My Habakkuk 3 Prayer
Photo by: Aaron Burden
This past week in Bible study, we were studying the
book of Habakkuk. One of the prompts during our study was to write a statement
of faithfulness and trust in God in the style of Habakkuk 3. Because Habakkuk
lived in a society that depended on agriculture, the things that he lists that
could happen were likely some of the worst things he could think of that could
possibly happen. So, in thinking of what are some of the worst things that
could happen to me, and how I could tell God that I’d still trust Him through
that, my thoughts turned to humor when I realized that a lot of the worst
things I ever could have imagined happening to me before becoming a missionary
have already happened, and some that I never could have imagined happening to
me have happened as well! So, for this week’s blog, I decided to break out Habakkuk
3 and put it into my own words and time frame. Some of what I wrote is sincere
and searching. Some is more tongue-in-cheek. If you’re a missionary, you’ll
likely nod in agreement and smile with your own versions of my laments. If you’re
not a missionary, you can get a small glimpse into the insanity that can be
cross-cultural living. When I decided to be a missionary, I also knowingly
decided that I didn’t want an ordinary life. I signed up for this roller coaster
out of my comfort zone. And, story teller that I am, I have to say that while
the experiences in the moment were rough, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
These are my stories of God’s faithfulness, and writing them out in hindsight
only proves to remind me that God is so worthy of my trust. We have weathered
storms I never expected. If I had known the kinds of things I’d have to go
through in the last eight years when I first became a missionary, I probably
naively would’ve stuck it out anyway, if I’m honest. I’m stubborn like that.
But even in the reality of living through all of these things, I’m glad that I
never packed up and headed back to my comfort zone.
Photo by: Derick McKinney
A prayer of Sarah, the missionary, set to the sounds of honking horns, barking dogs, and a neighbor’s stereo on full blast.
Lord, I stand in awe that we’ve made it this far together. Revive Your compassion in my heart because I struggle with jadedness. When my frustrations, disappointments, and pride get the best of me, remember mercy!
God comes marching from His throne, the Holy One from Heaven, into my mess.
His splendor covers my tearful questions, and my life is full of His faithfulness.
His brilliance is like a Honduran day during Semana Santa; rays of protection, provision, and revelation are flashing from His hand. This is where my hope is hidden.
Peace goes before Him, and we needy children follow in His steps.
He stands and shakes my circumstances; He looks with love on the nations.
These age-old cultural norms break apart my sense of security; the ancient strongholds sink down into the hearts of the generations. But His pathways are perfect and greater.
I see the mothers of lost sons in distress; the children of the streets tremble with cold.
Are You present on the street corners, Lord? Is Your power enough against the violence?
Or is Your strength against the corruption when You walk with us missionaries, Your mostly willing instruments?
You took me from my country; I thought I was ready to be used for Your glory.
You split my ministry ambitions with the realities of life. The obstacles should see You and shudder; but a downpour of grace sweeps over my failures.
The needs roar with many voices, so I look to You on high. Time either stands still or flashes ahead with Your arrows of direction, at the brightness of Your divine will.
The people march across the highways with indignation; but You trample down the Evil One in Your authority.
You come out to save Your people, to save the most forgotten, unloved, and untouched.
You are the leader of our steps and strip us, year by year, of our selfishness.
You pierce our hearts with love; though the storms of cross-cultural living try to scatter us, You teach us to be ready to be weak and dependent on You.
You listen to our prayers with Your heart, stirring up the great waters of revival.
I heard Your voice, and I trembled with fear of the unknown; my lips quivered at each goodbye.
Doubts entered my mind; I questioned where I stood.
Now I must quietly wait for Your presence to come and do what I can never do.
Though my residency is delayed and my budget goes unmet,
Though I hit a gate in my first week of driving,
Though a drunk man smacks me and threatens to kill me,
Though I only receive $25 to live on for a month and my Christmas is spent alone,
Though I cannot find my ministry niche and don’t fully understand the language,
Though everyone is asking me when I’ll get married and offering me their relatives in marriage,
Though a thief is nearing me while I’m in my car that doesn’t lock from the inside,
Though I cannot walk anywhere without a man cat-calling me and must accept gringa as my new name,
Though I am robbed at a stoplight and have my identity stolen (and bank account drained),
Though I am in a small motorcycle accident,
Though a male doctor behaves inappropriately, and I’m too sick to defend myself,
Though I struggle to drive stick-shift in a city full of hills,
Though I naively loan out money and am never paid back,
Though I sleep on a hospital floor and don’t know where I’ll take my discharged patient tomorrow,
Though I tire of the damage of shoe glue (as a drug) on the people I love,
Though the lines at the bank are tediously long,
Though I weep over a young man going back to the streets,
Though I try tripe soup, cow tongue, and cow udder,
Though my two-door sedan is carrying eight people, a trunkful of gifts, and pots of hot tamales,
Though it takes a whole day and a half to renew my driver’s license,
Though my own adopted kids steal from me and my phone comes up missing,
Though a taxi driver hits my car from behind, and I end up paying him instead,
Though the electricity goes out, and my crockpot dinner is raw,
Though I live closer to the equator but remain pasty white,
Though I miss the changing of the leaves in autumn,
Though plane ticket prices are insane, and I re-pack and weigh my luggage a million times,
Though the dust has given me bronchitis (again), and I have no one to take care of me,
Though I haven’t bathed in days because the water truck is late,
Though my car overheats again, and my tire explodes while driving,
Though I mourn the loss of friendships and struggle with loneliness,
Though the internet is so slow I can’t send my monthly newsletter,
Though my car won’t start and I’m alone in the middle of nowhere,
Though I miss Thanksgiving at my Nannie’s house,
Though I have been to the morgue too many times and have sat in too many funerals for people too young,
Though bacteria takes over my intestines, and I can’t help almost passing out often,
Though someone lurks outside my door every night for a month,
Though I tire of Honduran food sometimes,
Though the traffic is abysmal, and I have no air conditioning,
Though I miss libraries and walking barefoot in green grass,
Though I am quite busy, but no one is on time,
Though I get egged on my birthday—welcome to Honduras,
Though I am lied to and feel so defensive,
Though I crave my Dad’s hugs and my brother’s jokes,
Though I deal with extortion attempts, and my “self-employment” taxes give me a heart attack,
Though I miss family vacations and my friends’ weddings,
Though I have no privacy, and my neighbors have loud parties,
Though the police stop me just for a bribe, and my car battery is stolen,
Though it rains when I have clothes drying on the clothesline,
Though I don’t fit in, and know I never fully will,
Though I wash my clothes by hand and make all meals from scratch,
Though I long to help people who refuse to help themselves,
Though I’m stung by scorpions and kill two tarantulas,
Though I almost drive off an unmarked, unfinished bridge to my death,
Though my ministry endeavors never go as planned,
Though planning my cross-cultural wedding in Honduras is a nightmare, and I’d never do it again,
Though I wish my mom and sister could help pick out my wedding dress,
Though I’m hospitalized and have no insurance,
Though the doctors think I have lupus because it’s actually not dengue, (turns out—just mono)
Though another mechanic has cheated me, and my dog has ticks (again),
Though I can’t seem to navigate international tax law, and it takes over a year for my husband to get a US visa,
Though my in-laws and I don’t always click because of cultural differences,
Though “Silent Night” does not exist in the midst of Christmas firecrackers,
Though life here seems extra unfair sometimes,
Though the clothesline breaks after I've just spent two hours washing clothes,
Though there is no Rocky Road ice cream, and almost all steaks are well-done,
Though the ants invade my kitchen, and the roosters crow at 2 a.m.,
Though I just want my Grandmom to make me some soup to eat while we play Scrabble,
Though the registry office spelled my name wrong again on my marriage certificate,
Though the electricity is on the fritz, and the faucet breaks again,
Though my Granddad battles cancer, and I can’t be there,
Though the streets are full of protestors, and I’m driving past burning tires,
Though there is no money for Christmas presents, and there is no snow,
Though I miss my family and long for a sense of home,
Though my husband still doesn’t speak English,
Though my roof leaks in the rainy season, and I bathe from a bucket every day,
Though visitors show up unannounced, but no one shows up for Bible study,
Though I’m just being faithful because I don’t know where all of this leads yet,
I will triumph in Jesus; I will rejoice in the adventures we have had together and in His faithfulness that has brought me through each trial!
God, my Papa, is my strength; He makes my life worthwhile and enables me to take on the challenges of missionary life!
Photo by: Ian Schneider
Photo by: Derick McKinney
A prayer of Sarah, the missionary, set to the sounds of honking horns, barking dogs, and a neighbor’s stereo on full blast.
Lord, I stand in awe that we’ve made it this far together. Revive Your compassion in my heart because I struggle with jadedness. When my frustrations, disappointments, and pride get the best of me, remember mercy!
God comes marching from His throne, the Holy One from Heaven, into my mess.
His splendor covers my tearful questions, and my life is full of His faithfulness.
His brilliance is like a Honduran day during Semana Santa; rays of protection, provision, and revelation are flashing from His hand. This is where my hope is hidden.
Peace goes before Him, and we needy children follow in His steps.
He stands and shakes my circumstances; He looks with love on the nations.
These age-old cultural norms break apart my sense of security; the ancient strongholds sink down into the hearts of the generations. But His pathways are perfect and greater.
I see the mothers of lost sons in distress; the children of the streets tremble with cold.
Are You present on the street corners, Lord? Is Your power enough against the violence?
Or is Your strength against the corruption when You walk with us missionaries, Your mostly willing instruments?
You took me from my country; I thought I was ready to be used for Your glory.
You split my ministry ambitions with the realities of life. The obstacles should see You and shudder; but a downpour of grace sweeps over my failures.
The needs roar with many voices, so I look to You on high. Time either stands still or flashes ahead with Your arrows of direction, at the brightness of Your divine will.
The people march across the highways with indignation; but You trample down the Evil One in Your authority.
You come out to save Your people, to save the most forgotten, unloved, and untouched.
You are the leader of our steps and strip us, year by year, of our selfishness.
You pierce our hearts with love; though the storms of cross-cultural living try to scatter us, You teach us to be ready to be weak and dependent on You.
You listen to our prayers with Your heart, stirring up the great waters of revival.
I heard Your voice, and I trembled with fear of the unknown; my lips quivered at each goodbye.
Doubts entered my mind; I questioned where I stood.
Now I must quietly wait for Your presence to come and do what I can never do.
Though my residency is delayed and my budget goes unmet,
Though I hit a gate in my first week of driving,
Though a drunk man smacks me and threatens to kill me,
Though I only receive $25 to live on for a month and my Christmas is spent alone,
Though I cannot find my ministry niche and don’t fully understand the language,
Though everyone is asking me when I’ll get married and offering me their relatives in marriage,
Though a thief is nearing me while I’m in my car that doesn’t lock from the inside,
Though I cannot walk anywhere without a man cat-calling me and must accept gringa as my new name,
Though I am robbed at a stoplight and have my identity stolen (and bank account drained),
Though I am in a small motorcycle accident,
Though a male doctor behaves inappropriately, and I’m too sick to defend myself,
Though I struggle to drive stick-shift in a city full of hills,
Though I naively loan out money and am never paid back,
Though I sleep on a hospital floor and don’t know where I’ll take my discharged patient tomorrow,
Though I tire of the damage of shoe glue (as a drug) on the people I love,
Though the lines at the bank are tediously long,
Though I weep over a young man going back to the streets,
Though I try tripe soup, cow tongue, and cow udder,
Though my two-door sedan is carrying eight people, a trunkful of gifts, and pots of hot tamales,
Though it takes a whole day and a half to renew my driver’s license,
Though my own adopted kids steal from me and my phone comes up missing,
Though a taxi driver hits my car from behind, and I end up paying him instead,
Though the electricity goes out, and my crockpot dinner is raw,
Though I live closer to the equator but remain pasty white,
Though I miss the changing of the leaves in autumn,
Though plane ticket prices are insane, and I re-pack and weigh my luggage a million times,
Though the dust has given me bronchitis (again), and I have no one to take care of me,
Though I haven’t bathed in days because the water truck is late,
Though my car overheats again, and my tire explodes while driving,
Though I mourn the loss of friendships and struggle with loneliness,
Though the internet is so slow I can’t send my monthly newsletter,
Though my car won’t start and I’m alone in the middle of nowhere,
Though I miss Thanksgiving at my Nannie’s house,
Though I have been to the morgue too many times and have sat in too many funerals for people too young,
Though bacteria takes over my intestines, and I can’t help almost passing out often,
Though someone lurks outside my door every night for a month,
Though I tire of Honduran food sometimes,
Though the traffic is abysmal, and I have no air conditioning,
Though I miss libraries and walking barefoot in green grass,
Though I am quite busy, but no one is on time,
Though I get egged on my birthday—welcome to Honduras,
Though I am lied to and feel so defensive,
Though I crave my Dad’s hugs and my brother’s jokes,
Though I deal with extortion attempts, and my “self-employment” taxes give me a heart attack,
Though I miss family vacations and my friends’ weddings,
Though I have no privacy, and my neighbors have loud parties,
Though the police stop me just for a bribe, and my car battery is stolen,
Though it rains when I have clothes drying on the clothesline,
Though I don’t fit in, and know I never fully will,
Though I wash my clothes by hand and make all meals from scratch,
Though I long to help people who refuse to help themselves,
Though I’m stung by scorpions and kill two tarantulas,
Though I almost drive off an unmarked, unfinished bridge to my death,
Though my ministry endeavors never go as planned,
Though planning my cross-cultural wedding in Honduras is a nightmare, and I’d never do it again,
Though I wish my mom and sister could help pick out my wedding dress,
Though I’m hospitalized and have no insurance,
Though the doctors think I have lupus because it’s actually not dengue, (turns out—just mono)
Though another mechanic has cheated me, and my dog has ticks (again),
Though I can’t seem to navigate international tax law, and it takes over a year for my husband to get a US visa,
Though my in-laws and I don’t always click because of cultural differences,
Though “Silent Night” does not exist in the midst of Christmas firecrackers,
Though life here seems extra unfair sometimes,
Though the clothesline breaks after I've just spent two hours washing clothes,
Though there is no Rocky Road ice cream, and almost all steaks are well-done,
Though the ants invade my kitchen, and the roosters crow at 2 a.m.,
Though I just want my Grandmom to make me some soup to eat while we play Scrabble,
Though the registry office spelled my name wrong again on my marriage certificate,
Though the electricity is on the fritz, and the faucet breaks again,
Though my Granddad battles cancer, and I can’t be there,
Though the streets are full of protestors, and I’m driving past burning tires,
Though there is no money for Christmas presents, and there is no snow,
Though I miss my family and long for a sense of home,
Though my husband still doesn’t speak English,
Though my roof leaks in the rainy season, and I bathe from a bucket every day,
Though visitors show up unannounced, but no one shows up for Bible study,
Though I’m just being faithful because I don’t know where all of this leads yet,
I will triumph in Jesus; I will rejoice in the adventures we have had together and in His faithfulness that has brought me through each trial!
God, my Papa, is my strength; He makes my life worthwhile and enables me to take on the challenges of missionary life!
Photo by: Ian Schneider
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