Where Heaven Touched Earth

A Reflection from Achuapa, Nicaragua — Spring 2024

The first time I landed in Nicaragua, I felt like I was coming home from a very long time away. The culture, the vibrant colors, the sound of the ocean, the people—it stirred something deep in my bones. I felt grounded. Whole. Alive. I knew I had to return.

When I received a calling to travel back to Nicaragua in the spring of 2024 on a medical mission, the pull was so strong I couldn’t ignore it. The more I leaned in, the more peace I felt. I didn’t yet know why—I only knew I had to go. It was a moment of spiritual autopilot. A deeper knowing moved me forward. I trusted the work would reveal itself.

There have been moments in my life where I’ve felt the Holy Spirit move through me—a distant vibration that quickly chills into my bones. I move without fear. I speak without hesitation. And I let the work unfold with full trust. It is a sacred rhythm: a faith that requires no thought, only presence. This was one of those moments.

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I arrived in the village of Achuapa after a 3-hour bus ride through rural farmland and winding dirt roads. We traveled through tropical trees, past cattle, and into a place that felt like it had been waiting for us. The medical post was simple—orange and teal walls, dirt floors, no doors, no electricity—just window light and heat. I was the first off the bus. As we stepped into the courtyard, we were greeted by faces lined with stories we didn’t yet know.

Our supplies had been confiscated at customs—coloring books, tools, medicine, even the Michigan State students’ equipment for a Duchenne’s prototype. We came light-handed. I had only my stethoscope and a pen. Others had one blood pressure cuff, a few physical therapy tools, and whatever the clinic had available. It didn’t feel like enough.

But then I realized—we were the offering.

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In the open-air courtyard, woven chairs lined the walls. Families had journeyed for hours—some for days—just to be seen. And as I stepped into the space, a young boy, maybe nine, reached out and grabbed my hand. I looked down, met his eyes, and he wouldn’t let go. He was frail, malnourished, and riddled with Duchenne’s disease… but radiant with joy. With tears in his eyes, he repeated in Spanish: “You are a gift from the gods.”

I froze. Tears welled in my throat. The Holy Spirit moved through me in that moment.

Not because I felt worthy of those words, but because I could feel God right there—chilling my bones, filling the space, reminding me:

This is where I show up.

As a missionary. As a steward. With only my hands and what beats in the middle of my chest.

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That day, we saw 27 patients. Not in the rushed, clinical way modern systems move—but with time, reverence, and presence. There were no checklists, no revolving doors—just listening. Just love.

With no tools, no power, and limited supplies, we got creative. We sat, we triaged, we translated. We offered touch, presence, and prayer. We became the medicine.

That boy’s words—“You are a gift from the gods”—stayed with me. Not because I believed I was divine, but because he saw something holy in what we came to do. In his eyes, we weren’t judged by status, language, or wealth. We were simply humans—willing to serve.

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And that’s when God showed up.

Because when you say “yes” to the unknown, when you walk into unfamiliar places with nothing but faith, God meets you there. He reveals Himself in the smallest moments—in a child’s voice, in the holding of hands, in the aching beauty of being fully present.

These families didn’t pity themselves. They weren’t afraid or angry. They didn’t ask for more—they celebrated the opportunity to be in community. They welcomed us not as saviors, but as kin. They taught me that wealth is not measured in material things—but in spirit, gratitude, and connection.

We were not there to heal with medicine. We were there to be the medicine.

To witness. To love. To serve.

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You know those experiences that light you up so brightly it’s hard to dim?

The kind that choke you up, that make you speak in tongues of gratitude, that make your heart pound like a drum?

That’s God showing up.

We are all vessels of His light. We are all born with gifts meant to be shared. And when we follow the call, when we show up even with empty hands—He fills the space.

Take the trip. Extend the hand. Be the vessel.

Because when we do, we don’t just encounter others—