Posted in Moments of Clarity by Sarah Patterson on 2/8/2012
It has been six months.
Literally.
It has been six months since I got off a giant plane in JFK international airport and made my way home. A lot can happen in six months.
I tried writing when I got home, tried doing this, but I always made an excuse not to, always found something else to occupy myself with. It dawned on me a few months ago that I was avoiding touching my blog again because then it would mean that I would have to say it, that I would have to accept it, that by writing an "I'm home!" blog would mean that it was over, and it hurt too much to have to look back on everything and say it was the end. And it terrified me that I had to learn how to do life here.
Coming home to my family and friends was amazing. God orchestrated the perfect places and times for things to happen; the perfect loving safety nets were put around me, and new friends and opportunities were affectionately put into my hands. I was happy to be home. But things were different. And I didn't really know how to handle it. So I didn't handle it, I focussed on getting the things done that needed to be done.
I needed to find a place to live, so I found an amazing community house in Vancouver and felt God say "This is it, this is your home." So I moved in.
I needed to start grad school to get my training as an Art Therapist. So I started school a month after getting home from the Race, started doing therapy with kids, started reading and writing and using my academic brain again.
I needed to get a job so I could do fun things like pay rent and have food. So I did that. I got a job at Chapters, a multi-million dollar nation wide corporation (that was a hard pill to swallow) and started getting pay checks.
For the first time since getting home, I felt like I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing. God had been faithful. He had put me in a house full of diverse, amazing people. He had given me a place in a fantastic program to learn how to bring healing to people. He had given me a physical means to afford life in a big, new city. I knew in my heart and in my mind that He had put me exactly where I was for a purpose, and even though I felt totally lost a lot of the time and completely useless, I was determined to trust Him and trust in His purpose. But sometimes, I forget what trust really looks like...
I'm a creature of habit. I love routine. I am most comfortable when surrounded by a predictable schedule, especially if I get to have a nice little day planner to write in and check lists off in. God did a lot of messy work trying to get me out of my protective shell of routine while I was on the Race, but old habits die hard. And I came home to a life that needed organizing and compartmentalizing, and instead of letting Him do His thing, I did my thing. And within the time frame of a couple months, I started forgetting who I was and started becoming who I had been... because it was easy.
Easier than being every bit of who I was on the Race, because here in Vancouver, Jesus isn't received the same, He isn't understood the same, and I felt like if people didn't get who Jesus was, they wouldn't get me - I didn't feel like I would be received the same, and I sure as heck didn't think I would be understood at all, especially if I kept talking and acting the way I knew how to. I kept being me, but I turned down the volume on a few very big parts of myself. Deep down I knew what I needed - I needed Christian community. I needed to hear the sound of worship, I needed to feel the power of prophesy, I needed to understand the Father's heart - but I couldn't find it here. At least I couldn't find it easily, and I let the business of my schedule talk louder than my spirit.
I made excuses, excuses that seemed easier at the time, but made it harder in the end. Excuses that have led to me to right here and right now, a place where I feel like I'm just barely holding it together all the time, a place where things can be going the way they're supposed to be going, but I'll still feel completely backwards. Heck, things are going great right now for all intensive purposes, but I failed at integrating who I had become on the Race with who I thought I should be back here in the "real" world, and it's taken me six months to be able to come out and say it.
What I want right now is to have my squad around me, to hear their voices and feel their arms holding me, to feel the earth shaking sound of their worship flowing out, to feel the overwhelming presence of the Spirit surround us and hold us like children cradled in big, strong arms. That would be the easy way out of this mess. Tangible people - physical reminders of who God is and who I am - that would be the easy way out of this hole I've dug myself. But I don't have that. I just have one thing, one tiny, measly, puny, seemingly insane thing: faith.
Faith that God loved me enough to call me to go on the World Race.
Faith that God loved me enough to call me to be right here..
Faith that God loved me enough to give me a place and a purpose.
Faith that God loved me enough to give me amazing friends and family.
But more than that, I've got faith that God loves me enough to teach me lessons the hard way, because that seems to be the only way I learn things. Even if He spent 11 months trying to teach me that lesson, and I still didn't get it. He loves me enough to teach me that the only thing I have to rely on is Him, and the only thing that is going to satisfy me is Him.
So the point of all of these words is to ask for help, because even though I'm not running around the world doing crazy things, I still need your prayers and love and help. Really.
A lot has happened in six months, and I know it's only the beginning.
(Did I mention the craziest and most wonderful part? I am engaged to an amazing man and getting married in four months. Sidenote: when God tells you you're going to marry someone, don't take it lightly. The Big Guy means it, and He makes it happen.)
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Posted in The Journey by Sarah Patterson on 7/29/2011
Eleven months ago my squad and I were in the Philippines. We looked different, we talked different, we acted different... we probably even smelled a little different. We were at the start of an amazing adventure, and within the short few days we had together to worship, learn, and try to prepare for what was to come, our leaders had us sit down and write letters to ourselves, letters about what we wanted to see happen and what we thought might happen. We opened those letters last night, here's mine:
Sarah, sweet child, you are a child of joy. You have been handpicked, called by name and loved endlessly. You will bring love and compassion to those you live with.
It has been prophesied over you that you are a woman of JOY - and you know this already in your heart, so allow it to be realized fully. This year God will crash down and destroy your organized life and exchange it for His almighty plans. Your desire will change, your vision of life will change. Your ears will be ears of revelation, your ears will hear the voice and truth of the Lord. You will have to learn how to walk each day with greater faith, greater trust in your Father.
Your anointing is love, you will have to learn how to truly and honestly love those around you in order find fulfillment.
You will sing a new song to God. You will PRAISE HIM in the light an din the dark, in the easy and the hard, you will praise Him through your tears, sorrow, and brokenheartedness. The anguish in your heart will remind you how great His love is.
The change you need to experience will be visible but not just in how you dress or how you look; so much more than your surface will change. The inner part of your being will change. And you will radiate the new life in you. People will look on you and know there is something deeply mysterious and wonderful in you, and you will bring glory to the Lord because of it.
If you want to be that crazy Jesus lady, who has the spiritual sensitivity you long for (and more), then you will have to work for it.
Remember whose you are.
Remember who you were called to be.
Remember the only way you will be able to make sense of all the intricacies of life is to be fully dependent on God and fully swayed by His Spirit.
He is so much BIGGER than you could ever IMAGINE!
Walk in love and stand tall sweet child.
______________________________
God has done so much in me this year, everything I wrote to myself in that letter has been realized in one way or another in the past 11 months. I don't think it's coincidence that I posted a blog not too long ago about how I feel like a completely different person than the girl I was in the pictures before the Race. This letter reassures me that what has been started on the World Race does not stop here, that the work God has begun in me is going to continue and carry over into my life at home. I am forever changed by the time I have spent in 11 nations with the 20-some people that I am blessed to call my family. In two days I will be back at home, back with family, and back to "normal" life (whatever that means!). In two days I start a new adventure that will look quite different from the one I just finished, but it still holds a similar thrill for me, because I know Who I'm starting it with.
Jesus, I love you.
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Posted in Moments of Clarity by Sarah Patterson on 7/14/2011
As I go through photos of the weeks before I left home, through the emails that have been sent and received, through the memories and important moments that stand out in my mind, I realize the brevity of what has occurred over the past 11 months. I see pictures of myself, before I was bald, before I was a missionary, before I was a 'world changer' - and I get nostalgic. I see pictures of myself and think, "She looks like a nice girl." Then I look in the mirror and I see a person that is unrecognizable when put next to the girl in the pictures, but it's more than just my short mop of hair, acne, and worn clothes that distinguish me from those photographs. Something internal has happened, some sort of alteration, like the shifting of tectonic plates that causes an earthquake. The changes that have transpired vary from minute to enormous, but it would seem that even the slightest adjustment has grand effects on not only who am I in my spirit, but who I am as I walk and live and breathe.
I am a new creation, a different person who dreams bigger and loves fiercer than I did when I left home. My mind has changed, and even though I feel at times that I have lost my academic smarts, I know that I have gained greater knowledge than any university could give me - and I'm still freaked out about going home. There are things going on at home that I don't want to face, relationships that have changed and will change more, things that I know I need to say to certain people that are going to be hard to say. There's all this junk there that has to be cleaned up somehow. I become this overwhelmed, tumbling ball of stress when I think about it. I'm not sure I'm up to fixing it all, I'm not sure I have the right words to say, I'm not sure I have the solutions. Going home should be a bittersweet thing, not something that plagues me with doubt, anxiety, and fear.
Here's the thing about going home - I am not the answer.
There, I said it.
I am not enough.
Regardless of all of the things I've seen, heard, smelled, dreamt, learned, and experienced I will be completely and utterly ineffective when I go back home if I forget one simple thing:
It is not I who live, but He who lives in me.
Life is kind of hard sometimes, and I kind of suck at dealing with it most of the time. But God's has patience deeper than I can swim, He's has kindness greater than what my mind can compute, and He's has love in surplus.
"Don't you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you?"
Romans 2:4
See, I've been looking at going home as an opportunity for me to stir things up in my family and community. And it is that opportunity, but I've been looking at it from the perspective of me being capable to do it with what I've learned, instead of embracing the understanding of what it means to be truly and fully crucified with Christ. Through His death He has given me new life, He has made me an heir to His power, but most importantly His love covers all of my mistakes, even the big mistake of thinking that I'm big and strong enough to do this by myself. I have known that I couldn't do any of this Race without Him, so why did I think that I could somehow re-enter into life back home without being at His side? I am not the answer to the troubles on the home front because these aren't challenges God has thrown at me, they are challenges He is going to face with me. The fact that everything isn't peachy keen doesn't mean that He's stopped loving me, or that He isn't honoring me for my obedience to Him, it means that there are multiple opportunities back home for God to demonstrate His goodness and power.
"Can anything ever separate us from Christ's love?
Does it mean He no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity,
or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger;
or threatened with death?
(As the Scriptures say, 'For your sake we are killed every day;
we are being slaughtered like sheep.')
No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours
through Christ, who loved us.
And I am convinced that nothing can separate us from God's love.
Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow -
not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love.
No power in the sky above or in the earth below -
indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able
to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:35-39
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Posted in The Journey by Sarah Patterson on 7/9/2011
Children.
They're everywhere. It doesn't matter where you are or for how long you're there - you are bound to meet some children. It doesn't matter what food they like to eat, what clothes they think are cool, how they do their hair, what they look like, what language they speak, or what language you speak, you will still find something in common, something to laugh about, something to bind you together and fill your heart with love for one another.
That's where we're at this month. We are where the children are.
Team Exodus has invaded Jeremiah's Hope in the Ukraine. It is a camp set up by Andrew and Jenny Kelly for kids. Some of the kids who come for a week are from homes where their parents are missionaries, and some of the kids come from homes where their parents treat them in ways that make your stomach turn. For the past six days we have gotten to know 31 children from the surrounding villages. We know their names and their faces, we know who needs a hug before they go to bed, we know who loves to be thrown around like a rag doll, and we're getting to know a little bit about their stories.
The strange thing for me is that I've grown up around these kids almost my whole life. Well, not these kids specifically, but kids just like them. After 15 years of living with foster children and learning their names, likes and dislikes, and their stories a part of me had become numb. I heard their stories and looked them in the eye knowing what they'd been through, and I felt empathy for them, felt outraged for them, but then I would take all of those hurtful, hateful things, put them on a mental/emotional shelf and get on with my life. Because, let's face it, when you're growing up and figuring out who you are, you feel like there's only so much space in your heart for the pains of the world and if you don't compartmentalize them a little bit you'd probably just sit on your bed sobbing and screaming every day for hours on end. After years of living with the walking, talking, and breathing products of pain and abuse those stories of cruelty and neglect became normal and the shock value wore off. I stopped being able to cry for the kids when I needed to, I stopped aching for the kids the way I needed to. My prayers became fewer and my spirit became insensitive in ways it shouldn't have.
Then something started happening inside of me.
It started before I got accepted to the World Race family, but when I got to training camp God started taking my heart of stone and truly making it a heart of flesh.
And it got messy.
And it still is messy. Crying is not a neat and tidy business!
In a way, you'd think that after 10 months of seeing the extremes of poverty, abuse, and the heart of evil it would become somewhat normal and the shock value would wear off. But the truth it hasn't gotten any easier. It seems, in fact, that it has gotten harder. I can't compartmentalize the way I used to, I can't hide those heartrending things away inside of me as well as I used to. They feel like they're out there, walking around in the open of my heart, catching me off guard sometimes.
The Ukraine has caught me off guard, that's for darn sure. I didn't think I would have a deep love for Eastern Europe, for some reason I just didn't think I would be deeply moved for Ukraine. Turns out that orphans, whether they're white, light brown, or dark brown - break your heart. Turns out that here in the Ukraine the kids need our love and prayers as much as kids in the Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Thailand, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, Nepal, India, and Romania do.
The stories of the children who have come to this camp break my heart and make me wish I could find a way to give them a new home. One of the boys who was here at camp wrote one of the volunteers a thank you note. The note said this: "Thank you for not hurting us". Then there are the orphans who are currently living on site. Our first week here two young girls came to Jeremiah's Hope to live in the cottage. Marina is 6 and Masha is 3 years old. Marina watched her father beat her mother to death, soon after both girls were left orphaned after their father hung himself.
Jesus... Are you out there?
Today we sent the 31 children back to their parents. We shared our last breakfast together, played our last games, gave our last hugs and kisses out, and watched those beautiful kids pile into vans and go back to what they know as home, knowing full well that what those children were going back to was not a situation we would willingly choose for them.
It would be so easy to feel helpless, heartbroken, and completely useless because of what has just happened. It would be a lot easier to just shove the reality those kids live in under a mental rug and not look back. It would be even easier to focus on the three-ish weeks I have until I am back with my amazing family. But Jesus never promised me that this would be easy.
He did promise me that He would be with me through it all, though. Through the smiles and laughter, through the hard goodbyes, through the heartbreaking moments when a mistreated child whispers "I love you", and through the instances when you realize you have nothing left to give.
He also promised me that He would send me an Advocate, that He would put His Spirit in me, that through Him I would do even greater things than He did, and that He would not leave anyone an orphan.
Today I watched as the children I fell in love with left our safety and walked into unforeseeable instability. Today, and each day after, I get to remember that for six days I was Jesus' arms hugging those kids, I was Jesus' laughter, friendship, and bedtime kisses.
Today I hold tight to the knowledge that my God is a God of justice, and He makes all things new, because quite frankly, I have nothing else to hold on to right now.
"And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you.
He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth ...
No, I will not abandon you as orphans - I will come to you."
John 14:16-18
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Posted in The Journey by Sarah Patterson on 6/26/2011
Well, here we are.
35 days until we reach home.
286 days since we left home.
One country.
One month.
Endless thoughts, emotions, and beautiful memories packed away.
Zero words left.
I have absolutely nothing left to say at this point... At least that's how I feel.
We left Romania three days ago, and it feels like we've been gone for weeks. If our squad leaders had given us the option, my team would have probably stayed in Romania for our last month of
the Race because we loved it so much. (For real, if you have no clue what to do with your life right now and want to get away from home for a while, go to Romania. I'll hook you up with a fantastic contact. I am 100
% serious.) But not only did we have to leave, we knew we had to. We knew that this month was going to be something special, even if we didn't know how. So we got on a train for 27 hours.
Heartbroken.
Homesick (not for North America).
Hopeful.
Because a lot of times on the Race when you're leaving people and a place you fell madly in love with, all you have to lean on is hope in the Lord.
Let's take a second and review how amazing my team is.
Leslie can make me laugh at the silliest, smallest thing and instantly make my day better.
Janell can give me the most wonderful encouragement with only a few simple words.
Carmen can check my bad attitude in such a gracious and loving way that I feel humbled, challenged, and loved all at once.
So as we're sitting in our bunks in the train (baller train by the way, can you say "God's favor"? we can, mostly because we have it so often hehehe!) all feeling quite broken about saying yet another goodbye to a beautiful month of ministry and a beautiful group of people, my team has the strengt
h and love to do more than just let me sulk. The three amazing women I have been blessed to share these past few months with share their hearts, their laughter, and their stories. Then later that night we prophesied over each other before going to bed. When we woke up the next morning, we designated a time to pray out Romania and pray in Ukraine. Um, I wouldn't have done that a year ago if I was plopped in the same situation. I definitely would not have thought I could leave somewhere I loved with hope in my heart, or spent my time to prophecy over people, or used the morning hours to pray over countries I barely know...Seriously.
Dudes, who are we?
What kind of crazy, bizarre people have we become in the past 286 days?
I'll tell you who we are and what we've become.
We have become people who have had their values re-ordered, so that it matters that we are more spiritually rich than we are monetarily rich.
We have become people who understand what it means to be blessed - that the greatest blessing of all is a sweet little four letter word that starts with 'l' (and is synonymous with adventure).
We have become people who dream dreams, people who know that our dreams have power, people who believe that our dreams will become reality.
We have become people who recognize that it is a more precious gift to pray and prophecy over someone than it is to leave them with a material gift.
We have become people who aren't afraid to speak life and prophecy over one another.
We have become people who see our testimonies as beautiful truths written by a King we know by name, people who know that our testimonies have endless power on this earth.
We have become people who embrace Holy Spirit, not a people who are wary of Him.
We have become people who know that God will answer when we pray
...and we are still people who stand in awe of His love and might when we see o
ur prayers answered.
We have become people who's first response is to pray, even if it's something 'small', even if it's something 'huge'.
We have become people ruined for ordinary life.
We have become people who are fulfilled but never left satisfied - people who constantly want more and more and more of one thing.
(That one thing is God, just in case you're wondering (; )
And the beautiful thing about the people we have become is this: that it isn't anything we have done ourselves. The change that has taken place in us wasn't because we were brave, selfless, and left our homes for 11 months. It wasn't because we had the skills or the know-how to live in 11 foreign countries. It was because we heard a call, the call.
The call to be more than what we think we can be. The call to live for something more than a good job, a nice house, and a cute family.
The call to be obedient.
Sometimes that call means you have to leave the home you've known for your whole life.
And other times that call means you have to leave the home you've known for one month.
Either way, you have to pretty brave or pretty stupid to say "No" when you hear the call.
So. Here I am with 35 days of my Race left, ready to empty myself once again, ready to lay myself before Jesus' throne and say, "Take me", knowing that He will take me no matter what state I am in. God's challenged me a lot this year, and I am expectantly waiting to see what challenges He'll give to me this month. Here's my challenge to you: ask God what His challenges are for you this month, what He specifically wants to refine in you, and how He wants do see you draw nearer to Him.
Why?
Because that list of what and who we have become isn't just about my squad and I, it's about you too, even if you don't know it yet.
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Posted in General Posts by Sarah Patterson on 6/19/2011
Father:
a man who is the parent of a human being
a man who is an ancestor, especially the founder of a family or people
a man who establishes, founds, or originates something
a prototype; an original version of something else
a man who is a leader
It's Father's Day, and I find myself in Draganesti, Romania wondering what my Pops is doing today. It's the first time that I won't be around to get up in the morning and hug my Papa, Bill. Oh PS - I call my Dad "Papa". If you must know, my Pop is the best Dad in the entire world. He is not just a Father, he's a husband, a mechanic, a comedian, a builder, a chef, an artist (my favorite piece is the pink clay head you made one day after school in Mr. Mayo's art room with me...remember that one? Yep, my favorite), a comforter, a safe place, and he's a trend setter. Seriously, bald head, earrings, and a goatee weren't cool until he started rocking them in the 90's.
But what sets him apart and makes him the best Dad in the entire world?
Well, he loves Jesus, so that makes him royal. My father's Father is a King, so that makes him a Prince. I've got one word for you regarding this - BALLER! My Papa loves me so much that he not only raised me in the knowledge that I am a Princess, but he brought me into his King's court and told me I was welcome there! From birth he has affirmed what I am - a Princess!
My Papa has so much love in his heart, I don't even think he realizes how amazing he is at loving people, and how unique his love is to our generation. The countless children who have entered into our home have found so much more than just four walls and a place to lay their heads. They've learned that love means more than four letters. Through my Father, countless fatherless children have learned that love means respect, honor, trust, hard work, honesty, faith, patience, a balance between discipline and grace, and the courage to speak the truth even when it's not easy.
My Papa is a man who loves fearlessly.
My Papa is a man of truth.
My Papa is a man of integrity.
My Papa is a man who would give anything for his family - who has given everything for his family.
My Papa is a man who would stand in your corner when no one else would.
My Papa is a man of humility.
My Papa is a man of joyous laughter.
My Papa is a man of destiny.
My Papa is a man of high value in his Father's Kingdom.
My Papa is a man of supernatural grace.
My Papa is a man who speaks life and blessings.
My Papa is a man who sees worth in places others would hesitate to go.
My Papa is a man of power.
My Papa is a man with a wild heart.
My Papa is a man who sees The Creator in everything around him.
My Papa is the man I look to as an example of what a friend, a leader, and a man should be.
My Papa is the man who gave me life.
Because of my Father I am blessed.
Because of my Father my children's children will be blessed.
Because of my Father there are boys that understand what an honorable man is.
Because of my Father there are girls know what it means to be honored by a man, for many of them for the first time in their lives.
Because of my Father I understand what a complete picture of love looks like.
"The love of the LORD remains forever with those who fear Him.
His salvation extends to the children's children
of those who are faithful to His covenant,
of those who obey His commandments!"
Psalm 103:17-18
I love you , Papa.
I am honored to be yours.
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Posted in Moments of Clarity by Sarah Patterson on 6/6/2011
Something rather meaningful happened a couple of days ago:
I realized how broke I am.
And I flipped out
broke down
and cried.
Days before this meltdown my bank account had been at a comfortable place, I was sure of how much money I had left. I felt safe and secure with the amount of money I had to last me until I went home. I was under the impression that my credit card was more or less paid up to date and good to go. Then, two days ago I logged into my bank account, only to see that the amount of money in it had shrunk by over $500. Hence the flipping out, breaking down, and crying.
I have 55 days left until I reach Canadian soil, and that money is all I have to my name. That money has to cover transportation for the month of August, a much needed haircut, a cell phone, and multiple unforeseen expenses (damage deposit on a place to live, a computer that actually works, registration and school fees, and so on) that are bound to pop up during my first month home, PLUS it has to cover any personal money that I spend while in Romania and the Ukraine. So when you think about all of the things that the $324 + cents has to pay for, you realize it's really not that much money.
I sat on my top bunk staring at the computer screen with tears filling my eyes wondering how I am going to survive when I get home. My mind was racing, adding up costs and figures, and the weight of my World Race support account seemed to bear down on me even more. Recently I found out that support I thought was coming in, was in fact not going to be coming in. While this is totally understandable and I'm so thankful for all that those supporters were able to give up until this point, the combined loss puts my support account around -$500. Add the shock and anxiety of watching your personal bank account shrink with the knowledge that you still have a financial commitment that will be left unfulfilled, and you've got a very worried and upset Sarah on your hands. I couldn't figure out why my squad mates are having money overflowing out of their support accounts, why they were getting offers for free lodging and jobs when they get home, and I'm sitting here short on support and clueless how I'm going to pay for anything when I get home. I thought, I'm here just like they are, I'm doing ministry, digging deep, pouring myself out " all that good stuff " but how come my money situation is the opposite? Short of banging my head against the wall, I felt like I was doing all I could to seek after God and be obedient, and for the life of me I could not figure out what was missing. So why was this happening? The fact of the matter is:
God did it.
It's all His fault.
And there is divine purpose in His doing it.
Eleven months ago when I was accepted to the Race I handed my whole life over to God. One of the hardest things I put in His hands was my finances: my trust that He would provide the $14,300 for the trip and that He would somehow multiply what was in my personal account to make it last. It was a process, a long, hard process of letting go of my money and letting go of my need of assurance that money would be there. But I did it, and it was a beautiful, freeing act of release.
Well, it seems that while I've been on this crazy journey of trusting Jesus with my life I've gotten comfortable in the assurance that money is there and will be there. I know how much money we as a team have to spend, I know that there will be money for food today, tomorrow, and then next day. And I usually know down to the dollar how much I have in my personal bank account. I knew all the numbers, and obviously if I know everything who needs to trust God, right? Wrong.
In the course of gaining confidence in the monetary things I had, I stopped relying on God for that confidence. In short, I stopped relying on God for everything, which is one of the things I came on this trip to learn how to do. I've had so much assurance in man that I managed to forget that without Him I am completely and utterly impoverished.
Have you experienced so much for nothing?
Surely it was not in vain, was it?
Galatians 3:4
God took some time yesterday in church to softly remind me of these things. He said to me, “You've forgotten that you need me, you've forgotten how to rely on me.” That's a big deal. Those are painful words to hear and upsetting things to realize about yourself. I've been trying to stand on my own two feet, so He let me fall over a little to show me how dearly I need to be standing in Him.
Let your roots grow down into Him,
and let your lives be built on Him.
Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught,
and you will overflow with thankfulness.
Colossians 2:7
He is re-teaching me what dependence is, what trust is, what faith is.
He is illustrating to me that money is not the issue here " my heart is.
He is showing me, once again, that my life is bigger than just dollar signs, and more importantly,
He is reminding me that He is bigger than dollars and cents.
So I've got a bit of money in my account and a few Romanian Lei in my wallet. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to pay for grad school when I get home, how I'll come up with rent, what I'll eat, or how my support account is going to fill up. But I do have a Heavenly Father who loves me, and I've got faith He will take care of every thing I need and more, because that's who He is.
And it is impossible to please God without faith.
Anyone who wants to come to Him must believe that
God exists and that He rewards those who sincerely seek Him.
Hebrews 11:6
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Posted in The Journey by Sarah Patterson on 6/1/2011
Life is full of goodbyes.
Even though I've said the word for my whole life, it is still hard to accept and understand what it really means. The fleeting nature of this life has never before been so clear to me as it has been these past 10 months. We have said countless hellos and goodbyes, we've met hundreds of people, learned who they are, learned what they love, learned how to love them, and then after a few short weeks we've had to say goodbye. Each month is so much more than just time that flows past us, they represent relationships, blessings, healings, brokenness, and affections that we have to leave with a farewell and our prayers.
Here it is, month 10 and we've settled into Eastern Europe. India seems so close behind us that I feel like I could turn around at any moment and see the streets I had grown to know and the children that I had come to love. But these streets are unknown to us, the children do not know us by sight or by name. We left behind another home, our ninth home, in exchange for a new home. And eventually we will leave the last home we make on this race and trade it in for what is "normal", what is "known" to us. There is something about being in Europe, surrounded by white people and things that are familiar that is almost harder than all the other countries. I didn't expect to enter Eastern Europe and be this uncomfortable. And it's uncomfortable for comfortable reasons, if that makes any sense...
For instance, this is the first month since January that I have my own bed, and it's harder for me to sleep than when I was on the floor last month with ants crawling all over me. I can turn on any of the taps in the house and choose whether I want cold or hot water to wash my hands with...I can't remember the last time we stayed somewhere that had hot water in the taps. There's a legit shower head in the shower, no squatting required, and it's got crazy water pressure. I'm so unused to water pressure like this that I got a little scared when I first turned the shower on. We have electricity all the time - it hasn't gone out yet and it doesn't seem like it will happen any time soon. Heck, something as simple as there being a trash bin with a real garbage bag in it makes me feel a little out of place. There are moments almost every day where I have to take a few deep breaths and just be still, because I'm not sure I'm ready to go home yet, I'm not sure I'm ready to get used to living this way, even though I'm not really sure what it is about "this way" that makes me so anxious. I'm not sure I'm ready to live with hot water and electricity 24/7 - who am I? Who is this person who gets panicked at the thought of home being like this, of it being better than this, and it being that way constantly? I feel absolutely off my rocker for being made so uncomfortable by the normalcy of Romania. Does it make me completely ridiculous to be more comfortable on a dirty street strewn with garbage than on a clean sidewalk? Does it make me a total crackpot for blushing when a car stops at a crosswalk (what's a crosswalk?!) to let me cross the street? Maybe it does.
Here I've been thinking and talking about how great it's going to be when things will be back to "normal", and then I'm handed normal and suddenly I feel like a fish out of water, a ragamuffin among the affluent, a mute in a roomful of poets. After all the months of living among people who speak a different language, now I feel like I don't just speak a different language but I live a different one. For the first time since I left home I look like I could fit in here, my skin doesn't give me away right off the bat, but people can still tell that I'm not one of them. And that makes me think that when I get home, even if I wear the right clothes and get a haircut, people are going to look at me and think, "She doesn't belong here." People are going to notice. I used to think I was okay with sticking out and being different, but something inside me quakes at the realization that I am going home to a place that has gone on without me and I will be different, noticeably different, and there is no going back to the way things were.
Wait, wasn't that the point of all of this?
At the root of all of this uneasiness and disquiet within me is the truth that I am heartbroken that I have to say goodbye to this lifestyle and this community. I thought I was ready, I even started working through the re-entry packet Ashley Musick gave us at our month 8 debrief, but as I sit and go over the past 9 months in my head, my heart sighs a knowing sigh that this has to end even though it isn't easy to say goodbye.
I've always loved the change of seasons, but now I see and comprehend how our human lives are a direct representation of what nature goes through constantly. Leaves change, fall, and are re-grown. Branches are broken off in storms, and sometimes lighting comes so close it scars the bark and roots. But the trees still grow, their blossoms bloom and their fruit ripens. Love like a hurricane, I am a tree, bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy. This Race has been full of beautiful and painful seasons, my leaves have gone through their necessary shedding of the old for a cloak of newness, God has broken the dead branches off of me in the storm of His love, and things have come so close to the root of who I am that have forever changed the appearance and function of my heart. And when this season is over I will still be growing and changing, bearing new blossoms that turn into the first fruit of each new season of my life.
So far this Race has been the greatest thing I have ever done with my life.
But I refuse to let it be the greatest thing I ever do with my life.
He is jealous for me.
Love like a hurricane
I am a tree,
bending beneath the weight
of His wind and mercy.
Then all of a sudden
I am unaware of these afflictions
eclipsed by glory,
and I realize just how beautiful you are
and how great your affections are for me.
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Posted in General Posts by Sarah Patterson on 5/17/2011
God, you know our hearts. You see us inside and out. You know what we need despite our wants. You tell us how good you are by the works of your hands.
Father, you picked me, you know me; you see my fear and my hope. In you all things are made new and whole. You leave iron to sharpen iron, you leave room for love to grow. Try as I might, I cannot comprehend your ways or your plans, yet I know they are good. Search my heart, Lord, know my thoughts, see deeper than the surface, understand more than I choose to show. I am your child, held safe in your arms. Your peace surrounds me like a soft breeze. I hear your voice, I hear you without ears, without words, without full understanding - but I hear you.
And I love you.
I love you for being more than a father, I love you for being unpredictable, I love you for being more than good.
Oh God of joy, God of my heart. God who holds eternity in His heart - you are beautiful and Holy and glorious. My hope for the future, my trust in every moment, my peace in the turmoil. Your promises rise to greet me with the morning light, they captivate me with your color and grace.
Father, write your character on my heart, put your words in my mouth, honor me with your anointing oil, and never stop humbling me with your majesty.
With your unfailing love
you lead the people you have redeemed.
In your might, you guide them to your sacred home.
Exodus 15:13
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Posted in Moments of Clarity by Sarah Patterson on 5/13/2011
As you know, this month the squad is in India. My team is partnered with team Pleres, working with a ministry called Indian Christian Ministries (ICM). Part of ICM, called Sarah's Covenant Home (SCH), is a home for children with physical and mental disabilities and we are blessed enough to get to volunteer there this month.
I remember our first day at SCH. We got there in the afternoon with the sun blazing down on us, and a courtyard full of children walk and run up to us wanting hugs or handshakes or high fives or just to hang off you like you are a human jungle gym. There are over 80 children who live there, and while I've had a little experience with children with disabilities and special needs it is not something I am accustomed to. The adjective I would use to describe our first day at the childrens home - overwhelming. But as the days go by and we start to learn names, faces, and actually get to know the kids, the place starts feeling less overwhelming and more natural.
Our role at SCH is a myriad of things from scrubbing the squatty potties to loving on and praying for the kids. With temperatures usually around 42 - 45 degrees (that's about 107 - 113 for those of you working in Fahrenheit) the kids get hot! Because a fair amount of them are immobile and the majority of the kids there need someone to help them get water, the kids get quite dehydrated and lose their appetites which only makes things like weakness and responsiveness worse. So we go around with red squirt bottles and squirt water into the kids mouths...it kind of feels like a water fight on days when the water is actually cold because the kids giggle and smile and jostle to get water. Underneath everything our eyes see, despite the barriers that stand in the way of their expression, and beyond the framework that we have of understanding their "disabilities", they are still children. Children who want to dance, sing, run, jump, play games, and laugh with you. Children who want to be hugged, kissed, tickled, and thrown in the air. Children who, like every other child, just want to be loved. Children who are valuable, who deserve wholeness, who deserve to know what it feels like to run and play, or sing for joy, or tell you stories, but somehow and somewhere along the way they were robbed of those things. That thievery breaks my heart and makes me feel helpless, like I'm just another body in the room that these kids don't know and won't ever remember.
Having a physical or mental disability in India basically means that you, as a person, are cursed. You grow up being an outcast and often times being left to fend for yourself, or even left for dead.
I sat on a bed with a little girl who has primordial dwarfism on my lap, while I watch Leslie and Chelsea plead the Lord for healing and thank Him for the healing He is going to do. It reminded me that I am so much more than just a person in a room, that I am not helpless, and that my role is more than toilet cleaner/water giver/human jungle gym. The things I do are made holy by His holiness. And the prayers we pray are powerful and effective. This is our life, this is what real life should look like - where healings are an every day event, where prophecy comes out as naturally as laughter, where we sit before the throne of God and ask expectantly for His hand to move.
Real life is expecting the little girl who can't walk and the little boy who can't speak and the little girl who can't sit up to stop having "can't"s describe them. Real life is expecting her to walk, waiting for him to speak, and anticipating the moment when she sits up. Real life is when the moments we see miracles happen fill us with awe because we saw God do it again and again. Real life is taking children who are outcasts, cursed, and worth less than dirt and calling them precious, beloved, and royal!
Their culture sees them as cursed, but we see them and love them as so much more.
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