Heavy

Every week, I immerse myself a little bit deeper into the communities in which I am both living and working, and though this is a beautiful thing, with every step I take, I feel reality getting a little bit darker in this absolutely beautiful country. Again and again I say that I know this is where I am supposed to be, however, the more I get to know these people and their realities, the harder I find it to believe that this is what my life consists of today. Sergio tells me again and again that the world in which we are working is "feo," or ugly, and he is right. At times it gets so ugly, that I have to close my eyes and pretend to be somewhere else. If I didn't already feel so invested in these women/children, it would be a lot easier to turn and run home... Pretending I never saw what I have seen.

But I can't pretend that I never met sweet Joselin, or helped her care for her darling son, Aiken. I cant pretend that I didn't make my way through the burning trash, intoxicated and half-dressed men, and wandering children, to get to the broken structure in which this beautiful girl is trying to raise her son. As held her 4 week old baby in my arms, and looked around at the decorations hanging from the ceiling that were covered in cobwebs, the wooden plank walls that certainly can't keep out the Costa Rican rain, and the clearly unsanitary space they used as a kitchen, it took everything in me not to cry. As she spoke to us about her dangerous stepfather, her toxic environment, and how all she wanted was to learn enough English so that she should be a translator and give her son something better, it took everything in me not to take her hand and run with her. Run far, far away from this place...to a place where she can be 17, and not have to worry about her safety each time she walks out her front door.

From her home, we walked through many different areas, with many different types of homes; all shocking in their own unique ways. There are the ranches, which are the "shacks" out "in the sticks (as  Rodes would say)," there are the newer homes, which are actually made out of cement, but in the more dangerous areas, and then, where went next, are the tin structures, which of course create a heavenly sound in the rain, but aren't the least bit nurturing or protective. Only minutes before reaching the next home, we passed two little kids playing in the dirt. A little boy who was probably about 7 and a little girl who was about five. Between the two of them was a small potted plant. Sergio stopped, and in Spanish, asked them what they were doing. With a huge smile on his face, the little boy turned and lifted up a sprouting marijuana plant for us to see, and when Sergio asked him what it was, my heart stopped, as I listened to the little boy explain to us what marijuana is, how to grow it, and how to sell it. The pride in his face is something that will be stamped on my heart forever.

Then finally, we got to the home of Carolina and Catherine, two girls from our English class, and the only home that we were actually never invited to enter due to the terrible conditions inside. These two girls are the two in which I have seen the most growth and improvement throughout the time I have been here, but also the two who I believe are in the most apparent danger. Being 14 and 17 year old girls, who are fully developed and beautiful, and have absolutely no limits at home, anything could happen. They spend their days skipping classes, fighting amongst themselves or with other girls, and/or taking care of their three baby siblings and pregnant mother. Yesterday, for the first time, the mother actually showed her face to explain to us that Pani (children's services here) had been calling and threatening to come take the girls out of the home because they believed they are in danger. I don't know who/how the father is, but from experiencing the helplessness and sadness of this mother and her children, I can only imagine. I finally understand what my sister, Christina, does everyday... And the reason she is so incredibly passionate and dedicated to her work. 

There is absolutely nothing like seeing a beautiful, glowing, intelligent child, who clearly has so very much potential, and then looking around them and coming to the conclusion that the odds are against them ever becoming anything other than what they come from. It is brutal to accept that there is absolutely nothing you can do except hope your presence makes a difference, and pray for God to be with them. It kills me to think of the children in the states, and all they have, as well as expect, and then look at these children who have absolutely nothing. But it inspires me to hear them tell me they love me, and reminds me of the strength that I have, and why I love where I am today.

Just Be

One of the things that has continually been a challenge for me over the past few years is having free time. Callie is always telling me that some day I am going to have a heart attack because I never stop moving, and if I have a few huts free, I find something "productive" to fill my time with. Don't get me wrong, i love to think and to be alone, but i love to think or reflect on things other than myself; i like to be alone, but doing something, again, "productive." At times I have wondered if I am in some form or another addicted to productivity, schedules, and perhaps even stress. Since high school, Dad and Page have begged meto give myself time to just be, and to try not to always commit to so much that I don't have time to enjoy life, enjoy people, or even take a deep breath. I am not sure if this is a result of the society in which I've been brought up, my perfectionist, "type A" personality, or perhaps a fear of being alone with myself and my thoughts. It's most likely a combination of the three.

As I have travelled here, to Costa Rica, this issue has followed me. Her, however, it's not quite as easy to run from silence, and I am instead being forced to confront it. Last weekend at the beach, alone, I had a lot of unrolled time. I couldn't get in the car and drive somewhere, I couldn't turn on the TV (there wasn't one), I couldn't go window shopping becuSe there were only a couple of shops, and I couldn't really even escape into a book, because the book I'm reading is in Spanish so it's more of a challenge than an escape. So I walked on the beach for hours, listening to the waves or my music, trying not to think, or to worry, or to stress, but rather trying just to BE. I did yoga in the sun, connecting with myself rather than anything external and the most amazing thing happened, every moment I spent like this became a little easier. The anxiety that accompanied the silence began to lessen. And I slept better than I have since I have been here. 

And then I came back to San Jose, where I returned to busy days, a rewarding, however, stressful job, and the constant noise of an evergrowing city. I fell right back into the comfort of not having to be with myself. Therefore when the weekend rolled around, and I chose to stay in San Jose with very little to do, the anxiety of a lack of a schedule returned, and I had to go through the horrible process of acclimating to just BEING again. Yesterday I thought I was going to go crazy. All I wanted was to work, to exercise, to go somewhere, to do something...but I resisted, and today is so much better. I have been reading Pete's book, Empty Promises, in Spanish... And the part I read today really hit home. It was the chapter about fasting, where he spoke about the importance of fasting, not necessarily from food, but from anything that gets in the way of our relationship with God. Fasting from what he calls the "false idols" that we use to fill up any empty spaces, expecting them to bring us the fulfillment that only God can bring, and leaving us even more empty than before. I definitely think this is my problem. 

When I talked to my dad yesterday and told him my day was "extremely unproductive," it was as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear, as per usual. He said, "Don't use 'unproductive' as if its a bad word - our culture has taught us to go, go, go... Accomplish, accomplish, accomplish... And what we forget to do is just to be - be present with God, with ourselves, with the world." 

All of this makes me think about the service I have done overseas - not necessarily in Costa Rica, but in Haiti, the DR, and what I have heard about Africa. People always go to the places to serve people who are in constant battles just to make it through the day. And when I have been to these places, or talked with people who have returned home, I have so often heard people say, "I don't understand how people who are starving to death and sleeping cramped together in a tent with a dirt floor have so much peace. They have more joy than the people at home. They are so much happier. They are so much more content." Many times, I have to disagree, and I see the sadness, desperation, and hopelessness in the eyes of some of these people. But sometimes I have to agree. Some of the kindness, most joyful, most loving people I have ever met are those who have absolutely nothing tangible. Those who need more help than you or I could ever give. But they also have something that I only dream to have. They are comfortable with being alone with God; they put every ounce of faith they have in Him; they believe with all their hearts that He is with them and that He will provide. Nothing is more powerful than seeing such faith.

                                       A boat at the beach that says "God guides my Journey"

I feel like it is a constant battle in our world today. More than anything, I want to believe the way these people do. I want to place my worries, my fears, my anxieties in the hands of God and know that He will take care of me. But at the same time our world is telling us to go, work, achieve, only count on ourselves. Everyday we are given a new piece of technology to entertain us, keep us busy, make life "easier." Everyday society is trying to pull us further from a peaceful existence with our Creator, to a "productive," yet empty existence with society. It's exhausting, like swimming against the current, but for some reason, it is a little bit easier here than it is there. Therefore my goal for this adventure is not only to become fluent in Spanish and try to impact a sad, sad place, but also to move in the opposite direction than the one I had been moving. Towards an existence where I find peace in just being with God, and away from the mindset that I have to "go, go, go....accomplish, accomplish, accomplish." I want the same for each of you as well.

Anchor of Hope

Recently I watched a video posted on someone's wall on Facebook wall. It was a video of an older man laying in a hospital bed, holding the hand of his wife, as they, together, listened to an angelic voice singing the song "How Great is Our God." The man looked tired, yet had this sense of peace; the woman appeared devastated, yet her face, too, had a sense of peace as she sang along softly. As I was watching this video, I couldn't help but reflect on not only how beautiful this couple was, but also how beautiful this broken, often terrifyingly evil world is. There is a lot of scary, a lot of bad, a lot of heart-wrenchingly painful, but all in the same, there is a whole lot of good. I have been in awe of this GOOD several times in the past few days.

I went to church with my Mama Tica and Papa Tico and a dear friend, Manny, on Saturday night. I wanted to go because I miss my own church, and also because I knew it would mean a lot to them if I joined them, but I am not going to lie, when I heard it was an evangelical Christian church, I was a little bit nervous. I had no idea what to expect accept for the fact that it was a two hour service, completely in Spanish. I was pleasantly surprised in many ways. I was comforted by the fact that the location was so similar to what Crosspoint once was; a small gym with folding chairs, a small stage and a small band. I was comforted by the fact that the environment was warm, safe, and welcoming, despite the fact that I was the ONLY blonde in the entire service. I enjoyed the message for the most part, although there were some fundamental elements that I strongly disagreed with; I understood all of the Spanish (YAY), and the two hours actually flew by. But I must say, even if I hadn't understood the Spanish, I would have been touched by this service, because what really seeped into my soul wasn't the words, or the music, but rather the peace, safety, and comfort these people found while with their community, surrendering to something so much larger than themselves. I found myself looking at the people around me, soaking up their joy, perhaps more than I even looked at the Pastor. I am constantly amazed by the beauty that shines through some of the most desperate, broken places, when people come together, as one, to worship, love, and just be together. My spirit was rejuvenated.

Then yet again, yesterday, my heart was on fire. I met Sergio in Guadalupe at 9:00 and together we took the bus to "Los Cuadros" to do another "Caminata." I had absolutely nothing on me but enough money for the bus, because carrying a phone, a purse, a backpack, anything... would just make my blonde hair stand out even brighter, and make me that much more of a target. On the bus, I asked Sergio what exactly our plans were for the morning, and he told me that there were five different homes he would like to go visit so that we can sit and talk to the mothers. 

The first house we went to was the home of a single mother with three boys, one of whom is in our class. She warmly welcomed us into her tiny, uncomfortable home, and asked us to sit down and talk to her as she continued working. We sat down and she pulled out a razor blade, pulled a huge laundry basket towards her, and began to show us how shred old tee shirts, cloth, etc... so that it was in its natural form of tiny long strings. Once undone, she would throw the string into a plastic bag and start on the next piece. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me that she buys this old fabric, strings it, and then sells it to mechanics, construction workers, etc... and they use it to wipe up oil, dirt, grease... and this is her main source of income. Sergio then proceeded to ask her about her husband, who has another family and another wife. She told us he hasn't been around at all, that the boys are heart-broken and she is overwhelmed, and that she is working on a divorce. I could feel the sadness in her words, when she said that all she wanted was to raise her boys right, but she often didn't know how to make it through the day. I honestly think we were the only people in the world that she had to talk to.

After this woman's home, we went to the homes of two other families who were surviving similar stories. When we asked about the 12 year old daughter at one of the homes, the mother told us that she was traumatized because two days before she was walking home and got jumped by some men who assaulted her, and took everything she had. She was now scared to leave the house.

The fourth home we went to was the one that really hit me the hardest. From the outside, this home looked similar to the rest, but as my dad has always told me, "you never know what goes on behind closed doors." We knocked, and one of our students walked out the "door" and then invited us to come in. When we walked in, it took everything in me not to burst into tears. The home in its entirety was about the size of my bedroom, and was shelter to six children under the age of 12, a woman, and her husband who made my nerves run wild. There were two rooms: a bedroom, and a kitchen/living room/dining room. The smell was awful, I am certain that there was deadly bacteria floating in the air, and the eyes on this woman were the darkest, saddest, most desperate I have ever seen. When her husband spoke, she flinched; when we asked her questions, she provided timid, one word answers; I wanted nothing more in the world than to scoop her up and run away with her... help her find a way out of the pain in which she was drowning.

And then the last home was a married woman, whose husband worked twelve hour days, six days a week. This home was a little bit nicer and a lot bigger. The children were clearly well behaved and well taken care of, but the bitterness that was pulsing through this woman's veins was as toxic as anything I have yet to see (I cannot say that I wouldn't be the same). As soon as we sat down, words poured from her mouth about how awful her world, outside of her home, was. She explained to us that her children are best friends, because they aren't allowed to leave their home except to go to school because the people around there are too dangerous, the environment is too detrimental. She told us about how the people who live a couple of doors down killed someone, how if she walks down the street, she could be assaulted, and how the only safe place for her family is inside her home. But she invited us to come into her home to be with her whenever we wanted to.

I must say, I left and my heart felt like it was full of cement: cold, hard, untouchable. But Pete's words from Sunday's service came to my mind, and brought me an overwhelming sense of comfort. Comfort not only in the fact that I was a little ray of sun in this dark place, but also comfort in the fact that one day, all of this evil will be wiped clean, and all that will be is goodness. It is hard to believe in a God sometimes, that can deal such an unfair hand to such beautiful people, such precious children, but then I see people like Sergio, overflowing with compassion, love and joy, and I know that people like him couldn't exist if there wasn't a God. People like him are here to share the love of God with people who otherwise wouldn't ever know Him.

"Be faithful in the small things because it is in them that your strength lies."

Mother Teresa