with a smile on my face every day. I am so thrilled to be moving there. I know that this summer will pass quickly, so I am trying to savor this time and where God has me. As I shed material possessions and mementos from beloved memories, I am inspired by what awaits me and by this quotations from C. S. Lewis:
There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.
Always eager to grow,
Sarah

May Day!

Hello All,
I am so excited to announce that student teaching is done, and I am finally in the home stretch. I finished my 91-page senior thesis (it almost killed me), and I have to present twice this coming week. After that, I am done and will graduate very soon. I know that it has been quite too long since I updated, but the hiatus was necessary to be fully invested in student teaching. I had an amazing student teaching experience at Hedgesville High School (going back is like going home) and Hedgesville Middle School. I love all of my students so much! It was very difficult to leave because they were all so loving and accepting. I just swell with the love of God for them and from them. My first facilitating teacher became like yet another second mother and a life-long mentor. I had the opportunity to teach a month-long unit about Honduras, and I was so blessed to see my students mature before my eyes. Hedgesville Middle School was also very fun simply because the students were so full of humor and creativity.

I am also making practical preparations to move to Honduras. Finally! I bought my one-way plane ticket and will be moving September 3. In the mean time, my cousin, Gabrielle, and I will be road tripping across the US this summer. It'll be a very simple adventure--meaning we're going to be living cheap, eating frugally, sleeping in the car and camping. We're pretty excited about it even though we don't have a concrete plan. It's one of those things that I felt like God was leading me to do for two years now. We just want to be on His time table and obedient in all the things He leads us to do and places He leads us to go. In the mean time, I will be sending out graduation announcements/I'm moving letters soon to also let people know that, like Alvin and Nelly Anderson, any financial support for me as I work with Manos Extendidas will be funneled through Outreach Christian Fellowship. I will post that letter and all of that information later. I hope that all is well for any readers still left out there, and now that college is almost over, I will do my best to be more diligent in posting.

Lots of love!
Sarah

All the Way

I know that it's been ages since I last updated. Student teaching has kept me very busy, and there are so many stories to tell about it that I hope I'll catch up with once life slows down a bit. I'm at the one month mark--one month until college classes are over. Then, it's on to graduation, then to road tripping, then to moving. And amidst it all, I find only one desire left in my heart, and it is more and more of Jesus. I am so desperate for Him. So, in the spirit of deep gratitude, I thought I'd share a hymn that is the current song of my heart:
All the Way
All the way my Savior leads me
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His faithful mercies?
Who through life has been my guide
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort
Ere by faith in Him to dwell
For I know whate'er befall me
Jesus doeth all things well
All of the way my Savior leads me
And He cheers each winding path I tread
Gives me strength for every trial
And He feeds me with the living bread
And though my weary steps may falter
And my soul a-thirst may be
Gushing from a rock before me
Though a spirit joy I see
And all the way my Savior leads me
Oh the fullness of His love
Perfect rest in me is promised
In my Father's house above
When my spirit clothed immortal
Wings its flight through realms of the day
This my song through endless ages
Jesus led me all the way

Just when you think you're self-sufficient. . .

Hello All,

Well, I have learned quite the lesson over the past several days, and I thought I would take a little time to share.

I have had the flu for the past five days, but I am thankfully recovering now. While I recognize that it is cold and flu season and that that may be a normal duration for such a sickness to last, I am not one for getting sick. I can count on one hand the number of times I have been genuinely sick (enough to cause me to have to miss class, work, or somehow alter the pace of my life) in the past four years, and most of those were in Honduras. To put it into perspective, my roommates throughout college have never seen me sick until now. If I feel myself getting sick, I can eat a bowl of soup, drink a cup of tea, and go to bed early in order to be completely fine the next day. God has given me an amazing immune system, and I rarely take medicine. However, God also knows that one of my greatest struggles is with thinking that I am self-sufficient.

To be quite honest, student teaching has been a much more difficult experience than I expected--not for reasons of the planning, grading, or work load. The work load, while it is a juggle, isn't any more strenuous than the work load I've carried before with 20 credit hours and three jobs. I have actually been busier. But, for whatever reason, perhaps due to situations and insecurities coming out of Honduras, I struggled with a real timidity and sense of inadequacy. It doesn't really help that I feel as if Shepherd didn't prepare me well enough, but I knew that already going into the experience. Oddly enough, some of the feedback that my facilitating teacher gave me was that I was too timid, didn't have a loud enough voice, etc. which hasn't been a problem for me in a teaching situation for years. Many of my student teaching peers have never truly taught before (other than maybe one or two lessons for field work). But I have had tons of teaching experience, starting from when I was a little kid--being the oldest, you're always teaching someone something whether you realize it or not. I've taught through church events and groups. I've tutored. I've taught through RA programs. And I just taught this past summer in Honduras--which was to first through sixth graders (totally out of my comfort zone) in a rural area with no electricity where I knew no one, and I taught in Spanish instead of English! So even as I was conscious of my timidity and insecurity as I faced each new class period (I've only actually taught two days with sick days and snow days factored in), I was baffled as to why I was overwhelmed with a sense of not being good enough.

I know that part of it was dealing with being back from Honduras. Although I have had to deal with re-entry so many times now that I can generally predict how I'm going to feel, it doesn't prevent those feelings from still knocking me on my butt. Going from a relaxed culture of very few plans and sense of calming flexibility to a rigid schedule governed by bells and printed lesson plans was quite the wake up call. Going from a warm place not only in terms of temperature but also of friendly, family-oriented people to a cold culture of snow and ice and isolation is difficult. Going from a place where it is normal and wonderful to scoop children up in your arms and hug everyone around you to a place where you are lectured about being careful to never touch your students is a letdown. Going from a place where I rarely care what I look like, gladly make mistakes in Spanish in my attempts to communicate, and feel the most like myself to a place where I have to dress a certain way, am expected to be flawless at Spanish because I'm the teacher, and feel nothing like myself leaves me with the overwhelming feeling of being very alone ands very inadequate. The difficulty of culture shock is knowing when it is appropriate and godly to adapt and when it is appropriate and godly to refuse to conform.

When I left school last Tuesday, I felt so defeated and as if I would never be enough. I only taught for two days! I am ridiculously hard on myself--moreso than anyone else ever pressures me. Because I genuinely respect my facilitating teacher, I struggled with wanting her approval, and in typical me fashion, I tried to tackle too much at once. I was sleep deprived, not eating much, and guilting myself over everything. I haven't been to school since last Tuesday. We had three snow days and then the weekend. On Friday, I felt myself getting sick, so I did my usual soup and tea routine and tried to sleep it off. Saturday, I was worse with coughing and the like. Even my attitude toward being sick demonstrated my lack of dependency on God. I kept thinking, "This can't be happening. I cannot afford to be sick right now." I only get three excused absences from student teaching. I hate taking medicine, and I was adamant that I was just going to let my body beat it.

I tried every home remedy I could find--ginger, turmeric, honey, garlic, lemons, tea, Vitamin C, orange juice. Anthony gave me all kinds of all-natural supplements--stuff like olive leaf and a bunch of others I don't remember and had me drink pretty much straight lemon juice which lit my throat on fire but was probably good for it. It wasn't until my fever was so high that I was having dreams that they had to cut out a strip of my skull to allow my pounding brain to swell that I finally woke up and decided to take some medicine. After feeling truly awful even with OTC medicine for three days, I finally caved and asked Gabrielle and Anthony to take me to the doctor. (I also hate going to the doctor.) I got some medicine and started feeling better the same day.

During this time, I wasn't able to be a workaholic. There is nothing more humbling for a self-sufficient me than getting sick. I cannot heal myself, and when I am sick, it is completely obvious to me that I have no control. It gives me perspective. Because I had so much time on my hands, I was able to better listen to God and to truly pray. I realized that I hadn't truly given the student teaching experience to God. Whose classroom is it? Mine or His? Whose students are they? Mine or His? Who is the teacher? Me or Him? Is this time truly surrendered to God, or am I operating out of what I think I'm supposed to do? If I had to even ask myself those questions, the answers were clear.

Once again, I was reminded of Matthew 11:28-30:
Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest. [I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.] Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest (relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet) for your souls. For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good--not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant), and My burden is light and easy to be borne.

I had to begin to ask myself if I was willing to follow Jesus in the classroom, to be obedient no matter the cost. I had to come to terms with putting Jesus first--ahead of human expectations (including my own).

The sicker I was and the more that I sought God, the more joy that I felt. I felt so unspeakably blessed that God took the time to humble me, convict me gently, and still gave me the joy I needed to be my strength. While I was sick, I had the opportunity to work on my unit plan for Honduras some more, and as I poured over pictures, videos, and memories from my beloved home, rather than finding in myself the usual empty, hurting homesickness, I found the most profound sense of gratitude that brought me to tears on a daily basis. I have been going to Honduras for 4 years now--since I was 17-years-old, the same age as some of my students. I have made lasting friends and have developed a beautiful sense of family in that place. I have been there to see the ministry grow and change, and people grow and change. I was so blessed during this past trip that no one is ever surprised to see me any more because I have become a fixture of Manos Extendidas, a part of Honduras. . .just as Honduras has become an irreplaceable part of me. And the truth of the beauty of God's love that I see in the way that He has orchestrated my life just leaves tears streaming down my face. He is so good and so good to me.

I can't help but remember Isaiah 51:
For the Lord will comfort Zion; He will comfort all her waste places, And He will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the voice of song or instrument of praise.

I know that it's a work that God has done in me because I am inexplicably happy. I am usually quite happy, but this joy springs from a new place in my heart and defies even the darkest of circumstances--winter, separation from home and family, being overwhelmed, being the sickest I've been in a long time, losing friends, surrendering the deepest desires of my heart, and still having several weeks of student teaching left. Tomorrow I return to school. It is likely to be chaotic--everyone's behind; the students had a snow day Tuesday and a substitute today, and I feel rather lost as to what I'm even doing tomorrow. My only lesson plan is on a happy little post-it note. But, I am thrilled because I'm not the teacher; it's not my class; they're not my students. It all belongs to Jesus. I just want to follow Him for the sake of the call.

With love,
Sarah

The Cost of Discipleship

Hello All,

Well, on yet another snow day, I thought I would catch you up on how things are going. Student teaching is going well although it can be quite difficult at times. The planning, grading, teaching, and assessing never seem to stop, and I'm only teaching four classes! However, I can completely see how this is definitely a time of direct preparation for Honduras. I am learning to let God have my time and make all of my priorities. I have great struggles with the public school system, and I don't ever have enough time to cover everything I want to cover. When time is limited, it makes you question what truly is most important for teaching. Oftentimes, my belief of what is most important does not line up with state standards or textbooks. Thus, I am learning to follow God and trust that He is the master of my time. I continuously ask Him to ensure that I cover what is most important, what my students need. Only He knows what directions the lives of my students will take, and for that reason, He is really the only One who knows what I need to be teaching to best aid my students in life. It's an overwhelming adventure and one that is increasing my dependency on God. I am already done with week two which means I only have 5 weeks left in this placement. God has made it very clear that He has me here right now for a purpose (even if I don't know what it is), and I want Him to be in control of all that transpires.

Meanwhile, I am reading the book The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and it is powerful stuff. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German pastor during the time of Adolf Hitler, and he was a part of the resistance against the Nazis. He ultimately was martyred. This book, although I just started it, is highly convicting. So, I wanted to share just a bit with you today:

In the second chapter, "The Call to Discipleship," he starts out by talking about the call of Jesus. He points out:
The response of the disciples is an act of obedience, not a confession of faith in Jesus . . . According to our text, there is no road to faith or discipleship, no other road--only obedience to the call of Jesus. . . . To follow in his steps is something which is void of all content. It gives us no intelligible programme for a way of life, no goal or ideal to strive after. . . . At the call, Levi leaves all that he has--but not because he thinks that he might be doing something worth while, but simply for the sake of the call. Otherwise, he cannot follow in the steps of Jesus. . . . He is called out, and has to forsake his old life in order that he may 'exist' in the strictest sense of the word. The old life is left behind, and completely surrendered. The disciple is dragged out of his relative security into a life of absolute insecutiry (that is, in truth, into the absolute security and safety of the fellowship of Jesus), from a life which is observable and calculable (it is, in fact, quite incalculable) into a life where everything is unobservable and fortuitous (that is, into one which is necessary and calculable) out of the realm of finite (which is in truth the infinite) into the realm of infinite possibilites (which is the one liberating reality). . . . it is the exact opposite of all legality. It is nothing else than bondage to Jesus Christ alone, completely breaking through every programme, every ideal, every set of laws. No other significance is possible, since Jesus is the only significance. He alone matters. . . . The grace of his call bursts all the bonds of legalism.

There is so much I take away from just this passage! How often do we water down what it truly means to be a Christian when we assert to unbelievers that all it takes is a confession of faith in Jesus? Being a follower of Christ which is what the word "Christian" essentially means to me does take an act of obedience. Furthermore, how often to we try to boil down the Christian life into a set of steps or a formula? How often in my life have I heard, "Well, now that you're a Christian, to keep following Jesus, all you need to do is get into church, pray every day, and start reading the Bible"? And while those elements may be beneficial and may very well be part of the Christian life, is that it? Absolutely not! There's so much more than that. I have heard the term "for the sake of the call," but I don't think I fully understood the depth of that statement until I read this passage. When we try to justify or rationalize what it means to follow Jesus, we fall into legalism and formulaic laws when it is clear that following Jesus has no content. The purpose of following Jesus isn't to become more moral or to make something of ourselves or even to experience a prosperous life. The purpose of Jesus is just that--following Jesus, obediently. Everything else follows and pales in comparison.

Christianity without the living Christ is inevitably Christianity without discipleship, and Christianity without discipleship is always Christianity without Christ. . . . In such a religion there is trust in God, but no following of Christ. Because the Son of God became Man, because he is the Mediator, for that reason alone the only true relation we can have with him is to follow him. . . . Only the Mediator, the God-Man, can call men to follow him. Discipleship without Jesus Christ is a way of our own choosing. It may be the ideal way, It may even lead to martyrdom, but it is devoid of all promise. Jesus will certainly reject it.

How often do we as Christians follow Christianity without following Christ? Or how often to we follow a "dead Christ"--our own beliefs of who He is and what He wants and what following Him looks like--rather than the living Christ who will often provide no rationale for the obedience He calls us to? I believe that this simple assertion addresses a fundamental problem within mainstream Christianity. What is it about Christians that makes them different from the rest of the world, from the rest of religions? It's Christ, pure and simple. But if we are not following Him and recklessly obeying Him, we look just like the world, trying to earn our way to greatness. We try to entice others into following this dead Jesus idol that we have created for ourselves when Jesus is the only One who can call men to follow Him, and the way that He can often do that is not through our formulas and quotas but through the witness of our following Jesus without shame or insecurity. So often in church nowadays the discipleship that is taking place is from a pastor to a parishioner rather than from Jesus to all. Often, a pastor is seen as the mediator between God and the church, when God never meant for it to be that way. Jesus is the only mediator, and He is the only One who can and should be discipling each of us equally.

Bonhoeffer then begins to speak of the lessons of Luke 9:57-62:
"And they went to another village. And as they went in the way, a certain man said unto him, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest. And Jesus said unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of heaven have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head. And he said unto another, Follow me. But he said, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. But he said unto him, Leave the dead to bury their dead, but go thou and publish abroad the kingdom of God. And another said, I will follow thee, Lord; but suffer me first to bid farewell to them that are at my house. But Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand unto the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God."
. . . The third would-be disciple, like the first, thinks that following Christ means that he must make the offer on his own initiative, as if it were a career he had mapped out for himself. There is however a difference between the first would-be disciple and the third, for the third is bold enough to stipulate his own terms. Unfortunately, however, he lands himself in a hopeless inconsistency, for although he is ready enough to throw in his lot with Jesus, he succeeds in putting up a barrier between himself and the Master. 'Suffer me first.' He wants to follow, but feels obliged to insist on his own terms. Discipleship to him is a possibility which can only be realized when certain conditions have been fulfilled. This is to reduce discipleship to the level of human understanding. First you must do this and then you must do that. There is a right time for everything. The disciple places himself at the Master's disposal, but at the same time retains the right to dictate his own terms. But then discipleship is no longer discipleship, but a programme of our own to be arranged to suit ourselves, and to be judged in accordance with the standards of a rational ethic. The trouble about this third would-be disciple is that at the very moment he expresses his willingness to follow, he ceases to want to follow at all. By making his offer on his own terms, he alters the whole position, for discipleship can tolerate no conditions which might come between Jesus and our obedience to him. . . . His [the third would-be disciple's] desires conflict not only with what Jesus wants, but also with what he wants himself.
This state of the third would-be disciple is the one I find to be the most convicting. How often do we as Christians say to God, "I'll do ___________ if You just ___________"? Even the attitude toward missions in many churches demonstrates this idea of approaching the call of Jesus as if it were a career. People will ask me, "Well, when did you first receive the call to be a missionary?" And I have trouble with this question because I don't have a specific moment that I can pinpoint and because I believe that we've all been called! To me, being a missionary is a state of the heart, a reckless following of Jesus, and a dependency on Him alone no matter where one is. Being a missionary, to me, is a natural result of the discipleship of Jesus, and it's evident in the Gospels. He called the disciples; they obeyed; He discipled them; He sent them out into the world as missionaries. As I am about to enter the second month of my last semester in college, I continuously see the necessity of being single-minded in the following of Christ. I want to live in the reality of His Kingdom despite what circumstances I may see around me. I want Him to have the only significance in my life.

If we would follow Jesus we must take certain definite steps. The first step, which follows the call, cuts the disciple off from his previous existence. The call to follow at once produces a new situation. To stay in the old situation makes discipleship impossible. . . . since He is the Christ, he must make it clear from the start that his word is not an abstract doctrine, but the re-creation of the whole life of man. The only right and proper way is quite literally to go with Jesus. The call to follow implies that there is only one way of believing on Jesus Christ, and that is by leaving all and going with the incarnate Son of God. The first step places the disciple in the situation where faith is possible. If he refuses to follow and stays behind, he does not learn how to believe. He who is called must go out of his situation in which he cannot believe, into the situation in which, first and foremost, faith is possible. But this step is not the first stage of a career. Its sole justification is that it brings the disciple into fellowship with Jesus which will be victorious. So long as Levi sits at the receipt of custom, and Peter at his nets, they could both pursue their trade honestly and dutifully, and they might both enjoy religious experiences, old and new. But if they want to believe in God, the only way is to follow his incarnate Son.
Until that day, everything had been different. They could remain in obscurity, pursuing their work as the quiet in the land, observing the law and waiting for the coming of the Messiah. But now he has come, and his call goes forth. Faith can no longer mean sitting still and waiting--they must rise and follow him. The call frees them from all earthly ties, and binds them to Jesus Christ alone. They must burn their boats and plunge into absolute insecurity in order to learn the demand and the gift of Christ. Had Levi stayed at his post, Jesus might have been his present help in trouble, but not the Lord of his whole life. In other words Levi would never have learnt to believe. The new situation must be created, in which it is possible to believe on Jesus as God incarnate; that is the impossible situation in which everything is staked solely on the word of Jesus. Peter had to leave the ship and risk his life on the sea, in order to learn both is own weakness and the almighty power of his Lord. If Peter had not taken the risk, he would never have learnt the meaning of faith. Before he can believe, the utterly impossible and ethically irresponsible situation on the waves of the sea must be displayed. The road to faith passes through obedience to the call of Jesus. Unless a definite step is demanded, the call vanishes into thin air, and if men imagine that they can follow Jesus without taking this step, they are deluding themselves like fanatics.

I can't even break that passage down because it speaks so much for itself. I want the unending desire of my heart to be the reckless obedience of Jesus, blind following for the sake of the call, and the road of risk, faith, and discipleship.

With love,
Sarah