This evening I’m sitting in a beanbag chair studying CSS. I spent the morning practicing Active Record and learning Sinatra. If you’ve never heard of these things before, don’t worry because one week ago I was part of that population of society too.
It sometimes seems like all these things are way above my head and impossible to learn. I’ve definitely sat in a few technology talks where I had no idea what was going on, but the neat thing is things are beginning to change for me. I understand a little more each day, and that progress both encourages and surprises me.
At first, reading Ruby Documentation felt like reading Chinese, but now it seems like light reading material. Okay, not really, but at least I understand it. Before, reading source code felt like looking at Sanskrit, but now I can peruse source code like it was a storybook. Again, not really but I can trace what it’s doing and even play around with that knowledge.
It’s not easy yet, but it gets easier as time goes on. This is the story of DBC and learning code. It’s painful at first to learn code. Reading everything is a crazy mind stretch and it’s a seemingly insurmountable obstacle to train your brain to read computer languages, until you keep on doing it and one day you realize you know what it says.
If you’re on the train of learning code, keep at it! We all are just trying to do a little more each day, until one day it feels like we knew it all along.
I’m entering my second week at Dev Bootcamp, an intensive program designed to teach you to become a professional web developer in 9 weeks. It’s been a wild journey so far, but one that I don’t regret at all despite the rather unusual situations I currently find myself in.
It’s difficult to explain to your family and friend why, as grown people with a home and careers, you would consider starting all over again. I liked my house and I loved my job, but as a chaser of information I wanted to learn more about coding. I love the internet, how it connects people and how it levels the playing field when it comes to learning. Anyone can gain access to all types of information; anyone can learn anything if they can tap into the power of the web. I’m an avid consumer, and now I want to contribute too. I was an inspired by a video here. Joey more than agreed. He was passionate about learning code even before I knew where to begin. We decided to take the leap together.
And so here we are. We’re living in an empty apartment in Chicago with an air mattress and thrift store chairs. Every day we spend anywhere from 8 to 12 hours at our school in an office building in River North with our fellow classmates and teachers. I stare at computer screens and tap tap tap away, stretching the corners of my brain searching for every little bit of info I’ve ever learned about coding. It’s difficult, it’s pretty darn tiring, but I’m in a strange state of loving it anyway.
Week one of DBC was full of emotional ups and downs, because this program is intense and learning is hard work. You realize how fragile your state of mind is; you constantly compare your progress to others, and you suffer severe mental panic when you think you can’t keep up. You find yourself fighting the mentality that you’ve got to stay on top, cultivate your type A, be the best in the class because those are the people that succeed in life. The truth about DBC is that the people who succeed here are the people who are learning how to code. Everything else is extraneous. Do what it takes to master coding, and pass along all the knowledge you can on the way. It’s an environment that’s inspiring. It’s refreshing. It’s effective. I think it’s amazing.
So here we are, learning about data structures and algorithms. I’m building variables and methods at lightning speed, hoping they’ll stick in my code-muddled brain. Here’s to another day of coding!
This was a reflection I wrote while in Honduras in March, first published in July, 2014.
We’ve settled in our home in Honduras for the next few weeks, which is the Missioners of Christ John Paul II Center for Evangelization in Comayagua, Honduras. What that mouthful means is that we are living with a bunch of missionaries from the United States and Honduras in a comfortable but simple facility in a neighborhood in Comayagua, a city an hour away from the nation’s capital.
Life here is fun, difficult, unexpected and joyful all at the same time.
For slightly extroverted Jing, its fun to live in a house full of people. We pray, learn and laugh together. I have been learning how to make Honduran food, how to wash my clothes by hand, and how to express myself using the limited Spanish I have acquired in my short time here. I love it.
Life has also been difficult, with random hiccups or uncomfortable situations at every turn. I have been bitten by every bug imaginable, and therefore itch from head to toe. Every time I visit with a local family, I experience the overwhelming sensation of awkwardness at not being able to express basic niceties without a deep stretch of my mind in searching for simple words in Spanish. Finally, living in solidarity with a mission community with limited resources can be frustrating for a person who loves efficiency and hates wasted effort. I like to think I can solve any problem with just a little bit of determination and planning, but the truth is that I am still learning how to maneuver through a country where nothing is guaranteed, not cleanliness, nor safety nor comfort. You learn quickly that you have to rely on a God who sees a bigger picture than you. There is a learning curve to starting a new job or coming to a new country; I’m swimming through both, and I feel it heavily sometimes.
The unexpected part comes in what you learn about yourself when you take yourself outside of the places and things you are used to. The past few years I feel like I’ve shielded myself from self-examination by maintaining a contentment with busy work and distractions. Living here has cleared my mind, and I’ve made discoveries about the kind of person that I am with a clarity that can only come with a simplicity of life and hours of prayer. I can’t elaborate; I can only say that I didn’t anticipate seeing so clearly here. It’s not a finished process, but only beginning.
But life is joyful here. There is a deep peace in knowing that no matter what befalls you, you are standing in the exact place that you are meant to be at the exact time you are meant to be there. I don’t mind the discomforts, I cherish the blessings, and I look forward to what comes next.
This weekend, Christine, Jose and I decided to take a trip to visit our new friend Katie in San Lucas Tolimán, a small town on the edge of Lake Atitlán in central Guatemala.
We asked our teachers if we could quit school early on Friday, and we hopped in a van with our very kind driver Manuel. Manual took us on a spectacular adventure through the Guatemalan countryside, switchbacking up and down curvy mountain roads. When we came to a bridge that had been washed away, Manual drove us straight through the creek it originally crossed. When we came to a truck that ran into the side of a mountain, he waited until Jose jumped out to help the drivers push it aside, then he drove on unfazed. Up and down he went, stopping on occasion to allow us to snap a photo of vistas that overlooked gorgeous valleys. Manual, uber talented professional driver, got us to San Lucas Tolimán without trouble.
Our meeting with Katie was providential and fun, especially given the random nature of how it came about. Christine met Katie via email through a random meeting with a lovely family at our language school, which consequently led them to discover they had mutual friends. We decided to visit her mission, which led us to discover that we also had mutual friends. From all over the world. And while we had never met before this week, God has been recycling us among different places and people at different times. Such is life among active Catholics: there’s only two degrees of separation between me and the Pope. I’m working up to one.
Katie runs a bustling mission in San Lucas established by a diocesan priest from Minnesota more than 40 years ago. Today, the mission has completely transformed the community with its numerous ministries, including a hospital, a school with more than 400 students, and several environmental projects including an experimental farm and a fair trade coffee project. When he passed away about two years ago, several thousand people came to line the streets during his funeral procession. Katie made an amazing documentary about the life of Monsignor Greg, the catalyst for change in the community. The movie and more about the mission can be found here. Katie was so kind to show us the various ministries of the mission, and it was amazing to see the beautiful impact the mission has on the community of San Lucas Tolimán.
We spent our Saturday morning touring Santiago and San Antonio, both small towns on the edge of the lake. The boat ride across the lake was the loveliest part of the day, as the water is so blue it’s almost unbelievable that the lake is real. We pulled up to Santiago, a bigger town with plenty of tourist stalls and steeled our nerves as we were immediately accosted by vendors. Young kids working in the tourist stalls spoke English, if you count the phrases “You think about it,” “It’s very beautiful,” and “Please, I give you good price.” Vendors are very persistent bargainers and shopping wasn’t too fun until the frenzy died down a bit as we got some distance between ourselves and the stalls closest to the docks. After we had gone up the street for a while, browsing the stalls was lovely as Guatemalans are known for their beautiful weaving and amazing traditional clothing, and some of their wares were absolutely gorgeous.
Santiago was also the home of Father Stan, a priest who was martyred during a brutal civil war in Guatemala that lasted years. We visited the town church which houses a memorial in the room where he was killed. His story is quite heartbreaking, as he fought for the dignity of the poor in Guatemala during those tumultuous years and was eventually murdered because of his work. He worked alongside Father Greg, and they were good friends.
San Antonio, our other stop on our lake tour, is home to a famous local ceramics studio. It’s a much quieter town, but we had a lovely time talking to the family that runs the studio and strolling aka climbing a rather steep hill up to the church which overlooks the lake and the town.
All this walking, shopping and learning made for a rather full weekend, as well as a long blog entry. But so many exciting things managed to jam themselves into one and a half days! We even snagged some time to say evening prayer together and chat with a new friend Gary, who rode his bike from Texas to Guatemala. That’s right, bike, not motorbike.
In the end, we managed to return ourselves to Antigua safely early Sunday morning, and even managed a relaxing Sunday in town to boot.
This morning, I packed up my backpack and Jose and I trotted off to school. Inside a beautiful garden courtyard, I met my teacher Erika. We sat all morning in our little classroom, which was two chairs, a table and a whiteboard in a little hut along a path in the garden. For five hours she taught me Spanish verbs, grammar and vocabulary. By the time we played a little game of memory with Jose and one other foreign student, my brain was fried. After hours of trying to relearn every word you know and use in a simple conversation, I was spent.
However, school is lovely! It’s quite helpful to sit and chat all day with a teacher, and Erika is patient with my blunders and helpful with my questions. I love the magic of learning a language; it’s amazing to discover to you know the meaning of a word when before it was just a unrecognizable sound. It’s like seeing a new place for the first time, and you almost feel giddy at the progress of any new vocabulary you can pick up.
The week promises to be quite fun, with a few educational field trips sprinkled in between lessons in our cozy hut. I was promised homework as well, and you know you’re an old lady when you don’t mind the idea. Otherwise, today brought back memories of meeting by the lockers after school, especially when Jose walked me home from school. But he refused to carry my books! I’m going to ignore him during first period tomorrow in retribution.
At 7 a.m., our friend and missionary brother Joe delivered us to a bus stop along the road in Comayagua and sent us on our way to our language school in Antigua, Guatemala. Yesterday’s adventure included a 14-hour long bus ride through the Honduran and Guatemalan countryside on a surprisingly comfortable bus. Passing away a full day on a bus is not easy, but somehow we managed. In true Jing fashion, I spent the majority of my time during the ride sleeping. In true José fashion, he spent a good portion of the time on the road trying to prevent me from sleeping.
The trip passed with relatively few issues, but we did have a few adventures in an otherwise monotonous day. Noteworthy was our success in maneuvering through bus transfers, including a rather nerve-racking moment when our bus handlers took our passports and walked away. Turns out they were just walking them to our new driver, but it’s a little disconcerting when traveling through a new city and a man just takes your passport and goes off into a crowded station with it. Crossing the border from Honduras to Guatemala also gave us a bit of a “I’m not sure what to do now” moment when we left the Honduras immigration station to discover our bus was missing. Turns out you have to stroll down the road a bit to the Guatemala immigration station where the bus is waiting for you, but how would we know that? I suppose all those directions in Español that the bus attendant gave previously might have addressed that small detail. Lucky for us it was only a second before we spotted someone from our bus and managed to very covertly chase her down and follow her along to the other station.
We arrived in the beautiful city of Antigua at 9 p.m., where a gracious local who happened to catch a shuttle with us offered us a ride to our lodging and delivered us there intact. Our lovely host, a kind Guatemalan woman who speaks no English, showed us to a comfortable room and we were able to rest. Today’s adventures included mass at a local church, an walking exploration of the city, home cooked meals from our host with a sampling of cafe’s and random snacks in between, leaving me presently so full that I can barely walk. The weather is beautiful here, the city is muy interesante, and our school adventure begins tomorrow. All this goes to show how loving a God we have. Despite being sojourners in a foreign land, He has blessed our steps along the way.
Our first glimpse of Honduras! Let the adventure begin!
Every time I move I run through the sad gamut of saying goodbye to people I love spending time with on a regular basis. This week I finished my time at a job I loved, and said a rather heartbreaking goodbye to the people I work with. As I went to my last karate class, I thought about the many nights I spent at the dojo and how kind and patient my teacher and classmates were with me. Even now, hubby, roomie and I are preparing our last dinner in our house together.
These days are never easy for me; I hate goodbyes, and often try to pretend that I’ll be back again next week. As I prepare myself to leave a place, all I can think about is how much I’ll miss the people that I’ll be separated from. But I’m reminded that these “lasts” are an offering, part of the sacrifice required when you’re searching for God’s will in your life.
I remind myself that my goodbyes are symbolic of hellos, of the yes that I’m saying to a life laid out for me by a God who loves me. And I try to remember that saying goodbye eventually gives way to happy reunions, which I look forward to every time I think of my friends.
After a long period of radio silence, I feel inspired to record the adventures planned for the year. This shiny, brand new year holds a host of changes for us, including:
An extended mission. We’re going to Honduras! We’ll be spending a few months there, going on missions, building websites and starting a coffee distribution business for the Missioners of Christ.
Travel, travel and more travel. Guatemala, Honduras, Virginia Beach and Chicago are all on the list this year.
A career change. Jose and I will be going back to school to study web development and computer programming.
A major move. After we graduate from school, we’ll find a job and relocate to a new home!
A few solid weeks in our hometown. We’re excited to spend a few uninterrupted weeks with our family! After 10 years in the Navy, it’s great to be home for a while.
While all these changes are making my head spin, I’m excited for the things to come. I feel more ninja-like when I’m on the move, and so with one week to go before we move out of our Florida home, I’m feeling more ninja everyday. Here we go!
On my fourth day in Honduras, I awoke next to my beloved husband in a strange bed. The first three days had been a blur of prayer time, getting to know our missionary team, planning out presentations and packing for our trip to the small rural villages tucked in the banana and coffee-filled mountains of Honduras. A bumpy truck ride later, we were in the middle of a Central American mountain range and welcomed into the home of a sweet little old Honduran grandma and her two precious grandchildren.
The early mornings began with the sharp beeping of a loaned watch alarm, jarring after a night of rather fitful sleep interrupted well before dawn by what seemed like thousands of roosters and dogs. My sleep was perforated by several horrific nighttime experiences with a hole in the ground, otherwise known as an outhouse. Moreover, the early hour required an awkward preparing of oneself in the dark, as we resisted turning on the light (singular) for fear of waking our hosts. As soon as we finished, we popped outside to walk next door to the church, where we met our team members for some prayer time, our spiritual food for a busy day.
After heavenly prayer came earthly breakfast, a favorite time of day for perpetually hungry Jing. Beans, eggs, plantains, tortillas and creama, a delicious homemade sour cream, were typically in order. As a missionary, it’s imperative to finish all your food, but our hosts jam-packed our plates so as to make it a challenge. I occasionally had to slyly pass food to my Honduran brother, who amazingly managed to clean his plate to a shiny finish at every meal.
After breakfast came home visits. We split into teams, and Diego, Carlos, Claudia and I started off down our path. My fellow missionaries could not speak English, thus leaving me in the dark as to where we were going or what exactly we’d be doing. We climbed up and down dirt roads, following mountainous paths where they led and greeting all we passed with a hearty “Buenas!”
Perched on the hillsides were homes, small cement structures with raised foundations and shaded porches. Often pigs, chickens, and rather skinny-looking dogs lounged about, and children frolicked every which way while adults went about their daily tasks. We walked up to houses, introduced ourselves, and Diego asked if we could take some time to pray with them. At each house families welcomed us, scrambled to put out chairs and invited us to sit.
Now my Spanish was dicey at best, and if one spoke really slowly perhaps I could understand. However, in the beautiful villages of the mountains there were no allowances for my lack of understanding. People were generous with their time while talking to us, generous with their well-wishes and thanks for our visits, generous with their resources in the form of snacks and soda. And while my team members shared the Gospel and the love of Christ with each family we met, I sat silently and offered my prayers to God for blessings on the people I was with. I didn’t understand the details of the discussion, but I asked for joy and hope and safety and courage in the face of any troubles that might befall them. Our lives are different, but the same. Different in that we in the United States have all the resources of the world at our fingertips, and those in Honduras do not. The same in that the troubles of the world try to bring us down, and ultimately we all need the joy, hope and deep love that only a relationship with Jesus can bring.
Our week on mission was filled with singing, dancing, prayer, joy, hope and love – all the things that in the abstract that make life worthwhile. However, the tangible form of those things is not what you might expect. We briefly lived the life of those who are poor, but in reality we are called to be poor all the time, to live simply and for Christ; to give constantly, not of our stuff or of our money but of ourselves. I’ve always said this to myself, but in going on mission I realize how I’ve fallen short in this respect. I am, and we are all, called to do more.
To my brothers and sisters in Christ, in the United States, in Honduras and all around the world, Jesus is life, and the only worthy thing we can do for one another is to model the love He showed and help one another on our journey home.