live in the moment

現世

I have spent the last 10 days back home in Wyoming after my university shut down due to the covid-19 pandemic. In that time, I have done a lot of reading, painting, and necessary rest after 3 months of nonstop work.

It's been difficult to get back into the swing of things here. It's been hard to not go to classes and meetings everyday, not having my coffee dates or spending the evenings on a packed couch watching youtube videos until midnight with my people. I took for granted the freedom of driving a car full of people to late night gelato runs, or being downtown with children once a week. Finding a new normal has been the hardest transition so far, as I'm sure it is for thousands of college students across the nation at the moment.

I spent the last 48 hours working on a new mural in my bedroom; late at night and all day the next day, painting and repainting a certain area on my wall. I wanted it to be something that gives me peace to look at everyday and, only until recently, it has given me a lot to think about.

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Cherry blossoms mean something different in China than in Japan. In China, cherry blossoms symbolize female beauty and dominance. It is a mark of power and strength in female sexuality. In Chinese herbal medicine, the blossoms symbolize love and passion. But in Japan, the cherry blossom means something quite different; these trees are called "sakuras", and they are held in the highest regard possible. The blossoms symbolize things like innocence, simplicity, and the new spring. There are ceremonial gatherings where people group together beneath the trees and pay homage to the temporal aspect of the fragility of life. Who knew that a tree could have so much power?

The trees also symbolize humanity -- represented by their short lifespans that turn into instantaneous beauty, followed by a quick death. These trees are a potent reminder of the mortality and inconsequentiality of our lives on this earth. To those in Japanese culture, they are reminded by the blossoms that life is short, to cherish each moment and live life to the fullest, much like the short-lived beauty of the pink and red blossoms.

I painted this mural hoping that when I looked at it, it would remind me to see life in a way of beauty and simplicity. The beauty of the trees goes beyond mere appearance, but is an emblem of strength, power, innocence, and joy. I didn't learn any of this until after I had painted it.

The markings to the right of the tree are four very simple words written in Japanese: live in the moment. The correlation between the tree and the writing worked out perfectly in my case, and I had no idea until after it was done.

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By the end of June of this year, I was supposed to be going to Thailand. God opened up the perfect opportunity for me to do what I love--working with women in human trafficking, teaching them English, giving them a safe place to learn about the love of Jesus Christ and the hope of a different option for their lives--in a country where human trafficking is rampant. I would be there for a little over two weeks, meeting amazing people, immersing myself in the Asian culture that I loved so much, and hopefully opening up a door to go back someday as something more long-term.

Everything was handed to me in a way that made me thank God over and over for the last 6 months. The itinerary was everything I could have dreamed, my team was incredible, and the funding was all coming in in a way that I never could have imagined. I was beyond blessed, and felt so much peace about this opportunity to go and serve, so much so that I thought, even with the current climate of our world, it would fall into place even still. I prayed daily and still felt a feeling of absoluteness -- this was going to work out.

I was painting the mural when my phone buzzed with an email from my school, telling me that they had made a widespread decision to cancel the trip, and all other trips for the year for that matter. I slowly put my paintbrush down, reading and rereading the email. The decision was made so early, I couldn't help but wonder if they were going about this all wrong. I cried.

I admit that I am still processing it, and the biggest question I ask myself daily now seems to be, "God, why?" Why hand me something so perfect, so unbelievably ideal for me, only to rip it from my grasp only a few months before I was supposed to go? Why, when I prayed every day for this trip, did I feel like you were saying yes? Why?

Everything happens for a reason. I believe in this, and perhaps a few months from now, something devasting will happen in Thailand that I will read about in the news and I will thank God for keeping me safe from that. Or perhaps something would have happened to me or my team when we got there. Maybe I'm not even supposed to go to Thailand at all. Whatever the reason for it, I suppose I will never know, but my heart still breaks when I think about all of the excitement that has now turned into utter disappointment.

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I finished the painting while simultaneously wiping the tears away that streamed down my face. Living in the moment is something I am not good at, which is why I wrote it on my wall in large, black, foreign letters. My brain is 90% made of future plans, and 10% living in the present. Everything I am motivated to do in the present, I do because I know that it will help me achieve my goals in the future. This mindset is not helpful in the crises that we now find ourselves in.

As we come into a peak time of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear, I have no idea how to think about my future, and that is very difficult for me. I have no idea what my study abroad plans will be able to look like, what this means for future trips, internships, or living conditions in the future. I don't know how to plan my future when my life feels like it is currently on halt.

I know for a fact that learning about my trip while I was in the middle of painting was no coincidence. Everything happens for a reason, and the connections my mural has to everything else was not an accident. And while I can admit that I am still confused, frustrated, and scared, I know that there is a lesson trying to be taught right now that I need to listen to.

Four simple, beautiful words written on my wall will attest to being the hardest challenge for me in the coming months as I try to learn how to live in the moment; each moment, no matter how minute and unimportant they may seem, will someday be something that I look back on and can be grateful for. Living in the moment for me now is spending time with my family, focusing on schoolwork, and taking the time to do more of the things that I love, and I am learning to be grateful for the timing of it all.

It is hard to find joy in all of the little things. There are so many things that I wish could be different, but I have to remember that our lives are short -- as a cherry blossom is granted only 14 days to bloom before it withers and fades once more, so our lives could drastically change once again. But those 14 days mean everything for the tree, for the bees who pollinate, for the people who get a glimpse of that beauty. Each moment is significant as each being is forced to recognize that they have to seize all opportunities while they can before it disappears. Our lives are kind of like that.

Recognize the beauty in the minuscule, the significance in the accidents, and the joy in the mundane. Live in the moment, during a time of absolute uncertainty, when each moment should count, and find joy in this situation. I'll be working on doing the same.

em

現世