It's been a few weeks since I've posted. Sorry.
Really, I have meant to--but I get in a place where I don't just want to write a simple update, I actually want to say something meaningful. And sometimes it takes a while for the right inspiration to strike. Soon, I will combine the two, trying to give a picture of my life here. This post is more of an aside than anything else.
At this point, I've been in Rwanda for just over 7 weeks, and only have 11 days left until I return home. I knew I'd be saying this, but parts of me cannot believe that this point has come already. Have I really accomplished anything, or enough to say this was worthy for my master's degree? (The answer is: hopefully, and I think so.)
Sometimes, I can't believe that I am studying for a master's...it feels very grown up, although if I'd gone by my life plan that was in place until a few years ago, I'd be starting my last year of medical school soon. And this feels surreal? That would be so much more. But I am so thankful that God has led me in this direction instead--I may not know everything that lies ahead, but I do know it's not med school.
For so long I held onto that dream, building my whole identity around it. My last year of high school and throughout college, I saw God come in and continually strip off pieces of identity I had put on myself--mostly, a need to be accepted, mainly through what I did--and I later realized--what I was going to become. I needed people to recognize that I was smart, capable--going to save the world as an awe-inspiring physician. It wasn't enough to let Jesus affirm those things in me without them being public. I still deal with outcroppings of this fear, this need. I have to check myself before I post on facebook, or in what I drop in conversations. Is it just to gain praise of make others think of me in a certain way? I am nowhere near perfect, and have not arrived. But I have come a long ways, and my heart has been transformed through the arduous process.
But one of the biggest pieces of this whole 'stripping' process was medical school. I was holding out, not wanting God to even think of taking it away. This was my lifelong dream, who I always wanted to become. I held onto it so tightly that I applied for med school twice. Yes, twice. Few times have I actually admitted that. Through a series of unfortunate events (first being lack of accessibility to Internet and time while I lived in India, second being processing times completely out of control--and both times, Wheaton's ridiculous science courses giving me a smaller chance of getting in), I didn't even get an interview. I thought about moving home after graduating to retake a couple of classes which Wheaton made extremely difficult (and I studied for, but didn't sacrifice my friendships for), working, living at home and reapplying. But God had other plans. Instead I felt led to stay in Wheaton, scraping for a job and living with friends, but part of an incredible, life-giving community. It was during this time that I applied for a second time--and realized when things weren't working out in my favor that it might not be what God had for me.
Cue identity crisis.
After living in India, I knew I wanted to pursue a Master's in Public Health--but in conjunction with my D.O. It all fit into the plan--this was gong to make me the most well-rounded, prepared student going into the field of international health. The desire to pursue this didn't go away after med school fell through. But I didn't think about it for a while. Instead, I wallowed. And then Jesus came in and picked me up. He reminded me of who He had made, that what other people see does not matter, but as I follow Him, they will see who He had made, instead of what I was making--which was, in fact, much more beautiful.
One of my roommates has told me a few times over the last year or two that I have changed a lot since we moved in together that August after graduating. I felt like I was different, but couldn't put a finger on it. That she had seen an outward change meant so much-that this thing I had felt changing wasn't just me. It was real. But when she told me what it was, I was surprised. 'You're more confident, Allison. I don't know how else to say it...but you are not afraid to be who you are, and to share it with the world.'
Over time, I realized she was right. And in a way I didn't expect, when I had gone through so many seasons of learning the importance of humility and how to rejoice even if no one ever noticed me or glorified me publicly for anything. Learning how to be joyful and rest without any praises from people, but only in who God made me-and who He continually reminded me that I was. It doesn't seem like confidence should come out of these kinds of seasons. But it did. As I learned these lessons over and over again, being built up in my identity apart from my accolades, my job, my future ambitions--I gained a different kind of confidence. One that actually showed outwardly, and didn't waver without recognition from others.
Not to say that this confidence wasn't tested. There are places in my life where I know I am talented--in school, in music...precisely the areas where big rejections came in and made me question myself all over again. Being rejected by others (from friends and church leaders to med school admissions) for things you know you're capable of doing well? It hurts. But those things happening to me were important steps in my process of becoming whole--apart from the praise of man. Important steps in learning how to walk in peace, no matter what the circumstances. And important steps in learning how to rejoice with others who are getting the victory you hoped for, but didn't win.
Thinking of these things can still bring tears to my eyes. But there is a peace deeper than those tears. The last week or so, I have realized that right now, I am in my favorite time of life. Some people cling on to high school as their 'glory years,' others hold onto college. High school may not have been a nightmare, but it was not great. There I went through my greatest brokenness. For a long time, I thought college would be the years I always looked back and yearned for. They were great--and I am so thankful for such an incredible college experience. But today (well, not today--but most of the time) I live in a home with kindred heart friends. I am part of a thriving church community that gets better all the time--full of rich friends who encourage me in my walk with God and who are some of the funnest people to be around. In those hard places over the past few years, a deep joy was forged in my heart. I walk in more joy and peace than ever before--even as I live here in rural Rwanda, far from those I know and love, in a place where it is easy to live in despair. And my coworkers have noticed...as they gave me my Rwandan name: Byishimo, or 'joy.' That, I think, is the culmination of so many things--a heart, a life completely transformed by knowing Jesus, and saying 'yes' even in the hardest places.
So I could be one year away from having the letters 'D.O.' behind my name, being a real doctor. But that path that Jesus took me on, while marked with tears and pain, has been so much sweeter. Choosing to pursue public health became joyous (and not just an alternate because I couldn't get into med school)--because I am entering a field where I can lead from behind. I don't want to go to medical school. With this, I have more freedom to do what I have always loved, to fulfill the full calling on my life.
With public health, I don't have to be the big leader always getting the community mobilized. That I will do, I am sure--but Jesus has brought me to a place where I can be more effective now than I ever would have been before, comfortable in building up leaders to get the spotlight instead of me. Building capacity in local leaders without needing the big credential, leaders that can be more effective than me because they are reaching their own communities and cultures. I long to be there right beside them, fully a part of whatever community I live in--but never having to be the public face, getting the glory. Loving people by living with them in the dirt, day in and day out. This is what I go towards--being a servant leader, who is led by the Holy Spirit to love people radically and holistically. Whether 'the dirt' that the communities I join be literal--the dusty streets of India or rural Rwanda, or the dirt found in broken lives in the city of Chicago, I will go, changed, ready to serve.
Really, I have meant to--but I get in a place where I don't just want to write a simple update, I actually want to say something meaningful. And sometimes it takes a while for the right inspiration to strike. Soon, I will combine the two, trying to give a picture of my life here. This post is more of an aside than anything else.
At this point, I've been in Rwanda for just over 7 weeks, and only have 11 days left until I return home. I knew I'd be saying this, but parts of me cannot believe that this point has come already. Have I really accomplished anything, or enough to say this was worthy for my master's degree? (The answer is: hopefully, and I think so.)
Sometimes, I can't believe that I am studying for a master's...it feels very grown up, although if I'd gone by my life plan that was in place until a few years ago, I'd be starting my last year of medical school soon. And this feels surreal? That would be so much more. But I am so thankful that God has led me in this direction instead--I may not know everything that lies ahead, but I do know it's not med school.
For so long I held onto that dream, building my whole identity around it. My last year of high school and throughout college, I saw God come in and continually strip off pieces of identity I had put on myself--mostly, a need to be accepted, mainly through what I did--and I later realized--what I was going to become. I needed people to recognize that I was smart, capable--going to save the world as an awe-inspiring physician. It wasn't enough to let Jesus affirm those things in me without them being public. I still deal with outcroppings of this fear, this need. I have to check myself before I post on facebook, or in what I drop in conversations. Is it just to gain praise of make others think of me in a certain way? I am nowhere near perfect, and have not arrived. But I have come a long ways, and my heart has been transformed through the arduous process.
But one of the biggest pieces of this whole 'stripping' process was medical school. I was holding out, not wanting God to even think of taking it away. This was my lifelong dream, who I always wanted to become. I held onto it so tightly that I applied for med school twice. Yes, twice. Few times have I actually admitted that. Through a series of unfortunate events (first being lack of accessibility to Internet and time while I lived in India, second being processing times completely out of control--and both times, Wheaton's ridiculous science courses giving me a smaller chance of getting in), I didn't even get an interview. I thought about moving home after graduating to retake a couple of classes which Wheaton made extremely difficult (and I studied for, but didn't sacrifice my friendships for), working, living at home and reapplying. But God had other plans. Instead I felt led to stay in Wheaton, scraping for a job and living with friends, but part of an incredible, life-giving community. It was during this time that I applied for a second time--and realized when things weren't working out in my favor that it might not be what God had for me.
Cue identity crisis.
After living in India, I knew I wanted to pursue a Master's in Public Health--but in conjunction with my D.O. It all fit into the plan--this was gong to make me the most well-rounded, prepared student going into the field of international health. The desire to pursue this didn't go away after med school fell through. But I didn't think about it for a while. Instead, I wallowed. And then Jesus came in and picked me up. He reminded me of who He had made, that what other people see does not matter, but as I follow Him, they will see who He had made, instead of what I was making--which was, in fact, much more beautiful.
One of my roommates has told me a few times over the last year or two that I have changed a lot since we moved in together that August after graduating. I felt like I was different, but couldn't put a finger on it. That she had seen an outward change meant so much-that this thing I had felt changing wasn't just me. It was real. But when she told me what it was, I was surprised. 'You're more confident, Allison. I don't know how else to say it...but you are not afraid to be who you are, and to share it with the world.'
Over time, I realized she was right. And in a way I didn't expect, when I had gone through so many seasons of learning the importance of humility and how to rejoice even if no one ever noticed me or glorified me publicly for anything. Learning how to be joyful and rest without any praises from people, but only in who God made me-and who He continually reminded me that I was. It doesn't seem like confidence should come out of these kinds of seasons. But it did. As I learned these lessons over and over again, being built up in my identity apart from my accolades, my job, my future ambitions--I gained a different kind of confidence. One that actually showed outwardly, and didn't waver without recognition from others.
Not to say that this confidence wasn't tested. There are places in my life where I know I am talented--in school, in music...precisely the areas where big rejections came in and made me question myself all over again. Being rejected by others (from friends and church leaders to med school admissions) for things you know you're capable of doing well? It hurts. But those things happening to me were important steps in my process of becoming whole--apart from the praise of man. Important steps in learning how to walk in peace, no matter what the circumstances. And important steps in learning how to rejoice with others who are getting the victory you hoped for, but didn't win.
Thinking of these things can still bring tears to my eyes. But there is a peace deeper than those tears. The last week or so, I have realized that right now, I am in my favorite time of life. Some people cling on to high school as their 'glory years,' others hold onto college. High school may not have been a nightmare, but it was not great. There I went through my greatest brokenness. For a long time, I thought college would be the years I always looked back and yearned for. They were great--and I am so thankful for such an incredible college experience. But today (well, not today--but most of the time) I live in a home with kindred heart friends. I am part of a thriving church community that gets better all the time--full of rich friends who encourage me in my walk with God and who are some of the funnest people to be around. In those hard places over the past few years, a deep joy was forged in my heart. I walk in more joy and peace than ever before--even as I live here in rural Rwanda, far from those I know and love, in a place where it is easy to live in despair. And my coworkers have noticed...as they gave me my Rwandan name: Byishimo, or 'joy.' That, I think, is the culmination of so many things--a heart, a life completely transformed by knowing Jesus, and saying 'yes' even in the hardest places.
So I could be one year away from having the letters 'D.O.' behind my name, being a real doctor. But that path that Jesus took me on, while marked with tears and pain, has been so much sweeter. Choosing to pursue public health became joyous (and not just an alternate because I couldn't get into med school)--because I am entering a field where I can lead from behind. I don't want to go to medical school. With this, I have more freedom to do what I have always loved, to fulfill the full calling on my life.
With public health, I don't have to be the big leader always getting the community mobilized. That I will do, I am sure--but Jesus has brought me to a place where I can be more effective now than I ever would have been before, comfortable in building up leaders to get the spotlight instead of me. Building capacity in local leaders without needing the big credential, leaders that can be more effective than me because they are reaching their own communities and cultures. I long to be there right beside them, fully a part of whatever community I live in--but never having to be the public face, getting the glory. Loving people by living with them in the dirt, day in and day out. This is what I go towards--being a servant leader, who is led by the Holy Spirit to love people radically and holistically. Whether 'the dirt' that the communities I join be literal--the dusty streets of India or rural Rwanda, or the dirt found in broken lives in the city of Chicago, I will go, changed, ready to serve.
2 comments:
Allison! I love this sweet entry. Thank you for sharing, and thank you for pressing into the potters hand these years in all you do....and in the unexpected circumstances/jobs/places/tasks that you've found yourself in. You've been so flexible, and "present" with the people and circumstances around in a way that I admire so much and learned from. Love you!
Nicole
This is so beautiful. Thank you for such a thoughtful reflection. I am blessed to know you!
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