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

Blessings

Nearly everyday I am reminded, yet again, why I am here. Yesterday was another one of those powerful days that left me nearly breathless.

The day began as normal with class, studying, and lots of reading, but when it was time to go to my project, I got an excited flutter in my stomach as I remembered that it was "graduation day" in Los Cuadros. Now in reality, the kids weren't actually graduating from anything; instead, we were just having a small ceremony to congratulate them on finishing their first three-month block of English classes. The "ceremony" would consist of a small presentation in which they would display to their peers and any other family or friends they wanted to invite what they have learned thus far, and then they would be handed their "diplomas."  

When we arrived, there was a gitty buzz wafting through the air as the kids nervously and excitedly went over their scripted few lines of English, and found their seats in the room. We put the chairs in a huge circle, with family and friends on one side, and students on the other. I got a taste of what the students were feeling when I was asked, on the spot, to introduce myself, IN SPANISH, to the parents and let them know why I am here and what I am doing with their children. To tell you the truth, I am not sure whether I did okay or not, because I was so nervous I just blacked out and started talking; no one laughed or anything, though, so I guess that is a good sign.

When the "presentations" began, I was absolutely blown away. Of course, precious, confident Marian set the bar high for the rest of her classmates when she went above and beyond what she was asked to do, and talked about how she wanted to learn English so that she could be a chef, and also help the people in Los Cuadros have better lives. 

The rest of the kids' presentations varied from relatively poor, to average, to so overcome with anxiety that they couldn't even begin to portray how intelligent they truly are. There was one child in particular, Jose, who I am very fond of and who scored the highest of all of his classmates on the exam. When it was his turn to present, I truly thought I was going to have to peel him off the ground after watching him faint from fear. He stood up, began to talk, then with tears in his eyes turned to me and the main teacher and begged us to let him sit down and start again later. After two other boys went, he stood up and tried again, my heart ached for the child as I heard his voice quiver, his hands shaking, and could only imagine the out of control beat of his heart. It took me straight back to the days when my teacher would call my name, my face would turn bright red, the whole class would laugh, and I would want to curl up in a ball under my desk and never come out. In the end, Jose survived, just as I did as a child, and as much as it hurt me to see his fear, the feeling of accomplishment I could see in his face proved it was worth it in the end.

And then there was Carol, a picture of success for "El Niño y La Bola," who painted the perfect picture of the power of having someone believe in you. Carol was one of the girls when I began who refused to participate. She was too cool to do her homework, and too distracted to pay attention in class. We were told that she was one of eight children who lived in a two bedroom "home" that was made of scrap wood and metal, and that her actions and attitude were the result of an extremely unstable home environment. Therefore with this in mind, we just decided to love on her as best as we possibly could, ignoring any negativity that we got in return. And slowly, but surely, this little angel began to open up her heart to us, allowing herself to be vulnerable not only to build new relationships, but also to challenge herself to learn a new language. When she stood up to present, without a family member there to support her, I felt like a proud mother, watching her broken little bird finally learning to fly. She spoke with confidence and ease, and smiled with pride as she saw the looks of shock on our faces from the progress she had made. 

After the presentations, we gave out their "diplomas." For the students who missed less than five classes, did their homework consistently, and did relatively well on the test, there was an "honors" diploma, recognizing their hard work. And for the rest of the children there was a "diploma of participation." I will never forget the look on sweet Jocelyn's face - the 17 year old girl who just had a baby - when she heard her name called for honors. She was so proud, so excited, so motivated. The hardest part, however, at least for me, was to see all of the children, so proud of themselves, but often without anyone there to support them. There were a good number of parents and siblings there, but not nearly enough for all the children that are in our class. I am not going to pretend to know what dynamics kept them from being there to support their beautiful children/siblings, or to judge them for their decisions, but I am also not going to lie and say it didn't break my heart to see Jocelyn look around the room at the other parents, knowing that the only person she had there was her little sister. And this was true for many. 

Yesterday was a great day, too. Internally, I was in a weird mood, I think just exhausted from a lack of sleep and all the flood of emotions that accompany my work on a day-to-day basis, but my project was great. I was asked by the teacher at my project to lead a two part "support group" type class during the normal two hour English class for two consecutive classes. The first was last Friday, and the second was yesterday. Though I have lot of experience doing such things, it was a very different experience having to lead this group in Spanish; it was a nice, yet scary challenge.

I spent hours last week trying to decide exactly how far I could push these 20-25 year olds, and what would be the most effective way to do it. After many drafts thrown away, I finally came up with a five part activity that I would split into two days. Friday, the first day, went great. I was overcome by how fulfilled I felt while integrating my love for therapy, for writing, for Spanish and for helping people all into one, meaningful activity. My heart was as full as it ever has been. I was amazed by how open most - of course not all - of the students were and how much they seemed to enjoy the exercises. 

Yesterday, however, was a different story. It went well, I guess, but was without a doubt much more of a challenge for us all. I began by asking them to write about a person they really admire and why... What is it about that person that makes them a positive role model? What characteristics do they have that you would like to acquire, etc... When I got a room full of blank faces, and pretty much a refusal to write from the majority of them, I decided it would be best if we split into small groups to talk about it. I was with three students, another volunteer was with three students, and the head teacher was with four students, and together we walked through the process of discovering who we admire. The three in my group began with the claim that there was no one in their lives that they trusted, admired, or looked up to. They told me that everyone where they live only looks out for themselves and so therefore they have to do the same; my heart sank. I asked who they talk to or go to when they have a problem or are afraid, and they all told me no one, they just ignore it and it goes away. My heart shattered. After some prying and convincing, together, we came up with the qualities that some people in our lives have that we admire, and I felt good about it. The rest of the class finished in much of the same way. The next activity was also difficult for them to process, and if nothing else, it was a great learning experience for me as to how to work with people who have never before been asked how they feel, what they want, or what they value. 

In the end, though I was a bit flustered and frustrated, feeling like I had prepared this activity for the wrong population, one of the girls said something that made my heart smile again. In English she told me that I was someone she admired because I was willing to share my own weaknesses, traumas, and flaws with them in order to help them, as well as grow alongside them. She told me she appreciated me for coming to help them, because I really was making a difference in their lives. She told me she was grateful she had someone like me to look up to. 

Now, I am not sure I deserve all of that, but in all honestly, it felt amazing to hear. I don't need to be complimented, or praised, but I do need to feel like the exhaustion and hard work is doing even the SLIGHTEST bit of good in at least one life. 

Today... I am content. Today... I feel like I am exactly where I need to be. Today... I feel incredibly blessed that God has placed me here and given me the resources that make me capable of doing what I am doing. 

xoxo

Cuentas

It's been a pretty great week. I think it started off well out of the sheer excitement and relief of having made my decision to stay here in Costa Rica. I know that either way, my life would have worked out well and either decision would have been a good decision, but just the fact of not having a huge decision looming over my head any longer was a wonderful feeling. I emailed Vanderbilt Monday about deferring my Master's program until next fall, they responded on Tuesday, encouraging me to take full advantage of this opportunity and that they would be happy to have me begin next year. That is the email that made everything real. Now all I need is Coop, and then all will be settled.

My days this week have been more of the usual... loving on precious children and young adults, studying and reading lots of Spanish, spending time with some new friends I have made here, and enjoying the beautiful company of my Tica Family. I have been extremely lazy, only working out once, and I went to see Will Smith's new movie on Wednesday night... clearly I didn't like it too much seeing as I feel asleep on the shoulder of my friend Manny. 

Thursday, without a doubt, was the highlight of my week. That morning, instead of having my Spanish class, I went with Sergio to do a "caminata" in "Los Cuadros." Basically, the "caminata" is a walk that Sergio does every Thursday and Friday morning throughout the slum. Some days he just walks to the homes of the children that work with Boy With a Ball, whereas others, he tries to introduce himself to new people within the area, hoping to shine a little light on their lives. Because we were with him yesterday, and the area is not the most secure of Costa Rica, yesterday, we just went to the homes of the children we know, but it was absolutely unbelievable; my favorite thing I have yet to do.

The first home we went to was the house of two little girls named Carol and Catherine. Just from working with them in class, I could see in their souls that they were struggling with something at home, but seeing their situation first hand was amazing. Sergio knocked on the tin door, and I swear the "house" shook. Carol opened the door and though we weren't invited in - her parents weren't home - I could see her house nearly in it's entirety. The entire structure consisted of two small rooms with floors made of cement or dirt - they were so covered that I couldn't tell - furniture that looked as if it was infected with something fatal, and a smell of marijuana, sweat, feces, and rot seeping from the walls, no electricity, no bathroom. Carol seemed embarrassed that we weren't there; I am not sure if it was because she was ashamed of her home, or the fact that this was the first time we have ever seen her without an inch of black eyeliner framing her eyes.

When we left her house, we proceeded to a little boy named Brian's house. He wasn't home - he was at school - but when his mother opened the door, my heart sank. She opened the door wearing underwear and a tank top; she looked worn, exhausted, defeated. Standing beside her were two dirty, smiling little boys, and glaring at us from behind her was her shirtless husband - with one look he made it clear that we weren't welcome there.Though brief, Brian's mother was kind; I can't imagine the wrath  of his father. Walking away all I could think about was how I have wondered for weeks now what the cause of Brian's speech impediment and perhaps mental delays could be; when I met his family the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together.

We went to a few other houses, loved on a few other kids, and met a few other parents, and it was more of the same. A few parents who were extremely kind and affectionate, yet had nothing to offer their children, and a few that told us instead that "they had their own stuff to worry about" and their 12 year old children were "old enough to make their own decisions." 

The last house we went to was the home of an older woman's and her children. We introduced ourselves to her, talked to the children some, and then she stopped us and asked 

, " are any of you guys counselors, or does your organization offer counseling for children?" I wanted to jump out of my skin and tell her my counseling history, but instead I practiced my self control and let her story unfold on its own. And it did. She began to tell us about her daughter, the mother of the four children that lived with her, who had been a prostitute since she was only a teen. She was out one night in Los Cuadros, when one of her tricks killed her, leaving her four children as orphans because their father had left years ago. When she told the story, I was in shock, honestly I could hardly believe the words spilling from her mouth. But then in looked into her eyes and saw a sadness and a desperation unlike anything I'd ever seen. And when she asked if we could please help her daughters child, who is currently suffering incomprehensibly, my heart broke. I wanted to scoop up this woman, and her children, and her grandchildren, and save them from this horrible nightmare that they called their life, but then I had to take a deep breath and accept the fact that this was one story that I couldn't write.... It was already written. All i could do was drown them with love, and love, and more love.

It's amazing how different the story is when you actually get the chance to meet the characters. I want to write every one of these stories; I believe this world could be a much better place if we could learn from one another's stories. I'm accumulating some pretty inspiring ones in Costa Rica. 

Xoxox,

Caroline

Just Love

"I must be willing to give whatever it takes to do good to others. This requires that I be willing to give until it hurts. Otherwise, there is no true love in me, and I bring injustice, not peace, to those around me." [Maya Angelou]

This is where I am right now... at the point where my heart is raw, open, and vulnerable; a place that is so healthy and so real, but also so scary and so risky. I am crying at the drop of a hat, not because I am sad, but just because I'm overcome with emotion. Good emotion, yet also inescapable. There is something so exquisite about feeling as though your soul is exactly where it needs to be, and you are truly living out your purpose. There is something so peaceful, so eye opening, and so fulfilling about seeing God working his magic in your life, and through you, into the lives of others. I am exhausted, a little anxious, and slightly afraid of the unknown, but I also feel an overwhelming sense of comfort and relief in the fact that I am absolutely powerless; He is in control.

To tell you the truth, if someone had told me in May that I was going to fall so madly in love with Costa Rica that I was going to defer grad school for a year, pack up my things, and move myself (and Cooper) indefinitely, I would have laughed in their face. There wouldn't have been any reason to argue, because it wasn't even on my radar. And that is proof that this beautiful life is so much more than we could ever hope, dream, or wish for; He has more magnificent plans for us than we could ever create for ourselves. I initially planned for this little adventure to end on Saturday, but as it turns out, God took the wheel and I am just trying to be an instrument of his peace and love as I just enjoy the ride.

"I have found that among its other benefits, giving liberates the soul of the giver." [Maya Angelou]

Pensamientos

This week I have been mostly in my head. Though I was a little lonely in my room alone, it was probably a good thing that no other volunteers were at my home stay this week, because I had a lot of thinking to do... some big decisions I was trying to make.

Besides being a little more quiet than usual, my week went pretty well. I had a ton of time to study and read (in Spanish), I had a great time at my projects, and I am still loving my host family a little more every day. The seventeen year old girl from my project who was pregnant, Jocelyn, finally had her baby and both mama and baby boy are doing wonderful. Though I have yet to see either of them in person yet, I am thrilled to here all is beautiful, and see pictures of this angelic, innocent, beautiful child.

Because the end of their "quarter" is coming up, while one of my projects took their big test and gave a presentation, the other class was preparing and reviewing for their final. In my older class, I was even asked by the main teacher to take the full two hours, Friday and next Wednesday, to do a "counseling group" with the students. We have noticed that the majority of the students are really struggling with their sense of self, and have been having problems finding the drive to be motivated in any element of their lives, therefore I have had the best time racking my brain to pull out whatever self-esteem, self-worth, goal setting exercises I have come across throughout my 22 years on both sides of therapy. I am nervous, yet thrilled to see how these two "groups" turn out. I have a feeling they're going to go wonderfully.

So after that high, I was pleasantly surprised yet again after having an interview with the head of Boy with a Ball. After an intense half hour in a tiny room, where I probably lost a pound from both nervous, and hot sweat, I was handed an absolutely beautiful opportunity. Jose, the Tico man who runs Boy with a Ball in Costa Rica, welcomed me with open arms into their "family," and offered me the (unpaid) position of being Sergio's right-hand woman. In other words, he told me that I could basically be Sergio's wingman... help him with all of his projects... go into the homes and help the families with him... tutor the children with him... try to help make a difference in this little part of the world that is so desperately crying for help. Though at this point I am not sure what exactly this adventure will look like, I am thrilled to have the chance to have a more hands on role with the children/young adults I have come to love so dearly.

With all of these beautiful blessings popping up out of nowhere, my mind began rumbling around a whole lot. I was having thoughts that were taking me in all different directions, that were making me overwhelmed with excitement, fear, anxiety and happiness, and I spent a lot of time in praying, begging God to help me make the right decisions.

After talking to Daddy Rodes last night, I believe I have finally made up my mind: I am going to defer Graduate School at Peabody for a year and stay here in Costa Rica. Since my first trip to the Dominican Republic, when I fell in love with the process of both learning how to navigate through the waters of new cultures, and helping those in desperate need, I have dreamt of moving to another country and doing nothing but loving on people who need it more than you or I could ever imagine. And though my plan was to do this after grad school, I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. I believe that I was placed in this beautiful community within San Pedro, with the most loving family in the world (besides my own), and given the opportunity to work with a Christian organization that serves people in the exact way I have always dreamt of serving for a reason. And therefore, I am going to welcome this opportunity with open arms, and I am confident this is going to be another unexpected, yet beautiful chapter of my life.

After talking to my Tico family, who begged me not to get an apartment and to stay with them instead, I have decided that I am going to come home July 26, sort out all of my responsibilities at home, get my number one man (Cooper), love on all my people at home, and then come back. Once I return, I plan to become fluent in Spanish, share my heart with as many people as humanly possible, explore more of the beautiful landscape in Costa Rica, and giggle as I watch Cooper make friends with sweet little Bianca, my host family's dog. (I already checked to make sure it would be smooth and seamless for Coop... Thank God that he doesn't have to go into quarantine and there are no other hoops to jump through, because I couldn't go on this adventure without him.)

Though it breaks my heart to think that I am not going to be just a couple of miles away from all the poeple I love most in my life, that I am not going to be around during the first few months of Dr. HH's beautiful new girls' lives, that I won't be there to celebrate the birthdays of four of my favorite people in the world (dad, Christina, Tommy and Page) and that I won't get to participate in the day-to-day lives of you all, I truly believe that right now, this is where I need to be. My heart has made it clear that this is the next chapter that God has written for me, and, though terrified, I am going to take a huge leap and just hope I make it out alive and smiling on the other side; I am confident that I will. I am confident in the fact that this chapter in my life is going to provide me with experience, and fluency in a second language, both of which will help me to touch even more lives at home.


I look forward to sharing this experience with you all.