Come Again?

Six months ago, as I trudged knee-deep through the apocalyptic, pretentious, preachy, and rarely encouraging content on Twitter, I stumbled across a quote that a poet I follow posted: 

"Loneliness is the inability to speak with another in one's private language" (Yiyun Li). 

At the time, living in the heart of the Midwest, my understanding of the quote was about being able to talk to people who speak the same language as you in a figurative sense--people who are on the same wavelength as you, people you don't always seem to have to explain yourself to, justify yourself to, or qualify yourself to--people who just "get" you. 

Since stuffing everything I own into suitcases and resurrecting my life 5,000 miles away from my sleepy Midwest town, that quote has taken on a new shape. There is loneliness in not being able to speak your heart language with another, yes. But there is loneliness in not being able to speak your native language with another, and that is a loneliness I had never known until now. 

Sure, I have been to other countries before. I've stood on the red earth of Zambia while words in Tonga pierced through the summer heat. I've been in the streets of Germany while words rushed past my ears as meaningless as the babbling of the ocean. But those trips had always been short, and there had always been an end date when I knew I would be returning to the land of my native tongue. 

But this is different. 

I live in an apartment that I pay rent for every month. I drive to the grocery store every week. I go to church with the same people, and listen to a sermon in Portuguese every Sunday. This isn't a trip I am taking for a couple weeks, this is my life. 

I want to make a small side note before I continue: there have been people I have been able to talk to. I have David and Sarah and their daughters, Evelyn and Anna Clair. Being able to have them, and honestly just hear English being spoken from their lips, has been a lifeboat in times when I felt like I was drowning in the intelligible. 

There are a handful of Brazilians here who speak English that I have been able to communicate with, share my heart with, and connect with. I have also been able to start to communicate in Portuguese in slow careful sentences and this has made me feel like I can connect better with the people here as well. 

I also have been able to talk to friends and family back home. Being able to see their faces and hear their familiar voice and accents has helped fill me up on days I feel empty. 

In spite of this, there are days I can still feel loneliness creeping in. 

It comes tapping on my window when I am trying to communicate a word in English that doesn't exist in Portuguese, and I am left offering a cheap imitation of an idea I was trying to express, leaving me feeling like I didn't really say what I wanted to.  

It barges into my apartment uninvited when the conversations my Portuguese allows me to engage in never scratch past the surface and I am left feeling like I am not truly communicating with anyone, like I am not saying anything that matters, and like I am not truly knowing or being known by anyone. 

I have been learning Portuguese with two separate teachers--one for grammar and one for conversation--for about three or four weeks since I have been here. 

I have learned enough to have conversations with people that I imagine are the equivalent of a 15-year-old boy learning to drive his dad's rusty green stick-shift truck in a muddy cornfield. 

Here is the most important thing I have learned so far: language is so much more than words. 

Language is shared experiences, trends, culture, and slang that have grown and changed and evolved over decades. You can't know all of those things simply by learning how to say, "good morning."

Although, it certainly is a good place to start. 

Here's the second most important thing I have learned so far: I don't know how I would learn another language if the Gospel wasn't present in my life and in the lives of those who have received me here.  

To learn a language requires so much patience and grace. So. Much. Patience. And. Grace. There have been days I feel my chest tightening in frustration because I have tried four or five times to say something and I am still not able to communicate with the person I am talking to. Those are days I want to scream at them, at myself, at the world.

The simple fact of the Gospel is that we can extend much grace because we know much grace has been extended to us. 

And so when a phrase as simple as "what do you mean?" ends in a blank stare, attempts to find another phrase that communicates the same thing, and an eventual "Never mind" I can have grace (and more patience than I currently possess). 

When my speaking sounds like the sloppy sentences of a child just learning how to talk, I am thankful for the other believers who have had grace with me.  

Finally, here's the third (or maybe this should be first, and this list should be flipped, oops) most important thing I have learned so far: I can think of few other showcases of the unity we find in Christ than when believers from different languages, different cultures, different experiences, and different worldviews can sit at a dining room table and study the Word of God together and connect with each other and be brothers and sisters in Christ because of the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ that made us all ONE. 

A bible study that has started meeting in my apartment on
Friday nights. We had our first study in Hebrews this week. 

Psalm 67 says: "May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face shine on us--so that your ways may be known on Earth, your salvation among all nations. May the peoples praise you, God; may all the peoples praise you. May the nations be glad and sing for joy, for you rule the peoples with equality and guide the nations of the Earth. May the peoples praise you, God; may all the peoples praise you. The land yields its harvest; God, our God, blesses us. May God bless us still, so that all the ends of the Earth will fear him." 

In this verse there is no distinction of ethnicity, language, gender or class. We have been separated and divided because of sin, but this isn't the way we were created to live. We were created to live as one people, all worshipping together.  

"After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, 'Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the lamb!'" (Revelation 7:9-10). 

This is the long game. This is the end-all-be-all goal of everything missionaries, and evangelists everywhere do every day; that they will one day stand with believers from every corner of this curved planet--that all believers will one day sing God's praises in perfect harmony.

And so when language, cultural and geographical barriers begin to get broken down on this side of Heaven, in the midst of a sin infested land riddled with impatience, biases and stereotypes, I am convinced we get to see a little glimpse of what that final day will be like when there is nothing that separates one believer from the next. 

And so, yes, right now it can feel lonely, but I have a funny feeling that once I get through this season of language learning and assimilation to the culture here, my idea of what it means to be known and seen and understood will have a firmer identity in the Gospel and look a little bit more like what Christ intended. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S 

A Breath of Fresh Air

I sit writing this entry from a place that, at times, felt impossible for me to end up. I sit writing this entry under the bright, late afternoon summer sunshine of Arcoverde, Pernambuco Brazil. 

Being here has felt like a breath of fresh air. 

I know it's only been a short time. I know, eventually, all the glitter will settle and I will be left with life "per usual." I know negative emotions will come, challenges will begin to surface, uncomfortable growth will happen, and there may even be tremendous suffering ahead of me. But for now, right in this very moment, right during these first couple of weeks of stretching my legs in the unfamiliar, life has been pretty, well, wonderful. 

It's a weird wonderful. An unfamiliar wonderful. 

I remember during my first couple of days here, it felt like I was living a dream. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to receive an email telling me that there was a problem with my visa and that I needed to go back to the United States, to realize I wasn't given the right legal papers, or to find out that I would have to be deported for an indefinite amount of time due to the virus. 

It was almost like I couldn't accept the wonderful thing God was giving me to enjoy because it seemed too good to be true. It was almost like I had grown so accustomed to life being hard, to life being a conscious, everyday effort to keep working, keep trying, keep holding on, that I didn't know how to react when life became easy. 

It was in the midst of reflecting on this when I realized the extent to which I experienced spiritual warfare leading up to me getting here. 

Ephesians 6:12 says: "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."

Spiritual warfare and the powers of the enemy are alive and real. I don't think we talk about it very much because we don't want to risk sounding kooky. Honestly, I really didn't even think about it much until I started to experience it for myself (if that isn't that a song as old as time). 

My thoughts of Satan were pretty much equivalent to my fears about possibly spontaneously combusting someday. Sure it's possible, but it doesn't have much impact on my daily life. I knew Satan existed, but he was a faraway threat that probably wouldn't amount to much. 

Then things started piling up, all at once. 

First, I watched those I love walkthrough unimaginable grief, I lost my grandfather, I watched multiple people I love, dive deep into entangling sin, totally unaware of the destruction they were hurdling toward. I soaked up the pain around me like a sponge. I felt a deep sense of guilt. How could I leave my family and everyone I loved so dearly when so much hurting was going on? How could I be so selfish? 

Second, I knew that this path the Lord had called me to meant singleness of mind and heart. I had become aware that, at least for now, I needed to leave my old life behind and leave no strings attached. But Satan knew of my deep longing for companionship--to be loved, to be understood, to be walked alongside with someone of similar mind and heart. And over and over that desire was poked and prodded and over and over again the Lord kept telling me no. Telling me not yet. Telling me that I needed to go do this alone. 

And by the end, I was exhausted. It's exhausting to want so badly to be loved but to know that you are supposed to be single at this time. It's exhausting and frustrating to actively choose singleness when you don't really want it.  

Third, I began having night terrors. I began waking myself up in the middle of dreams yelling because I was watching myself and hundreds of women get brutally murdered, night after night. I would dread going to sleep because I wasn't sure what form of sadistic murder would await me in my dreams. I am not someone who watches scary movies and I don't read scary books, these images were not anything I had ever read or watched before. 

Fourth, complications and fears about my visa caused a great deal of stress and worry. I had no idea when or if it would arrive, whether my documents would be safe traveling through mail or whether I would have to cancel my flight if it came late. I considered canceling my flight multiple times. I began making a life Plan B if Brazil didn't work out at all. 

Fifth, in the midst of all of this, I was deeply sad. I was so heartbroken to leave my family and friends. I cried at my sister's baby gender reveal because I realized I would miss the first two years, maybe more, of my nephew's life. I cried while babysitting my nieces and nephews knowing I wouldn't be around to experience so much with them. It broke my heart to miss so many moments, memories and friendships while I was away. It was almost enough to keep me from leaving. 

Ephesians 6:13-18 then goes on to say: "Therefore, take up the whole armor of God that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand, therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints."  

Spiritual warfare is a tactic of the enemy to distract us, break us down, and try to make us believe lies rather than truth. It's a concentrated effort from the enemy to keep us from doing something that he doesn't want us to. 

Now, I want to give a quick caveat that there is a difference between spiritual warfare and the consequences of our own sin. Sometimes life is hard because we are reaping what we ourselves have sown. Sometimes the road is difficult because God is trying to show us that this isn't the path we are supposed to take. Only you and God can search your heart and know where that lands. 

Honestly, I wrestled a lot with whether the Lord might be telling me this wasn't the path I should be taking. I wrestled with whether the road was hard because God was trying to tell me to turn another way. I prayed so much about that, and time and time again He gave me confirmations and encouragements to remind me, yes, this was the path He would have me take.  

But when you have prayed and discerned spiritual warfare is what is happening, it is important to remember that you must fight, hard. The lies thrown at you will seem logical and real. The distractions will seem good and fulfilling. The tactics to take you off the path the Lord is leading you down will be hard to ignore.  

Let's revisit my earlier list and read them through the lens of what untruth lies at the root. 

First: I watched those I love walkthrough unimaginable grief, I lost my grandfather, I watched multiple family members dive deep into entangling sin, totally unaware of the destruction they were hurdling toward. I soaked up the pain around me like a sponge. I felt a deep sense of guilt. How could I leave my family and everyone I loved so dearly when so much hurting was going on? How could I be so selfish? (The root lie here is that I am responsible for fixing the people around me because I cannot entrust them to God. The truth is that God, much better than me, is the healer of all wounds, the binder of all hurts, the mender of all things broken.)

Second: I knew that this path the Lord had called me to meant singleness of mind and heart. I had become aware that, at least for now, I needed to leave my old life behind and leave no strings attached. But Satan knew of my deep longing for companionship--to be loved, to be understood, to be walked alongside with someone of similar mind and heart. And over and over that desire was poked and prodded and over and over again the Lord kept telling me no. Telling me not yet. Telling me that I needed to go do this alone. 

And by the end, I was exhausted. It's exhausting to want so badly to be loved but to know that you are supposed to be single at this time. It's exhausting and frustrating to actively choose singleness when you don't really want it.  (The root lie here is that if I left for the mission field without having someone committed to me, I would never find someone. I would be forever single on the mission field without any companionship. Even deeper than that, is the lie that God doesn't know best or care about my happiness. The truth is that if He asks me to leave the country single, it is because He knows what is best for me and what will bring me the most joy and Him the most glory. I can trust that.)

Third: I began having night terrors. I began waking myself up in the middle of dreams yelling because I was watching myself and hundreds of women get brutally murdered, night after night. I would dread going to sleep because I wasn't sure what form of sadistic murder would await me in my dreams. I am not someone who watches scary movies and I don't read scary books, these images were not anything I had ever read or watched before. (The root lie here is that only danger and terror awaited me on the mission field. I needed to be fearful and scared at all times because foreign countries are dangerous and I am just one wrong move from being murdered. The truth is that God gives us discretion, awareness, and safety. It doesn't mean I won't ever be in danger of being killed, but it means that the Lord will never leave or forsake me and if it is my time to go home to Him, I will. If it isn't, God will protect me from danger.)

Fourth: complications and fears about my visa caused a great deal of stress and worry. I had no idea when or if it would arrive, whether my documents would be safe traveling through mail or whether I would have to cancel my flight if it came late. I considered canceling my flight multiple times. I began making a life Plan B if Brazil didn't work out at all. (The root lie here is that God didn't have the legal aspects of Brazil under control, that the Visa and the Brazilian Consulate were out of His reach of influence. It was a lie grounded in the idea that God couldn't really make everything happen smoothly. The truth is that God is sovereign over everything, and He will ordain and work through all things as He sees fit. He hears our prayers and has the power to work things out (which He did!!!)). 

Fifth: in the midst of all of this, I was deeply sad. I was so heartbroken to leave my family and friends. I cried at my sister's baby gender reveal because I realized I would miss the first two years, maybe more, of my nephew's life. I cried while babysitting my nieces and nephews knowing I wouldn't be around to experience so much with them. It broke my heart to miss so many moments, memories and friendships while I was away. It was almost enough to keep me from leaving. (The root lie here is that if I left, I would lose my family and friends; I would be forgotten. The truth is that we are never without family. Even if we leave our Earthly family in another country and are far away from birthdays, births, and monument moments, we are given a family of believers in Christ.)  

And had I not put on the full armor of God, had I not fought against the lies of the enemy with truth, I wouldn't be in Brazil right now. I wouldn't be learning Portuguese, I wouldn't be building relationships with people here, I wouldn't be experiencing the blessing of obedience, and I wouldn't be getting color on my pasty white skin. 

I would be back home cowering away from the calling the Lord placed on my heart out of fear, out of distrust, out of buying into the lies of the enemy. 

It's almost like coming here the Lord is patting me on the head and telling me to sit down and rest and prepare for my next battle. Almost like He is saying "Good job, you fought well. But get ready, there is still more to come." 

And that is our reality as Christians. We will keep fighting this battle for the rest of our days until we stand before our Creator and He says, "well done good and faithful servant" (Matthew 25:21). 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S

P.S. Here is a worship song in Portuguese...listen and see if you recognize the tune =)

Acredito (We Believe)- Leonardo Gonçalves

Take Only What You Need

 I can't be the only kid who tried to run away from home. 

You know the drill: I'd flip open my cheap plastic, glittery, star-speckled suitcase and fill it with four framed photos, a stuffed bear that had definitely seen better days, maybe one piece of clothing, too many toys, and a jar of peanut butter (hold the bread). 

Then, making sure I did enough huffing and puffing and slamming around so my entire family knew my intentions, I'd make my way down the driveway, sniffling to myself the whole time about how unloved I was, how misunderstood, how mistreated. 

I'd usually make it to the end of the driveway before chickening out, camping out under a tree for a while eating my peanut butter until I sheepishly re-entered the house. 

Recently I went backpacking in Montana. 

Surprisingly enough, my packing abilities have improved since my flourishes of childhood drama. You'll be impressed that I didn't pack a single framed photo. I will admit, however, that peanut butter was still on the packing list. Nobody ever outgrows peanut butter. 

What you pack, and especially what you don't pack, is essential for backpacking. Everything you need has to be carried, one way or another, so not having any extra weight is key for the best backpacking experience. To pack things you won't end up using is a waste of space and senseless pain on your back. 

Five-year-old Sarah thought framed photos and some crayon-covered toys were essential for life on the road. 23-year-old Sarah realized that a lighter, wool socks and a water bottle were much higher on the list of necessities. 

While I have made improvements in my sense of priorities and knowing what is essential versus what isn't, I have to confess I still have a long way to go. 

I'm kind of a sentimental sap. I keep letters from those I love, little notes of encouragement my friends jotted down on sticky notes that helped me through a hard day, ticket stubs that remind me of a wonderful day or an exciting trip, and little nick-nacks that I find weird, interesting or eccentric. 

If my ability to take only what I needed on the journey of life was a metaphorical backpack, I would have filled it up long ago with sentimental and most-loved items, leaving no room for the tools and necessary items that would help me actually, you know, survive.

I think we all have a hard time letting go of what we think we need. 

Think: a particular job that is comfortable and fulfilling, a certain geographical location we have come to know and love as home, a specific friendship or relationship that we don't think we could live without. How do we respond when we're asked to set those things down to make room for something else? Do we respond with anger? Indignation? Bitterness? 

Does it make us question God's goodness? Does it make us wonder if He actually knows best? I mean, does He really understand what it's like to shoulder your backpack? Sure, maybe He knows best with others, but with you? You're not so sure. 

I'm not so sure. 

It's scary to admit that sometimes I don't feel like God is good. It's embarrassing to admit that sometimes I don't feel like He actually cares if I'm happy or not. Sometimes I question whether He even hears my fervent prayers. 

I'm currently 85% funded to begin the journey I started a year ago. The inevitable departure date for Brazil looms closer and closer. 

The Lord has been helping me pack, of course. At first, I was more than willing to take His suggestions at what to pack and what to keep out. I'd never done anything like this so who was I to argue?

I was okay when He asked me to pull a few cherished items from the bottom of my pack. It hurt, but it was okay. It was only a few items, after all. But He's continued to help me prepare, which has meant more items in my pack need to be rearranged, squished, pulled out, and left behind. 

Each time gets harder and harder, and each item that gets pried from my pack leaves me sadder, more disappointed, and makes me question God a little more. 

It's not easy to admit these things, I hope you know. I wish I could say that the complete abandon of all that I love comes easily, naturally, and with unbridled joy. But, honestly, I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish following God didn't require me to give anything up. I wish it didn't require disappointment, rejection, or a broken heart. I wish it didn't mean loneliness and questioning and doubts and anger and prayers lifted up with only silence to return. 

But I think it's important to voice what I think many Christians experience, but allow shame to keep them quiet. There is no shame in struggling when life is hard and feels heavy. There is no shame in crying out to God when your pain feels pointless and the sacrifice you're being required to make feels unnecessary. 

I spent a considerable amount of time in counseling. I memorized a lot of scripture during that time, one of which was Psalm 84:11 which says:

"For the Lord is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless."

It's a spiritual discipline to believe that God is good. It's a discipline to believe that He doesn't withhold good things from us. And it's a discipline to believe that if things we desire, believing they are good, are not given to us or are taken away, it is not because the Lord is withholding something from us, but that His perception is better than ours. 

It's believing that He desires our joy and doesn't simply seek to make us miserable creatures constantly trudging through self-denial and suffering. 

So then how does that cause us to respond differently when we know God is good and doesn't withhold good things from us intellectually, but emotionally it doesn't seem that way? 

First, allow yourself to come to terms with how you are feeling. Talk to God honestly about your pain, your disappointments, your anger, and your confusion. I think as Christians we often try to find meaning in our pain before we have even dealt with our pain. Don't try to spiritualize what you are going through too quickly. Allow yourself to mourn. To weep. 

Second, journal how you feel next to what you know to be true. This is something I learned how to do in counseling and it has helped me tremendously. I would journal things like: "It feels like nothing I want ever works out" or "It seems like so much pain all the time" or "It seems like God is ignoring my prayers." Then I would journal things I know to be true about God, such as "God is only good" and "God doesn't withhold any good thing" and "God's thoughts are higher than my thoughts" and "He hears my prayers and mourns with me when I mourn" 

Even then, you won't feel like the truths you have written are true. They might not feel true the first time, the second time, or even the third time. But the point is combating untruths with the truth. The point is fighting the doubts with the confidence found in scripture. 

If we allow ourselves to simmer in the untruths our mind conjures up to destroy us, we will completely lose sight of what is true and real. 

We will allow ourselves to become bitter toward the idea of God we create in our heads of an emotionally detached God carelessly zapping people for amusement. That isn't who God is. 

Earlier this summer I read "Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers" by Dane C. Ortlund.  

Ortlund writes: "The burden of Hebrews 4:15, and of Thomas Goodwin's book on it, is the heart of Christ. Yes, verse 16 speaks of 'the throne of grace.' But verse 15 is opening up to us the heart of grace. Not only can he alone pull us out of the hole of sin; he alone desires to climb in and bear our burdens. Jesus is able to sympathize. He 'co-suffers' with us. As Goodwin's contemporary John Owen put it, Christ 'is inclined from his own heart and affections to give...us help and relief...and he is inwardly moved during our sufferings and trials with a sense and fellow-feeling of them.' If you are in Christ, you have a friend who, in your sorrow, will never lob down a pep talk from heaven. He cannot bear to hold himself at a distance. Nothing can hold him back. His heart is too bound up with yours" (49-50). 

Ortlund shows and proves that God's heart breaks when we are in pain and when we suffer and when we mourn. If our pain causes Him pain, why would He inflict senseless pain without a purpose? Why would He cause us to suffer unless He was doing something good through it? 

This is the hope I cling to on nights when all I can do is cry and call out to God that I don't understand why it has to be so hard all the time. 

I won't pretend to understand the reason why God has asked me to leave certain things behind. I won't pretend to know what the Lord is trying to teach me or show me yet. 

But that's okay. It's okay because I trust the character of God. And I trust that His love for me is greater than I could ever imagine. His love for you is greater than you could ever imagine. 

You are loved and you are not alone.

Love, 

S

Fruitful Labor

In early June, I sat at the kitchen table across from fourteen other women as we studied Jeremiah. A Bible study that sprouted from the deep pang of loneliness I experienced moving back home after college had grown from two women to the fourteen that traveled dark summer roads each Tuesday night to open Bibles in the presence of other believers.

During prayer, I shared the unshakable discouragement I had been experiencing that came from feeling like my efforts to evangelize, to love others, and especially to support raise weren't producing any fruit. 

October 2019
Our Bible study of five

July 2020
Our Bible study of fourteen

The next morning, I received a text from a girl I had only met a couple times and how had come to Bible study for the first time the night before. Among her unexpected kindness and encouraging words, she said this: "This song made me think of the hard work you're doing and the way it seems like you're feeling! Your labor is not in vain. Thank you for inviting me-I had so much fun and can't wait till next week." At the bottom of the text was a link to the song "You Labor is Not in Vain" by The Porter's Gate.

"Your Labor Is Not In Vain" -The Porter's Gate  (Click to listen)

The song goes like this: "Your labor is not in vain/ though the ground underneath is cursed and stained/ your planting and reaping are never the same/ your labor is not in vain/ your labor is not unknown/ though the rocks they cry out and the sea it may groan/ the place of your toil may not seem like a home/ but your labor is not unknown/ I am with you/ I am with you/ I am with you/ for I have called you, called you by name/ your labor is not in vain

In a world that measures success through tangible means, to feel like work means something when there is nothing to grasp is difficult. Hard work is pointless unless you can point to something that surfaced from the hours of labor.

We work long days and nights for the blessed sight of a paycheck. We toil and sweat through hours of house projects so that we can showcase a beautiful home at the end. We run miles and spend countless time in the gym to see physical results in our bodies and changes in our endurance.

Who would work to receive nothing in the end?

Romans 8:18-21 says: "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." 

As Christians, we know the toil and labor we endure in this life is for a purpose. We know it is for our becoming more like Christ, and we know that eventually, Christ will return to take us home where we will finally be freed from sin and we will be thankful for this life we lived in a broken and despairing world when we are finally face-to-face with our Creator himself. 

But sometimes that day, that glorious moment of realizing it was all worth it, seems far and removed from the daily life we live. Sometimes it feels too far away to really matter right now. 

We want to know that our efforts mean something and are doing something right at this moment. Sometimes we do get to see that. Sometimes we don't. Most of the time I focus on when I can't see the fruit.  

I suppose it seems strange for me to be complaining about fruit when a Bible study I started a year ago has increased by 600% and I suppose it seems strange for me to be complaining about fruit when I started this summer just shy of 30% monthly support and 41% of one-time support and am now 64% of monthly support and 93% of one-time support.

But can I be real that there were times in late spring and early summer when I wanted to give up? I was terrified of offending people, of being told no, of being ignored in my efforts to reach out to people and build connections and gain partners in ministry.

I felt like I couldn't get people excited about what I was doing. I remember explaining this very thing to a friend over the phone. After a pause, he asked me: "Are you excited about what you are doing?"

His question stopped me. The answer was no. I wasn't excited about what I was doing and hadn't been for a while. I felt discouraged. Dejected. Like none of my efforts made any difference at all.

So how do we get this dissonance when we feel something contrary to what we know to be true? How do we fight against our mind with the truth? That must be one of the biggest questions we are faced with as believers. I have struggled with this question my entire Christian life. 

Jeremiah 17:9 says: "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?"

1 John 3:18-20 says: "Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything."

In classic SparkNotes style, our hearts are liars constantly trying to trick us into despair by believing something that isn't true BUT God is greater than our hearts. And how do we know this? How can we trust this? Because he knows everything even the depths of our depraved hearts. 

And so, my heart, when not constantly reminded of the truth of God's word that our labor is not in vain, when not constantly reminded of the truth of God's word that he is sovereign over every low season of life and every curveball circumstance life throws at us, is like a child without parental supervision wasting no time to make a beeline for a wall socket or a hot iron. 

My heart is so incredibly wicked it wants to destroy me. The lies it believes, the sins it desires, the skewed stories it tells itself are all designed to rob me of joy, to make me trade what is good and worth of praise for what is not. The end result is always discouragement and despair. 

And so, the remedy is perseverance even when we don't feel like it. 

Romans 5:2-5 says: "And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so but we also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." 

The longer we persevere, the stronger our faith becomes. The stronger our faith becomes the longer we can persevere. We develop a faith that knows God is worthy of our trust and we don't need to despair no matter what the situation or season. We develop the radical faith we only ever read about. This is our hope. This is what we strive for. 

And now, at the end of ten months, I  am finally starting to see the fruit of my labor. However, I wouldn't trade those ten months of hard labor, of sanctifying endurance, or refining waiting for anything because of the faith it produced in me--a faith I couldn't have gotten any other way. 

And so now, I set my eyes on what my hope is in--Christ. Christ has called me to this ministry of support raising and he has blessed it with his careful patient hand so far. And I have faith that the final 36% of monthly support and 7% of one-time support will come in his perfect timing. 

Please join me in prayer as I seek five more monthly partners this month. Pray for the meetings that haven't yet happened. Pray that the Lord would prepare the hearts of those who he desires as partners in this ministry. Pray that I would be able to share this vision of ministry well. 

Love, 

S

Rearranged: The Radical Call from Complacency to Common

A while ago, I sat cross-legged at an old wooden table with a long-time friend I surprised by driving 10 hours south on a whim.

Her nickname, Georgia, was derived from her moving to Georgia in 2014, the same summer I met her. Throughout the six years that have passed since that summer, we have kept in contact through letters, phone calls, and the occasional surprise visit.

This particular visit was spurred by the sudden realization I hadn't seen her in two years. Impulsively, I packed my bags the next morning and spent the next three days in wonderful company seeing her now husband (who she had just gotten engaged to the last time I was in Georgia) and her seven-month-old baby.

Which brings us to the old wooden table. Georgia, like me, isn't a big fan of movies and television. This means we usually spend our time going through a steady rotation of long talks, anything involving the outdoors, and board games.

Oh man, we love board games.

Around 10 p.m. we had already exhausted our list of regulars, so Georgia decided to teach me a new game.

Basically it goes like this: You can lay down three of the same kind of card as a set. You can lay down a sequence of cards as a set if they are all the same suit. You can add to another person's set or take away from another person's set if you leave them with at least three cards.

As you can imagine, there is a lot of stealing, rearranging and swapping.

Just imagine this in your head for a minute: In my hand I am holding a 3, which I need to get rid of. In front of me, I have a set: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Georgia has cards 2, 2, 2 so I take the 2 from my sequence and add it to hers. Georgia's husband has cards 1, 2, 3,  so I take his 3 and the 3 from my sequence and add them to my hand which now shows 3, 3, 3, which I now lay down as its own set.

I win right? Not yet.

If you remember, I left Georgia's husband with 1, 2 and by the rules of the game you have to leave a player with at least three cards. So I take his 2 and add it to Georgia's 2 pile and then take his 1 and add it to his 1 pile.

Game Over.

The cards I had before worked perfectly well before I rearranged them. They fit within the perimeters of the game. But I couldn't win if I kept everything exactly as it was. I wouldn't win if I was too comfortable with the ways things already were.

I had to undo what had been done. Upset what I had already put in place. Take something good and make it something better so I could ultimately win.

Of course, that's kind of like life recently.

There you are playing a nice hand of cards with COVID19 (just imagine, okay?) You've laid down a few sets and you know exactly how you're going to win the game.

A 3 there, a 7 there, a 9 there and voila! you win.

Except none of that happens because COVID19 stole one card, switched another around, and laid down a set that offers you nothing. So now, instead of winning the game, you're reeling trying to figure out how to lay something, anything down.

You went from winning to simply surviving.

I know, I know, what a completely unrelatable analogy.

I spent the first few days of this pandemic in unrelenting tears, mourning the loss of my world. I have spent the last few days in unrelenting tears, mourning the pain of my African American brothers and sisters, mourning the world we live in that can be so full of hate and confusion and lostness.

The comfortable complacency we once lived in has been overturned. There's no going back to the way things were, we've been rearranged.

And it's with fresh eyes we see the biggest threat is not disease or violence, but of the intoxicating complacency that we've been drinking for so long. A complacency so widespread it infects how we value our world, our neighbors, yes, even our God.

It's an attitude of shrugging our shoulders in perpetual indifference for so long we look like we have Tourettes.

We don't share the gospel because we really don't care, we don't engage in a broken and hurting world because we don't care, and we don't allow the gospel to transform every aspect of our lives because the sacrifice Christ made on the cross was nice and all, but comfortability sounds much more appealing than suffering, carrying our cross, and radical, self-sacrificing obedience.

Except that radical self-sacrificing obedience, that carrying of our cross, that willingness to suffer for the sake of the gospel is exactly the kind of life Christ calls us to live when we sign up for following Jesus.

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence" (1 John 3:16-19).

"So do not be ashamed to testify about our Lord, or ashamed of me his prisoner. But join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God, who has saved us and called us to a holy life--not because of anything we have done, but because of his own purpose and grace" (2 Timothy 1:8-9).

"Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus" (2 Timothy 2: 3).

Our faith thrives during hardship, persecution and suffering. Because believers understand the stakes. They know what it means to sacrifice everything, even their life. And so walking into Christianity, they already know they could lose it all, but still believe it's worth it.

But for the vast majority of us who live in America, we walk into Christianity with little idea of what sacrifice, hardship or persecution looks like. For the first time, I think our eyes are opening to the suffering that so many go through here and all over the world.

We're called to engage in the suffering. We're called to radically love. We're called to count up the costs and strive to live out the truth of the gospel no matter what that means and no matter what we lose.

And I think our African American brothers and sisters in the faith have a deeper understanding of what that suffering looks like than we can even begin to comprehend.

We can learn so much about the gospel, about Christ's heart for the oppressed if we are willing to listen. If we seek out sermons from African American pastors, if we listen to their struggles with compassion and a willingness to learn, and if we have an attitude that as believers we are all one body and when one part of the body hurts, we should all hurt.

Suffering isn't our enemy, indifference is. Callousness is. Complacency is.

I believe that we're at the end of an era. An era where all Christianity meant was a nice little small town church with American flags in every front yard. Where all Christianity was supposed to offer were polite people. That isn't our world anymore, and we have to change our definition of what it looks like to follow Christ in order to reach this new world.

And I would argue with that, we gain a more biblical definition of what it looks like to follow Christ.

These days, I constantly find myself laying down my desire to get to Brazil. I hold the desire with open hands, knowing that my plans are not my own. My life is not my own. And however the Lord desires to use my life is for his glory and I want to be willing.

Even if that means suffering, especially if that means suffering.

Today, I stand at 64% of my one-time financial requirements and 41% of my monthly support raised for Brazil. The Lord has continued to call people to this ministry, speak through me so that I am able to ask with boldness and confidence, and pave the way with careful patience.

I pray that I will continue to strive and work to get to Brazil to share his gospel with the lost and broken and hurting people there until he slams the door shut. Until he makes it perfectly clear he has other ideas for my life.

And even though I hold Brazil with open hands, even though I pray for submission in however the Lord decides to move and guide me, there would be suffering involved in having that dream shattered.

There would be suffering involved in the process of coming to terms with the fact that the last eight months of support raising, of informing family and friends, of dreaming up what the next two years of my life are going to look like on the mission field, were all for me to just end up where I started.

There would be suffering involved in trading the more the more exciting calling of going to another country, serving Christ through language learning, building new relationships, and seeing his divine hand leading my every step for life as I've always known it.

I also recognize that overseas missions isn't a big walk in the park. I understand there are untold sufferings and hardships, depths of loneliness that cannot be communicated, and persecution that I haven't yet experienced.

But to me, that radical faith is far, far better than just staying home. Of being around the same people I have known since I have grown up. Doing, well, less exciting ministry.

But even that is telling of my pride. Of my selfishness. Of my unwillingness to suffer for the sake of the gospel, my unwillingness to be ordinary for the sake of the gospel.

A couple nights ago I sat with friends swapping some of our favorite songs and sharing our testimonies over hot tea and card games.

While I utterly dominated in Exploding Kittens, I shared that something the Lord had been teaching me lately was the call to be ordinary. I shared that I realized what an idol of my heart being extraordinary was, and the desire to be seen as something special.

I confessed that the Lord calls us to be a nobody sometimes, and that ultimately is for God's greatest glory and honor and advance of his gospel.

There is suffering involved in surrendering a dream of being something spectacular to a submission to be an ordinary tool used in the extraordinary hands of a spectacular God.

We lose a sense of ourselves, our dreams, our identify, but we gain the heart of Christ. We gain the hands and feet of Christ. We gain an eternal perspective over the perspective of this fleeting life.

As I confessed my sentiments over my now room temperature tea, my friend silently stood up from the table and returned with a small orange book titled Ordinary: sustainable faith in a radical, restless world by Michael Horton.

"This is my only copy so unfortunately I can't give it to you, but you should read this."

In the first chapter, Horton introduces "radical" Christian Tish Harrison Warren who spent her time before college in Africa and much of her college career involved on the front lines in almost every movement. Interestingly enough, Warren wrote that it was ordinary, day-to-day life that was the most challenging for her.

"'In our wedding ceremony, my pastor warned my husband that every so often, I would bound into the room, anxiety etched on my face, certain we'd settled for mediocrity because we weren't "giving our lives away" living in outer Mongolia. We laughed. All my radical friends laughed. And he was right. We've had that conversation many, many times. But I'm starting to learn that, whether in Mongolia, or Tennessee, the kind of "giving my life away" that counts starts with how I get up on a gray Tuesday morning. It never sells books. It won't be remembered. But it's what makes a life. And who knows? Maybe, at the end of days, a hurried prayer for an enemy, a passing kindness to a neighbor, or budget planning on a boring Thursday will be the revolution stories of God making all things new'" (20-21).

Now don't misunderstand, this isn't a contradictory call for complacency. I didn't spend hours writing the first part of this blog just to throw it away with a flippant quote.

There is a difference between complacency and contentment.

There will be many ordinary days in Brazil. There will be many days that I won't "feel" like a missionary. I'm going to feel a 20-something buying weekly groceries, or getting gas, or using broken Portuguese to keep wild kids in line during church.

There will be mundane days where I feel ordinary. Un-special.

The call, the exhortation, is to rejoice in the work Christ is doing in the midst of the boring, the ordinary, the mundane.

No, we don't strive for the comfortable Christianity that sucks the life out of us, only giving us our own selfishness rather than the heart of Christ.

No, what I'm arguing now is what I have been this whole time. That the call to serve Christ is a call to die to ourselves. To suffer for the sake of the gospel. To pick up our cross and follow Christ no matter how unnoticed, unappreciated, unspectacular we are and our lives may seem.

And so I ask you to join me in prayer. Pray for the heart of complacency that is so prevalent in so many Christians and churches. Pray for my own heart as I continually try to fight against a comfortable idea of what it means to follow Christ.

And pray that you and I would be willing to serve Christ no matter what that looks like: whether that is in Brazil or Crawfordsville, Indiana. Whether that's as a common nobody or as one of the most well respected missionaries in the world.

Whatever that surrender looks like, whatever that suffering for the cause of Christ looks like, I pray that we would count up the costs and declare that he's worth it.

The Walking in Between

Worship night for our Young Adult ministry 18:20--the name is inspired 

from Matthew 18:20 which says: "where two or three gather in my name there I am with them." 

Ben Rector's The Walking in Between album came out when I was in high school. 

In his song "I like You" he sings: "There are way too many love songs, and I think they've got it all wrong 'cause life is not the mountain tops, it's the walking in between and I like you walking next to me."

This song wasn't intended to be a love song to God, but that's what it has become to me. 

As I am at the beginning of my fourth month of support raising, this song, long since tucked away in old memory boxes covered in dust, has found its way into the forefront of my mind.

This hasn't been a mountain top season. 

I have called churches who inform me they don't have the funds to support another missionary.

I have sat through meetings with people who I was sure would be excited about how the Lord was working in my life, only to be met with skepticism and cynicism. What was supposed to be an encouraging conversation and an invitation to join me in the ministry turned into an interrogation and a departure that left me feeling very, very small. 

The funds and support I thought God would open up the floodgates and pour down from heaven have trickled slowly, patiently, and in his own timing. 

But to each small group I have visited so far, to every individual meeting I have made, to every church I have presented at, there God has been holding my hand, walking beside me. 

I think God has us do things the hard way sometimes, not because he doesn't have the power to do things quickly or miraculously, but because he desires for us to grow in abiding in him, to grow in trusting him, and to grow in relationship with him. 

We think walking with God is comprised of these incredible highs or incredible lows. Yes, God is present when we hit rock bottom. Yes, God is present when we watch him move in awe inspiring ways that showcase his glory and power. 

I have watched him move in powerful ways. I have watched God respond to prayers quickly and with great gusto. 

God literally placed the opportunity of going to Brazil in my lap. I prayed about an open door into missions when I left for Kusel, Germany and within days of the conference I had already been extended an invitation to join David and Sarah in Arcoverde, Pernambuco Brazil. 

But what about the walking in between? 

Yes, God is present in the walking in between. He's present when it feels like nothing is moving, nothing is happening and life is just one day after the next of the same tired thing. 

At month four, I stand at almost 40% of my monthly goal. God has not been absent in this journey. He's been walking with me, encouraging me, and reminding me again and again that this is the path he has put me on. 

He's been prompting the hearts of those who hear my story, and I thank God for their obedience to that prompting and their generosity to his kingdom. God takes great delight in an obedient, cheerful, giving heart. 

But I would be lying if I said that I feel encouraged in his timing every day. Most days, I feel discouraged. Most days, I feel that God is moving too slowly. Most days, I feel like my efforts aren't really amounting to much. 

In these four months, I have been to almost seven small groups at my church, had over 20 individual meetings, and presented at two churches. I have been met with love, enthusiasm and encouragement. 

If you had asked me before I started this journey, I would have assumed after all that work I would be fully funded. I would have assumed after going to seven small groups, two churches and meeting with more than 20 people individually, I would have raised every penny I needed. 

Instead, I have been walking slowly with Christ, watching his patient, careful work. 

I have watched Christ prompt hearts of those I never asked. 

I have watched Christ prompt the heart of a family who hasn't been going to my church long at all, to invite me in their home, make a Brazilian meal for my presentation, ask questions, and commit to supporting me on a monthly basis. 

I have watched Christ prompt the pastors in my church to invite me to be a missions intern for the summer at my church.

I have watched Christ prompt my own heart to be present now, to minister now, to teach and reach out and love my neighbors now. He's taught me to slow down, be patient, and to watch him work.   

The women's bible study we started in August with two women has now grown to nine. 

The young adult ministry 18:20 we began with four has now grown to thirteen. 

There are days when I feel so astonished at the work he has been able to do in my time home. He has given me encouraging, beautiful friendships I never could have asked for. He has given me opportunities to serve, encourage and pour into others. He has given me the opportunity to be refined, challenged and grown. 

I have been challenged to pray more often, more specifically, and to pray with more faith. I pray that the Lord will bring alongside me faithful partners in ministry, those who will commit to pray and fund. 

I am praying for five more partners in ministry this month. 

I am praying for a chance to speak at 3 more churches this month.

Please join me in praying. 

If you feel led to join me in this ministry go to https://www.abwe.org/work/missionaries-and-projects?s=sarah%20rogers 

The Ending, The Beginning

There is an infamous Parsley plant that sits on my windowsill. 

It's infamous because, well, it's usually dead. 

In my moments of dedication and resolve to be a dutiful plant mom, my Parsley thrives. Inevitably, however, I forget to water the needy thing for even a day or two, and my once vibrant plant becomes limp and lifeless. 

Plants have a resiliency that astounds me. It doesn't matter how long it has been since I have watered my sad, tumbleweed-like Parsley, once I began watering the cracked soil, new green sprouts raise their arms above the dirt as a celebration of their new life. 

That's kind of been the mantra of my life recently. 

The months leading up to my college graduation, I had my life mapped out. I decided I would move back to Evansville where I had attended college. I would work for a year, maybe two, at Redeemer Fellowship, the church I had been a member of during college, working in women's ministry. 

From there I would get a master's degree in ministry, maybe English, maybe poetry, I hadn't decided yet. 

Then, and only then, would I venture to leave the country to pursue my dream of telling others about Christ across borders. 

My plans were carefully and lovingly chosen, logical and comfortable.  

Immediately following my graduation, I flew to a missions conference in Kusel, Germany. I agreed to attend the conference thinking I would be surrounded by students my age who were just scoping out the whole missionary thing. I figured my time in Germany would be something I looked back on in five years, preparing to leave the country, after I completed my checklist. 

Then I met David and Sarah who talked passionately about their ministry in Brazil. I found myself spending my spare time asking them hundreds of questions about Brazil, their vision, their ministry, and their hearts. 

Looking back, I shouldn't have been surprised when they invited me to join their team in Brazil for a couple years, and I shouldn't have been surprised when my answer, without hesitation, was a resounding yes. 

Saying yes meant more than signing two years of my life to another country. It meant the plans I absolutely loved had to change.

Every single meticulously written out plan I had previously made at that point changed during those ten days in Germany. 

Life became heavy after that. 

I had moved in with my sister for the summer, and returning from Germany, I thought I could somehow make all my plans mesh together. Maybe I could still do it all. 

I continued to look for apartments in Evansville, thinking I could still do the women's ministry while I prepared to go to Brazil. 

Then one fateful day my car's head gasket blew. The cost was more than my car was worth, and so my car was sold as scrap metal. 

Money was already tight for an apartment before that, not having a car made that plan impossible. 

So I did the only thing I could do, I moved back home and got a job at a local coffee shop. Life started to feel dry during those months trying to save money. Life felt lifeless and disappointing. My friends were hundreds of miles away, I was being dropped off and picked up from work, and the promise of Brazil seemed millions of years away. 

I missed my old life. I missed the life I had planned to live. 

What I hadn't realized yet, what  I am realizing now, is that this is one of the most transformative times of my life. It's been testing, strengthening and equipping. 

God, in his immeasurable love and grace, placed my life, the life I cherished, in the flames. 

Every day, the flames burn away parts of me, the parts of me and my now old life, that couldn't come with me to the new life. For anyone who has been there, it's an incredibly somber time. I have mourned each piece that has drifted from me in smoke.

But for each piece of me that I have lost, every aspect of my life I thought I couldn't live without, the Lord has brought new joys, new green sprouts raising their joyful little hands above clumpy earth. 

We just began reading James in a women's Bible study that I lead on Tuesday nights. Together we read that we should consider it "pure joy" when we face trials and hard seasons of life because we know the testing of our faith "develops perseverance" which "must finish its work so that you may be mature, not lacking in anything" (James 1:2-4). 

The Lord is preparing me for Brazil in ways that I don't understand yet, in ways no ministry position or training conference ever could. He sees with perfect clarity all that I lack and is diligent in making me a useful tool for his work. 

I always thought it was a little bit of a cliche when people said, "the Lord doesn't call the equipped, he equips the called," but that has been the reality of my life this past 6 months. 

Now, I find myself working at a coffee shop with people who make me laugh so much I get stomach cramps. I find myself working at an elementary school as an aide helping students who struggle in math just like I once did. 

I find myself able to spend every Tuesday evening with women who needed community and encouragement just as much as I did. 

I find myself having the privilege to reach out to fellow believers and talk to them about the opportunity the Lord has given me in Brazil and how they can join me on the path the Lord has placed my shaking feet. 

I find myself standing at the end of the life I once knew, and the beginning of the life I have never known. It's terrifying, beautiful and there isn't anything like it. My prayer is that you would be able to find yourself at such a crossroad. 

No, it won't be easy. Most days you won't be sure you can keep moving. But can I tell you a secret? There isn't anything like the joy you find on the other side.