“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, & a light unto my path.” — Psalm 119:105
WHEN GOD SPEAKS : THE ROAD FROM COSTA RICA TO CALVIN SEMINARY
A Dramatic Biographical Retelling of the Life of CK (Calvin Kid)
I. THE RESTLESS PEACE OF CORCOVADO
The rainforest of Corcovado had a way of holding a man, as if its vines and canopies formed not only a landscape but a gentle prison of beauty. CK stood on the damp veranda of the Merchant family’s camp, watching the morning mist rise in slow columns from the treetops. Toucans called from somewhere unseen, monkeys chattered in the shadows, and the Pacific murmured against the distant shoreline. Life here was easy—dangerously so. In the mornings he taught Brian and Adrian, bright children whose laughter filled the clearing. By midday he led tourists through narrow jungle paths, guiding them on horses that knew the trail better than any map could describe. Afternoons dissolved into tropical meals, long conversations, or quiet reflection under kerosene lamps, the kind of evenings that lulled a young man into believing paradise was a place one could stay forever. Yet beneath all this calm, something stirred. Not loudly. Not with urgency. But with the soft persistence of a tide reshaping a shoreline. The calling had not begun in Costa Rica; it had been simmering for years—through Calvin College, through church service, through moments of crisis and clarity. But here, in this remote Eden, with distractions stripped away and silence made sacred, the voice grew clearer. CK could not yet name it outright. He only sensed that comfort, no matter how blessed, was not the same as purpose. And purpose had begun whispering to him from somewhere beyond the rainforest.
II. A CALLING YEARS IN THE MAKING
Calling rarely arrives as thunder. More often it is a slow, steady pressure—the kind that begins so faintly one can ignore it for years until finally it becomes impossible to dismiss. For CK, the seeds had been planted long before the rainforest ever greeted him. He remembered professors at Calvin subtly hinting he had gifts for ministry. He recalled friends who noticed how deeply Scripture conversations animated him. Even as he taught the Merchant boys, he found himself drifting into reflections about Greek verbs or Hebrew roots he had never studied but somehow felt drawn to. Yet he resisted. Ministry was for men more confident than he felt, more certain, more anchored. And besides, Costa Rica was intoxicating. Here he felt useful, independent, adventurous. What more could a young man want? But in quiet moments, when evening shadows fell long and the sounds of the jungle softened, he felt the gentle tug of something larger than himself. It was not a summons of guilt or duty, but of direction—an invitation. “Will you go where I lead?” God seemed to ask. CK tried to brush it aside. He told himself this was just a passing thought, a romanticized notion stirred by the wildness of the rainforest. But the calling returned. And returned. And returned still. A holy persistence. A divine nudge. A whisper that would not leave him in peace, not because God wished to disrupt him, but because God wished to guide him.
III. THE MOMENT OF RECOGNITION
He had imagined that if God ever called him to something as weighty as seminary, it would come with fireworks—a dramatic vision, a dream, a lightning bolt of certainty. But one humid afternoon, as he watched the Merchant boys chase their dog around the clearing, the truth settled softly over him. No vision. No thunder. Just the realization that staying would be choosing comfort over obedience. And obedience, he knew, was the true measure of faith. The rainforest had been good to him—more than good. It had healed him in ways he hadn’t expected and grounded him in ways he hadn’t known he needed. But it was not home. And it was no longer his assignment. The calling had reached its fullness. It was time to go. He packed slowly that evening, folding shirts into his backpack with a mixture of resistance and surrender. The Merchants understood. They had seen the change in him. Melanie hugged him tightly, Herbert clapped him on the shoulder with a quiet nod, and the boys stared at him with the wide, confused eyes of children who know something is ending but cannot articulate its meaning. The next morning he boarded the boat that would take him out of Drake Bay, watching the shoreline shrink until it became a slender line between sea and sky. He felt lighter, heavier, hopeful, and uncertain all at once. Such is the nature of obedience.
IV. SAN JOSÉ AND THE POSTS: A FINAL PAUSE
In San José he returned briefly to the home of the Post family—a sanctuary he had known during the earthquake relief weeks earlier. Their warmth was unchanged. Tom welcomed him with a measured surprise when CK explained he was leaving Costa Rica to pursue seminary. “Seminary?” Tom said, not disbelieving but evaluating, as directors of mission agencies often do when young men announce new paths. “It’s a different kind of jungle, Calvin.” CK smiled, though the remark carried weight. Seminary was a different jungle: one filled not with vines and insects but with expectations, academic rigor, languages, and pressures spoken and unspoken. Still, he felt steady in the decision. The Posts prayed with him. They blessed him. They had been a temporary family in a land far from home, and leaving them was bittersweet. Early the next morning he boarded his flight to Los Angeles, leaving behind the green embrace of Costa Rica for the concrete sprawl of LAX.
V. CALIFORNIA RETURN: A CAR THAT STILL STARTED
Bellflower had not changed much in the months he’d been gone. His parents’ home still smelled of familiarity—clean laundry, Sunday dinners, Midwest roots transplanted to Southern California. His little car sat in the driveway exactly where he’d left it six months earlier. Dust-covered, sunbaked, forgotten. He inserted the key expecting silence. Instead, the engine coughed, sputtered, then caught. Not confident, but alive. “Good enough,” he muttered. And it was. With a Bible, a few shirts, and a heart both heavy and hopeful, he began the long drive home to Michigan.
VI. THE ROAD NORTH: PRAYER, PARKS, AND PURPOSE
The road trip became a pilgrimage. He drove through Sequoia National Park, where trees older than nations reminded him of God’s permanence. He crossed Nevada’s desert plains, where solitude pressed on him like a weighted blanket, forcing clarity. He rose through the Tetons and Rockies, letting mountain air strip him of fear and hesitation. Each mile became its own prayer. Not for confirmation—he had that—but for courage. “Lord,” he whispered as he passed through Wyoming, “don’t let me do this because of anyone else. Make this Yours.” The prayer became a refrain, shaping the journey. By the time he crossed into the Midwest, he felt more centered. Seminary was not simply a choice. It was obedience. He did not know what awaited him, but he knew Who was leading him.
VII. ARRIVAL AT CALVIN SEMINARY
Calvin Seminary looked almost stately under the late-summer sky—red brick walls, well-kept lawns, shadows of maple trees stretching across walkways. Students arrived with boxes of books, families helping them settle, bicycles leaning against benches. CK parked his dusty car, took a long breath, and stepped onto the sidewalk that would redefine his life. When he entered the administration building, the receptionist glanced up with polite recognition. “You’re Jim’s son, aren’t you?” CK smiled faintly. He didn’t mind the association—his father was respected, beloved, a former Calvin basketball star and solid CRC pastor—but he hoped not to be defined by it. A professor passing by paused, glanced at him, and said, “Well now, didn’t expect to see you this fall.” Not unkind. Just honest. In the small world of the CRC, paths were predictable. CK’s was not. And so his presence here surprised them. Another professor greeted him warmly, shaking his hand with genuine welcome. Yet even in the kindness, CK sensed something else—an uncertainty, perhaps even a question hovering unspoken: Are you sure you belong here right now?
VIII. THE FIRST DAYS: NOT AS EXPECTED
He expected seminary to feel electric, holy, affirming. Instead, the first days felt disorienting. Not wrong exactly, but unaligned. His classmates seemed more confident, more sure of their direction. Professors were kind but brisk, absorbed in syllabi and lecture planning. CK felt like someone stepping into a conversation halfway through—present, but not quite fitting. Then came the complication he had dreaded for years: Greek and Hebrew. He had imagined beginning them immediately, imagining they were the necessary rite of passage for future pastors. But scheduling quirks, counselor recommendations, and unexpected course shuffling resulted in him enrolling in neither language his first term. It was a small detail. Easily explained. But spiritually, it hinted at something deeper—something he wouldn’t recognize for years. In late-night moments in his small apartment, he felt a restlessness he couldn’t name. Not regret. Not fear. But a faint misalignment, a quiet whisper echoing differently than the calling that had brought him here.
IX. THE FORESHADOWING
He did not know it yet, but this first attempt at seminary would not be the one he completed. He would not finish Greek or Hebrew this year. He would not graduate in this season of life. God had different paths ahead—teaching, ministry outside the classroom, adventures that would refine him further before he returned years later to complete what he began. But for now, CK lived in that delicate tension between calling and timing. He had obeyed the voice that led him out of the rainforest. Now he would learn that even obedience unfolds in chapters, not conclusions. And in those first days at Calvin Seminary—walking the halls, shaking hands, sitting through early lectures—he began to understand that God’s leading is never a straight line.
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