Another Church Story (or just another essay that I wrote recently)

I grew up in Puerto Rico. Born and raised within an evangelical church, I learned early on in life about lifting my hands during worship, and responding to altar calls. Throughout my teenage years, I sang at church, played keyboards, helped with the kids, went on mission trips, and had my entire schedule revolve around church activities. The Evangelical sector in PR grew dramatically in the second half of the 20th century, and a lot of people that ‘converted’ to Evangelicalism in PR had Catholic backgrounds. Because of this, it is still not uncommon to hear entire Sunday School classes on the subject of Catholicism, often seen as a false religion separate from our “true Christianity”. At church, I learned about the ‘idolatry’ behind Catholic devotion to saints and the Virgin Mary. I learned that God ‘did not move’ in such programmed liturgies. I think that for a lot of Puerto Ricans within that generation, the Catholic church did not respond to their needs as a time, so their Evangelical faith was always defensive towards that subject.

Fast forward a few years, my parents decided to enroll me in a Catholic High School. It was affordable and one of the best in our town. As one of the few non-Catholics in my class, I was always particularly defensive and zelous about my faith. I distinctively remember my first Ash Wednesday. As part of the day’s activities, a group of students shared a reflection, and then asked all the students in our classroom to bow our heads. I obeyed, but saw out of the corner of my eye, the teacher passing by and putting the ash on the student’s foreheads. I panicked, and prayed to God for courage to ‘stand up’ for my beliefs and defend ‘true Christianity’. When my turn came, I lifted my head and bravely told the teacher, “I’m not a Catholic!” She shrugged her shoulders and moved to the next person, but to me, it was a victory. I had stood up for my faith! I remember sharing this testimony with my youth group at church in the coming week.

Nowadays, after some rocky years, I find myself in a new city and a new church. This church practices a more traditional liturgy, and celebrates Ash Wednesday. Two weeks ago was my first time at a formal Ash Wednesday service. From the moment I came in, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I’m the typical emotional Latina, so this didn’t come as a shock to me. What did surprise me was how close I felt to God throughout that service. Memories of my charismatic teenage years came to mind. My 15-year-old self would be scandalized that I had grown far from God, and even more that I was now reconnecting with God in one of the ‘cold’ churches, where there were symbols and traditions. 

As I received the ashes on my forehead for the first time in my life, it was as if a part of me was finally breaking loose of old misconceptions. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Such a beautiful and powerful and life-changing statement. How could I miss this all these years?

For a long time, I felt embarrassed about the faith I professed throughout those teen years. How many people did I offend? I can’t believe I was so close-minded! However, there is something that I know for a fact, even amidst all the ups and downs of my spiritual life. 

 I know that God was as present then as he is now. His company is the most constant relationship in my life.

And for that I am grateful. I continue to learn, to expand my horizons, to ask God for His guidance. I ask that my mind be stretched, but that my heart be kept simple and searching for Truth, whatever that might be. 

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about this for now.

A Church Story (also, just an essay)

Jesus came into my heart when I was fourteen years old. After a prematurely problematic adolescence, my life really did change and I became immersed in all things Christian. An active member of my small conservative church in Puerto Rico, I was always hanging around with my pastor and his wife. During a season when things were rocky at home, church provided me with a sense of family and comfort. Even now, as the years have passed and I have distanced myself from some of the beliefs I held at the time, I can never argue against the love of God manifested to me through the care of my church family. I have not attended that church for more than six years, and I still get calls and messages from them, making sure I am OK!

There’s a memory from a Friday night after service that I frequently revisit. The pastors were giving me a lift, and accompanying us in the car was a visiting pastor from Cuba. At the time, my family lived in a rented house that I felt embarrassed about. It had really funky décor that I can sum up in these things: a donkey statue in the lawn, a lion-shaped fountain by the door, and pink paint all over the walls (I couldn’t make this up if I tried.). Always the self-conscious teen, I rambled on about my ugly house all the way home. My pastor, his wife, and the Cuban pastor patiently listened to my complaints. When we got there, the Cuban pastor commented, “You have a beautiful house. I hope you get to visit mine someday in Cuba.” I was speechless. I did not know where or how to hide. Twelve years have passed, but the memory is vivid.

I was blessed to be able to visit his house on several trips as part of a religious Visa awarded to our church a few years later. Getting to know Christians in Cuba, establishing friendships that still exist, and learning about a different, more simple way of life are a few of the life lessons that these trips offered me. My church, with all its prohibitions and rules, somehow managed to broaden my horizons and expose me to realities of the world that were otherwise unknown to me. In church and on these mission trips, I learned about simplicity, about learning to live with less, about being thankful, about forming friendships, about trusting God amidst hard times, and about expecting miracles in unexpected places. Church was the first place I learned about homelessness, about addiction, and about what I could do to serve those in need. Years of college, and graduate school, and books, and conferences have not taught me as much as these experiences did. They shaped my passions, defined my vocation, and are at the foundation of the goals and dreams that I am pursuing, professionally and personally.

The Evangelical and Pentecostal churches in Puerto Rico have had a beautiful trajectory of service to the community that is often overshadowed by their strict doctrines. I am attracted to that tradition of kindness and compassion, but I cannot get past their exclusive theology and make myself believe it again. I am not changing them, and they probably won’t change me (in that sense, at least). I often reflect on those beautiful years and can only conclude this. Profoundly more so than the teachings and sermons, it was the every-day things and walking together that taught me best about life and ultimately, attracted me to the Jesus I still adore. 

Hope for Spring

Cherry Blossoms (I think) at Hermann Park, Houston, TX

Pic taken today, March 4th, 2014. 

Matthew 6:30-34(MSG) "If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met. Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes."

2014

Tengo que hacer un esfuerzo y seguir con este proyectito. Lo he dejado, pero hoy revisitándolo, fue tan bonito recordar lo que se siente expresarse, crear algo, escribir, aunque nadie lo lea o lo vea. Así que solo paso por aquí para poner de mi parte y empezar a bloguear de nuevo.

UPDATES: Me mudé a Houston, donde estoy haciendo un PhD en Neurociencia Molecular en la Universidad de Texas. Estoy feliz, estoy bien, y Dios decidió mudarse a Texas y acompañarme :) jejejeje. No estoy sola, la Vida me ha regalado nuevos amigos, y mucho tiempo sola, para pensar y aprender. Estoy tratando de manejarlo bien. Seguiré escribiendo.

A leap of faith

I have been missing from this blog for a long time, too long. I need to get back to writing. I have been aware of this almost the whole time I have been without writing, but life has gotten complicated, and somehow, I lost the discipline of coming here and writing for my few, but faithful, readers :)

Anyway, just wanted to say that I'm making an effort of getting back on track, starting with this short post.

I remember a long time ago (almost feels like a lifetime ago), when during a prayer service at the church where I grew up in, I asked for prayer, because I wanted God to give me the "gift of faith". I wasn't even sure what that meant (still unsure), but I had read the following passage, and that had somehow made an impression.

To one there is given through the Spirit the message of wisdom, to another the message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit... (1 Cor. 12:8-9 NIV)

I have always been a weird mix of skepticism, curiosity, and child-like faith. Sometimes I close my eyes and trust God (or people) wholeheartedly, but most times... Faith is a challenge for me. I often go back to that adolescent prayer and wonder if maybe my struggles with faith somehow stem from that prayer. You know, how they say that if you ask for patience, you will only get troubles? Well, maybe the same applies for when you ask for faith. You get doubt in exchange.

The thing, though, is that ultimately, I feel that receiving the 'gift of faith' might mean just that... The strength to keep on believing, even in the middle of doubt and mistakes and disillusions. Sometimes I feel that God has failed me, yet I keep on believing. Most days I feel like I have failed God one too many times, yet somehow... within me, something blossoms and I keep on believing. I see the good and the evil in this world, and so many questions arise that I ask myself, "Why do I insist on this faith?", yet... For some reason that goes beyond my comprehension, faith clings to me, it doesn't let me go, it makes me try once again.

The gift of faith?

I think I might have gotten the answer to my prayers after all. I am so grateful.



P.S. Not really sure if this makes sense? Not gonna go back and proofread it for fear of erasing it and never posting anything ever again. Promise to keep on trying and writing, if not for any reader, then at least for myself. It really helps. 

Pausa

A pocos días del examen, una pausa para decir....

Dios, ¡qué bueno eres conmigo! Vivir con tu amistad estos últimos diez años ha sido lo mejor que me ha pasado. ¡No te quiero cambiar! Enséñame a ser firme, como los árboles que tienen raíces profundas, como el úcar que había en mi casa cuando chiquita. Sé que estás conmigo, aún cuando quiero ignorarte. ¡Qué fiel eres! Sin importar (en verdad sí me importa, pero tú sabes lo que te digo) lo que pase esta semana en el examen, de corazón, gracias. Me has enseñado mucho estos dos meses, y me sorprenden tus detalles en todo, en todo. Que no pase desapercibido, quiero que sepas que mi corazón ha estado atento... Gracias, Señor. Enséñame a amarte con mi vida. Amén.

Out of Service

The above picture is what is on my desk, small things that help motivate me and keep focus of why I'm doing what I'm doing ;)


People, pray for me. Currently holed up somewhere in Houston, TX studying for the STEP 1, which is basically the exam that defines the rest of your life as a physician, hehe. Nah, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but it's really a big deal, so I need to stay focused, kick butt, and manage to not die of stress and lack of physical activity in the process. Seriously, pray for me, send me your good thoughts, and I'll be back with lots of wonderful stories about where my summer is going to take me post-test ;) HINT: It involves Spain and Perú!


See  you all soon!