Too Much for Words

Well as you probably gathered from my last post, life has been a bit of a whirlwind over the last few weeks. So many unexpected changes and last minute decisions with some random chaos thrown in for flavor. Don't worry, you won't have to read a long rambling musing about all of it (at least not now) because frankly there has just been too much to process and I'm too tired to attempt to write about it. So I thought, instead, I'd just give you a glimpse of the story through pictures. I mean, that IS half the reason I'm down here, right? So here is an overview of the last two craaaazy weeks:

At the wooden jewelry factory in Costa Rica. 

My room in Costa Rica for the last two months.

My street in Costa Rica. My house is down on the right. 

Sweet Peruvian lady who runs this stall in the artisans' market in San José.

Drinking a celebratory Dr. Pepper to toast farewell to Costa Rica and "hola" to a new adventure.

View of downtown San José out a bus window.

My room in the midst of last-minute chaotic packing!

All my luggage ready for our 5:30am departure from Costa Rica.

Waiting out our unexpected 7 hour layover in the Panama airport after our plane out of San José left many hours late due to mechanical issues. At least there was WiFi in Panama!

Our first view of Lima from our hotel window. It certainly is a city.

First Starbucks in two months!!! Yay for a caramel frap!

First view of the Lima coast and those famous grey skies. 

I'm not going to translate this, for security sake, but the resort where we've been at conference for the last week doesn't joke around with their translation of organizational names!

"Virtual" prayer-walk for ministries in the Americas

Our resort at night. 

Downtown Ica, Peru.

Dunes in Ica, Peru!

Me...on a dune.

Sand "sledding." I was apparently the champion. Just check out those pointed toes!

Dune buggy rides over the dunes = better than a roller coaster. 

Evelyn. She is awesome. 

Me with a.....LLAMA!!!!

My first Peruvian llama! I tried to speak spanish to him. He was unimpressed. I then tried to feed him goldfish crackers.  He was still unimpressed. My llama adventures are off to a rocky start. 

Path up the dune at the resort.

View of Ica from the resort dune. 

Enjoying some "Peru Cola"!

Not There Yet

Last weekend we took a mini-vacay to Playa Hermosa on the Pacific Coast. We figured after 6 weeks down here we should probably make it to a beach. I was excited, because, well… I love the beach! I really don’t like being in landlocked places for too long because I start missing the ocean. (And yes, when you grow up 5 minutes from a beach, anything over about an hour drive from the ocean qualifies as “landlocked.”) Also, I thought it would be a nice comforting thing to be back at a beach since it’s one of the things I associate so much with my home in Florida. I was expecting it to make me feel better about being so far away from the places and people that I love, because, hey…maybe I can’t hug my friends but at least I have a beach!

Now, I’m going to admit something here that you may never hear me say again because, when you are as brilliant as I am it doesn’t happen often:

I WAS WRONG.

*Gasp!* I know, I know. Astonishing! I can’t believe it either! The trip to the beach was fun and a nice change of pace, but instead of being a pleasant substitute for Daytona and making one less thing that I had to miss… instead, it just made me incredibly homesick. :-/ I know you’re probably thinking, “So what’s new? You talk about hard days of missing home all the time!” Everyone may not distinguish between the two like I do, but to me there is a big difference between missing something, and being homesick. For the most part, on a daily basis I miss people. It’s the hardest, and the most constant. Occasionally, I miss things. A favorite something will cross my mind and I’ll think “Aw, I miss Publix subs!” or “Man, I really wish I could go to Target right now.” But those are fleeting thoughts that seldom linger. And rarely I miss home, the actual physical location of my house, my church, and my beach. I usually just think of it in fond memories. 

But as I lay on the dark sand of Playa Hermosa, so different from home and yet so familiar, all I could think was “I wish I were in Daytona right now.” Honestly, who goes to a beautiful Costa Rican beach with a backdrop of lush tropical jungle and thinks, “I’d rather be in Daytona”?  In Daytona with the irksome tourists and hotels and often-murky water and red sand that gets glued to your skin and the heat…the sizzling scorching heat? Who would take that trade? You guessed it. ME. It didn’t help that I knew that at that very moment most of my friends were spending a nice day on MY beach at home. It also didn’t help that Playa Hermosa is basically an outpost of American surf culture. Maybe a half mile long and one block wide, the “town” feels like all the Americans came to surf and never left. Signs are in English, hotels and restaurants are run by Americans, everyone takes dollars, and American surfers crowd the waves. Even the hostel we stayed at had a link on its website to my favorite surf shop in my hometown.

Although I know how to surf I don’t consider myself a surfer by any means, but that surf culture is part of my hometown and so very familiar. It was nice to talk to other Americans and work on my tan, but everything there just reminded me of home. I thought about it, wondering if I was really just missing people and projecting it onto a place. I considered: if I could push a button and be in Daytona right now, but none of my friends and family were there, would I do it? Yes, I thought without hesitation. Obviously I’d rather have the people than the place any day of the week, but at that moment, if that was my option, I would have gladly taken it. I missed my pink beach chair, the flat white sand, the red lifeguard stands, the intense sun, and the swimmable water. I missed driving down A1A in my beloved Gerald, sandy and sticky with saltwater, with my sunroof down and my radio blasting. I missed my house, my cluttered bedroom, my bathroom with a BATHTUB. My church, my stores, my familiar streets and favorite places. The sights, the sounds, the smells. I was just simply homesick.

Sunday morning I woke up, grabbed my Bible and went down for some quiet time on the beach. My heart had been feeling restless for some time now, and I was looking forward to some alone time with Jesus by the water, just like I normally do at home when I need some refreshment for my soul. I flipped open the Bible aimlessly and opened to read Luke 9:

The Cost of Following Jesus

 57 As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.”

 58 Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” 59 He said to another man, “Follow me.”

   But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”

 60 Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” 61 Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.” 62 Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”

Ouch. Talk about getting smacked in the face by the Word of God. Those are some challenging statements there. Most of us have heard them numerous times, but how often do we stop to think what that looks like in our lives? It was a huge conviction to me as I sat there on that beach, missing my loved ones and missing my home. When you leave most everyone and everything precious to you behind, it’s so hard to not spend a great deal of time looking back. But what did that say? “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” I don’t know that there’s anyway to soften the seriousness of that verse, and we shouldn’t try. But I really wish I could. I wish that was one of those “ambiguous” verses with lots of room for interpretation. I want to say, well that’s a conditional command just for that one person. Because, like so many other verses in the Bible, if I hold my life up next to it for comparison, I fall so very short.

I was reminded of David Platt’s discussion of this passage in his book, Radical. (Great book. Read it.)

“[Jesus] was simply and boldly making it clear from the start that if you follow Him, you abandon everything- your needs, your desires, even your family.”

I’d like to say that I read that passage, everything snapped into place in my heart and mind, and I skipped gleefully on without another thought of what I’ve left behind. But although it was a precious and powerful time with Jesus, He is still working this out in me. Later in the week, while I was looking up a quote I once heard, I came across a website with a bunch of excellent Christian quotes. The first one challenged me. The next one slapped me in the face. The third one punched me in the gut. On and on they went. I love a good quote, but I wished I hadn’t read these. Here’s a few of my favorites:

Most people do not want to know the will of God in order to do it. They want to know it in order to consider it.

-Anonymous

Partial obedience is not obedience at all; to single out easy things that do not oppose our lusts, which are not against our reputation, therein some will do more than they need; but our obedience must be universal to all God's commandments, and that because He commands it. Empty relationships are nothing; if we profess ourselves God's servants and do not honor Him by our obedience, we take but an empty title.

-Richard Sibbes

Most of us labor under the delusion that we have every right to our lives; that we have the right to go where we wish, do as we please, live as we choose, and decide our own destiny. We do not. We belong to God. He made us for himself. He chose us in Christ out of love, from before the foundation of the earth to be his own. He has bought us twice over, both through his generous death and also by his amazing resurrection life.

-Phillip Keller

God is God. Because He is God, He is worthy of my trust and obedience. I will find rest nowhere but in His holy will, a will that is unspeakably beyond my largest notions of what He is up to.

-Elisabeth Elliot

It is true that He does sometimes require of us things that to others seem hard. But when the will is once surrendered, the revolutionized life plans become just the plans that are most pleasant, and the things that to others seem hard, are just the things that are easiest and most delightful. Do not let Satan deceive you into being afraid of God's plans for your life.

-(Reuben Archer) R. A. Torrey

The true follower of Christ will not ask, "If I embrace this truth, what will it cost me?" Rather he will say, "This is truth. God help me to walk in it, let come what may!"

-A. W. Tozer

Yep. I got totally owned by some of those. Looking at yourself and realizing how far you are from where you are supposed to be as a follower of Christ…well that’s never fun. Thank Jesus, He’s not finished with me yet! 

P.S. I like mail. A lot. Getting mail pretty much makes my day. So, if you're bored and thinking, "Hmm, what should I do with all this free time?" Well... it's only 98 cents to send a happy note to Costa Rica. Just sayin'. And yes, this was a shameless plug.

(Email me for my mailing address here: lyndseysnewgroove@gmail.com)

Curse of the Babel Builders

I’ve always loved languages and have tried to pick up as much as possible wherever I may be, but I’m by no means an expert. Aside from speaking French, I can make pleasantries in Japanese, handle introductions in Russian, and I’m quite proficient at ordering gelato in Italian. Before I came to Costa Rica I knew a few phrases in Spanish which were not immensely helpful and were largely pop culture jokes in the states. For example the episode of Psych where Shawn stars in a telanovela to solve a crime (Clips from "Lights, Camera, Homocidio.") And I knew a lot of great vocab from Veggie Tales’ 

"Dance of the Cucumber." Seriously though, that’s how I knew the word for cucumber.

But obviously the learning curve has been pretty steep since arriving six weeks ago. I’m not sure I would call myself “conversant” in Spanish, but I’ve managed to have conversations discussing gun laws and alcohol with my Tica mom, and I can have basic conversations with most people. Language school moves much slower than I would like, but the teachers are very nice, and we do get a kick out of some of the things we are learning. Some of the funniest examples come from our phonics book which has sentences put together expressly to emphasize certain phonetic sounds, to the exclusion of logic. Enjoy some of these bizarre phrases that we have been practicing:

Ese pez es de Ester. = That fish is Esther’s.

Ursus suda mucho. = Ursus perspires a lot.

Un zuncho sucio. = A dirty metal hoop.

Había un choque en el bosque. = There was a collision in the forest.

El austere bautista bautiza al gaucho. = The austere Baptist baptizes the gaucho.

El viajero limpia a la criatura. = The traveler cleans the child.

Los ecuatorianos guardan sus cuadros y paraguas. = The Ecuadorians guard their pictures and their umbrellas.

Luis se cuida de los buitres. = Luis is careful of vultures.

Generalmente, agilizo las cosas geniales. = Generally, I speed up brilliant things.

El gerente general es gemelo y se llama Gerado. = The general manager is a twin and his name is Gerard.

Ayer el yelmo tuyo me ayudó mucho. = Yesterday your helmet helped me a lot.

El perro le ladra a Drácula. = The dog barks at Dracula.

El saludo del gladiador fue glacial. = The gladiator’s salutation was glacial.

Important things to know how to say, right? Haha. To be fair, there are also some useful sentences thrown in for practice too:

Es dificil vivir sin ti. = It is difficult to live without you.

Saldremos para el Perú, pues para allá nos manda Dios. = We will leave for Peru because God is sending us there.

Sometime this weekend I was reminded of the Bible story of the Tower of Babel. I think it was around the time Sunday afternoon that I was standing in the dirt under a palm frond bus stop in the “town” of Playa Hermosa (de Jaco). The afternoon rains moved in and my friends and I found ourselves sharing space and conversation with two Israeli college girls on vacation and two local latino men. The older man was missing teeth and muttered in unarticulated Spanish, the Israeli girls spoke some English mixed with a smattering of Spanish words with Hebrew pronunciation. We carried on conversations with both, although they were rife with misunderstandings. It happens a lot when you don’t speak a language or don’t speak it well. You may be able to communicate, but it’s often still a struggle and often involves a great deal of charades, mix-ups and confusion.

We discussed which beaches were nicest with the girls and I asked concerned questions to the local men about the bus on which we were waiting. And I thought how nice it was that, when a bus labeled “San José” went flying past without stopping, I could discuss it with the men in my limited Spanish and learn that it was a direct bus and won’t make stops, but that another bus would be along shortly, not to worry.

It’s true, there are some things that transcend a language barrier. There are elements of human communication and relationship that don’t need words. There are universals. For example, when the crazy guy on our 3.5 hour crowded bus ride home through the mountains stood up in his seat and peed out the window while we sped along, the looks on our faces and those of the Mexican girls nearby were the same. No words in any language were necessary, and you don’t have to translate shocked laughter. But for the most part, if you are going to relate, if you are going to connect with and engage with a person, you need to be able to talk to them.

Bottom line: language is important.

And, language is hard.

But that’s why we’re here.

It’s easy to get bored and frustrated, ready to get down to work and actually start doing our jobs. Classes can be tedious and sometimes when you think you’ve made a lot of progress, you have a moment when you realize you aren’t so much speaking as you are babbling. Learning a new language can be extremely humbling. You go from being a competent intelligent individual to someone who is on the same verbal level as a four year old. And in many cases the four year old will tell you when you make mistakes. And that’s why I was reminded of the story of Babel. God has been using language to humble people since almost the beginning of time! In case it’s been a while since you read it, here’s the text from Genesis 11:

 Now the whole world had one language and a common speech.  As people moved eastward, they found a plain in Shinar and settled there.  They said to each other, “Come, let’s make bricks and bake them thoroughly.” They used brick instead of stone, and tar for mortar.  Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth." But the LORD came down to see the city and the tower the people were building. The LORD said, “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.  Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.”

  So the LORD scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city.  That is why it was called Babel—because there the LORD confused the language of the whole world. From there the LORD scattered them over the face of the whole earth.

Talk about some seriously lasting consequences of sin! Funny to think that today we’re still dealing with the ramifications of that one people’s sin and pride. Those Babel builders sure caused a lot of trouble for the rest of us. (At least it’s nice to have someone to blame while I’m trying to remember irregular verbs!) But in all seriousness, thank the Lord He uses things like the subjunctive to keep us humble. And, when I really don’t feel like studying, it’s helpful to remember that Spanish is the second most spoken language in the world. That’s a whole lot of people. And, more importantly, that’s a whole lot of people who need Jesus. 

He speaks Spanish. He needs Jesus.

I think that alone is a pretty good reason to spend 4 months learning to speak Spanish.

*Pray for us, and everyone at language school here in Costa Rica, that we will be diligent in our studies and grasp the language quickly.*

Playa Hermosa. An occasional weekend here also seems like a good reason to spend 4 months in Costa Rica. :-)

P.S.- This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were missing.

P.P.S.- Check out this interesting article that talks about what I sort of touched on in my last blog, about the benefits and drawbacks of life in America.

P.P.P.S- You have to love that Psych rewrites their theme song for special episodes. Here it is in Spanish!

A Day to Remember

Being away from home on American holidays is one of the few things that really makes me remember that, metaphorically speaking, we’re not in Kansas anymore! When I spent Thanksgiving in France, I refused to go to class on principle, and spent the day watching the Macy’s Parade on a bad internet stream while making my mom’s sweet potato soufflé from scratch.

Cooking Thanksgiving is much harder without American products or a well stocked kitchen!

Memorial day isn’t a major holiday for family traditions, so it doesn’t make me particularly homesick, but it does give me pause to spend some time thinking about my country. I have some friends who have lived overseas and travelled a lot and found that it really made them dissatisfied with America and our culture (or lack thereof). For me it has always had the opposite effect. I’ve always been a patriotic person and loved my country, but there’s something about experiencing life elsewhere that just makes me love America even more. Sure, you can see the problems with our country and things about it you would change if given a chance. But you also get to see the really wonderful aspects of it and see how inordinately blessed we, as a nation, truly are.

My dad jokingly asked if they celebrate Memorial Day in Costa Rica. I laughed because Costa Rica does not even have a standing army. CR has been blessed to be probably the most stable and secure country in Latin America and has lived in peace for many years. They do not have the sorrow of remembering those who have given their lives in defense of their country. However, on the flip side, they also do not have the pride of honoring men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice to protect their nation. Ticos love their country, the flag is everywhere,

but some of the young adults especially seem to regret that they lack a collective sense of national pride. For that reason, and so many more, I am thankful that while America is a safe country and has been free from the wars and violence prevalent in so many others around the world, that peace has also come with a great deal of striving. I love the quote by Thomas Paine because it is very accurate, “What we achieve to easily, we esteem too lightly.” What America represents is especially precious because of what it has cost.

Grandpa Webb

Grandpa Gordon

Although I have not personally known the pain of losing a loved one in war, I am very proud of my family’s service and honored to be the granddaughter of two WWII vets and the daughter of a Vietnam vet. (Dad, you lucked out. I don’t have access to any of your Navy photos here.) From my earliest years I remember loving to hear Grandpa Gordon tell stories of his time in the Pacific Theater serving under General McArthur, and he made sure to always remind me of the price of freedom. As I get older and watch close friends go off to war, I understand that even a little bit better. I pray we never forget the sacrifices made by so many, or take for granted the men and women who serve so faithfully. To the veterans, those who are serving today, and their families, THANK YOU.

Grandpa Gordon in D.C.

Grandpa Gordon in training

Grandpa and Grandma Gordon

Me and Grandpa

Thinking about my grandpa, who was probably my favorite person ever, I was reminded of another “butterfly moment” from last week. Tuesday I was having a rough morning, so I was exceptionally glad that not only did we have chapel during break, it was a special worship chapel service. I was already enjoying the time of praise when they began to play a vaguely familiar song. The lyrics were powerful and fitting and I sang along wondering why the words seemed stored in the recesses of my memory. And then I remembered the one and only time I had heard the song before.

It was Fall 2004 at a Wednesday night FCA service during my first semester of college at UF. Our awesome praise band (that included a banjo at the time) was playing to a packed auditorium when I felt my phone vibrate. I didn’t answer it. I knew right away the only reason mom would be calling during FCA: my beloved grandpa had passed away after a painful struggle with Alzheimer’s. I remember standing there in the crowd choking back tears and smiling as I listened to a cheerful rendition of “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks.”

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand

And cast a wishful eye

To Canaan’s fair and happy land

Where my possessions lie.

All o’er those wide extended plains

Shines one eternal day

There God, the Son forever reigns

And scatters night away.

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land.

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land.

No chilling wind nor poisonous breath

Can reach that healthful shore

Where sickness, sorrow, pain and death

Are felt and feared no more.

When shall I see that happy place

And be forever blessed?

When shall I see my Father’s face

And in His bosom rest?

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land.

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land.

The memory of that night flooded back and with it a twinge of the pain from that season of loss. Those recollections mixed with the angst of the current day, and the tears rolled down my cheeks as I lifted my hands and sang along. You are probably saying right about now, “I thought you said this was a joyful ‘butterfly’ moment?” It was, trust me! I had never been able to remember what song we sang that night, although I always fondly remembered singing about one day reaching the Promised Land at the moment I learned that Grandpa had made it Home. It was a perfectly timed gift that 6.5 years later when I was having a bad day in Costa Rica that song would come back to me and bring with it sweet memories and refreshment for my heart. It was a powerful comfort to me the night I lost my grandpa, and it was just as much comfort on a day when I was feeling a little stranded in the desert.

I don’t know where God is going to guide me in this life, or how long I will remain standing on Jordan’s stormy banks. But praise Jesus! I DO know that some day I am bound for the Promised Land! On that day, the sadness and difficulties that plague this life will fade away when I finally see my Savior’s face. Praise Jesus! What a promise! 

I hope you take time today to remember those who have served and sacrificed for our nation and the freedoms we enjoy. But far more, I hope that you take time daily to remember the ultimate sacrifice that Christ made on the cross that allows us freedom from sin and the assurance of eternal life in the Promised Land.

"Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment, so Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many people; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting on him." -Hebrews 9:27-28

Butterfly Moments

Thursday the sky had been working up to a rain all day.  By the time I was walking home from the Institute in the late afternoon the light was beginning to fade, a low blanket of grey clouds hung over the city, and the normally colorful neighborhood seemed to have absorbed the monochromatic pallor of the sky. The weeds along the sidewalk, the trash in the streets, all seemed to add to the general dreariness of the day. I walked quickly towards home, staring at the grey sidewalk to avoid tripping on some chunk of concrete or falling into a gringo trap (more on those later). That’s when it caught my eye balancing on a piece of litter in the weeds along a vacant lot: a small butterfly so brilliantly blue that it seemed to produce its own light. I stopped in my tracks and bent to examine it. It would have been beautiful at any time, but the grim grey day seemed to provide the perfect backdrop for the butterfly’s luminescence. I could tell it was injured and I as I held out my finger, it climbed on, slowly shifting its wings. The tiny miracle poised on my finger, a gorgeous shimmering spot in a drab world. My friend accompanied me as far as the corner before it fluttered awkwardly to a nearby clump of grass and hid itself among the blades, and I walked the rest of the way home alone, smiling.

Just a few days before, when discussing a butterfly garden, I had told Brittany that while I thought butterflies were nice, I had never been impressed by them. 

Dolly Parton and I do not see eye to eye on butterflies.  

But this one…this one impressed me.

Life here in Costa Rica is pleasant. I have a comfortable home with a very nice Tico family. I am surrounded by friendly likeminded Americans. We have access (albeit it expensive access) to most anything we could need. But after being here five weeks things have settled into a routine, and there is a certain monotony to this season of language learning. Here’s a look at my typical weekday:

5:15am- Wakeup because the sun is pouring in and the other family members are already up and making noise. Go back to sleep.

6:00am- Wakeup for real. Quiet time, check email, get ready for the day while watching Foxnews.com videos and catching up on the world.

7:00am- Breakfast. I want a cup of coffee. Instead, I am fed a bowl of cereal, fruit of the day, glass of juice…and coffee. I try to cram it down while making conversation with my Tica mom in Spanish, and usually learn something about a family member’s life that makes me wonder if she isn’t just pulling plot lines from a telanovela.

7:20am- Walk the 5 blocks to school.

7:30am- Conversation class starts with a prayer in Spanish. We discuss directions, household objects, and very useful things like the word for “chef’s hat” (el gorro) or a “large paintbrush” (la brocha).

8:25am- Phonics class starts with reading a passage from the Bible (in Spanish of course). We practice over-pronouncing our vowels and appropriately slurring our words together. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we play hangman.

9:30am- Break time. Tuesdays and Thursdays we have an optional chapel service which is always nice. The other days we hang out and chat, study, have a snack, or grab a quick nap.

10:20am- Grammar class starts. We try to learn the difference between the 6 different verbs that Spanish has that mean “to be,” and strain to remember the long list of exceptions to every rule we’ve learned.

12:00pm- FREEDOM! Head home from school and hope we beat the rain.

12:15pm- Lunch with my Tica mom and her 11-month-old grandson, Matias. We chat about my day, but mostly I make silly faces at Mati and my Tica mom tries to get him to identify where the parakeet is. (It’s been at least a month and he has yet to even look at its cage. I don’t think he cares about the bird.)

12:45pm- The rest of the afternoon is spent in various combinations of sleeping, reading, studying (maybe), Skyping, jogging, editing photos, zumba class, and eating oreos (they are the one American snack cookie readily available so I keep a stash on hand).

6:30pm- Dinner time with my Tica mom again. Usually the conversation involves how ridiculously hot it has been that afternoon and what funny thing Mati did. She sometimes feeds me bizarre things like a green bean omelet or neapolitan ice cream with cherry jello, but for the most part the food is good.

7:00pm- See “12:45pm” above.

We do have opportunities to serve on the weekends and do some exploring, 

We got to explore Sarchi, the town famous for the colorful painted ox carts that many associate with Costa Rica. Beautiful artwork!

but the day in and day out routine can get a bit mundane, especially with so much down time and when we’re anxious to be on to the next part. But, like that grey day helping me to appreciate the remarkable beauty of that butterfly, sometimes the commonality and sameness of everyday life can help us appreciate the humor and joy in little things that we might otherwise overlook in busyness. 

Here’s a few recent “butterfly moments" (and yes it bothers me to call them that because it's quite a bit girlier than I am comfortable with, but it seems to fit so I'm just going to go with it):

-If you haven’t gathered from my facebook posts and pictures, it rains a lot in Costa Rica this time of year. Generally in the morning it’ll be sunny and dry, but by lunch the clouds are building up and moving down off the mountains, and then by mid-afternoon or early evening it’s raining. I love the rain, and hopefully will STILL love the rain by the time we leave in August. One afternoon a week or so ago it was sprinkling when I left the house to walk back to school for a zumba class taught by a fellow student. About a block away from the home, the skies opened up and the gentle mist turned into a torrential downpour. My umbrella provided little protection from the wind-driven rain and within a minute I was drenched…and grinning like a fool. I laughed uncontrollably all the way to school, and was thankful that there was no one else out on the streets. If the Ticos could have seen me sopping wet and giggling I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to get the reputation in the neighborhood as the crazy gringa. (Although, there’s plenty of competition around here for that title. So many gringos live in the area they call it “Gringo-landia.”)

-Facebooking the other evening I was reading a status update of one of my translator friends in Haiti who normally writes in French or Creole. I read it and about half way through realized that while I was understanding it fine, something was weird about the French. I thought perhaps it was creole and read it again, but I knew that wasn’t right either. I could NOT figure out what was wrong with this French! And the simple reason was…it was in Spanish. One month and I can no longer differentiate between the languages…oy vey!

-In that same vein, last night I was walking up the front steps and my Tico dad was at the kitchen sink and called out a greeting to me. I replied with a very cheery… “Bonsoir!”

Bonsoir? Really?! I can carry on a decent conversation in Spanish now (the verb tenses and gender agreement are often wrong but you can get the point) and I still randomly pulled out a French greeting. I was really hoping that the running water drowned it out or that he would think I did it intentionally just trying to add a little international flavor (like I need more of that!?).

-I was introduced to Hillsong in Spanish and it’s awesome. I mean, Hillsong in English is great, and I loved when they would do bilingual worship at Hillsong Paris, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I highly recommend downloading the albums: “Con Todo” and “Unidos Permanecemos.”

-Last week we visited church with some other staff members and the Spanish song that they sang during their “welcome time” was to the tune of “Red River Valley.” Many of the churches we have visited use primarily English hymns and praise songs translated.

-In grammar class we are constantly having to make up sentences to practice whatever rule we are learning. It gets tedious after a while writing sentences about situations that you would likely never have to discuss in real life. I entertain myself by writing a great deal of my sentences about llamas. My favorite of this week: “The llamas are mad because they are in a pen and are not playing on the hillside.”

This llama IS playing on the hillside. But he is still mad... and also considering eating that family. 

There are a lot of those moments, the little things that just make you smile or appreciate something simple. I am trying to learn to live with more gratitude and I pray that I will be aware of and thankful for the small "butterfly moments" that fill each day. What little things are you thankful for today?

*Thank you so much for your continued prayers and encouragement. I say it a lot, but it really does make a difference! Please be in prayer for us that we will continue to learn the language quickly, that we will be sensitive to the needs and opportunities around us, for a deepening hunger for God, that we will develop strong team relationships, and for continued health and safety. Also be praying for my good friends at home, Rachel and Velyn, who are preparing for extended trips this summer to serve in East Asia and Africa, respectively!*

A Matter of Time

I just couldn’t figure it out. Why there was someone on the roof, that is. Or why that person was making such a racket stomping around up there.

It was a sticky Friday afternoon after a long week that included a retirement party for our mentors, a flashflood of sorts, a trip to the newly converted Walmart, and our first test in grammar class, just to hit the highlights. 

It has rained quite a bit here, but this was our first torrential rain that turned the streets into rivers for several hours.  It even flooded through the roof of one of the families homes. Thankfully all houses here have tile floors!

I was instant messaging with friends back home and letting my brain relax. My Tico family had company over for the afternoon coffee break and they were chatting nonstop at the other end of the house. When I first heard the slight rattling I was just confused, trying to place the origin of the sound. I paused and stood up, deciding if I should go see what was going on. Suddenly the rattling turned into shaking, swaying, and rumbling, and that’s when it hit me (pun intended)… earthquake!  I’m a little embarrassed it took me so long to identify what was happening, but you have to remember, I’ve never lived anywhere with tremors, so that’s not the first thing my brain jumps to when attempting to explain strange phenomena. When it finally dawned on me, to be honest my first thought was, “Cool!” eventually followed by, “I guess I should go stand in a doorframe like they always tell you.” I stood in my bedroom door, watching the mirror in the hall swing wildly and listening to Josefa, Brittany’s Tica mom, shrieking next door in the carport.

Gradually the trembling subsided, and I stood for a minute listening for my Tico family in an attempt to gauge my response by theirs. Maricela, my Tica mom was calming down her 11-month-old grandson, Matias, who had been fine during the earthquake until Josefa’s hysteric screams terrified him. The others remarked that it was a pretty strong “terremoto,” and then promptly returned to what they were doing. I’ve felt weak tremors before, once in Japan and once in Haiti, but this was by far the most significant shake I’ve experienced, and I’ll admit it got my adrenaline pumping. It was apparently pretty strong, about a 6.0 according to the USGS (get the stats here), but thankfully it was deep in the earth so the damages were minimal across the country. Allen, one of our local supervisors, called to check on me a few minutes after. When I answered the phone he said in his steady Texas drawl, “Well I ordered up a good shaking for ya, just wanted to see how ya liked it.”

In sum, it was an exciting Friday the 13^th, and although I didn’t find it all that frightening, it did bring up some sobering realities. First of all, the earth is crazy. In the midst of an earthquake you can’t know if it’s just going to stop with a little shake, or turn into a cataclysmic disaster. And unlike the hurricanes I grew up with, there’s not any real warning or way to prepare for the ravages of an earthquake. Having been in Haiti a couple of months after their devastating quake, I’ve seen firsthand the destruction of structures and lives. I’ve talked with people who were miraculously saved and with others who lost loved ones, seen the mass graves and the buildings that collapsed into tombs, and tried to understand the psychological toll that the trauma and fear continues to exact on the people who survived. God has used the disaster to His glory and the country has seen tremendous revival, but many more continue to live in fear, and in that one day thousands perished without a saving knowledge of Christ. It was the same in Japan and it would be the same in Costa Rica, or California for that matter. It’s only a matter of time. And that “matter” is that time is running out.

"Christ is the answer. Exodus 14:14"

Our little quake was a good reminder to me that time is short and the work is urgent. Even without massive natural disasters, everyone we encounter is getting closer to eternity every minute, and we cannot know how much time they, or we, have left. People need Jesus, and they need Him now. Sometimes the disasters we face are physical, sometimes they are personal but just as devastating. The ground may split open or you may feel like your life is crumbling, but Jesus will still stand as a firm foundation. Listen to the promise from Isaiah 54:10, “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed.” 

And in Psalm 46:1-3 we are told, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” 

I’m ashamed to think about how many times I’ve let timidity or simple unconcern keep me from sharing that truth with people who desperately needed it. I pray that I will better keep the exigency of the task in mind on a daily basis, and that when I forget, that God might shake me out of my complacency yet again.

Heat lightning over the mountains. This is looking south from our language school. I'm pretty sure those are the lights of Desamparados.