Hope's Whisper

There is a saying out there somewhere that says you find love when you least expect it. There was a point in my life when I scoffed at a saying like that, thinking that by age 27 I had very clearly experienced or imagined every possible scenario within which I could meet the man of my dreams. I certainly did not expect to find him in prison.

"Sarah, I know the perfect person for you."

"Oh really?" I responded.  Skepticism quickly sprang up, attempting to stamp out any tiny bit of hope I might have felt in that moment. "Yeah right," I whispered in my head, "I've heard that before." And I had. Typically instances like what had just transpired only resulted in deep disappointment on my end.  It honestly didn't shock me when she shared that he was in prison, but it did fuel the chorus of doubt in my mind.  "No way," I told myself.  But as the evening continued and she shared more about this "mystery man," hope had indeed peeked its way through the cloud of doubt. My journal entry from 12.5.15 says it all:

Tonight Abba, you gave me hope. Hope for the future, for my future husband. I don't know who he is, but he is out there, and I am reminded that you can drop him from the sky at literally any moment. I don't know if this Dillon guy has anything to do with my future, or if you brought him up simply to demonstrate your utter control (in the best possible way) and to assure me that you ARE working, no matter how little I can see.

You see, over the past decade, I couldn't even begin to tell you how many countless prayers were said and tears shed for my future husband. I was only really looking for one thing: a man of God, sold out for Christ. Heartache, hope, disappointment, expectancy...the cycle at times felt endless.  But that's for another post.

Soon I received word that he had written me. So, as I checked my mail every day with expectancy, it was Christmas Eve, 2015, when I found my very first treasure. I raced up the stairs, the heartbeat in my chest matching the patter of my footsteps.  I curled up on my couch, carefully opened the envelope, and in the dim light cast by a single lamp, I savored every word that Dillon had so thoughtfully put down on the page.  It was only later that I learned just how carefully constructed and purposely focused that first letter was.  To some it would be merely an introduction, but to me it packed a punch. It was this letter that very clearly confirmed to me that he "checked all the boxes," so to speak. Tears stained my cheeks as I finished that first letter, hope having transformed from a slight whisper to a clanging symbol in my ear. I journaled on 12.28.15:

But honestly...prison isn't what makes me nervous. And after receiving a letter from him, prison is still not what makes me nervous. Hope is.  You see, there is this part of me, a big part if I'm being completely honest, that is hopeful that he is the one. And that terrifies me because it is like I am setting the stage for disappointment and heartache.

After that first letter, Dillon and I continued writing at an accelerated pace. I would devour his letters as soon as I got them and write back as quickly as I could in hopes that I would receive a prompt reply. He didn't disappoint. Those first letters were filled with openness, honestly, and vulnerability...three characteristics that we have since vowed will positively mark our relationship for the rest of our lives. 

I have numerous journal entries from that time that echo the following sentiment: 

Lord, if this man is not my husband, I pray you will intervene quickly and effectively to either remove him from my life or establish that knowledge with peace in my heart. Soon. 

Abba, I yield my heart to you. I lay it open and exposed at your feet. It's vulnerable and unprotected. Take it and do with it what you will, because my trust is in you. 

I had known in my heart for a long time that my story would be unique. I knew that I would wait whatever length was necessary to find a man who was sold-out to Jesus.  I have since come to learn just how different my story would look from what is seen as "typical." 

It didn't take long before Dillon asked me to consider coming to visit him.  It also didn't take long for me to answer with a resounding "Yes!" in my heart. And so, on 2.14.16, I wrote: 

I could very well be meeting the love of my life tomorrow. 

So there, my friends, is where it all began. And that is where it will end tonight. I promise to keep working on this.  I know this likely leaves you with more questions than answers, and I would honestly love to hear what questions you have. Comment or message me, whichever is more comfortable. Thanks for sticking it out! 

{visiting the temple}

On a recent trip to the Buddhist temple, I was overwhelmed with sights and sounds. There was chanting from the monk, somewhere not visible but loud enough to reverberate throughout the building. There was the pungent smell of incense burning, a fragrance offering, reminding the worshiper to be good and moral. Mixed in with the smell of incense was the smell of flowers, which had been laid on every open surface, including the many altars in front of statues of Buddha or other gods. The people were rushing, pushing to get up the stairs in time to see the holy tooth relic, typically in a closed room, just out of sight of the worshiper. But today, for a short window of time, the room had been opened and people pushed and shoved, just to get a glimpse. That glimpse would bring them luck, they said. Food offerings were laying out on a table, piled up haphazardly. In one particular sanctuary there were people sitting on the floor, some bowed prostrate toward the statues, others with hands clasped near their mouths, chanting prayers and hymns. In another room outside of the temple there were rows and rows of candles, where people were ushered through to light one and move on.
The most striking of scenes for me was to see  was this:

This temple worker was clearing off the altar into the garbage. Flowers that, only moments before, had been offered up in reverence were now being thrown into the trash. It reminded me of God's words in the Bible, "I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings." (Hosea 6:6) More than laying flowers before a statue, more than rituals and lighting candles and incense, more than offerings of money, God desires our heart. He wants us. He wants us to love Him and his people out of an overflow of his love for us.

Bring no more vain offerings;

incense is an abomination to me.

New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations—

I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly.

Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hates;

they have become a burden to me;

I am weary of bearing them.

When you spread out your hands,

I will hide my eyes from you;

even though you make many prayers,

I will not listen;

your hands are full of blood.

Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;

remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes;

cease to do evil, learn to do good;

seek justice, correct oppression;

bring justice to the fatherless,

plead the widow's cause.

Isaiah 1:13-17

So, while my visit to the temple was overwhelming, it was a beautiful reminder of God's grace and love towards me so that I no longer have to make offerings or make up for my sin. I can trust in the blood of Jesus to do that for me.  Praising him.

{a simple prayer}

Lord, as I reflect on this past year and look ahead to what's left, you have put little sprouts in my heart of things that I hope to see happen over the next year. Let these sprouts fully blossom, don't let the dream die. I need you, for:

 apart from you, I can do nothing

It's freeing and, at the same time, I feel like I need to cry out with all my heart and beg and urge you to work. But I know you're not a lazy mule that I have to pull, push, kick, or shove into action. You are my Abba, who gives good gifts. You are the God who sees me. You are the Lord who loves these people and this place more than I ever could! So, as I ask you to work, I know you will, because you asked me to come, called me to be here.
                                                        
                                                     Thank you, Abba.

Obedience one sentence at a time...

The concept showed up to me on a lengthy bus ride recently. As several ladies sat by me throughout the bus ride (PTL, because it is not out of the ordinary that they would be creepy men), I began to pray, "Lord, give me the words." And he did.  One sentence at a time, He guided my words. I thought, if He asks me to be obedient to say what He wants me to say one sentence at a time, I can do that.

I think if I lived that way more often, I would struggle less with being obedient. One step at a time. No need to worry about all the things I should be doing or could be doing when I am listening to the Spirit for each step.

Commit your way to the Lord;
    trust in him, and he will act.

                                       Psalm 37:5

Lord, you do it. I give each step, each moment, each sentence up to you.

The beauty of a mess

At the end of the month I was feeling down.  Praise Him that I had an update to write, to remind me of all the things that happened in May and all the ways God was faithful. Part of my being down related to the fact that I didn't really develop any new relationships this month. It felt like failure. That being said, I tend to recognize lies when I see them and, looking back over the past few weeks, I realize that while I may not have made new friendships, the ones I do have are beginning to reach a depth that only comes with time and investment.  And through the deepening relationships, I am reminded...

                                                                                                   ...real relationships are messy.

But they're worth the mess.

There's the 20 year-old girl, married less than 6 months, who is already experiencing the heartache of divorce. There's the friend whose father is terminally ill and watching him live his last days in suffering. There's the friend who has been waiting with the expectation of pregnancy for the last 2 and a half years and continues to come up with disappointment. There's the young friend who is feeling the loss of her best friend and love, due to cultural rules that cannot be broken.

I weep over these ladies, over their heartaches and difficulties they are facing. What can I even say, what can I possibly offer them?

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too." 
2 Corinthians 1:3-5

And oh, how I've experienced that comfort.  I was given assurance through the Holy Spirit that part of my job is to comfort the broken, hurting, seeking people that he has placed in my life. Some of these ladies don't know Jesus and the love and comfort he gives, but they all desperately need him.  And, as I continue in 2 Corinthians, I see that no comfort I give is of myself. God alone gives me sufficiency to minister to these ladies who are broken and hurting.

And at the end of it all, I recognize that a handful of deep, meaningful relationships will likely impact the kingdom far more than a sweeping, surface-level relationship with everyone. I pray that it would be so, that God would make a crown of beauty from the ashes, oil of gladness from the mourning, and joyous praise from their despair.

{my bloody adventure}

Last week we decided to go hiking up a rather gigantic mountain. The view from the top was incredible, which was good because I was able to conclude that the sweaty-out-of-breath-exhaustion was worth it. 

But, before we even got started, we encountered several of these little guys milling around on the road up. They looked as though they may have been a bit hungry, so we fed them little candies that someone had. 

However, a combination of a vehicle coming down the road and one of the guys walking up behind it resulted in the horse giving a not-so-friendly "get out of my way" kick to the leg of said guy. Thankfully he was fine, but the unrest caused us girls to jump up off the road into the brush until the horses continued on with their journey, past us.

The hike then proceeded without problem. Besides breathing and all that.

I did say breathtaking, didn't I?  But the fun doesn't stop there.

As we were reaching the top of the mountain, I realized that my foot was bleeding quite a bit. Thankfully there was water nearby and we had a handy first aid kit, so we doctored it up and headed to the top of this insanely scary spire.

As we made our descent, I realized that my foot was still bleeding and the band-aid wasn't sticking. B and I went to doctor it up once again, this time with tape and gauze. I found it odd that it wasn't hurting, but was thankful, as we still had to hike down the huge mountain.

As B and I waited for the rest of the group, we looked down and noticed that her foot was bleeding too. Except hers was way more bloody. At this point, we began to suspect more than mere "sandals rubbing in the wrong place" and as she pulled her pant leg up, only to reveal another "wound," we realized that we must have been attacked by leeches.

Leeches. 

Gross, I know.  We never actually saw the leeches, but it dawned on us that while we were sparing ourselves from horse kicks, we must have jumped into a lair of leaches. If there is such a thing. Anyways, we must have been giving them so much blood from our hearts pumping up the mountain, that they got too full and fell off before we got to the top.  We bled the whole way home, through gauze and all, but we made it out alive.

Oh, and that's not even the grossest part. [is "grossest" a word??]

 

If you look closely at this picture, on my left foot near my big toe you can see the ugly bloodsucker. I hope this picture is too small and you can't actually see it, but it's there. And I was so unsuspecting.

So there you have it. My bloody adventure.

{eating adventures}

This is an embarrassing story, but not so embarrassing that I won't share.  Circumstances like the following occur more often than you would probably think, and give good insight into what living abroad does to you. Well, living abroad HERE, that is.


You see, what happened was that B did an amazing thing. On her most recent visa run {a trip out of the country, required after an allotted period of time in order to renew your visa and thus be allowed to return to said country} she brought back Krispy Kreme. Yes, the manna from heaven that is a soft and delicious doughnut.

And so, as we went for the box to indulge in our long-lost craving, we opened to find our worst fears realized. The ants had arrived first.

 

We each quickly grabbed a doughnut, hoping that ours was one that had been spared. And, although they were mostly free of ants, we did have to do a bit of picking to make sure. 

And then...

...we went for it. 

And if we happened to get a little extra protein, so be it. I'm sure it's not the first an I've eaten here, nor the last.