Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Of God, life, love and MCAT scores from Ampfing.
There is one question that has been reverberating in my mind for quite some time. It simply asks,
What is God to you? Well,
God to me is an empty room.
All the walls are blue and the ceiling is white.
There is a wooden floor and I'm sitting right in the middle of it. Hugging my knees and waiting.
Waiting for God to show up. But he never does.
Sometimes a little cloud invades this room. It is faint and temporary, much like Berndnaut Smilde's fantastic display of clouds inside of rooms.
That little cloud is my tiny little glimpse of God's presence in this room.
Sometimes it seems that He is coming, almost as if I can hear his footsteps rounding the corner into this room. And sometimes he feels so far away, I feel as if I've forgotten that he was coming at all. And sometimes all I get is a fleeting cloud.
I think I could walk away from this room and take one of two different paths and finally find some peace of mind. But something keeps me here, in this room. Here, where nothing resolves.
Because as crazy as it is I keep waiting for God to show up. I keep waiting for the time when all will be made right. I used to pray to understand all that I cannot understand. I used to pray for Him to show up, for me to see Him in the ordinary or extraordinary.
Some people might say that my eyes have been closed, but I feel as if they have never been this wide open. I'm looking for him anywhere and everywhere. Don't get me wrong, because I do catch glimpses here and there, but my soul is not satisfied. I want resolution, I crave it. More than anything else in this world I want this.
I think I keep myself in this room, because after all of this I still have faith in Him. Maybe my faith might be conditional, but maybe only because I hope that He is bigger than that. I keep myself in this room, because I know, that someday it will resolve. But I need to be here now, in order for that to happen. I need to be here now to encounter the pain, the struggle, the plurality of this world.
So here I sit in this now not so empty room, maybe it is filling, at least temporarily. But that's the beauty of it all.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Hope. Living and Breathing on it.
This year had an odd start. Before I knew it, it had begun. Two thousand and eleven was far behind me, and as the fireworks shot through the air I knew that I know nothing.
This year also came with a highly anticipated internship at Hospital Vozandes Quito. On January 3rd it began slowly and awkwardly (perhaps mirroring my own self).
I began with Clinical rotation where I rarely got to see patients but rather listened intently to symptoms and possible diagnosis in the daily meetings the clinical doctors had. I was excited for the 8th of January to roll around for I would be in surgical rotation. I got to observe two amazing surgeries. But I couldn't shake the feeling of the importance of the patient. The importance of the person inside.
This had never mattered before,
or maybe it was all that had mattered before.
This week in my ER rotation a patient came in that seemed to bring everything into focus, or was it out of focus? I'm still not sure. This patient had physical wounds that required a lot of money to restore to full capacity. Money which they did not have.
So simple healing, not restoration, seemed like the only option left. And although bravery encompassed this patient fully, there was something beyond the eyes that screamed out sadness.
And my heart ached, for even though we could give the patient physical healing, there was a whole other part that didn't seem to also heal. It seemed as if the patient's spirit was also broken. How my hands ached to reach out and whisper comfort, whisper hope!
The only Hope I have known.
But this hope now seemed like a thin thread I was hanging onto dearly.
A thread that threatened to break every hour, every day.
I still longed to whisper of this God I once thought I knew.
Oh how I ached; how I ache still!
How could I breathe life into dry bones? How could I bring light into dark eyes?
How could I give someone the Hope I have been searching for and have not found fully? How could I share this very last fragment of Hope I have when I don't know what it means still? How could I explain this metaphysical area which I cannot fully grasp?
I couldn't. I can't.
I reluctantly left the patient. For although an inner war waged within my soul about God. He had never seemed so real as he did then.
When the last scrap of hope I owned seemed to leap out of me. When my hope in God was the only thing that room that seemed to really make things okay.
I still don't understand a lot. And all that I know is this hope. But maybe it's enough. Maybe it is what will pull me from this darkness. This hope in God that seems to speak louder than my faith. The God in which I hope. The God that stirs something deep within my soul, beyond what I could recognize.
This year also came with a highly anticipated internship at Hospital Vozandes Quito. On January 3rd it began slowly and awkwardly (perhaps mirroring my own self).
I began with Clinical rotation where I rarely got to see patients but rather listened intently to symptoms and possible diagnosis in the daily meetings the clinical doctors had. I was excited for the 8th of January to roll around for I would be in surgical rotation. I got to observe two amazing surgeries. But I couldn't shake the feeling of the importance of the patient. The importance of the person inside.
This had never mattered before,
or maybe it was all that had mattered before.
This week in my ER rotation a patient came in that seemed to bring everything into focus, or was it out of focus? I'm still not sure. This patient had physical wounds that required a lot of money to restore to full capacity. Money which they did not have.
So simple healing, not restoration, seemed like the only option left. And although bravery encompassed this patient fully, there was something beyond the eyes that screamed out sadness.
And my heart ached, for even though we could give the patient physical healing, there was a whole other part that didn't seem to also heal. It seemed as if the patient's spirit was also broken. How my hands ached to reach out and whisper comfort, whisper hope!
The only Hope I have known.
But this hope now seemed like a thin thread I was hanging onto dearly.
A thread that threatened to break every hour, every day.
I still longed to whisper of this God I once thought I knew.
Oh how I ached; how I ache still!
How could I breathe life into dry bones? How could I bring light into dark eyes?
How could I give someone the Hope I have been searching for and have not found fully? How could I share this very last fragment of Hope I have when I don't know what it means still? How could I explain this metaphysical area which I cannot fully grasp?
I couldn't. I can't.
I reluctantly left the patient. For although an inner war waged within my soul about God. He had never seemed so real as he did then.
When the last scrap of hope I owned seemed to leap out of me. When my hope in God was the only thing that room that seemed to really make things okay.
I still don't understand a lot. And all that I know is this hope. But maybe it's enough. Maybe it is what will pull me from this darkness. This hope in God that seems to speak louder than my faith. The God in which I hope. The God that stirs something deep within my soul, beyond what I could recognize.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
What Do I Know of Holy?
Filled with awe and wonder, they all screamed. They all whispered and all asked me
About this God. About the wonderful relationship I had with this God. And in my pride I gave away bits and pieces of my so-called knowledge of this powerful God. What it took to know him, who he was, his grace, his love. And deeper into my ignorance I dug, thinking that I had figured Him out. I knew everything. Most of all, I knew I was faithful. I still clearly re-call a conversation I had with my mother about the status of my faith, I think I said something to the prideful extent of counting myself lucky for never having doubted God. What little I knew Him, how little my faith was.
Now I'm caught up in a whirlwind of doubt. Of questions. Of tears and pain, and deep loneliness. For a world in which the belief you stood upon wasn't real is a world that is ripping and tearing at the seams.
Like W.K. Clifford writes on the ethics of belief, that a true belief is one that has "stood in the fierce light of free and fearless questioning."
The blatant acceptance of what I constantly heard had finally hit me. Not because I believed it to be untrue, but because it was not truly a belief I held, in the sense that I did not really delve into it deeply.
"To know all about anything is to know how to deal with it under all circumstances," Clifford writes.
I owed that God. To really delve into true knowledge of his word, of Him, of His truth. To delve into the doubts, into the fears, into the questions and discussions. If I really had said so many years ago that I loved Him, I owed Him the right to get to know Him. For how can you truly love someone if you don't fully know them? How could I truly believe in Him, if I didn't fully know Him? If I hadn't asked the hard questions, and forced an answer out?
If I had just believed simply and purely, would that even be real belief?
I once thought I knew Him. So fully, so perfectly. And sometimes I wish I could go back to my happy ignorant state, and I am by no means saying that I do know Him know. Because I don't.
He is bigger,
He is more mysterious, more confusing, more earth-shattering than ever. And I don't have Him figured out one bit.
I'm trying, and sometimes it seems as if my tries lead straight to the back of the darkest alley.
But sometimes in the powerful wind as the autumn sun sets it seems as if I can feel something. As if I can almost hear something.
And I dare to hope, beyond the tears and loneliness and pain, that I've stepped closer to Him even if only for that moment.
About this God. About the wonderful relationship I had with this God. And in my pride I gave away bits and pieces of my so-called knowledge of this powerful God. What it took to know him, who he was, his grace, his love. And deeper into my ignorance I dug, thinking that I had figured Him out. I knew everything. Most of all, I knew I was faithful. I still clearly re-call a conversation I had with my mother about the status of my faith, I think I said something to the prideful extent of counting myself lucky for never having doubted God. What little I knew Him, how little my faith was.
Now I'm caught up in a whirlwind of doubt. Of questions. Of tears and pain, and deep loneliness. For a world in which the belief you stood upon wasn't real is a world that is ripping and tearing at the seams.
Like W.K. Clifford writes on the ethics of belief, that a true belief is one that has "stood in the fierce light of free and fearless questioning."
The blatant acceptance of what I constantly heard had finally hit me. Not because I believed it to be untrue, but because it was not truly a belief I held, in the sense that I did not really delve into it deeply.
"To know all about anything is to know how to deal with it under all circumstances," Clifford writes.
I owed that God. To really delve into true knowledge of his word, of Him, of His truth. To delve into the doubts, into the fears, into the questions and discussions. If I really had said so many years ago that I loved Him, I owed Him the right to get to know Him. For how can you truly love someone if you don't fully know them? How could I truly believe in Him, if I didn't fully know Him? If I hadn't asked the hard questions, and forced an answer out?
If I had just believed simply and purely, would that even be real belief?
I once thought I knew Him. So fully, so perfectly. And sometimes I wish I could go back to my happy ignorant state, and I am by no means saying that I do know Him know. Because I don't.
He is bigger,
He is more mysterious, more confusing, more earth-shattering than ever. And I don't have Him figured out one bit.
I'm trying, and sometimes it seems as if my tries lead straight to the back of the darkest alley.
But sometimes in the powerful wind as the autumn sun sets it seems as if I can feel something. As if I can almost hear something.
And I dare to hope, beyond the tears and loneliness and pain, that I've stepped closer to Him even if only for that moment.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
"Night of Fire-Pascal"
The year of grace 1654
Monday, 23 November, feast of Saint Clement, Pope and Martyr, and of others in the Martyrology.
Eve of Saint Chrysogonus, Martyr and others.
From about half past ten in the evening until half past midnight.
Certainty, certainty, heartfelt, joy, peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
God of Jesus Christ.
My God and your God.
'Thy God shall be my God.'
The world forgotten, and everything except God.
He can only be found by the ways taught in the Gospels.
Greatness of the human soul.
'O righteous Father, the world had not known thee, but I have known thee.'
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy.
I have cut myself off from him.
They have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters.
'My God wilt thou forsake me?'
Let me not be cut off from him for ever!
And this is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.'
Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ.
I have cut myself off from him, shunned him, denied him, crucified him.
Let me never be cut off from him!
He can only be kept by the ways taught in the Gospel.
Sweet and total renunciation.
Total submission to Jesus Christ and my director.
Everlasting joy in return for one day's effort on earth.
I will not forget thy word. Amen.
Monday, 23 November, feast of Saint Clement, Pope and Martyr, and of others in the Martyrology.
Eve of Saint Chrysogonus, Martyr and others.
From about half past ten in the evening until half past midnight.
Fire
'God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob,' not of philosophers and scholars.Certainty, certainty, heartfelt, joy, peace.
God of Jesus Christ.
God of Jesus Christ.
My God and your God.
'Thy God shall be my God.'
The world forgotten, and everything except God.
He can only be found by the ways taught in the Gospels.
Greatness of the human soul.
'O righteous Father, the world had not known thee, but I have known thee.'
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy.
I have cut myself off from him.
They have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters.
'My God wilt thou forsake me?'
Let me not be cut off from him for ever!
And this is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.'
Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ.
I have cut myself off from him, shunned him, denied him, crucified him.
Let me never be cut off from him!
He can only be kept by the ways taught in the Gospel.
Sweet and total renunciation.
Total submission to Jesus Christ and my director.
Everlasting joy in return for one day's effort on earth.
I will not forget thy word. Amen.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Si Te Tengo A Ti
Ecuador-Quito, is complex. Far more complex than I remembered. With the busy streets teeming with automobiles, most new and silver cars; with people of many different racial backgrounds, and with the sweet complexity of the poor and the rich and the huge gap between them.
Coming back is always different. I always wondered what I was coming back to. Except for my family, there is nothing here I have ties to, or so I have thought. I always felt more at home in El Salvador, which baffles me for I didn't live there as long as I have lived here.
Quito is the place where I grew up, I guess. It's a place where I found my identity. Where I found God, or my simplified version of Him. Where my best friend and I raveled tales of adventure and romance of ourselves in some far away country. Where I sipped tea with her in my later years, and we discussed the turmoils of college life. So coming back now, and not having her here has been a challenge to say the least. But maybe through it I have seen another complexity of this city I guess I never really knew, maybe because I never bothered to know because after all this didn't feel like home to me.
But God has opened my eyes. To this city teeming with life, with sorrow, with pain, with abuse; and I have also seen joy, peace, love beyond what we deem natural.
As a college student coming back home, one believes one's mind is full of knowledge that is so radical that must be desperately shared with our parents. Unfortunately, one also believes that our philosophies and our "new-found" way of life somehow is better and must therefore be critical of that of our parents.
But in my so-called "new and improved" life, I realized I had not moved at all. I was still the same, young and bitter sixteen year old I once was. Thinking I had changed.
And as I am enjoying the community my parents have here I have begun to notice, the love that oozes from their very pores. They have changed, are changed and are changing. They have begun this new adventure, this new church, that comes with all these struggles, a lot of pain, and tears. And yet I can truly see that they do not do it for themselves. And in my selfishness, I have criticized.
And I, I have remained stagnant.
Coming back to this place where I am automatically drawn to the books of my youth, and the songs of praise I once knew by memory, and the adventure my heart used to yearn for; I realized I have not moved. Barely if anything. I may not snap at people as often as I used to, but anger still had a grip on me, even the in the cold depths of Michigan winters. I just had learned to bury in my books.
And here where life used to seem so pointless, I have seen what love was meant to do.
How it moves people.
I have seen what Jesus does.
And as I spoke with my dad of our struggles and of life, I could hear it clear as day, the love. Jesus' Love in Him for the people of Ecuador. My dad, a foreigner in Ecuador, who has known a powerful culture shock that has made him think more than once about returning home.
Jesus' love for His people has been injected into His veins, and has inspired Him each day-beyond the doubt, beyond the pain.
And he is a changed man.
Not because of anything he could do, but because of Jesus.
Oh that my faith were stronger. Fortunately, Jesus' love is. It goes beyond everything I once knew.
Beyond my anger, beyond my doubt, beyond my lack of movement.
Maybe all it took was going back and catching a glimpse of who I once was and still am, to find hope and inspiration in the Savior who can mold me and move me.
For I have tried, I have tried pretending to be different, ignoring the lack of change, and all to no avail.
So movement, change may be hard for me. But it is only God who can move in me. And I truly believe that I can do all things through God who gives me strength.
Tu Bandera-Jesús Adrian Romero
Como en un pais extraño me encontre sin ti
No entendia el idioma, ni las cosas que vivi
Y corri a buscar sin ver tu rostro entre la gente
Y aun sin conocerte
Convencido estaba de encontrarte a ti, de encontrarte a ti
Y en medio de mi confución se alzaba tu bandera
se enarbolaba como el sol diciendome que fuera
y a ti te siguiera
y asi me refugie en la cruz y en tu bendito amor
nunca imagine la vida que ahora vivo en ti
ni en la gracia que me diste cuando a ti volvi
mas a hora se que en ti yo tengo lo que anhelo
tengo vida plena tengo paz eterna
si te tengo a Ti.
Si te tengo a ti.
Coming back is always different. I always wondered what I was coming back to. Except for my family, there is nothing here I have ties to, or so I have thought. I always felt more at home in El Salvador, which baffles me for I didn't live there as long as I have lived here.
Quito is the place where I grew up, I guess. It's a place where I found my identity. Where I found God, or my simplified version of Him. Where my best friend and I raveled tales of adventure and romance of ourselves in some far away country. Where I sipped tea with her in my later years, and we discussed the turmoils of college life. So coming back now, and not having her here has been a challenge to say the least. But maybe through it I have seen another complexity of this city I guess I never really knew, maybe because I never bothered to know because after all this didn't feel like home to me.
But God has opened my eyes. To this city teeming with life, with sorrow, with pain, with abuse; and I have also seen joy, peace, love beyond what we deem natural.
As a college student coming back home, one believes one's mind is full of knowledge that is so radical that must be desperately shared with our parents. Unfortunately, one also believes that our philosophies and our "new-found" way of life somehow is better and must therefore be critical of that of our parents.
But in my so-called "new and improved" life, I realized I had not moved at all. I was still the same, young and bitter sixteen year old I once was. Thinking I had changed.
And as I am enjoying the community my parents have here I have begun to notice, the love that oozes from their very pores. They have changed, are changed and are changing. They have begun this new adventure, this new church, that comes with all these struggles, a lot of pain, and tears. And yet I can truly see that they do not do it for themselves. And in my selfishness, I have criticized.
And I, I have remained stagnant.
Coming back to this place where I am automatically drawn to the books of my youth, and the songs of praise I once knew by memory, and the adventure my heart used to yearn for; I realized I have not moved. Barely if anything. I may not snap at people as often as I used to, but anger still had a grip on me, even the in the cold depths of Michigan winters. I just had learned to bury in my books.
And here where life used to seem so pointless, I have seen what love was meant to do.
How it moves people.
I have seen what Jesus does.
And as I spoke with my dad of our struggles and of life, I could hear it clear as day, the love. Jesus' Love in Him for the people of Ecuador. My dad, a foreigner in Ecuador, who has known a powerful culture shock that has made him think more than once about returning home.
Jesus' love for His people has been injected into His veins, and has inspired Him each day-beyond the doubt, beyond the pain.
And he is a changed man.
Not because of anything he could do, but because of Jesus.
Oh that my faith were stronger. Fortunately, Jesus' love is. It goes beyond everything I once knew.
Beyond my anger, beyond my doubt, beyond my lack of movement.
Maybe all it took was going back and catching a glimpse of who I once was and still am, to find hope and inspiration in the Savior who can mold me and move me.
For I have tried, I have tried pretending to be different, ignoring the lack of change, and all to no avail.
So movement, change may be hard for me. But it is only God who can move in me. And I truly believe that I can do all things through God who gives me strength.
Tu Bandera-Jesús Adrian Romero
Como en un pais extraño me encontre sin ti
No entendia el idioma, ni las cosas que vivi
Y corri a buscar sin ver tu rostro entre la gente
Y aun sin conocerte
Convencido estaba de encontrarte a ti, de encontrarte a ti
Y en medio de mi confución se alzaba tu bandera
se enarbolaba como el sol diciendome que fuera
y a ti te siguiera
y asi me refugie en la cruz y en tu bendito amor
nunca imagine la vida que ahora vivo en ti
ni en la gracia que me diste cuando a ti volvi
mas a hora se que en ti yo tengo lo que anhelo
tengo vida plena tengo paz eterna
si te tengo a Ti.
Si te tengo a ti.
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