Sometimes His purpose is different than mine

I've been practicing as a PA for nearly two years now, and my first job out of school wasn't what I anticipated in a number of ways and I had a hard time letting go of my expectations. I felt discouraged and confused, and I didn't know where God was taking me. I was hoping for a "fun" yet intense year of learning medicine by floundering in the deep end, and instead I found myself doing some very painful self-reflection and growth. I received difficult feedback that at the time I thought was largely due to misunderstanding (on the part of the feedback-giver), but I now realize pointed right to my heart.

One day as I was lamenting to my mom, she mused that I should consider maybe God's goal for that year was different than mine. Naturally my internal response was, "Well, that's a nice thought for someone else but this is supposed to be MY year! My dream job! Why would He take that away from me?" Then later, my mind was blown when I re-read some entries in my prayer journal written just a couple of months before I started that job. I'll let you read them below.

August 27, 2019: Can you help me be less defensive and more teachable? Can you help me be willing to look into and open up the ugliest places of my heart so that you can come clean them out and fill them with you? 

Can you help me be humble? Can you help me let go of the things I want to hold onto? Can you help me have grace, with myself and my family? Can you help me truly love the people I love the most?

August 31, 2019: I really want you to soften and change me, so please enter into my heart and do your work. Please help me see challenges or frustrating interactions as opportunities to practice. Help me have grace, humility, patience, and kindness. Help me hold my tongue. Please let my words be life-giving.

God, please break down my defenses and help me see things from other people’s perspectives.

Friends, I cannot even describe how faithfully and specifically God began to answer these prayers. I've been praying for humility for many years, but either this was the first time I truly meant it or simply the time God felt was right. Every step of my journey in medicine has been God-directed, and often in a different direction than I originally planned. I think He needed more time to help me separate my identity from my career--what better way to work on that than in a first job? But of course, God doesn't answer prayers for humility by simply granting it. He provides the opportunity to learn it, and it is HARD. I still have a long way to go.

In case you're wondering why humility is something I seek, the biggest reason is that my pride hinders my ability to love others and see them the way Jesus does. When my view of the world is wrapped up in my own self-centeredness or self-superiority (i.e. the way I do/see things is superior to everyone else), I can't deeply love people (or myself, honestly).

During that challenging year (before I transitioned into a new job), God revealed so many things about myself that I either didn't realize before or refused to acknowledge. He showed me how deeply and intensely I desire control. He exposed the nasty, selfish, and tactless parts of me that emerge and take over my thoughts and sometimes my words when I lose a sense of control. He helped me come to terms with the fact that I really do care about what others think of me, far more than I'd care to admit. But you know what else? In the midst of all the learning and exposing, not only am I blown away by His faithfulness, I am also seeing His gentleness, amazed by His patience, and carried by His steadfastness.

When I wanted to hang onto Him like Corrie Ten Boom when I felt depressed and lonely, and instead just watched TV all day to make the days go by, He was with me. He didn't hold it against me, and He didn't think I was a bad Christian because I just couldn't muster the energy to lean into Him. He is steadfast.

When I felt like a horrible person and it seemed like I could do nothing right, at the time it seemed like too much to handle, an unfair burden when all I wanted was to learn. But now I see that that hard stuff was necessary so He could teach me what He needed to, and He gave me many good things to keep me going: My climbing buddies, in whom I found camaraderie and acceptance. The beautiful green space behind my apartment with miles of paths to walk. Far away friends and family who prayed for me and checked in on me, and let me cry at their house all weekend (that only happened once--love you guys). Sunlight and chirping birds on my days off when I didn't want to get out of bed. Colleagues all over the hospital who gave me little reminders that I still had worth and potential in medicine. He is gentle.

Finally, I feel like these lessons have been a long time coming--my whole life, really. But He waited for the right time to fully answer my prayer and He's loved me completely every second. No matter how much I hate myself in the moment for something I've said or a tendency I can't seem to shake, He never even considered leaving my side or loving me any less. He is patient.

This exposé of Erin's heart, authored by the Holy Spirit, is only the beginning. He's answered the first part of my prayer, and now the hard part starts--learning to surrender myself to Him. I don't know how I'm going to do that, but I know He can help. And above all, I know that He will continue to love me and remain steadfast as we continue along this road together.

When God says yes

The blogger emerges! I never intended to take a blog-writing hiatus for the entirety of PA school and then some, but the more time passed the more I felt I needed to catch up on for you, my readers. But I've decided that my PA school experiences will come out over time, since I have many pages of written memories from which to draw, just not quite blog post material yet. It has been an incredible 2.5 years of learning medicine, growing as a person, and making soul friends.

Today I want to write about my recent major life change and how present God has been throughout the whole process. After graduating from college, I worked a few different jobs and applied to PA school twice. Per His usual, God let me pursue my dreams and my "number one choices" and for the most part redirected me to something different and better, over and over. I didn't get in my first year, and I was immediately rejected from my dream school the second year. But God's faithfulness was revealed like never before (click here to read). The PA program I almost didn't apply to, and was initially at the bottom of my list, ended up being the perfect fit for me, and I am extremely proud and grateful to be a Pacific PA grad. I can't wait to come back and teach there someday (if that's something God has in mind).

As most of you know, I have relocated to the beautiful Atlanta, GA to do a post-grad residency in cardiology and critical care. Doing a residency was always my plan, because I want to get as much intensive training as possible (I'd do two if I could haha). After much prayer and research, I applied to two programs in January 2019, chosen based on curriculum, start date, reputation, and location. Then I did my cardiology rotation, and things changed. I've always LOVED cardiology--as a high-schooler you could find me scouring Wikipedia and taking notes, teaching myself cardiovascular physiology. The science of the heart, its electrical circuits, tight chemical balances, and circulatory system is just beautifully complex and fascinating. After spending a few weeks doing concentrated cardiology in both outpatient and inpatient settings, I knew I wasn't going to be able to leave it. I found a fellowship still in critical care but focused on cardiology, with rotations outside of the ICU in various cardiology subspecialties and cardiothoracic surgery. I have never written and submitted an application so fast.

I got my interview invitation in the middle of class when we were all back on campus and about lost my freakin mind. My friend and I were texting furiously on our computers and it was all we could do to not jump out of our chairs and dance around (which is exactly what we did when the lecture FINALLY ended about 20 minutes later). When I came here for the first time, hearing about the fellowship, meeting people, and touring the hospital, it felt so right. I crammed in a bunch of Atlanta touristy things during my trip, and I started to love this city. (I also went to the botanical garden, and told myself if/when I get the spot, the first thing I'll be doing when I come back is getting a membership--done.) I didn't hear back for 6 weeks, and had interviewed at another program and hadn't been giving this one much thought anymore, except to say that if by some crazy chance they called me out of the blue I would be beyond thrilled to accept. You can guess what happened then :)

That's when things started to come together and I could see that both this fellowship and Atlanta were exactly where God wanted me to be. Friends started connecting me with people they knew in Atlanta, and I met more people/PAs through various professional organizations. I felt like I had a community before I even came. One of the biggest ways God showed His faithfulness was providing me with housing. I was looking at apartments, hoping to live alone with Jesus, and finding no end of horrible reviews. Through a friend of a friend, I was introduced to a gal who loves her complex and loves Jesus, and I decided to just go for it. I had a lot of questions come up later, but I felt like God was providing the answer and I chose to trust Him (easier said than done), and trust my new friend. Let me tell you, this apartment is the THE BEST. It's in the perfect location in relation to the city, is spacious and beautiful, and is minutes from a ton of nature and recreation areas (there's a river and woods literally as my backyard). God knew I need to be surrounded by green, and He provided.

I'll write more about the fellowship later, especially since I'm going to be starting it in a week (SO PUMPED). The thing I want to focus on today is how many yeses God has given me. As I mentioned earlier, God usually doesn't give me what I think I want, because He has something better. But this time, He's said yes to my dream job, yes to a city I wanted to live in, and yes to an amazing apartment surrounded by nature (and provided a wonderful and fun neighbor-friend--I'm looking at you Pam). He's given me instant community here, and I haven't had a lonely day because I've been absorbed into an awesome, active friend group and have been meeting other people right and left. And here's the biggest thing that's been the most life-changing--my headaches are at an all-time low. In PA school, my migraines had become chronic and though I pushed through, they limited and controlled my life more than I'd like to admit. I'll go into more detail in a later post, but over the last 2 months, which have been full of transitions and both good and bad stressors, I've had more headache-free days per week than I have in who knows how long. Years. This is a huge gift God has given me.

It's actually kind of weird to look at all the things God has said yes to, and worked out in exactly the way I hoped they would. I've gotten used to my hopes and dreams being redirected, and I like the unknown a lot more now because that's when He leads me to places I never would have imagined. To be honest, it makes me wonder--what's the catch? Is this too good to be true? I don't think there's a catch, but I do want to keep perspective. I don't know why God decided to put me here, in the midst of so many yeses, and I don't know how long it will last until we go another direction. But I do know that He wants to give us joy. Sometimes joy comes from seeking Him when life is extremely difficult. Sometimes it comes from seasons when it feels like life is easy, and that's when it's crucial to remember that it's still from Him, and He deserves the glory and praise. He is so good and faithful.

When I created this blog over 6 years ago, I titled it If Any Joy, as a creative extension of Philippians 2, where Paul exhorts us to remember that if we receive encouragement, compassion, comfort, (or joy) from being united with Christ, it should translate into humility. That means others first, me second. That means seeing people and loving people like Jesus did.

So in this season of blessing, I want to give Him the credit. I pray that He continues to humble me so that through me, He can love His people.

Lessons in the airport

I am in the Seattle airport, halfway home from a wonderful trip to Alaska. Both ways, I've had some flight changes and mishaps that were quite inconvenient and, in the moment, very frustrating. When my flight landed and I saw the text that I will once again be spending a loong layover in an airport three hours from home (and arriving after midnight), my immediate reaction was anger. I got off the plane and walked briskly through the airport looking very pissed off (at least, I thought​ I did). I talked to the ladies from my airline to try and get a different flight, trying to maintain a demeanor that included kindness and understanding while accurately portraying how annoying my experience has been. Sighing, I got on the phone and huffed aimlessly around while I was on hold.

But then, I hung up. Just as I knew it inevitably would, the foolishness of my extreme reaction became obvious, as did all the countless reasons to be thankful. Most likely my “problems” wouldn't be fixed, and as nice as it would feel to unload on some unwitting employee, that would accomplish nothing (except contribute to my post-tantrum guilt). I decided to make the most of my time in the Seattle airport (which I'd forgotten is actually pretty cool) and let this setback be water under the bridge. Air travel, ironically, is something where people commonly get very upset when flights change or other inconveniences arise. It's stressful because we pay for an expensive service that we expect fulfilled, the day is already busy, sitting and waiting is boring, and the anxious awaiting of the destination often confers a short fuse to the traveler. It's ironic because here I am, with the resources to spend hundreds of dollars on an amazing trip (and this is far from the first flight I've purchased this year), getting mad because I have to spend 4 hours in an airport and go to bed at 2am. God often uses my transient frustrations with flying to remind me to look at the good.

I just spent a perfect week in beautiful and wild Alaska with a dear friend. I'm sporting muddy pants and hiking shoes because we squeezed in some adventuring this morning before my flight. I ate my (wildly unimpressive) dinner in a giant atrium and watched the sun set. I love airports (almost as much as hospitals) and they're exponentially more fun at night. I always appreciate being in public places after normal hours, and kind of getting a picture of the things that go on unseen behind the scenes--and though it's probably not mutual, I always feel a sort of camaraderie with the other people who are stuck like me. There's an endless stream of people to watch, and I just love people. I even got some cardio in, speedwalking down and back the terminals lifting my suitcase off the ground--I got some glances because I looked like a weirdo but who cares! There are water bottle filler-uppers (the technical name) everywhere, which always makes me happy. I found a squishy bench by a squishy wall and an outlet (not squishy). I START PA SCHOOL IN 10 DAYS. Oh also did I mention that I start PA school in 10 days?

I'm actually so glad for my layover tonight (though I feel bad for my poor roommate who has offered to pick me up even though my flight is getting later and later). I'm enjoying this time of being with Jesus, and a zillion interesting people whose stories I really want to know. Maybe I'll go make a friend soon. (I also want to point out that I wrote this entire post on my phone.)

I wanted to write this as a reminder to me, and to you my readers, that life is so much better when we take our thoughts captive, instead of letting emotions rule. God is always happy to provide perspective, and even though those teachable moments are often unpleasant, when we give Him the reins, He imparts joy (and patience) that is unaffected by circumstances.

I'm not invincible

I'm not invincible, though sometimes I like to think I am.

There are certain things that I hold onto tightly, certain parts of my identity, parts that I want to be rock solid and unaffected by external forces. But God is always chipping away at my pride, which is the cement that makes these things so hard to let go of. I don't think the conflict between my desire to surrender to Him and my independent, self-sufficient nature will ever cease (though it will lessen if I continue to yield myself to the Holy Spirit).

The irony is, despite this conflict, I'm so much less self-sufficient than I think.

I apply labels to myself as descriptors and traits to strengthen. Some of them run so deep that they come relatively easily, like my enthusiasm and cheeriness (if you've ever seen me first thing in the morning you know what I mean). Others, while still natural parts of my personality, require more effort to maintain. A lot of the time, I am flexible, confident, bold, and unflappable.

However, these things are not rock solid. They are affected by external forces. You know why? Because I'm a human. I have emotions. I'm not perfect.

It's scary to admit that these traits are not untouchable. They can crack, and they often do. Sometimes it's really hard for me to go with the flow. Sometimes I feel stupid. Sometimes my feelings get hurt (and it always surprises me). God has taught me that I need to give myself grace, and that can be difficult. I want to have just a few qualities that I can rely on, so that I can really be the independent, strong woman I envision. However, I know I live in freedom, without condemnation, only because Jesus took the penalty for me. I am not complete without Him, and the reason I can't rely on my own abilities to be flexible, confident, bold, and unflappable (also cheery and enthusiastic) is because I was created to be reliant on God--not me.

The thing that inspired me to write about this today is my current life transition. I always try to convince myself that each transition will be easier than the last, but it never is. One amazing thing is ending, and another is beginning--and it is bittersweet. Words cannot describe how excited I am to start PA school in 71 days. I can't believe I will actually be STUDYING MEDICINE, after dreaming and imagining it for over a decade. God provided me two wonderful roommates, a good friend will be in the program with me, and I can't wait to get to know all my classmates.

But as my last day at the hospital fast approaches, I am honestly grieving this job's conclusion. I have an incredible team, I love bedside care and really knowing my patients, and I finally feel settled in life for the first time in a long time. I really enjoy all the nursing staff on my unit, and a number of my coworkers have become good friends outside of work. I am so sad to say goodbye to my team, and to know that once school starts I won't have much time, if any, to invest in these dear friendships.

Another pair of labels that I stick on myself (not untrue) are outgoing & relatable. These help me develop rapport with patients, strike up conversations with strangers, and make friends quickly. When I was in college, going from Michigan to Cannon Beach to Guatemala etc and finally returning to Portland, I was able to quickly put down roots in these temporary communities.

Sometimes I think (and wish) that I could uproot just as easily, jaunting to the next place. But these traits crack too, and for me that means painful goodbyes.

I don't know what this year will look like. It has already included many joys and tears, and I'm sure there will be more. But the rest is unknown by me. There's nothing like a major life-uprooting to lead me back to Jesus, and on Him I will rely.

Don't forget the rose

Sometimes when you ask Jesus to help you see people through His eyes, He gives you some heartbreaking perspective.

Recently at the hospital we had a patient who came in late one night. During our staff huddle on Christmas morning, we were all warned about her—“She yells at people, calls them names, hard of hearing, complains, talks your ear off, etc…” She was dependent for most of her care, but it was very difficult to help her because she was so painful in certain areas. She ordered us not to touch them, but it was impossible to tell where we could and couldn’t put our hands to turn her. The process was complicated by the fact that we had to literally yell for her to hear anything we said. When someone accidentally touched the wrong spot or did the wrong thing, she lashed out verbally. All of the things I heard at huddle were true—except it was achingly obvious that it all stemmed from great physical pain, psychological distress (and some mental illness), and the knowledge that no one cared.

This patient was anxious, painful, and had lost nearly all control of her life. She was very particular about little things like having her box of tissues in the exact right spot, and having all the bedding just right. We figured out how to roll her with less pain (though still not how her own caregivers did it) and everyone was kind, but slowly and surely each staff member got a little irked.

I was in and out of her room a lot, and I tried to love her like Jesus did. We didn’t have many extended conversations due to her hearing loss, but I was able to get to know her a little bit and saw numerous smiles. Somehow it came up that I loved Jesus. She told me that she was an agnostic even though she grew up Protestant, but she still believed in the power of prayer and that it got her through her last hospitalization. She asked me to say a prayer for her, and I agreed. I didn’t do it there, because I didn’t think of it, but it was probably better since I would’ve had to shout it. I asked her if she’d like me to sing, and she requested Hark the Herald Angels Sing. In hindsight, I wish I had sung more—she really appreciated it.

She had a number of concerns about her health, and she felt like none of them were addressed during her stay. From the medical team’s perspective, I think that they didn’t see any acute problems that needed to be treated, especially given her baseline condition. But that doesn’t discount the fact that she felt ignored. That is a horrible feeling, especially when you’re in the hospital.

The next day she continued to express concern that no one was listening to her. Her paranoia was certainly partially a result of psychological issues, but her feeling of being unheard was legitimate. While taking her vitals that morning, it hit me that she was knowingly leading an existence where everyone resented her. Her volatility got her caregivers so unruffled that they forgot she was a person. She was just a bother. Each place she went was happy to see her go somewhere else. When talk came of her discharge, everyone was relieved.

She had a rose sitting in a cup on her bedside table, delivered on Christmas by the family of another patient. As I was helping her get ready to go back to wherever she lived, she mentioned that she wanted to be sure to bring her rose. I fixed up a little contraption with a hospital water bottle and some tape to make a watertight container she could hold. She kept insisting it wasn’t going to work, but when I was done she was pleased. She came with no belongings at all, but when transport arrived, she repeated over and over not to forget the rose. “I need my rose!” I was struck by her attachment to her flower—something bright in her life, something that she owned and wanted to care for, something that made her feel valued.

After she left, I couldn’t take it anymore and I went to the break room and cried for her. I was (still am) absolutely heartbroken. I literally cannot imagine what it would feel like to bounce from one place to another, knowing that she was utterly alone. I just hope and will be praying that Jesus will reveal His great and intimate love to her. She doesn't have to be alone because God is always at her side. He is so real and He loves her more than anyone else ever can.

Given that the majority of our patients are old people, homeless, and drug addicts (and often all three), it’s pretty easy to get disillusioned with the completely broken system. Addiction, trauma, poverty, damaged families, and mental illness produce hurting people that are hard to save. We can’t fix these problems at the hospital. Instead, we discharge patients back to the street in sub-freezing temps, or maybe to an intermediate facility first. We get frustrated at the endless requests for pain meds and the creativity of addicts, and struggle to distinguish between real pain and drug-seeking behavior. We run out of ideas for helping those who suffer from mental illness. We lose patience when dealing with crazy people. We release patients back into abusive relationships, and they go because it’s the only love they know, even though it’s fully conditional. Our compassion is tainted.

I went to a Christmas Eve service this year, and the message was about waiting. When the people were anticipating the first coming of the Messiah, they waited through many generations. Many lost hope after living their whole life and seeing no sign of the Promised One. But when the first Christmas finally came, it showed that God does keep His promises. He “writes dates on the calendar.” There is a lot of good in this world, but also a great amount of pain and brokenness. It’s so easy to feel hopeless and discouraged, and there’s no doubt that God is sad with us.

But each Christmas reminds us that God DOES write dates on the calendar, and He is still sovereign. He gave us Jesus, who allows us to live a life of freedom if we choose Him and take up our cross daily. He gave us the Holy Spirit, who enables us to be representatives of His all-surpassing love and peace to His people. God loves this broken world more than we can ever imagine, and His heart breaks too.

Sometimes when you ask Jesus to love through you, He opens your eyes to the unloved.

Caring for people is hard. Seeing the despair is disheartening. But God is powerful, and HE IS WORKING. He brings healing. He gives us hope. And while we wait for Him to return and fix the brokenness, we can love His people.

Humble pie

Recently I've been thinking about how to make God truly the center. I want to live a life fueled by His grace which makes everything possible. A life where my successes and accomplishments pale in comparison to knowing Him. I'm currently in the midst of PA school interviews all over the country, and it is beyond exciting that all my hard work is finally paying off. I've been reading Philippians a lot lately, and though I've read that book countless times this is one of those examples where all of a sudden a familiar passage has new meaning.

In the third chapter, Paul talks about all of his great accomplishments and righteous qualities (which, despite his point, many people find somewhat arrogant), and then goes on to say that he considers it all nothing compared to the surpassing greatness of Jesus.

All of a sudden, I understand much better where Paul was coming from.

Last week I had my third interview, at a school that is not my top choice but still a strong option, and I was really impressed with the program. I came away feeling confident that my interview went well, and I felt that I would be very happy and receive a great education there. I really thought I would get in, and I was excited to have my first acceptance so I could stop wondering, and know for sure that I was going somewhere.

Well, I heard back from the school yesterday. They have put me on a hold status, which means that they will reconsider my application with each new group of interviewees and I could receive an offer (or the alternative) at any point after the remaining interviews. It's funny, I was actually more disappointed to hear that than I was when I got the denial from OHSU.

After mulling over the program's response for a while, I started to see God telling me something: I have gotten a little too confident. Please bear with me, as I run the risk of sounding just like Paul in the following sentences. I know that I am a competitive applicant, and I have to be aware of all the reasons why so I can "sell" myself to each program. I've been blessed with qualities conducive to medicine, like a passion for science and learning, an unmitigated commitment to my goals, and the ability to relate to people. God has given me amazing opportunities to travel, serve, gain interesting experiences, and explore various areas of medicine. And I have worked HARD to get to this point--interview invitations are not easy to come by, and it's still crazy to me that this season of life I've been dreaming about for so many years is actually reality.

Because I have put years of time and effort towards getting into PA school (and spent so much time writing about my qualifications in seemingly endless application essays), I have started to feel a little entitled. A little cocky. I didn't realize the direction I was heading until this week. I was so sure that I was going to get my first offer, and I think that God knew that I needed to back up and eat some humble pie.

No matter how amazing my application is, I won't get in unless God wants me to. (And no matter what kind of mistakes or weaknesses I bring, I can still get in because nothing is too great a barrier for Him.) Certainly, things happen in life that God does not want. We are not His puppet show, and for that I'm grateful. I believe that there are many God-honoring directions my life could have gone (and could still go) and I have worked hard for the path I've chosen. There is no denying that.

But this email yesterday was a reminder that I am NOT entitled to go to PA school. I cannot have so much confidence in myself that I forget my God who has made all this possible.

When I get an offer, I don't want to think, "Yes, finally! Someone sees what a great addition I'll make to their program!"

I want to say, "Wow, God, you are so good. Even though I am a fallible, prideful human who doesn't always make you a priority, you are making my dream come true. What amazing grace you extend to me."

Perspective

As I write essay after essay for PA school apps, I've been reading a lot of my journals from impactful experiences over the past few years. I realized that one of those experiences somehow never got posted on my blog, and it was one I will never forget. My senior year of college I spent spring break at Mel Trotter Ministries in Grand Rapids, staying in the women's shelter and interning in the public inebriate clinic, which provides a safe place for highly intoxicated homeless individuals to sober up and sleep. I wrote an article about my time there, and since I have hardly posted at all this year, here it is.

I grew up in Portland and homeless people have never been scary or unfamiliar to me. I’ve always made an effort to say hi or offer a meal, and growing up I enjoyed periodically serving at local shelters and ministries, but before my stay in the women’s shelter I had no idea what it actually felt like to be homeless.

I was not in Grand Rapids to have fun, but to get a small glimpse of homelessness. My roommates in the women’s shelter were wonderful and the ladies were welcoming (though they thought I was crazy for choosing to stay there), and through conversations I realized how incredibly privileged and blessed I am. I also realized how isolating it must feel to be homeless. When I looked out the window and saw families out for a day on the town, I felt separated, like I was in a completely different level of society. One day during a meal, I felt very self-conscious and inferior compared to the family serving the food, simply because they were giving and I was receiving. They had no reason to think that I was anything but a regular shelter guest, and I wanted to go strike up a conversation so I could slip in the fact that I wasn’t really homeless. But I kept my mouth shut, and let myself feel the difference.

Even though we don’t technically have class distinctions in the United States like in other countries, I find it quite disheartening that there is such a clear line between “them” and “us”—a line I did not understand until I was on the other side. During my time in the PI clinic, I saw many intoxicated men, often the same ones day after day. But when they started to sober up, I got to know them and they got to know me. I was able to develop initial relationships with them, and even though we are at very different places in life and our time to get to know each other was short, class separations were irrelevant because they, just like me, are people who love and hurt and need a Savior. I went out to lunch downtown with a friend after a few days at the shelter and clinic, and as we walked and drove around I saw several men that I knew or recognized from the PI clinic. It was heartbreaking because I knew them. I saw them every day. And they live on the streets. They’re not just poor forgotten homeless people. They’re dads, brothers, and husbands, with names.

Wherever I live from now on, I’m going to invest myself somewhere where I can get to know the homeless on a personal level. I never want to forget the perspective that I gained during my spring break, and I am so grateful to Mel Trotter for allowing me to stay in the shelter and work in the clinic. I also want to remember that even among the brokenness, God can bring redemption and hope. I pray that I never forget this experience, and never forget His healing power. I pray that I can be rooted and grounded in His Word so I can be His hands and feet, and be a light to everyone I interact with, wherever I may be.