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.

Adios and vaya con Dios!

I don’t want to go.

The thought exploded in my mind during an unguarded moment laughing with a friend a couple of weeks before my travel date. I didn’t know where those words came from, but like a blindside corner blitz, suddenly they were there, catching me off-guard and knocking the wind out of me. I had guarded my thoughts for a long time, not letting myself linger on the painful parts of what was coming. But eventually the truth burst out: I didn’t want to go. I surprised even myself, and before the pain from that realization could subside, in swept the guilt.

I’m not supposed to feel like this! I’m a missionary for crying out loud! I’m supposed to be thrilled about having this rarefied privilege to go to far-off lands and tell people about Jesus. It’s not like someone is forcing me, I volunteered for this. I worked hard for this! I danced around in my office like an idiot when I found out I got the job. I’m supposed to be so passionate about sharing the Good News that I count everything else as loss. I’m supposed to want to go!

But the truth was, I didn’t. I didn’t want to go through any of it. I didn’t want to try to shop for everything I might possibly need for two years. I didn’t want to pack my life into two (okay, okay…4) suitcases. I didn’t want to leave behind my wardrobe or…*gasp*…my shoes, my beautiful high-heeled shoes! I didn’t want to pick just a few precious photos and knick-knacks to remind me of home, and trade my stacks of books for a Kindle app. I didn’t want to give up driving and leave Gerald with my mom. I didn’t want to exchange my independence and personal space, my comfy bed and house to go live in a rented room with a Costa Rican family, living by their schedules and customs. I didn’t want the sweet cards and thoughtful gifts from the people who care so much about me. I didn’t want the last meals at my favorite restaurants, or one last plate of mom’s spaghetti. I didn’t want a final Friday Night Bible Study or a “Day o’ Lyndsey” to say goodbye to so many wonderful people. I didn’t want the beautiful prayers of blessing, the accolades and recognition, or people telling me how proud they are of me. I didn’t want to be held up as someone to be admired, after all, if they knew how I felt, they wouldn’t. I didn’t want to leave the beach or drive through the darkened streets of my hometown knowing it won’t be the same when I come back. I didn’t want to cling to the people I love and watch the minutes drain from the clock, knowing what was coming. I didn’t want to hug and kiss my friends and family one last time. I didn’t want to feel my heart breaking or cry with so much anguish I thought I’d never stop. I didn’t want to leave my comfortable home and pleasant life. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want to go. Not one little bit.

But I did.

5:00am at DAB with Daddy and Timmy and a farewell Dr. Pepper

And you know what…it hurt! Really, really bad. I wasn’t expecting it to be so painful. I really thought that I could handle it. I’ve left home and moved to foreign cultures for extended periods of time before. Sure it was sad, but I was okay. But I was suddenly very aware that this really is an entirely different bag of cats. Moving to Europe for a school year when all of your friends are still off in college is a different challenge from leaving the USA for 2 years when everyone is in the midst of making critical career and life decisions. And I’m a different person than I was back when I moved to Paris. Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age? ;-) Whatever it is, I’ve cried more in the last 4 weeks than I have in the last 4 years, and I think my sudden sensitivity was even more alarming to myself than to the close friends who had to deal with my atypical meltdowns. For someone who usually has their emotions in check, the amount of tears that I have shed in recent days is disconcerting.

I’d like to tell you that nearly two weeks after the big goodbye I have some amazing story to tell you about how being obedient to Christ has completely erased the pain and filled my heart with gladness and enthusiasm and I’ve already seen fruit. But the truth is, it still hurts and it’s still hard. It took me a week before I made it a single day without tears, and that was less because I didn’t feel like crying, and mostly because I was simply too tired. Life in a foreign culture is exhausting.

Before you start really worrying about me and my emotional stability and go calling Member Care to get me some counseling, let me assure you I am fine. The first morning I woke up here, my immediate thought was, “Hey. I live in Costa Rica.” And that thought strikes me again at random times and makes me smile. I love learning about the culture. The mountains and plant life are beautiful, the people pretty friendly, and the food not half bad. I like the Tico (Costa Rican) family that I live with and have settled into a comfortable routine.  School has started and my Spanish is improving rapidly. Perhaps nicest of all is that we’ve been welcomed into the community of other staff from our organization that either live here permanently or who are in longer-term language study. They have gone out of their way to get us settled and show us around and are quickly becoming our family away from home. We’ve gone to church, had some gringo gatherings, and experienced a Tico birthday party complete with piñata and a cake fight, and we have laughed a LOT. I really can’t complain.

Piñata at a welcome fiesta at school. Who doesn't love a good piñata?! (Except maybe Donkey from Shrek...)

At the good times I’m amused that I live here, I enjoy the challenge of learning a new language, and I appreciate the unique culture of this place. Anytime I want, I can walk out my front door of my upscale home and buy a coconut with a straw from the guy in the truck on the street. No joke, there’s a coconut guy. But there are still times when I am lonely and the pain of missing people is raw, when I don’t want to learn a language I managed to avoid for 9 years in school, when I want to point out that I never signed up for Costa Rica. I hate to say it, but there are times when I simply don’t want to be here. In my younger years I would never had admitted any of this in a blog that everyone and their grandmother can read. I like to be seen as the one who “has it all together,” who’s competent and strong, not phased by anything. Admit my weaknesses? What weaknesses? Let’s just talk about how interesting everything is and tell clever anecdotes about not being able to flush toilet paper (for real, you don’t do that here). But I am slowly learning to let my guard down. So instead, I’d rather be transparent and show you as real a picture of me right now as I dare. It’s what I like to call “ugly honest.” So I hope I haven’t horrified any of you with what I’ve shared so far, and I hope you aren’t too disappointed with me if I admit that this hasn’t been a walk in the park and that sometimes I don’t feel like being where I am or doing what I’m doing.

As I said at the beginning of these ramblings, I didn’t really want to leave or do any of the hard things that got me here. But I did them and I’m here because that’s obedience. We don’t wait to obey until we feel like obeying. “Living by faith mean obeying God’s Word in spite of feelings, circumstances or consequences. It means holding on to God’s truth no matter how heavy the burden or how dark the day, knowing that He is working out His perfect plan.” People love to tell you to “follow your heart,” but I think that’s some of the most dangerous advice out there. If I were following my heart right now I’d be on a plane headed back to the US, because at this moment my heart is still in sunny Daytona Beach.

Can you blame me?

In Jeremiah 17:9 the Bible tells us that “the heart is deceitful above all things.” Sometimes we have to obey even when we don’t want to, but when we do, right feelings eventually follow right actions. So I think it’s okay if we don’t always feel like doing that to which we’re called, so long as we go ahead and do it anyway. And we don’t do it because we’ve been promised blessings on the other side, but because we were simply asked to obey. Like I’ve said, being obedient doesn’t protect us from hurt, sometimes it leads us right to it, but how sweet to know that while we walk that road we never walk alone.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” –Psalm 34:18

And so, on the good days I will praise Him for bringing me here, for walking beside me, and for His abundant blessings… and on the bad days I will thank Him for bringing me here, for walking beside me, and for His abundant blessings. And when I am weak and crushed in spirit I can rest in His arms and in the promise of 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I hope that I can learn to say, as Paul did, “When I am weak, then I am strong.”

Leaving church on our first Sunday in Costa Rica.

*Thank you so much for all the outpourings of support and continued prayer during my last days at home and this transition to Costa Rica. It’s a tremendous comfort and blessing to know so many are interceding on my behalf. I mean it when I say, I couldn’t do it without you! Right now would you specifically pray that we will learn the language rapidly, that we will be good stewards of our brief time here in CR, for divine appointments and opportunities to serve, and for the continued health of team relationships. And please let me know how I can pray for you!*

Bring the Rain

Training ended more than a week ago, and my last days in Virginia were a whirlwind of packing, goodbyes, and last minute details. We still managed to carve out some sweet time with friends in the midst of that. All the young short-termers got together for a farewell celebration one evening, a fun time of snacks, silliness, and mustaches.

Yes, you read that right. Mustaches. 

But when the goofy pictures and joking subsided, we came together for a time of praise. We sang songs and lifted up prayers for the places and peoples around the world where we are going. It would have been a precious time under any circumstances, but it was all the more wonderful to me because it was storming. That may not sound especially remarkable given the bipolar nature of Virginia’s weather, and it’s not, so let me preface it with some background.

I love rain. Simple as that. Always have, always will. It’s a really convenient trait when you live in Florida, because lest you be deceived by our tourist-luring moniker, “The Sunshine State” gets a lot lot lot of rain. I really couldn’t tell you why I like the rain so much, but I love to play in it, listen to it, nap through it. I even have an entire playlist on my iPod of songs about rain. But perhaps the reason I like it so much is because it always reminds me of my heavenly Father, His power, His grace, and His faithfulness. One of my favorite hymns is “My Lord is Near Me All the Time”:

In the lightning flash across the sky, His mighty power I see,

And I know if He can reign on high, His light can shine on me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

When the thunder shakes the mighty hills, and trembles every tree,

Then I know a God so great and strong, can surely harbor me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

When refreshing showers cool the earth, and sweep across the sea,

Then His rainbow shines within my heart, His nearness comforts me.

I’ve seen it in the lightning, heard it in the thunder, and felt it in the rain;

My Lord is near me all the time, my Lord is near me all the time.

I could tell countless stories about how storms fill my heart with worship, but that night in Virginia reminded me of one in particular. As we sat there on the floor of the multipurpose room, the rain lashing the windows and providing the percussion to our songs, I closed my eyes and I was back in Haiti sitting on the floor of a house with a group of Americans just outside of Port-au-Prince.  The power and generator were both out and a Haitian storm was blowing down from the mountains with near hurricane ferocity.  We lifted up our voices in the dimness, competing to be heard over the wind and rain, singing song after song as darkness settled and the storm began to abate. We cried out “How Great is our God,” and He answered back with blinding lightning.

“I know that the Lord is great, that our Lord is greater than all gods. The Lord does whatever pleases him, in the heavens and on the earth, in the seas and all their depths. He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses.” –Psalm 135:5-7

With each thunder roll I felt His perfect peace and contentment; in the midst of the storm I was right where I was supposed to be. I was overwhelmed by His faithfulness that night, and I hadn’t even seen the way God would use that time in Haiti to direct me to this new adventure with Him.

Rain fight in Haiti!

“Remember your covenant with us and do not break it. Do any of the worthless idols of the nations bring rain? Do the skies themselves send down showers? No, it is you, O Lord our God. Therefore our hope is in you, for you are the one who does all this.” – Jeremiah 14:21-22

A year later, sitting in Virginia with the rain pouring down, I was once again overcome by His faithfulness. To go into all the little ways God wove things together to bring me to this specific place would take too long, so perhaps I’ll do another post on that some day. But suffice it to say that when I look back over the last year plus I can’t help but see His fingerprints on so many things. My heart was overflowing with thankfulness.

“For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.” –Psalm 100:5

It was hard to leave and it is hard to be home. Coming back I am reminded about how much I love my life here. I am surrounded by people who love me and care about me. I have wonderful family and friends. An awesome church. Lazy sundrenched beach days. Barbeque. Chickfila. Friday night Bible study. Life is good. Life is comfortable. Life is easy. And in three weeks that’ll change. The two years that seemed like no big deal are beginning to feel like an eternity. The confidence and resolve that came so easily months ago are beginning to wear thin. Normally unemotional, I now find myself on the verge of tears at least once a day whenever I am reminded that I’m really only here visiting. I want to ask if I’m making the right decision, but I can’t even get the question out. I know I am. And in some ways, knowing that is even harder. I’ve always loved the quote by C.S. Lewis, “We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” And there’s the rub. Following God doesn’t keep us from pain, sometimes it leads us straight to it. His faithfulness doesn’t always protect us from hurt, but in our hurt He is always faithful. His unfailing love is our comfort (Psalm 119:76). We have His promise that He will not leave us or forsake us. He will carry us through, and comfort us when we hurt. “I, even I, am he who comforts you.” – Isaiah 51:12

When I am weak, He is faithful.

When I hurt, He is faithful.

When I doubt, He is faithful.

When I cry out, He is faithful.

When I am brokenhearted, He is faithful.

He is faithful. Praise Jesus, He is faithful! 

 And so when my strength is gone and my confidence is weak, I can walk on trusting in the faithfulness of my Lord that pours out like rain. You could blame a low pressure system for the week of rain that followed me down from Virginia and kept me from the beach during my first days home, but I prefer to think of it as God reminding me that He is near, and He is faithful. And maybe, He’s helping me get my fill of percipitation before I move to Lima, a coastal desert where it rarely rains. I’m not excited about living in a place without storms, but although I won’t have my physical reminder of God’s faithfulness, I know His fidelity remains the same.

“Where can I go from your Sprit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” –Psalm 139:7-10

*Prayer requests*: Thank you for your prayers and encouragement as I wrap up things in the states. Less than three weeks until Costa Rica! Please lift up Steven, Kattie and baby Evelyn who arrived in Lima today. Too many months until I see them again, but can’t wait to hear about their first days in our new home town.

*Check out the song “You Were There” by Avalon, on the music player at the bottom of the page.*