Sister Sarah Update 2022

July 2022

Almost 17 years have gone by since the first time that I was face down on my bathroom rug, weeping for all that had been lost. I remember how much that moment scared me, mostly because I had never heard myself sound like that before. My mom was on the other side of the bathroom door, crying on the floor in the hallway, waiting for both of us to recover from that moment.There is no vocabulary word in the English language that can adequately describe what we were experiencing that day. It was as if our souls had been mortally wounded. For at least a dozen years after, my lament had always been “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?” How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and have such sorrow in my heart?”

When something has been stolen from you–if you were robbed of something–it can be all consuming. And friends, let me tell you, that was all consuming. There used to be years when I would cry to God and say, “This grief. This suffering. Do you have any idea what this is like!?” But deep down I always knew that if God could talk, he would whisper back to me, with big rolling tears in his eyes, “As a matter of fact I do.” 

Though those painful years of soul-searching have shaped a lot of my story, they don’t represent the full story, nor even most of the story.  Especially not anymore. The real story is how the goodness and faithfulness of God has been running after me for 17 years. “I explain now, when someone asks me why I cry so often, I say, “For the same reason I laugh so often—Because I am paying attention.’” 

When I chose to act poorly during painful times in my life.
When I suffered so ungracefully.
When I chose chaos and destruction because it felt more familiar than joy and hope.
When He spared the punishments I deserved.
“In each season he foresaw my every fall, my every sin, my every backsliding, yet nevertheless, fixed his heart upon me.”

When He kept his promises to me.
When He made a way for me when there was no way out.
When He gave me my boys.
When He allowed me to recognize my own talents.
When He showered blessing upon blessing on my life.
“When my strength has failed, the story I will tell is how His love refused to leave me on my own when I couldn’t save myself.”

When my mom wanted this tournament to last 5 years.
And then 10.
And then 16.
When hundreds of people made a commitment to us for more than a decade.
Showing up with tents. Showing up with food.
Showing up from hundreds of miles away.
Across oceans.
"Great is Your faithfulness to me."

And now with Year 17, we turn a new leaf with our first ever board, our loyal helpers that either loved us, loved Em, or both. It feels so good because now, it isn’t only about us. It isn’t only about our family. Though it was powerful to be loved that way for all those years and I needed that love for 16 years, it’s time to let that love take off and grow in more directions. New courts, new camping spots, new charity initiatives, and what appears to be a new pickleball tournament? When I saw that surprise last night, I burst into huge happy tears. To see Emily’s name on something new (that we didn’t create as a family) was humbling and profoundly moving. It proved that people were never doing all this for us.They were doing it for a beautiful girl with big-haired ringlets that deserves to be remembered by everyone, not just by us. 

Surely, his goodness and mercy follows us all the days of our lives. Whether we want to recognize it or not, it does. My favorite quote of Year 17 is this: “God does not give us things because we manifested them. God blesses us with them because it is his will for our lives. Our manifestation is not more powerful than God’s ability to build up or tear down.”  

Goodness chases after all of us. It is evident in the sunsets that reveal the wonder of the rational laws of the universe. And in mercy that covers us. And in family trips, and belly laughs, and hammocks, and pickle pizza. In the beach, good books, the breeze. In the Alderinks, the Jonkmans, the Yonkers, the Schusters, the Vandermuelens, the Pykes, the Rosemans. In the Spetoskys, the Steenhuysens, the Rowlands, the Bumps, the Buches. In The Pickards, the Bakers, the Jones, the Jacksons, the new executive board. In each and every person that attends every year.

And so, because of all of that goodness and in spite of everything else, I still have joy. Immense joy. Soul-screaming joy. “I explain now, when someone asks me why I cry so often, I say, “For the same reason I laugh so often—Because I am paying attention.’”