learning – Lessons in Veritas

“The God of Miracles”: Reflections on My Time in Costa Rica

This May, I was able to spend 10 days in Costa Rica with a nursing student team from my college to partner with CFCI and run health clinics around the communities of San Jose. Check out my reflections below:

Our God is the God of life-renewing miracles. Recently, I have struggled with this idea, and over the past few months I have stood in the face of some of the toughest questions about my faith. In Costa Rica, these doubts were shattered as I was reminded of the power of our ever faithful God.

I saw Him in our answered prayers. During our orientation night, one of the CFCI leaders (Christ for the City International, the ministry we partnered with) told

us about the miracles of God he had witnessed, and asked us to pray for them as a team. “How interesting,” I thought. “To speak the first night about miracles – something is different about this place.”

And so, I prayed. And the next day I talked to a man who was helping at our first clinic. He told me about his testimony – that his family had fallen apart because of his past decisions. He lived as a criminal, addicted to drugs, and had almost died on more than one occasion. He always knew about God. But when he decided to enter into the presence of Jesus, his life was completely changed. I prayed for him, and he prayed for me, and he humbly declared that it was purely God’s “milagros” that have saved him. He translated this phrase for me on my phone.

God’s miracle — a changed life.

I saw God in the hearts of the people that we served. Some live in inexplicable circumstances. Yet, they had hope. Some cried as we offered them the simple care of a listening ear and prayer, and many left our clinics with radiating joy.

God is moving in the communities we visited.

I saw God in my own team members, leaders, and host family. Each day, we worked together, and we served together cohesively. I saw the joy in their hearts. I saw their passion for each person they intentionally took the time to love on. And I was ignited by their burning hearts for Christ.

Perhaps most profoundly, I saw God in His restoration and peace. I witnessed how He is completely restoring lives and communities in Costa Rica. But I also witnessed His restoration in me. While filled with many incredible experiences, my previous trip out of the country was wrought with internal disaster. For the past year, I have struggled to reconcile what happened on that trip. I’ve had to learn how to accept the fact that God loves me, and I’ve had to learn how to love myself.

On this trip, every single day was filled with supernatural peace. I felt God life this burden of shame off me. He renews. He restores. He is always faithful. We won’t experience His glory fully until this broken world is made new. But for now, I rest in His life-changing power.

And so, here I am. There is a lot I don’t know about what my future holds. But one thing I am sure of is that it is hard being content living in one place while my heart lives in the lives of people and countries far beyond my own’s border. What can I say except that I feel unbelievably grateful?

I am grateful to have gotten the opportunity to know the hearts of so many different people from all over the world. I love them. And I know I will return to them some day. For this, I cannot wait. But there are so many I love in the home in which I grew up. There are many to love here whom I have yet to meet. God is moving here. And we need Him.

God, let us love well, wherever we are at.

“Yo soy la luz del mundo. El que me sigue no andará en tinieblas, sino que tendrá la luz de la vida.” – Juan 8:12

“Across the River”

A short story about the nature of God and darkness in every culture, and reconciling living in our own after experiencing culture overseas

In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, And the darkness did not overcome it. ~John 1:4-5

In my village, there is a river. I often find myself sitting on its banks. On these banks, I reflect on the nature of life. By it, I like to sit and observe the people across its currents.

One particular day, I sat in the reeds of the tall grass surrounding the familiar flow of water and watched the lights illuminate the residences of the people on the other shore. I have travelled there a few times, and each time, I have attempted to bring some of that light back into my familiar world, only to watch it dwindle, seemingly due to the insufficiency of my apparent self-given nourishment. It never seems to be enough.

I sighed. I thought of the darkness on my side of the river and I wept. “What makes them so different that they have obtained this light that we don’t have,” I pondered. A thousand times I have come to this bank, only to reach the same disheartening conclusion. I live in a world of darkness – darkness that does not seem to go away, no matter what I do. And darkness that only seems to grow blacker every time I have left it to return.

With my heart heavy, I wiped away the tears from my eyes and I noticed my father sitting several feet away, also apparently reflecting on the nature of our existence. Despite the hours I had spent observing the nature of the illuminated village, I had only just become aware of his presence.

“Father, what do you think of this situation?” I asked, in despair. “How do you stand to live in this darkness when there is so much light on the other side of the bank?”

“Child,” he responded. “There is light on both sides of the river.”

“But…”

“And,” he said with noted anguish, “there is darkness. For as much light there is on either side, there is an equal battle between the dark realms. While you have grown adept in responding to the darkness of your own world, there is much to learn about the nature of what you see. Do not forget that I am here.”

As I returned to the river over the following months, I began to ask my father to explain more of what he meant. He pointed me to the book he had written for our family before I was born, which tells of the nature of life, and, as he imparted wisdom and understanding, left me to reflect on his words and decide what my conclusion may be.

Through my reflecting, I began to see my village and the people across the river differently. I realized the dichotomy between dark and light no longer existed on either side of its banks. Rather, I saw a gray mixture of groups and individuals with illuminated candles standing tall in the surrounding darkness in both my village and the other. While, I also noted, the qualities of the darkness are different on either side, each desperately depends on the light in a similar way.

I realized that my familiarity with my world and my decision to focus solely on the other side of the river had caused me to see past the light bearers amidst me and become entangled in the darkness between them. In my darkness and my ignorance, I strived to see the lights on the other side of the bank and claim them, thinking that they offered the solution to our darkness when they were necessary to illuminate the darkness in their own place.

With this new knowledge, I persisted in asking my father questions, to which he continually redirected me to his book. I wanted nothing more and nothing less than to figure out what my place in the world of darkness and light might be. I wanted to know the source of these lights, and I wanted to know where I should go with my own light, which I only just realized has been radiating from me.

Finally, I realized what I had always known but had forgotten for so long – my father has given each person their light. And, while each light shines differently depending on the type of darkness it must overcome, the light still exists in each village to illuminate a path to him, the source of pure light and the overcomer of all darkness.

In my village, there is a river. There is light and darkness on both of its banks. I have realized that my role as a daughter of the light-giver is to persist in being illuminated by him and illuminating others with his never-ending source, no matter where I am. I just want to share my father’s light with him and our family, no matter where that may be.

I no longer feel discontent on my side of its currents.

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In every corner of the world, there exists a certain quality of darkness. Whether that be poverty of mind, poverty of spirit, poverty of security, poverty of resources, or just a general lack of contentment, I pray God uses me and the people I serve with to be light bearers wherever we go – both in this stage of life and forever going forward.

“Where There is New Wine”: Thoughts about Finally Starting my Junior Year of Nursing School

When I was in Brazil, and trying to overcome my struggle of anxiety, I discovered and listened to the lyrics of Hillsong’s worship song, “New Wine.” I repeatedly recited the line “Where there is new wine, there is new power” in my anxious mind as I prayed that God would somehow bring new power and freedom into my broken mindset.

It was these three weeks of listening to and praying the lyrics of this song countless times that I believe God began to shape my heart and teach me how to trust Him much more than I previously was.

The Beautiful Location in Brazil Where I Originally Listened to the Lyrics from New Wine Many Times

Now, despite being such an impactful song during the trip, I actually avoided it for the majority of the following months. Although I’m not quite sure of my reasoning for this new and unexpected aversion, I suppose it had something to do with the fact that the song, while simultaneously encouraging, also reminded me of the emotional pain I felt when I began to listen to it.

However, at some point over the last couple of weeks, I tried to listen to the song again with a fresh perspective. And then, for the first time, this past Sunday, we sang it in church. As I pondered its words for the 100^th time, I was reminded of the hours I spent on a bench in a different hemisphere listening to its lyrics. In addition, I also thought about how it might apply to the new challenges I am about face. For those who don’t know, at my school, everyone considers the first semester of Junior year in nursing school to be the most difficult and notorious semester of nursing undergraduate studies.

Today, as I prepare to embark on what may be a difficult journey beginning in exactly one week, I decided to do a little research on the parable of the wineskins in Luke 5:36-39, and thought about verses such as 2 Corinthians 5:17, which remind us of the new creation that we are in Christ. I came to the conclusion that through the lessons God has taught me this summer (see previous post), I have learned that my perspective on life has changed and must continue to change if I am to make it through this upcoming semester in a healthier way than I went about it in the past.

If we want to see transformational growth for the good in our life, we must let God make us into new vessels, for our old ways cannot sustain the Kingdom mindset.
I must continue to let God take my habits of seeking human perfection in academics and people pleasing, as well as my anxiety and desire to be ultimately in control and surrender to the new wine that He wants to bring out of me.

And so, for all of my friends about to start a difficult semester in school or a challenging season in life, my thoughts are as follows: with God, we have the ability to truly enter in with nothing except all that God has given us.

Let us press into becoming more like Him, using what He has given us to better the world around us. Let our minds be transformed so that we may leave our destructive ways behind us, and truly experience the peace that only Jesus can give.

His transformational Spirit is a free gift, so let us take hold of it.

How incredible it is to wake up each morning and not know how God will choose to shape our ever growing hearts when we let Him.

Life is a process. Trust in Him, and trust the journey. Jesus, bring new wine out of us.

Simple Joys

As made quite obvious from the content of my recent posts, this Summer has been filled with an interesting conglomeration of various life lessons. Many have been weighty, as this Summer has not been the definition of sunshine and happiness.

However, today I believe I was able to see past the perplexity that is living for a moment of time and be comforted by the appreciation of the small joys around me.

Today, among other things, I decided to play with my dog. Surprisingly, this is not something that I often consider doing. Why, I’m not quite sure. Regardless, as I stood in the warmth of my sunny backyard and tossed the deformed yet hilarious football for my lively yet old dog, I couldn’t help but smile and be consumed with happiness.

And in that moment, as I took a step back from the complex intertwining of life’s dynamics, I thought back to the many happy moments that have scattered my days over the past couple months.

I thought back to the joy that filled me when a customer was gracious and patient with me at Wegmans.

I thought back to the many texts I received from family and friends displaying their care for me.

I thought back to the moments of laughter and revelation and conversations in my small group.

I thought back to the ab-hurting moments of laughter as I goofed around with my friend in the car (we were safe, I promise!)

I thought of the car rides with family that made me thankful.

Most importantly, I thought of the moments where I was keenly aware of God’s presence and peace –moments spent worshipping, reading, or just observing creation.

I have realized that there are many things we can choose to focus on. We can focus on the negative circumstances and situations that plague ourselves and the world. Or perhaps we could also focus on life’s greatest moments that come a few times a year, such as a new birth, or a large celebration.

Or, we can focus on the simple joys – the smiles, the feelings, the laughter, the moments, the time spent with our Creator. Because, if we take the time to look for them, they are always there. And it’s pretty amazing how joy-filled life can be when we take the time to be grateful.

It’s a daily choice, but I know my perspective is shifting. Life can be and is beautiful. Let’s take the time to find the simple joys in every moment.

It can be a hard perspective to adapt, but perhaps it truly is quite simple.

A Summer of Healing: My Ongoing Lesson on Contentment

What does it mean to be content? Surely I could list the dictionary definition or even the Biblical definition of the concept. However, I don’t believe that contentment is a state that can be defined without truly experiencing it.

As I have been learning recently, it’s hard for me to be content. You see, this Summer is a particularly interesting one for me. This Summer is a bit of a recovery for me — recovery from the grips of anxiety that I spent too long ignoring and the ensuing depression that is wholly confusing.

I have also been discovering that my mind is a weaver, endlessly weaving correlations and observations together on the time clock of what I believe to be the span of a purposeful life.

I am used to going, and pushing. I push myself in academics, and the way I try to treat other people, and the way I desire to serve God. I have grown accustomed to the pushing, and the weaving of my mind is a constant reminder that my brain will not be easily content to stop.

This Summer, I am learning that, although the loom inside my head is a gift, I have to learn when to stop. And to be content with not doing –not pushing.

You see, I have been asking myself questions. So many questions.

How am I supposed to be by myself thinking if I am stuck? I often feel trapped within my mind, and I become angry at myself for the weaving that I can’t seem to explain to others.

How am I supposed to truly follow God?

How am I supposed to truly show love to others?

How am I supposed to show love to myself?

How do I forgive myself for the times I haven’t been patient enough with myself to listen to others’ advice?

It’s hard for me to stop and take time. God knows I can reflect. But it’s the time spent by myself thinking that seems to have the power of quickly turning from an inspiration to a thunderstorm. However, I am also slowly learning that contentment is realizing that God truly understands. He is patient when I am not patient. He loves when I feel I cannot. He is in control when I cannot be.

And thank God for, well, God. Because He knows I couldn’t live without Him. Sometimes the lessons we have to learn are painful.

But it’s ok. It’s going to be ok. So, for anyone else going through a Summer of healing, this one’s for you. It’s a process.

Perhaps I have realized that we cannot overcome future challenges if we are not patient enough to overcome this one.

Let’s be Real — The Deception of Distraction

One thing that I’ve realized about myself lately, and especially over the course of the past year, is that I can be quite an introspective person. I spend a lot of time thinking. I think about myself, and other people, and I think about the world around me. I often think, not just about one of the aforementioned topics individually, but about how the many components of the dynamics around me intertwine to become the world that we live in.

Recently, I’ve had a little extra time to do such thinking. And in this time, I have been reminded of something desperately disheartening. It is something that we, in America, should be rightfully afraid and aware of.

That is, the deception of distraction.

Artfully deceiving, our Enemy, the devil, works in many ways. In some countries, there is terrorism. In some, there is widespread poverty. In others, there are ravaging natural disasters, and epidemiological diseases, and complete, disgusting social injustice. Perhaps America is lucky to have escaped the brunt of such tragedies. We certainly are fortunate to live in the Land of the Free, a country that many people have died to try to and to live in.

And yet, we have on hand our own catastrophe. It is, perhaps, the catastrophe of a false reality. So, let’s think about a few things that have been on my mind, in an attempt to demonstrate my point.

How much time do we spend concerned about how many followers we have?

How much of our life is spent trying to please other people and make ourselves appear perfect?

How much of our life is spent trying to climb an illusory power ladder so that we can feel significant?

How much time do we spend focused on promising-yet-unproductive diets, and strict exercise regimens, and make-up brands to make ourselves look like so many people that claim to inspire us to become “better” versions of ourselves?

The list can go on. And I am not saying that some of these things, in moderation, are wholly bad or evil. But I am saying that, in the midst of all of this, the Enemy has distracted us from the reality of what is actually going on around us. I know, because I see it all around me, and I see it in myself.

The reality is, outside of our made-up worlds inside our phones and screen and celebrities, there are people around us hurting. Each person struggles in different ways that some of us could never imagine. The reality is, in the midst of our lives, there are approximately 123 suicides per day[1]. The reality is, nothing will change unless we decide to change first. The reality is, there is a Hope that we can cling to, whose name is Jesus, and is willing to carry our burdens. And the reality is, although our world can be disgusting, it can also be unimaginably beautiful.

We just can’t let ourselves be deceived anymore. We have to live our lives for what and for Who is actually real. Our family. Our friends. Our Savior. And we can bring hope to those who are hurting. Instead of becoming obsessed with our followers, we can fall in love with the service of others and the beautiful relationship we can have with our Creator.

To wrap up, I will paraphrase a song lyric by Ryan O’Neal: The universe will expand with our heartbeats, exhales, and the hope of open hands.

So let’s live. Let’s share love with the hope of our open hands. And, most importantly, let us not be deceived.

“The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I (Jesus) have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” -John 10:10

[1] https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/

Life at the End of the Rope

I receive inspiration for writing this blog at weird times. This one came at 4 AM, lying in bed. But have no fear – it was written at a much more reasonable hour!

You see, there’s been a lot to process since getting back from Brazil. Yesterday I had to come to terms with deciding against participating in one of my biggest plans for the summer because of what I’m working through. And my mind doesn’t like to just accept things for what they are. Oh, no. That would be too easy.

So it came up with this analogy. I think in life we are all given ropes. Thick ropes. These ropes are special, because throughout the course of our lifetime, they can be worn down and strengthened again to become even stronger, if the owner of the rope has the right tools to fix their broken rope.

These ropes, given that they maintain their strength, are quite reliable and flexible. They can go through a lot, and each person’s rope has the capability to withstand different types of trials. However, life with a threadbare rope – I’d just call it a string by that time – is challenging.

And I believe that my rope has been worn to a string recently.

Discovering how worn my rope is has hit me like a rock. (For more of an explanation on how it got to this point, see my previous posts). I would consider myself to be a strong person, so having my rope be in the state it’s in can be especially confusing and aggravating. I need to repair and rebuild by string, but I know it’s going to be a process. And, in the meantime, I’m dangling. Being attached to a rope at such a flimsy state is difficult, because the once stable nature of it has dissolved and has left me hanging from what used to be a strong lifeline to a tether that is easily blown in the wind.

And the wind blows a lot.

I feel the wind move when I am reduced to an anxious state for no good reason.

I feel the wind move when I am reduced to an anxious state for an explainable reason.

I feel the wind move when I lie in bed at 4 AM, trying to process everything that is going on. (Hence this blog. See, 4 AM doesn’t have to be a bad time!)

I feel the wind blow when I realize the manifestations of my anxiety have still not been eradicated.

And I really feel the wind blow when I have to make decisions, which, although I ultimately know are for the good, severely hurt my heart.

But, despite all this, life could be much worse at the end of my string. There’s one more vital part of this analogy that I could never neglect to include. You see, God’s in this little equation of the rope and I, too. Perhaps some people would assume that He is the one holding the top of the rope, and become angry when the wind picks up and their rope has become threadbare, and life becomes a challenge.

However, much like in the poem “Footprints on the Sand,” I see God at the bottom of the rope with me – carrying me. When the rope becomes thin and the wind becomes unbearable, He is there to carry my weight. And He is the one who will ultimately provide me the tools to fix this rope and make it strong again. These tools can be through conversations with other people, medication, or a variety of other means.

In the end, although I’m scared to be as strong as I need to be to repair my rope, I’m beyond thankful for the weight God is carrying, and the tools he has given me to make the process easier. To close, I would like to share a verse that I have repeatedly returned to in this Season. I’m looking forward to seeing how my rope is doing by the next time I write here.

“You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.” –Psalm 18:28.

P.S. If you feel like your rope might be a little threadbare as well right now, feel free to reach out! People with damaged ropes help each other. It’s one of our tools. 🙂

How do You Learn? On Education and Cross-Cultural Experiences

I have always valued education. Having grown up in a somewhat un-stereotypical setting of being homeschooled, I have always appreciated unfamiliar educational practices. My time in other countries has shown me that education need not take place solely in a classroom. I have found that I learn best when experiencing my surroundings.

I learn when I sit in a bus seat and reflectively and steadfastly watch the unfamiliar landscape pass by.

I learn when I sit in a car with a person who only speaks an unfamiliar language and I am forced to speak that tongue, no matter how difficult.

I learn when I fall asleep on the ground of a hut in a poverty stricken village.

I learn when I step inside a bomb shelter on an elementary school playground, overlaid with cute paintings to overshadow the bleakness of the actual situation.

I learn when my tongue comes into contact with 20 different types of Brazilian fruit, and my nose smells the incense over the altar where Jesus was crucified, and when my ears hear a hundred Mexican children laughing amidst the dirt and filth of their situation.

Finally, I have learned that my heart does not belong to any one place. It belongs to a thousand different places. Some of these places I have deposited its piece, and countless others are still waiting for their piece to arrive. I am waiting to learn – not necessarily from professors or courses, but from people and stories. So what have my travels taught me about education? It has opened my eyes to a lifelong of learning from people who are not my own. And I cannot wait.