Sarah's Story, part one of Stories

I am so excited to welcome you to Stories, a collection of interviews from this past fall with women I know and love. They are beautiful women, each with a unique story of hearing God speak directly into their lives. Put your feet up, lean in closely and hear a story, or two or three, over the next week, of a God who is personal, who challenges and comforts, who leads and loves. 

Here's Sarah's story (and check out the end, for an update):

Sarah, we were in a Bible study two years ago, talking about dreams God’s given us. I remember you saying that you would love to eventually have a house for pregnant teenagers. Tell me more about this dream of yours. 

Yeah, I got pregnant in high school and I had great support from my family. I saw other girls who didn’t have support and I really felt for them. There was this house called Light House for teenage pregnant women that I’d heard about that provided them with a home and prenatal care, also providing them with life skills and that kind of thing. So, I really identified with that.

I really just wanted to, at some point in my life, open a home for girls, providing them with the prenatal care up through getting them into college, or finished with high school, and getting them a job. Over the years, it’s kind of morphed into something larger, like possibly opening a restaurant there to give them business skills.

So, yeah, in my head there’s this giant dream of what my mission work could be-- it’s something I’m passionate about.

So, when you first shared about your dream a couple years ago, how close or far off did it feel?

Very far off. Extremely far off. Because financially, my husband and I just support our household, with two teenagers who still have to go through college-- how am I going to support a household full of girls that don’t have any income whatsoever?? There were other obstacles, too.

So, it was a really far off dream. And I didn’t even know how to take the first steps. I even thought, I know this is so silly, but I thought,

Oh, I’ll write Oprah and tell her what I want to do and she’ll hand me a bunch of money and then I’ll be able to do it! (laughing)

So, this summer you told me that God was really challenging you in certain areas of your life. What’s that about?

Yeah, I guess it was May or June and I was in a leadership Bible study and heard him speak-- what’s his name from Crazy Love?

Francis Chan.

Yeah, Francis Chan. That man turns me inside out every time I hear him speak. I feel overwhelmed every time I hear him speak. And I felt like God kept saying, “you need to be doing mission work, you need to be doing mission work.”

But I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out how to make that work. I have two kids, a husband, a full-time job and I’m supporting the family right now since Josh is in school.

And, to be one hundred percent honest, I wasn’t ready to sell everything I owned and live under a bridge with my family!  So, what do I do? How do I make that work? I couldn’t figure it out. And I was wrestling, and frustrated.

In July, I really felt like God laid it on my heart that I should fast for two days.

So, I was praying about mission work and also felt like God wanted me to pray about selling my car. And I’m like, selling my car?? This was my dream car—my Suburu Outback Turbo, you know, everything I had always wanted in my head.  But, after the 2 days, I felt this total peace about selling my car. I was like, I don’t need it-- we have 2 other functioning cars that are completely paid off, why are we making this other payment on something we don’t need?

If we sold the car, that would mean I could work less one day every 2 weeks, which would mean an extra day for me to do mission work. I could also save the money from the would-be car payment for a mission’s trip overseas, which was something else I wanted to be able to do, but didn’t know how to afford.

The other thing I got out of my fast was that mission work comes in various forms--it didn’t necessarily mean I had to go to overseas. There’s mission work right here where I am. I researched online and found a program called Alpha House, with a program for pregnant teenagers and adults that was almost identical to my written plan at home.

I went to their Lunch and Learn and it was amazing. I was so energized. It was everything I had wanted to see—that’s what they were providing. They have financial classes, how to cut coupons, how to cook, how to change diapers-- they’re not going to let these women fail. I emailed the director and now I volunteer 3 hours a week in their donation shop.

My hope is that, as I show up every week, serving in the background, they’ll see that I’m committed and that they’ll move me into different positions and then I’ll really have some ideas and know-how for when I open my own home.

Now I have this settled in my heart that I’m doing mission work;  I’m going to sell my car;  I’m being obedient to what God’s laid on my heart. I’m much closer to my dream than I ever was before.

How would you encourage friends of yours who are experiencing that tension? They feel like God’s calling them to do more in serving and giving, but they know they can’t sell everything and move to Africa?

So, first identify what you’re good at and what you’re passionate about. Like, if you’re not passionate about feeding homeless people, don’t go feed homeless people—you won’t stick with it, maybe that’s wrong to say, but I don’t think you’ll stick with it. Find out what it is you’re passionate about. Pray about it. Fast about it. Dig in and figure out what you want to do.

And then be obedient about it. You know, there are some days I don’t want to drive all the way down to downtown Tampa and rustle through bags of used clothes, but I know that in the end, I’m helping.  Also, find an encourager, another woman who can listen and help you build on dreams and make them happen, even if it’s little by little.

Something that was hard for me was to let it be God’s plan and not my plan. God’s plan wasn’t for me to uproot my family and move to Haiti, it was that I serve somewhere locally with Alpha House and then go to Haiti with Church at the Bay once a year or so. 

This mission thing was something I felt like I was supposed to be doing, but I didn’t know how to put it into action. Now, I know God’s given me so many answers and I have this new peace in my heart and in my stomach. 

In just a few weeks, on April 28, Sarah and her fifteen year-old son will be going to Haiti to help with the orphanage our church sponsors! SO cool!!!

behind the mic

I've always been a Talker.

My mom has, stashed away on stacks and stacks of VHS tapes, home videos of my talking.

The time I hosted a cooking show. The time I gave a tour of Grandma's garden. The time I directed a neighborhood play based on my all-time favorite movie, Hook. I've led Bible studies, I've sung from stage, I've even managed to find a way to send my thoughts through cyber-space with this blog.

And all the while, I've known that I've needed to listen more.

To be fully present when someone else is telling their story.

To ask questions that lead to more insight into the Other Talker's life.

To find increased appreciation for the opinions, life-experiences and values of the Other, without interjecting my own conclusions or related stories.

Last week was a grand experiment in the April-Needs-To-Listen-More-Project.

On a blue and green plaid couch, outside of Starbucks on creaky wrought iron chairs, in my dining room over pumpkin spice lattes, and later armed only with tap water,

I listened.


I listened to the stories of four different women. 

One with a heart-breaking journey through infertility. One with a brave story of following Jesus as a single woman. One whose happy-family-ever-after was tragically transformed in a weekend, launching her into the unknown territory of single motherhood. One who wrestled with God over dreams deeply rooted in her soul to discover a step or two closer to their fulfillment.

I want to invite you to listen, too. 

I channeled my inner Nina Totenburg (NPR journalist) and recorded, with permission, each conversation.

And I'm now in the process of transcribing them. They're part of an upcoming women's breakfast for the ladies at my church, Church at the Bay, and I'd like to give you the opportunity to be encouraged, inspired and challenged as well. You can email catbladies@churchatthebay.com to request to receive these conversations as email, which will be sent out starting on October 11.

As much as talking helps me process this world, I'm finding that listening is a far greater force for growth.

Would you like to join me?

la mujer en el apron verde

Tienes identificacion, por favor?

Idalys handed me a card, and it wasn’t a license or a passport. I tried to disguise my excitement as I handled her proof of permission to legally reside in the U.S.  I thought it was a euphemism, or some kind of legend that had evolved over the ages. But last Saturday I came to realize that green cards really are green.

Idalys was from Tijuana, Mexico, the card told me. I quickly punched in her numbers into the computer, confirmed that she was indeed registered for her free Thanksgiving meal, and sent her to the lady in the green apron.

Except that I don’t know the word for apron in Spanish.

Idalys was one of thousands of homeless or lower-income families in the Tampa Bay area that would receive food from Metropolitan Ministries this holiday season. And I was one of hundreds of volunteers who would help the well-oiled machine of goodwill to do its thing.

Marcel told me he hadn’t eaten in two days.

Jeanette, with her platinum blonde hair and well-groomed nails, asked me how old I thought she was. I skirted around the question with flattering clichés.

61. Don’t I look good for 61?

I got to hear all about Jeanette’s weight-loss journey, philosophies on diet and exercise, and how to take a good license photo.

Louis, a tall, athletic-looking father, approached my station with his children and wife in tow. He handed me his registration form and his ID. I punched in Louis’ number and asked him whether they wanted chicken or turkey. I punched in Laquanda’s number and tried to make eye contact with her. With eyes diverted, she may have eked out a smile from the left corner of her mouth.  Still not sure about that.  I punched in the numbers of the two boys, asked their grades and we talked about 3^rd grade.

You’ve got FCAT coming up. You reading, right?

Yes, ma’am, Javonne politely replied.

And then that was it. Just four numbers. Louis, Laquanda, Javonne, Demetrius.  But what about the stroller? And the little girl on Laquanda’s hip?

Louis, are those your children also?

Yes, ma’am.

Louis explained to me that he couldn’t find their socials when he was registering his family for the Thanksgiving meal. So, without social security cards, they don’t count. I excused myself for a minute (masking one’s shock became a much-needed skill) to check with the volunteer supervisor. Was this truly the case?

I had a hard time when I returned to my station, wanting to apologize to Louis, but not wanting to paint this generous ministry as Uncle Scrooge. I thought back to my days teaching in the ghetto. My training with Ruby Payne told me how hard it was for those in the culture of poverty to adhere to middle-class codes of paper.

Louis graciously smiled and assured me he understood when I confirmed that we “couldn’t do anything” without his daughters’ socials. And then I sent Louis with his two official and two unofficial children on their way to the lady in the green apron.

Tabitha’s curly bobbed head barely made it over the work space of my station. When I looked up from the computer to greet her, I noticed a few tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. I set down her registration sheet and ID, and walked around the station to be near her. Nothing like comforting someone when there’s a splintery piece of plywood between the two of you.

I just get emotional about these things, Tabitha told me.

Well, do you need to talk to someone? Should I get someone for you?

No, I’m fine, she protested.

Tabitha blubbered something about a lady she just met in line that had battled cancer and was in remission. Something about her new friend’s courage. And to be honest, I was a little puzzled. I couldn’t figure exactly why Tabitha was emotional. I began punching in her numbers, having determined that she was Okay. Right about when I was supposed to usher her towards the green apron, Lady in Remission passed my station. Her frail frame was draped with a floral print dress.  Another flower laden scarf was piled atop her head. She seemed to move in slow motion, but any discomfort was disguised by a flowy-like gracefulness.  She embraced Tabitha as if they were childhood friends and thanked her for her help.

And off went the two. Both in need. And yet not too consumed with self to be unmoved by the other.

I just get emotional about these things.

Goodbye, Mr. Hollis

Saturday afternoon, at a quarter till 2, an old teacher friend and I rendezvoused in a flooded parking lot off of N Howard. We trudged through puddles, resigned ourselves to the now-pending dry cleaning bills, and joined a stream of ebony faces headed toward a funeral parlor. As we found our seats at the back of the chapel, I scanned the faces for the few I hoped to recognize. Our former assistant principal and two secretaries were seated a few rows ahead of us. It was a reunion of sorts, a sober occasion. We had gathered to pay our respects to Mr. Hollis, the head custodian at Lockhart Elementary.

Somewhere between the processional and the gospel rendition of Our King Lives, I wondered why exactly I had come. It wasn’t that I was one of three non-black attendees. I just felt uncomfortable not having known Mr. Hollis personally, while there were so many surrounding me who were painfully mourning his passing. I almost felt disrespectful being in the presence of his mourners without participating in their deep sorrow.

After a few reflections by people who knew him better, I began to realize why I had come.

I thought about what Jesus said to his disciples, the ones who were vying for the highest positions in his coming kingdom. He told them that his kingdom wouldn’t be structured like the kingdoms of men. He told them that if they wanted to be the greatest they had to become the servant of all. That if Jesus, their Master, had come to serve then surely their lives must reflect his pattern.

Jesus’ teaching released me to feel at ease in that chapel. I, a mere teacher whose room was unlocked and whose boxes were carted by Mr. Hollis could share the same space with his grieving widow. Although the only commonality our lives shared was our workplace, my spirit had taken note of this man.

You see, in every mental image I have of Mr. Hollis he is smiling. He’s pushing that huge gray bucket on wheels, with a broom and a mop sticking out, and he’s smiling. There was a humility he had mastered, and it wasn’t due to his life’s circumstances or position. His attitude was like Christ’s—joyful in service and content in all things. Within the world’s system, Mr. Hollis may not have ranked towards the top. But in the coming kingdom, I expect him to be seated close to the King, elbowing the likes of the apostles, martyrs and other unsuspecting servants.

It’s rare to encounter selflessness in this world of me-first. It’s rare to come across a true servant of all. But when you do, it’s only natural to break from life’s routine to stop and reflect on the witness of one of the greats. The world may not recognize him, but my God has.

Until then, Mr. Hollis.