The program

In the past couple weeks, I've often compared my experience in the CFHI program to my free-spirited jaunt in Europe earlier this summer. One thing that sticks out to me here is the culture of the program. Society has been created among the students ex nihilo, and in less than seven days. We've all used Spanish class, the clinical rotations, medical school, and touristy activities to connect with each other, though sometimes I would rather be doing my own thing, which is to say running, hiking, playing music, reading, studying, and praying. In Europe, on the other hand, Sam and I usually did exactly as we pleased (which were all of the above and more)-- though we met only a handful of people we'll remember. So, much like during the school year, I've sought to find a balance here between study and society, but the opportunity to get to know new and different people has overshadowed my scholastic pursuits in the past few days. Here's the good, the bad, and the feo:

On Friday, I traveled with friends two hours north of Quito to Otavalo and spent Friday night hanging out in front of a fire at our hostel and playing a guitar I had found. The guitar felt like an answer to prayer-- I've really been missing being able to play music down here. Saturday morning, I made a few purchases in the traditional market (South America's largest, apparently-- photos above) and surprised myself with the reality that I am beginning to have a legitimate taste in art. We returned to Quito that afternoon and went out to "Tapas y Vinos," a restaurant that offers unlimited tapas and wine all night. Unfortunately, I forgot my school-issued Ecuadorean cell phone at the restaurant and will probably have to drop $60 to replace it. Dang. I woke up this morning pretty anxious about that one and plan to call the make some calls to try to recover it later this afternoon. But despite that, I don't regret the time I spent with people this weekend, since I had some experiences that challenged me in new ways. For instance, a bearded, fifty-ish guy approached me at a bus stop near Quito and asked me (in very good English) for twenty-five cents so he could get on the bus, explaining that all of his belongings had been stolen on his bus ride from Bogota, Colombia. Indeed, all he had was the polo shirt, jeans, and shoes he was wearing, so I helped him out and he ended up sitting in front of me on the bus and explaining his situation. He was born in Colombia, grew up in New York, got put in prison for fifteen years (didn't ask why), and was deported back to Colombia upon his release six months ago. He had obtained a fake id so he could get into Ecuador and travel to Guayaquil where he was going to stay with a friend from prison and apparently teach English for $800 / month. The guy was certainly rough around the edges, but my friends and I all empathized with his situation and gave him a few bucks so he could catch the next bus. Thinking about his situation-- and the situation of the majority of the people here-- makes me a lot less stressed out about losing a little phone.

So the wind in my sails at the start of my voyage has been replaced by a bit of a headwind, and I face the task of reorienting yet again for the week to come. The English spoken by all my companions this weekend wore my resolve down to speak only Spanish, so I must build up that broken-down wall as well. And my thoughts keep wandering down the trail to this fall and the abundance of life as a student at Brody School of Medicine, so I must bridle my thoughts and stay focused on the tasks at hand. Which are, to love people and to learn, having peace in the process and growing in sensitivity. I'm only beginning to learn how important that last part is to the making of a rich life.

But you know, sensitivity also has its price, and it's often in the form of contrition. Which brings to mind a favorite song of mine by Red Mountain Church, "Decide This Doubt For Me:"

The Lord will happiness divine,

On contrite hearts, bestow

Then tell me gracious God is mine,

A contrite heart, or no?

I hear but seem to hear in vain;

Insensible as steel,

Insensible as steel;

If aught is felt, ‘tis only pain,

To find I cannot feel.

To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined,

To love thee O, if I could;

But often find another mind,

Averse to all, all that is good.

My best desires are faint and few;

I fain would strive for more,

I fain would strive for more;

But when I cry, “My strength renew,”

Seems weaker than before.

Seems weaker than before.

Thy saints are comforted I know,

And love Thy house, Thy house of prayer;

I sometimes go where others go,

But find no comfort there.

O, make this heart rejoice or ache,

Decide this doubt for me.

Decide this doubt for me.

And if it be not broken, break,

And heal it if it be.

O, heal it if it be.

One thing that blew my mind about this song is that the writer, William Cowper, doesn't at first glance seem to know the current status of his own heart! He spends line upon line meditating upon his sin and his desire for spiritual renewal, but seems to end it with a plea for either more brokenness or more joy, depending on which one God thinks he needs. But as I reflected on it, I realized that he is not asking for either one OR the other, but both-- at the same time. He is indeed a sensitive and broken person, but his sensitivity lies in his ability to recognize his own insensitivity. Which is exactly where I find myself this Lord's Day.

Thanks for your love and prayers. Pray as I travel to Chone tomorrow that I would be sensitive to the needs of the people around me, and my own.