As I write this, it’s the end of February, the month of love. In 1996, I went to Latin American Bible Institute (L.A.B.I) to prepare for ministry. L.A.B.I. was a bible institute that mostly drew students from Spanish-speaking or bilingual churches. As any good church kid, on that first Sunday away from home, I went to service at the church on campus. They had a college and career Sunday School class, and I went in my Sunday best, a black suit. I walked into the class and quickly scanned the room. That’s when I saw her. She had blonde hair in a room of brown-haired Latinos. I thought, “Who’s this?” Her first thought was a little different when she saw me. Sarah’s from Colorado, where most guys are more likely to wear hiking clothing than a suit. So, when she first saw me, she thought, “Who does this guy think he is?” We quickly became friends. She was funny and appreciated my unique sense of humor.
After we graduated from L.A.B.I, Sarah left California and went home to Colorado. That’s when it hit me: I didn’t want to live without her. Almost a year and a half later, in September of 2000, we got married. January, the following year, we started working at the church I’d eventually pastor for the next fifteen years.
One day, after we’d been married for about five years, Sarah and I were at a church event, and a random church lady (someone I didn’t know) approached me. She said, “You're being selfish.” I was confused, “Excuse me?” I kindly asked. She continued, “Your mom may not say anything. But I will. You, deciding not to have kids, is selfish. Your mom wants grandkids.” I was shocked and angry. I knew this in no way was coming from my mom. This can be a problem with some church folk, thinking it’s okay to walk up to someone they don’t know and correct them about something they know nothing about that is also none of their business. I looked at her and said, “My wife and I can’t have kids.” She was so ashamed. I was glad. I just wish I could have squeezed out a tear as well. Years later, we tried adoption through the foster care system. This is a challenging and emotionally draining process. One late Friday evening, they dropped off a two-day-old baby girl at our house. She was beautiful, and I loved her instantly. Sarah took to caring for this baby quickly. She didn’t want to let her go. So much so that it was three days after the baby arrived that I held her for the first time. Soon we began a complicated process of scheduled supervised visits with the baby’s mom and dad and unsupervised visits overnight with the baby’s aunt. Nine months later, we gave this amazing baby back to her mom. It was heartbreaking. Several weeks later, we visited with Mom and Baby over lunch. The strangest thing happened. The baby turned away from us. She didn’t want to look at us. I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and cried. My father left when I was a boy, and I never wanted to hurt a child that deeply. That was the last time we saw her. She’s ten now. We stopped any further adoption attempts after that. It was too painful.
I would hear this line from well-meaning pastor friends after they met my wife, “Israel, you married up!” After hearing this about ten times, I had to stop and wonder: If I married up, does that mean Sarah married down? Poor girl. Does she know? This thought grew out of control following my stroke. The overnight shift nurse in the first rehab hospital told me I needed to get myself out of bed. She said, “Do you think your wife wants to spend her days caring for you? No! She will leave you.” This was the lowest point of my days in the rehab hospital. I was afraid this amazing woman, whom I didn’t want to live without, would realize she got stuck with a dud and leave. It’s now been several years of Sarah caring for me. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night I ask for help. Sarah jumps to her feet to help me. She constantly gives up sleep to ensure I have the help I need. One of the hardest things I had to get used to was watching Sarah put my wheelchair in and out of the car. I hated that she had to. I wish I could contribute more.
Sarah has bad days too. We’ve learned to extend a whole lot of mercy around here. My stroke and learning to live disabled have been hard on both of us. Sometimes I forget Sarah is human because she just keeps going. This morning I was reminded of Sarah’s humanity. We had a tough talk about the future. I’m terrified of the future. Some days I’m confident as I look forward; it’s all that hope I’ve filled my life with throughout the years. This wasn’t one of those days. I’m afraid of how long this life is sustainable. Sarah and I are limited beings. How long can we keep this up? I’ve been wanting to give up for years. I’ve had to get help for my dark destructive thoughts. Admitting to Sarah she needed to move knives from my reach in a wheelchair was hard but necessary. I was ashamed. I didn’t want her to see me weak.
I have a great memory. I remember many of the sermons I’ve heard. I recall a marriage sermon that made two points:
#1. IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING NICE TO SAY, SAY IT
Before my stroke, Sarah and I were getting increasingly busy. I was starting a new church, and she was a full-time college student. I spent months in the rehab hospital knowing that if I had died on March 3, 2019, I would have left without Sarah knowing how much I cared for her. This thought scares me now. Now I tell Sarah as much as I can how I feel. I never want it left unsaid.
Pssst! Excuse me, friend! Yes, I’m talking to you, the reader. It’s just you and me here. I want to change gears from you just reading to taking a moment and thinking: Is there someone you need to say something to? Has someone been waiting to hear that thought you’ve been reluctant to share? I want to encourage you: Don’t put it off anymore. If you have something nice to say, just say it.
#2. IF YOU THINK OF SOMETHING NICE TO DO, DO IT
Sarah has simple likes. At a restaurant, she’d rather sit outside. Not me. Eating is for indoors only. We’re not camping. We’re civilized people. We’re not animals. All our marriage, Sarah wanted to eat on the restaurant patio. I never wanted to. I remember being awake in the middle of the night at the rehab hospital thinking to myself, Israel eating outside was no big deal; Sarah would have been happy. I hated being in the hospital and would have done anything to be able to sit on a patio with Sarah. Thoughtful acts are nothing until they’re done. Until they’re done, they’re just good ideas that someone needs to bring to life. Please don’t delay. In the words of Nike: “Just do it!”
Several weeks ago, on a Sunday evening, I was struggling. I had just found out that another pastor friend had a stroke and was in the middle of the dark experience I had gone through. I was in an angry place, sitting in my wheelchair. It was checking blood pressure time, but anger was bubbling out of me; Sarah could tell. My blood pressure was too high, I was too angry. Sarah reminded me what we’re all about: “Israel, we trust God. In fact, trusting God is non-negotiable for us. We go forward trusting God.” She was right. All my ministry I’ve learned to stop and listen to Sarah’s council. It's always worked for me. I needed to do it again. Stop, relax, and trust God.
I want to end this by bragging about Sarah: this past December, Sarah graduated from Fresno State with honors in accounting; and she did this all while compassionately caring for me, her disabled husband.
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