As my mom and I headed towards Managua's international airport, bags packed and documents in hand, I realized that my life was about to change. The year-long wait was finally over, and as unbelievable as it sounded, I was on my way to a university in the US after being awarded the holy grail of scholarships.
Truthfully, though, up until that point, I thought the directors would realize that they had made a mistake in choosing me and would give the scholarship to a more deserving student. Arriving at the airport meant that there was no turning back.
Bags checked and on their way to the plane, I hugged my mom goodbye, trying not to cry because I thought it would be too much of an airport cliché. "Take care, Ty. Love you," she said as I turned around and waved one more time.
As I walked through security, I was overcome with excitement. I repeated the address over and over again so that it wouldn't seem like I didn't know where I was going.
University of the Ozarks. 415 N College Ave, Clarksville, AR, 72830.
University of the Ozarks. 415 N College Ave, Clarksville, AR, 72830.
University of the Ozarks. 415 N College Ave, Clarksville, AR, 72830.
A few minutes after our emotional farewell, I was walking back towards my mom, head hung in shame, elation turned into dread. The TSA agent had informed me that I needed to present a notarized Minor Travel Consent letter to leave the country. I was still 17, so without that letter, I couldn't even board the plane.
I thought that was it for me. It looked like I wasn't going to college after all, and that's when I cried (cliché or not).
Panicking as well, my mom called everyone she knew. A new plane ticket leaving the following day was over $2,000. We didn't have that kind of money. We didn't have any money. When we couldn't solve the problem ourselves, we called Don Eric (WISP assistant director and knower of all things). Within 10 minutes, I had a new plane ticket and the assurance that I was still going to the University of the Ozarks.
Despite missing my plane the day before, I'm glad I didn't miss the first airport pick-up. It wasn't eventful nor extraordinary, but it was unforgettable. This was it: one big bus, 15-25 students from Latin America and Asia meeting each other for the first time or reuniting after uni holidays. Bliss, apprehension, and banter packed in a bus headed to the same place.
As Dr. Casey drove towards Clarksville that night (blasting his favorite Katy Perry songs), I heard the excitement in the stories shared by the returning internationals. At last, I was on my way to the place that would become my first home away from home.
NEW LIFE
When I lived in Bluefields, I believed that religion was for old women. Nothing about it seemed appealing or enthralling. Actually, it looked like long skirts, early nights, and unsmiling faces. And I didn't want any of that. I didn't know that it wasn't about what you could and couldn't do, but rather about who you got to know.
Like most freshmen living in King Hall, I started hanging out with people in different circles. Mine were the other Waltons, the basketball players, and the midweek bunch. The Waltons became family. The basketball players tried to teach me to Jerk and Dougie (never learned). And the midweek bunch were passionate about God.
In a way that has only happened in college, relationships deepened quickly. I was allowing people to know me intimately. And it felt safe.
MIDWEEK
Midweek was a weekly Christian gathering for college students hosted by Dustin and Julie Wagley, with the assistance (and delicious baked goods) of Kathy Jo Anderson. Every Wednesday evening, students from UofO went to the Wagley's house to learn from the Bible, worship, and be in community.
One day, I found myself on my way to Midweek with my friends, Kaitlyn and Christina. They swore the cheese dip and nachos would not disappoint, so I went. I thought, "if all else fails, at least I'll be full." And that I was, but of so much more than just food.
When I walked into Midweek, I was immediately blown away. I stood in the hallway for a few seconds and knew that I wanted to know God. It was that quick. I'd known about Him all my life, but until that point, I didn't realize that there was more. It was as if He'd been waiting for me all along, and the time had finally come.
It was for THIS moment that God orchestrated my leaving Bluefields–to meet Him & to set the plans He had for my life in motion. The Wagley's house became the birthplace of my love for God, His Word, and His people. There, I began the process of deconstruction. And there, I surrendered because for ancient ruins to be rebuilt, they must be destroyed.
UNLIKE MYSELF
I wish I could say that life became more uncomplicated than it had been once I became a Christian. But that wasn't the case; it rarely is, if ever, at all. In fact, becoming a Christian propelled me into an emotionally trying season. As I began to know God, memories of neglect, abuse, and toxic experiences I labeled as "normal" were returning to me, not all at once, but one after the other. Understand that when Truth enters your life, everything that's hidden has a chance to be exposed and addressed. For my ruins to be restored, I had to know about them.
Although necessary for healing, knowing shaped my college experience and changed my life. The problem with suddenly remembering was suddenly remembering. I knew everything, and I couldn't control how my body reacted to the conscious knowledge of trauma.
At Ozarks, Walton Scholars are exemplary students. You have to at least try to be when your stay depends on it. I couldn't fall apart. I wanted to excel like Ana, Naima, Tillman, and Paul (now Dr. Morgan). However, my mind and body were telling me that I was about to crash. And I couldn't stop it because trauma (especially undealt with trauma) will manifest.
I felt disconnected from myself and unable to manage my raging emotions. Still, I looked like every other student trying to find their place in the world. This is not to say that other students weren't struggling as well. Everyone I knew intimately wrestled with something at one point or another. However, we all kept going, not knowing that it was better to ask for help than to force our smiles.
Like others, I wore my masks well. Under them, I hid hurt. For more than half of my college experience, I battled intrusive thoughts that materialized on several occasions. So I did crash and fall apart–several times and in different ways. But because God is good, it was not as catastrophic as it could have been.
Ultimately, Truth did set me free, and the ruins were indeed restored.
BUT GOD...
Although my mind betrayed me, making wretched suggestions, God remained steadfast and faithful. Amid the chaos, there were people who cared about me, and who by loving me just as I was, inspired me to seek and seize joy.
Before I began writing this post, I believed that it would be one of the easiest to put together and share. It could be a list of the things I loved and the things that still make me laugh. I wanted to tell you about the time I thought double space meant HIT SPACE TWICE. That was the kind of vulnerability I considered sharing. So, when the words finally came and weighed more than anticipated, I stopped writing. I didn't mean for it to be so revealing. However, it was the reminder that "it wasn't all fun, laughs, & giggles" that encouraged me to finish what I'd started.
In the end, I opted to share the real story because TRUTH SETS US FREE, and maybe my truth can help free someone else.
Know this, the challenging moments DID NOT overshadow the blessings. I LOVED being at UofO. This will always be the place where I met God and found my calling. It will always be home.
