Learning again: How brain damage, faith and contentment changed the way I see education 

Years ago, I almost died.

Encephalitis attacked my brain without warning. One day, I was living a busy life of speaking, writing, leading and teaching. Soon after, I found myself in a hospital room, unable to process information the same way I once had. The illness left permanent damage on the left side of my brain and brought continuing challenges of epilepsy, memory, fatigue and learning. 

For a while, I wondered if the life I had known was over.

What surprised me most was not only how much I had lost, but how much I still could learn.

I had spent much of my life reading books quickly, outlining sermons efficiently, organizing thoughts carefully, and approaching education through systems and structure. But after my illness, everything slowed down. I could no longer rely on the same methods. Reading became harder. Concentration changed. Information processing changed. Writing changed.

And strangely enough, life deepened.

I began learning through images, stories, conversations, imagination, emotion, repetition, silence, music and reflection. Instead of only depending on the analytical side of learning, I found myself leaning into creativity and wonder. The right side of the brain – the artistic and imaginative side – became more important than ever.

What initially felt like weakness slowly became a different way of seeing.

And that experience reshaped not only my understanding of education, but also my understanding of contentment.

In my latest book, Contentment: What You’re Searching for Is Already Yours, I write about how many people spend their lives searching for peace in achievement, possessions, recognition, speed, or comparison. But contentment is not discovered by constantly chasing more. Often, it is found by learning to live meaningfully with what remains. 

That lesson applies to education too. 

Modern culture rewards speed. Faster answers. Faster scrolling. Faster reactions. We consume information endlessly while often retaining very little of it. Screens dominate our attention. Notifications interrupt our focus. Even children are learning to expect constant stimulation.

But wisdom rarely grows in hurry.

Deep learning requires attention. Reflection. Curiosity. Patience.

Homeschooling families and Christian educators understand something increasingly valuable in today’s world: education is not merely information transfer. It is formation. It shapes not only what students know, but who they become.

That matters now more than ever.

Some students thrive through lectures and outlines. Others learn through movement, creativity, storytelling, visual connection, discussion, nature, music or hands-on exploration. Many students who struggle in traditional educational environments are not unintelligent; they simply process information differently. 

For years, education systems often emphasized only one kind of intelligence. Yet God created minds with remarkable diversity.

Some thinkers organize. Some imagine. Some calculate. Some create. Some memorize. Some connect ideas through emotion and story.

And all of those capacities matter.

My own journey forced me to appreciate this more fully. Because of brain damage, I cannot always learn the way I once did. Yet neuroplasticity – the brain’s ability to adapt and form new pathways – gives hope. Researchers continue discovering that the brain can develop new connections throughout life. Learning is not reserved for the young. Growth is not limited to the naturally gifted. 

The brain can keep adapting.

One reason neuroplasticity gives me hope is it reminds us that the brain is not completely fixed. We can strengthen learning pathways, awaken attention and challenge our minds in healthy ways throughout life. 

Sometimes growth begins with surprisingly simple practices.

After my illness, I became fascinated by the ways small changes can stimulate the brain and encourage new connections between regions of the mind. Experts often note that using the non-dominant hand for everyday tasks can strengthen cross-hemispheric communication in the brain. In other words, when we challenge ourselves to operate differently, the brain must adapt and engage in fresh ways.

That can begin with ordinary activities:

• Writing with your non-dominant hand. 
• Brushing your teeth with the opposite hand. 
• Eating with the hand you rarely use. 
• Opening doors differently. 
• Using the computer mouse on the other side. 
• Buttoning a shirt or tying shoes with slower intentionality. 

Even these small disruptions in routine can awaken attention and create new mental engagement.

Other practices can help too.

• Walk a different route during your normal routine. 
• Sit in a different place at the dinner table. 
• Drive a different route home when you are not rushed. 
• In a safe room at home, carefully walk backward for short distances. 
• Rearrange patterns that have become automatic. 
• Begin learning a musical instrument. 
• Try learning another language. 
• Memorize poetry and Scripture. 
• Read literature genres you normally avoid. 
• Spend time drawing, journaling, sketching, or building something with your hands. 
• Have longer face-to-face conversations instead of shorter digital interactions. 

All these practices remind the brain that learning is still happening. And perhaps even more importantly, they remind the soul that growth is still possible.

For homeschooling families, these ideas can become meaningful tools. Education does not always require expensive programs or constant entertainment. Sometimes learning grows through curiosity, creativity, repetition, movement, imagination, and intentional changes in routine.

In our distracted age, many of us operate almost entirely on autopilot. We rush through familiar patterns while staring at screens and reacting to noise. But neuroplasticity invites us to become attentive again. To notice. To engage. To challenge the mind in healthy ways. To keep learning at every age.

And for someone like me – living with brain damage and epilepsy – that truth is deeply personal. I may not learn exactly the way I once did. But I am still learning. Still adapting. Still growing. 

And so are many others who simply need hope enough to begin again.

It also reminds us that education should never become merely mechanical. The goal is not simply producing test scores or efficient workers. The goal is helping learners flourish as people created in the image of God. Christian education at its best invites students to think deeply, discern wisely, create beautifully, serve compassionately and live faithfully in a complicated world. 

That kind of learning cannot happen only through endless screen time. Many families today are concerned – and rightly so – about shrinking attention spans and digital addiction. We stare at screens constantly while losing the ability to be still, read carefully, listen attentively and think critically. The effects reach children, teenagers and adults alike.

We are connected everywhere and distracted constantly. But meaningful learning often grows in slower spaces. A child reading a physical book. A family discussing ideas around a table. A student drawing, building, journaling or creating. A teacher helping a struggling learner discover confidence again. A parent recognizing that different does not mean deficient.

Sometimes the most important educational moments are not the loudest or fastest. They are quiet moments of awakening.

I have learned to appreciate those moments more than ever.

Living with epilepsy and brain damage has humbled me. It has also taught me persistence. I still read, though differently. I still write, though more slowly and more poetically. I still teach, though often from weakness rather than strength.

And perhaps that has made the message more honest.

Because many people today are exhausted from trying to prove themselves.

Students feel pressure. Parents feel pressure. Teachers feel pressure. Leaders feel pressure.

The world constantly tells us we are behind, inadequate, or incomplete. But contentment reminds us that our worth is not established by comparison or performance.

We can continue learning without panic. We can grow without despair. We can adapt without shame.

And sometimes our limitations become the very place where wisdom grows deepest.

My damaged brain taught me that.

The right side of the brain – the creative side I once took for granted – helped me discover fresh ways to communicate, teach, reflect, and connect. Creativity became more than artistic expression; it became survival. It became healing. It became a pathway toward renewed learning.

That truth matters for all of us.

Children need creativity. Adults need creativity. Churches need creativity. Schools need creativity. Not creativity disconnected from truth, but creativity rooted in wisdom, beauty, faith, and thoughtful engagement with the world God created.

Perhaps one of the greatest educational challenges today is not lack of information. It is lack of attention, reflection and meaning.

And perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give the next generation is helping them become thoughtful people rather than merely distracted consumers.

People who can read deeply. Think clearly. Pray honestly. Create courageously. Rest intentionally. Live contentedly.

People who understand that learning is not simply preparation for life. Learning is part of life itself.

And no diagnosis, limitation, injury, or setback can fully stop a mind and soul that continue seeking wisdom, grace, truth, and hope.