Mangos and Christmas

On this day in Rey Curré, I was sitting on the porch wearing shorts in November and sipping milk from a coconut, when suddenly a salamander dropped excrement on my foot per usual and one of my students invited me over for chicken with rice to celebrate her birthday, and I smiled to myself knowing that these moments are numbered and, partly, for that very reason, priceless.

Our delicious Thanksgiving day din din.

The other 16 volunteers and I attended our end-of-service meeting this past week in Orosi, a suitable place considering it was where our service began 11 months ago for training.  During one of our sessions, we shared one word to describe how we feel about leaving Costa Rica and another word to describe how we feel about going home, which is cleverly the same question in disguise.  Confused.  Scared.  Excited.  Just to name a few.

The new field director and I kicking it before the meal.

To stay true to character, I went allegorical and said "mangos" and "Christmas," respectively.  When I think about leaving Costa Rica, I think mangos because they are so so good, and I can't get enough of them; but, they are only for a season and that is part of what makes them so special.  There is an old proverb that says, "You don't know what you have until it's gone."  Knowing from the get-go that this year was finite has made me be as present as possible in every moment...every class, every hike, every meeting, every conversation, every meal, every cold shower, every sunset, every bike ride, every soccer game, every coffee break, every bus ride, every church service, every dance break, every chill time, every vacation, every chat.  [Wow, when I put it that way, that doesn't sound all that different from my life in the States.  Aside from the cold showers and the coffee breaks.  I'm all for adopting the coffee breaks, but I could do without the cold showers.]  Point is, we have a choice each day to sleep through it or bound into it with eyes wide open.  Each day is a gift.  If there is one thing that Ticans never tire of saying it's, "si Dios quiere," or in another words, "God-willing."  We don't know if we will wake up tomorrow morning, but the point is that we would be prepared either way.  What does it mean to be prepared to die?

And, Christmas.  That one word describes exactly how I feel about going home.  Christmas means loved ones and a celebration of hope.  I will soon be reunited with friends and family, and I am reminded that there are good things ahead. 

"For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

An unforgettable day

 On this day in Rey Curré, a day passed that I'm sure I will never forget.  I got up and taught classes this morning in Curré like normal.  And, in the early afternoon, I hopped on a bike with my friend and went to teach at Las Vegas, a couple of kilometers down the road and over the river and through the woods, as I've done numerous times over the past few months.  But, today was different.  When I arrived, I saw balloons hanging on the walls and chairs sitting around in the corridor, but not a child was to be seen.  The director greeted me and then reached over and knocked lightly on the classroom door and, next thing I know, the door swings open and 20 familiar little faces pop out with grins as wide as the Térraba river during the rainy season.  They gave me kisses and hugs and filed into their seats.  The director invited me to sit down as the students were eager to present to me all the songs and chants that I had taught them in the previous weeks.  They sang "Hello students!  Hello teacher!  How are you?  How are you?  I am fine, thank you.  I am fine, thank you.  How are you?  How are you?"  They chanted the days of the week with the hand motions.  They sang, "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes."  And, one student did jumping jacks as the others counted in English.  The director ended the presentation by commenting on how much they had learned in such little time.  "This is the fruit of your labors," she told me.  I did my best to express my gratitude in Spanish:  "Thank you so much!  It has been an absolute pleasure to teach each and every one of you.  You should be proud of yourselves because you have all learned a lot in a very short amount of time.  I have no doubt that each and every one of you can learn to speak English."  But, if I could do it over, I would have told them much more.  I would have told them that English is only one of the hundreds of languages spoken all over this vast world that God has created.  That this has been a stretch of your minds to begin learning a new skill and a proof to yourself that you can learn new things and reach your dreams.

That teaching you a little bit of English is very little in comparison to the overwhelming love that you have showed me in your enthusiasm, in your smiles and hugs, and in the truckload of fresh fruits and vegetables that you sent home with me:  oranges, mandarins, lemons, coconuts, 2 species of bananas, and a pineapple. (Which, by the way, made for quite the difficult trip on the bicycle over the hills, through the woods, and crossing the river...but, well worth it to see the looks on your faces as your proudly gifted me crops taken off of your own land.)  

And, on top of all this, I got to know a young lady that I would say is close to royalty.  In her colorful knit hat and subtle smile, she came up to me and proudly gifted me three little painted, wooden knick knacks and begged me to take a picture with her.  Thirty minutes later, I'm walking past her house, my bike handles and arms loaded down with fresh produce, and she comes running out to me, "Teacher!!"  "My mom wanted me to ask if you could find a wig for me in the United States."  She quickly pulled off her knit cap, revealing her hairless head.  "It's just that, I am like this."  My heart jumped up into my throat, and I smoothed down the few remaining hairs and drew her close for a hug.  "I will do everything I can to send one to you,"  I told her.  And, as I'm walking away, a tightness in my throat, she yells out to me again with a grin on her face, "Teacher!  And, let it be a normal one!" And, with a deep breath and a smile, I quickly shouted back, "Okay!  Of course!"  Somehow, the weight of the fruits and vegetables didn't seem so much anymore.  And, that verse in the Bible where it says that God calls us to love like little children took on a whole new light.  Some children are facing problems that bring grown men to their knees, but they can still show a smile to the world.  I arrived back to Rey Curré, tired but different.  I went into my room and cried like a baby and then I wrote this down so that I will never forget how precious children are and what a tremendous role it is to protect them and teach them and love them and forgive them and believe in them and hope for them.  

 

Put yourself in these shoes

On this day in Rey Curre, I came across a very interesting, very pertinent passage in the science fiction book that I'm reading...

"Ever since he awoke on the space-ship Ransom had been thinking about the amazing adventure of going to another planet, and about his chances of returning from it.  What he had not thought about was being on it.  It was with a kind of stupefaction each morning that he found himself neither arriving in, nor escaping from, but simply living on, Malacandra; waking, sleeping, eating, swimming and even, as the days passed, talking.  The wonder of it smote him most strongly when he found himself, about three weeks after his arrival, actually going for a walk.  A few weeks later he had his favourite walks, and his favourite foods; he was beginning to develop habits...and the young of the species were different again.  They were delightful."

This is an excerpt from C.S. Lewis' Out of the Silent Planet.  He has a way of writing that puts me in the shoes of the characters, but I didn't need to try these shoes on;  I've already got a pair.  ;)

Bobbing for apples

On this day in Rey Curré, I bobbed for apples with my second, third, and fourth graders.  I printed for the first time from my classroom thanks to your generous donations and the all-day efforts of the tech guys putting up the cables.  And, I took a short bike ride to clear my thoughts and view the Térraba river whipping through the hills. 

With 50 days left, I'm trying to keep my senses alert and notice everything.  The full moon.  The theatrical voices of the soap opera in the next room.  The still night air.  The thump of the bar music.  The tractor trailers driving past on the InterAmerican.  Wait, is this a scene of rural America or a an Indigenous territory in Costa Rica? 

But, the full moon illuminates a palm tree rising into the night sky.  And, the voices of the soap opera are chatting in Spanish.  And, the late October night air is warm enough that I'm lounging in a tank top and shorts.  And, across the street from the bar is a hut with a leaf-thatched roof that sells hand-made, hand-painted Indigenous masks and purses knit from naturally tinted threads.  And, the trailers driving past on the Interamerican are carrying loads of plantains and coffee and bread for little coffee breaks, staples of the Costa Rican diet. 

And, I'm sitting under a tin roof in my coral and sea green room, walled with two by fours, planning for tomorrow's English lessons with my first, fifth, and sixth grade students.  My mind is racing through the dreams I'd still like to fulfill here: visit the Osa Peninsula, one of the most biologically diverse places on the planet, hike to the third sizeable waterfall on the reserve, milk a cow, and make a mini-film of all the pictures of the year for the graduation in December.

And, I'm sitting here under the night sky, wondering what it will be like to sit under the same night sky a thousand miles to the North in less than two months.  My family and friends will be within an arm's reach again.  My hands will grip a steering wheel.  My mind will drift back to Costa Rica.  I will unpack a year's worth of memories, and I will tell stories if you let me.  But, most of all, I want to listen.  I want to listen to your stories.  I want to listen to the English language.  I want to listen  for the quiet Shepherd leading me.  

All in a year's work (and play! ;)

On this day in Rey Curre, I administered an exam to the fifth and sixth graders, ran into a barbed wire clothes line while trying to hang up my laundry, learned a song in Spanish to sing at church, and watched an ancient clay Indigenous pot being dug up by some archaeologists.  All in a day's work.

On top of all that, I'm still nursing some sores on my feet from a hike last Saturday to a 60-meter high waterfall that happens to be a 2-hour walk from my front door.  How have I not been there yet???  It was another reminder of what an absolute privilege it is to be living here this year...

In January, when I got off the bus in Rey Curre, it was a dusty little town with a few corner grocery stores and a bar.  Now, it's a lively town filled with familiar faces and memories.

In February, my students were just brushing up after summer break and now they yell up to me when I'm at the bus stop, "Teacher, where are you going?"  And, when I greet the students with "What's up?" one student slyly replies, "the sky!"

In March, I spent the afternoons practicing soccer with the women's league and the evenings giving private English lessons in exchange for dance lessons.  Now, I spend the afternoons visiting houses, sipping coffee, chatting with the parents, and playing hide-and-seek with the kiddos.  And, the evenings are spent attending church, playing music with my friend, or hitting up my host mom with an amusing recollection of a past volunteer or a childhood memory.

In April, I traveled around to some of the best tourist spots when my parents came down for a visit:  Volcan Irazu, Monteverde, Manuel Antonio, and Uvita.  Now, I'm enjoying the local treasures and saving on the cash...visiting family farms and local waterfalls.

In May, I went to the mid-service meeting and couldn't believe how quickly the first part of the year had gone.  Now, I'm gearing up for the end-of-service meeting!  aaagh!

In June, I visited another volunteer's site and was inspired by her creativity and dedication as a teacher, and I was delighted to meet the family, friends, and students that appreciated her so much.  This month, I got to host a group of friends here in my town and found myself rambling on and on about every little tree and flower and introducing them to everyone we passed.  It's amazing how we begin to identify so much with our little towns!

In July, I was overwhelmed with more beautiful sites in Costa Rica, from the beaches to the monkeys to watching human-sized turtles lay their eggs in the dead of night, and awe-filled by traveling to the Panama Canal and witnessing several ships make their way carefully through one of the locks.  Now, I'm soaking up all the weekends I can in my little Southern town, even if it means building a canal in the front yard to keep the house from flooding from all the rain (like we had to do earlier this evening).

In August, I wore out my camera at the student art festival where I watched mesmerized as elementary and high school students performed traditional and modern dances, displayed their artwork, and showed off their talents.  Now, I'm beyond excited as we gear up for another festival a week from Saturday which will feature the culture, the food, and the customs of the Indigenous territory where I am living.

In September, I enjoyed the Independence day celebrations, including the numerous renderings of the national hymns, the torch run, and the evening walk with the hand-made lanterns.  Now, I'm making the most of every day here but thinking fondly on my own country and the special ones there that I will soon be able to tackle with a bear hug.

Earlier this month, I made snow angels on a beach in Guanacaste and learned "bombas," rhythmic poems typically about love, with my friend's host family.  Now, I'm trying to finish up some last minute projects to earn my TEFL certificate and winding down the school year with a unit on different countries/cultures.

Sigh...All in a year's work.  (Well, and play)

As always, thanks for tuning in and thanks for always supporting me with your kind words and prayers.

What is culture?

On this day in Rey Curré, I sat out by the bus stop watching the afternoon going by, thinking about all the nuances of this culture that still take me by surprise.  I've been living here for 9 months, but there are some things that I will always think are strange.

 

-There is a name for the slightly crunchy, toasted rice at the bottom of every pot of rice.

-It's common practice to throw salt on fruit.  "To kill the tartness," they say.

-Blue eyes are rare and strange.  One little boy looked at me today, probably seeing a white person for the first time in his conscious life, and asked, "What's wrong with your eyes?"

-Sour cream is for sweet things like bread and pastries.  It's unheard of to eat it with savory things like ground beef.  (Even though my host mother adamantly refused, she tried it on the tacos that I made one night and mentioned offhand that it wasn't bad.)

-On any given day, the police department in the nearest city might have speakers set up and Latin music playing to liven up the streets and entertain the passerbys.

-I just put on bug spray:  I'm in my room.   

-If we are approaching late afternoon, any given person will invite you to coffee, but they won't ask if you'd like to drink coffee; they'll just simply ask you if you have drank coffee yet and that's the cue for "come and get it."  It's just assumed that you drink it.  Even babies are served coffee.

-I can't even count the number of children, youth, adults, and elderly for which I have introduced peanut butter.  Meaning, they had never tasted it before.  They didn't know what I was talking about.  They didn't know what peanut butter was.  Did you hear me??

-Tamales are a specialty.  It's a dumpling made of rice and chicken or pork.  They wrap it up in palm leaves and boil it for 3 hours.  They make it for all the special occasions: birthdays, holidays, celebrations.  Someone once asked me, "Well, if you don't make tamales for Christmas, then what do you eat?"

-The soups are always made with large pieces of potato, beef, yucca, carrots, and whatever other type of vegetable.  But, the food on a plate is always served finely diced.  Isn't that backwards?  That must be the reason that I always end up with a sprayed shirt when I'm eating soup, feebly trying to make bite size the hand-size portions.

-"nhuv"  A chicken left me this message today on my computer as it took off running and tripped over my keyboard when I was chasing it out of the house.

-My host niece of 15 months waddled past me the other day gnawing on a cooked, seasoned chicken foot.

Culture:  It's something you might overlook until some young, white girl from the U.S. moves in for a year and cracks up laughing at every little thing.

A little Tica inspiration :)

On this day in Rey Curré, I realized that having internet has been a blessing and a curse.  On the up side, it has allowed me to keep in good contact with all of you and invite you to be a part of impacting this community.  (Thank you to all those who have donated to "Give a Little, Help a Lot."  Three weeks after beginning, we are already halfway to our goal.  For those who donated, you can expect a newsletter which will highlight the purchases made and the sweet faces that it will benefit.)

On the down side, in an effort to improve my teaching, the internet has sometimes been a distraction.  I've spent many an afternoon looking up new activities and games online, when all the while the best resources were just a few steps away.  After school today, I spent 3 hours at one of my student's house.  We played Frisbee, rhythm games, made paper flowers and airplanes, and on and on.  Her mind is incredibly imaginative.  (I wish I could have taken a few photos, but my camera is currently on the blink.)  She was spinning out game after game, and meanwhile, my mind was imagining the possibilities of incorporating them in the classroom.  I walked away with at least 4-5 ideas for spicing up the instruction and the ambience:  mouthing a vocabulary word and seeing if another student can guess, making paper leaves to decorate the room for fall, learning the song "Stand by me" to begin talking about future tense, playing musical chairs for review, making our own puzzles out of paper, making paper footballs to teach the kids about American football (or a favorite past time of American students in study hall)...

And, not only was I inspired by this bright, 5th grade student, but I had the privilege to be attended to by her lovely mother who I found out is only 4 years older than me.  First, she served me dinner:  beef with fried onions, rice, black beans with Salsa Lizano (I hope they sell that in the States!), and pico de gallo (which they call chimichurri).  It was rico!  Then, we shared about our families.  I told her that I have a lot of crazy, loveable cousins, admirable aunts and uncles, and inspirational grandparents.  And, thanks to my mom's thoughtfulness, I had a nice picture book to show them all the faces of the Eckstein's and Stenger's. 

Then, she shared about her adopted family because her mom gave her up for adoption when she was 3 months old.  Her adopted family was dirt poor, eating mostly plantains for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  But, for what little they had to offer in food and clothing, they more than made up for in love.  Her adopted mother told her the truth that her mother gave her up for adoption but that she should make no room in her heart for bitterness or anger.  Rather, by her example, she taught her to love above all; that God sent His Son so that we might be forgiven, and likewise, we must forgive others.

It was a lovely day in which I realized that every day I work with treasures, the kind that do not rust: dynamic, unpredictable, dream-filled, budding individuals who are worth getting to know and for whom it is worth making sacrifices.  I guess that's what mothers must feel; though, I wouldn't claim to come close to understanding the sacrifices that mother's make for their children.  As such, I've come to the conclusion that being a mother has to be the most challenging, exhausting, and worthwhile job there is.  To all of you mothers out there, thank you.  You are appreciated.  Your role is so important.  I admire you.

In conclusion, technology can be a great resource for a teacher, but from experience, the best resources are the ones found right under our noses: the bright-eyed students staring up at us.  Here's to many more house visits in the next couple of months!  I want to try to visit every home of every student.  I've got a few down, but many more to go.   

4 more months to go! And, 4 more months to stay!

On this day in Rey Curré, I taught classes to the 3rd and 4th graders, sold ice creams to the kids during recess to raise money for the school, did some projects on the computer, went for a walk with a friend and got rained on, ate dinner (spinach cooked with eggs, rice, cucumbers, and tomatoes...lots of veggies tonight!), shared an ice cream break with a talkative little 4th grader, and came inside my room to escape the slight chill (rare for these parts) that I felt. 

Life as a volunteer in a foreign country can begin to feel really normal.  I rarely think twice about throwing the toilet paper in the trash can or eating rice and beans at every meal or taking two showers a day or waiting at a bus stop for 2 hours.  But, I'm never desensitized to the fact that I'm conducting almost every conversation (besides in the classroom) in Spanish.  I love speaking and learning about another language!  Not only that, but I don't get tired of being able to hop on a bus and be at a beach in 3-4 hours for under $10.  

This past weekend, I went to Jacó with my host mom to visit her daughter.  We went to a few local beaches where I was introduced to my favorite beach so far in Costa Rica...Playa Blanca.  White sand.  Blue water.  Scenic rocks.  Body-surfing waves.  The only down side was when I rode a wave in and cracked my monkey toes on a rock hidden beneath the surf.  But, I'm beginning to become infamous for my lapses in coordination.  Pictured here is the bruise I sustained after falling off my bike coming back from teaching in the nearby rural school of Las Vegas.  I learned something very important:  don't ride down a hill on a bike without rear brakes.  See, no one can say I didn't learn something in Costa Rica.

But, that's really only the beginning.  I learned that if your hand is itching, then money is likely to come your way later in the day.  If the fire is whistling, someone is thinking of coming to visit you; throw in some salt to secure their arrival.  And, if your ears are ringing, then someone is talking about you; and, you better hope it is the right ear because if its the left ear ringing, they may be saying bad things.

Haha...but, these are only superstitions that I found out about one day when I explained to a friend that someone must be thinking about me because my nose itched so much.  We can't be sure of the accuracy of folklore, but we can be sure of some things, like the common human experience.  One night, many months ago, I hosted a game night with several of the youth in town.  We were playing a game in which one person chose a question from a pot and the other players have to write down an answer on a slip of paper which are then read discretely to the person who drew the question, and he has to guess who wrote the answers.  One of the questions was "what do you want to be when you grow up?"  I began to think, and the truest response I could come up with won me a couple of strange looks but nevertheless, a peace of mind:  "I want to be happy."  I think that's really what everyone wants.  But, how do you find happiness?  Do you seek it in order to find it?  Or, does it find you when you stop seeking?

("Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."  Matthew 16:25)

I am happy.  I am happy that I only have 4 months to go.  I am happy that I have 4 months to stay.  I am happy that I made the decision to come here this year because it has been truly life changing.  I am happy that I have such amazing family and friends.  

Take care and until next time,

Sarita 

Keeping it in context

On this day in Rey Curré, I awoke with a recognizable feeling but one which I have yet to acknowledge up until now.  I didn't want to go teach at the school.  I wanted to be home.  I felt homesick.  Almost 7 months have passed of not laying eyes on the cornfields of the Midwest, my family, my friends, a steaming plate of Skyline chili, the streets of Indy and Cincy, the faces of Greensburg, my brother's big oak kitchen table, my sister's fluffy green L-shaped couch, my nephews...I will have to practically introduce myself to them when I arrive home for Christmas.  They grow so much, so quickly.  But, being abroad this long is like sifting for gold: the things I truly care about remain steadfast even after everything else has been washed away.  A sifting has been taking place in my heart these first few days after a long two-week break, and it has left me feeling rich in love but poor in spirit.

Yesterday, the day began with heart-wrenching news.  A mother of two of my favorite students is suffering from a very severe illness.  Her eyes welled with tears as she confessed her fears.  I threw the best arrows I know at the hopelessness and anxieties that haunt her:  "God is always with you, even in the darkest of times.  You have to have hope.  Our thoughts are powerful."  Needless to say, the day rolled on, and I spent the morning implementing a teamwork activity with my 5th and 6th graders that was just what the doctor ordered.  When a teacher assigns groups and everyone repeatedly begins grumbling, that calls for a little interpersonal workshop. 

Later, my eyes dampened again as I watched one of my 2nd graders finally leave the classroom, his mother dragging him in tow.  He had sat static in his chair for almost 45 minutes even after I had dismissed him from his 5 minute punishment for disobedience.  I spent the first few minutes telling him how special he is.  Then, I waited patiently while he tried to punish me for causing him embarrassment.  Discipline is always painful at the time, but it's worth the pain because it eventually yields good things.

After school, I made ice creams with my host niece to help raise money for some things the school needs.  Her calming and gentle way of being ministered to my weary state.  And, a short walk and some laughs with a good friend further lifted my spirits before I made my way to a weekday church gathering. 

For the first time since arriving, I confidently call myself a teacher because now I see it as one of the roles out of many that I am living out here: host daughter, host sister, host aunt, friend, sister in Christ, volunteer, comforter, counselor, "cook," reporter, writer, dreamer, singer, servant.  Each of them carries a certain responsibility that I embrace as equally important as all of the others.  It turns out that they overlap and collide and blend together in harmony like I never knew that they could.  Chatting with my host niece gives me new ideas for the classroom, communing with the church gives me inspiration and perseverance as a volunteer... 

After giving testimony to such a full life that I have here, how could I have felt so anxious to return home?  Because everything has its context, including this year.  It is a chapter in a book.  It is a step of a journey.  It is a breath.  There were breaths before it, and God-willing, there will be breaths after it.  It is a harvest.  There would be nothing to bring in if the farmer hadn't planted.  Everything that I have done up until this point in my life has served a purpose in preparing, supporting, and sustaining me this year. 

Each class I taught, each fact I sought,

each lap I swam, each mile I ran,

each vacation spent, each prayer sent,

each book digested, each dollar invested,

each song I sung,  each Spanish word on my tongue,

each friendship cultivated, each holiday celebrated.   
  

And, my expectations and dreams for what succeeds this year daily affects my attitude.  When I remember that this year is finite, I am that much more motivated to serve to my fullest capacity.  Not to mention, I'm that much more closer to seeing all of you that I miss dearly!  5 more months to go!

Therefore, I'm rich in love because I have more than I could want or ask for, but poor in spirit because I look around me and see so much more need than one person could possibly fulfill.  I am a volunteer, and I am only one person.  I can't change the world on my own.  But, I can't let that stop me from trying.  We can all be world changers, wherever we are.  Sometimes it costs a lot, but sometimes it only takes a smile.  A song that I have recently been listening to captures this attitude the best.  It's called "Walk on the Water" by Brit Nicole.  The chorus goes like this... 

 

"So what are you waiting for?

What do you have to lose?

Your insecurities try to alter you

You know you're made for more

So don't be afraid to move

Your faith is all it takes for you to

Walk on the water too."

What kind of faith does it take to walk on water?  Or, maybe it's not the measure of the faith that counts.  Better yet, in what or whom is the faith that conquers such feats?

More than just surviving...

On this day in Rey Curré, I noticed that half a year just went by.  The good news is that half a year remains.  It's good news for duel purposes: because I've still got plenty of time to continue serving and seeing and sharing life here and because I've only got a half a year to go before I will be reunited with my community in the States, with a whole year of experiences to bring home.  I want that these experiences will shape my future:  my relationships, my occupation, my resources, my time, my worldview, my faith, my character, and my dreams.  Most have been good, some have been hard, but many of these experiences, I could not have anticipated even if I wanted to. 

For instance, I never thought...

...that I would have better hygiene here than I do in the States.  (I reluctantly adopted the custom of two showers a day, but I have to admit it's the only way to survive this hot, southern climate and still have friends.)

My Tico brother and I with some of the little guys at church.

...that I would put everything on hold at about 8:30am and 3:30pm everyday to look for a cup of coffee.

...that I would introduce a third grade Tican to my parents over Skype and watch him and my dad make faces at each other.

...that I would find a surrogate brother, half a world away.

...that I would sing a song in front of a Tican church.  (The best part is, I showed my colleagues at the elementary school a recording of the song, and immediately after, they eagerly asked me to translate what I was singing to Spanish.  The only trouble is that I was singing in Spanish.  Or, at least I was trying.  Next stop, pronunciation practice!  ;)

Genesis and her cake, right before Diego dunked his hands in it!

...that I would make a birthday cake for my host niece's first birthday!  And, in the process, teach my third grader, Raúl, a thing or two about baking. 

...that I would witness that same niece taking some of her first steps.

...that I would give impromptu guitar lessons.  (They don't seem to mind that I could count on two hands the number of chords and rhythms that I know how to play.)

...that I would travel to Las Vegas on bicycle biweekly to teach English to a group of 20 eager, energetic first through sixth graders.

...that I would wear jeans to work in a tropical climate.  (Somehow, dressing up here always involves wearing pants.)

...that I would wake up to find out that a scorpion spent the night on top of my covers.

...that I would eat rice and beans for dinner, heat them up again for breakfast, serve myself some more rice and beans for lunch at the school cafeteria, and then round off the day with another healthy plate of rice and beans.  (But, no worries, it's always accompanied by a chicken leg or a slice of fried pork and an avocado or tomato.  And, at breakfast, I eat rice and beans mixed together which has a special name: gallo pinto, or "painted rooster."  They get really creative with the rice and beans here. ;)

...that I would do a dance while taking my laundry off the line just to avoid being bitten by the flesh-eating ants. (It hurts!)

Why do I delight in such simple things?  To everyone else in Curré, this is life.  But to me, it's unexpected and exciting.  I'm a biology student looking under a microscope for the first time.  I'm a movie-goer watching the newest release.  I'm an athlete finishing first at long last.  I'm a math student solving her first equation.  I'm a toddler learning to walk.  We search for things and cherish things beyond our immediate needs: food, water, shelter.  Why?  Could it be that we were made for more than just surviving?  Could it be that we were made to be conquerors? (Romans 8:37-39)

Free to be me!

On this day in Rey Curré, I began by unpacking my moist, sandy clothes from a weekend at the beach with a group of the volunteers, headed to church where we celebrated Father's day with a good game of cornhole, and rounded out the day teaching my fourth adult English class.  

On Friday, I dished out $6 for a bus ride and three hours later, I was at the beach settling into the hostel with an early morning beach walk on the schedule.  Though the walk was delayed by some much appreciated beach lounging, it was nonetheless breathtaking.  Without a camera in hand, my mind searched for the words to describe the beauty I was seeing, feeling, and hearing.  The waves crashed in and stretched for meters up the deserted beach, fauna-covered hills rising up in the background.  We admired the hundreds of crabs making their castle in the black, porous boulders, walking through the waves as they rushed in and parted quickly, meeting again on the other side.  My eyes were opened wide under the cloud-covered sky, and my hair whipped around my face in the wind which foretold of the coming rain.  While my feet sunk into the drenched sand and I stared out into the empty horizon, I remembered what a blessing it is to be here in Costa Rica, and I wondered at the Artist of such a scene painted before me.  Afterward, we arrived back at the hostel and soaked up one another's company, relating stories of our small-town Costa Rican lives. 

Sometimes when I start taking myself too seriously, a change of scenery puts me back in the right mindset.  For that reason, going to the beach this weekend was a good decision.  I returned to Curré, anxious to see my host family and friends, to begin another week of classes, to meet the unexpected, giant insect or two, but most pertinently, to be myself.  With so many amazing past and present volunteers, I sometimes feel like I have big shoes to fill.  But, I embrace the thought that I have the freedom to be exactly who I am right now, no more and no less.  

My new roommate

On this day in Rey Curré, I met my new roommate.   Don't worry Mom, I killed it.  Correction:  My host brother-in-law killed it because I was scared.  Anyway, thank God for mosquito nets.  Apparently, they keep out more than just mosquitos.

On volunteering

On this day in Rey Curré, the sun rose above the tree-covered hills, lit up the Inter-American highway snaking through the little pueblo, and danced on the steadily rising river before rolling back over the hills, casting red streaks in its path.  The day came and went just as it has been for centuries.  Only on this day, and every day for the past 5 months, I got to experience life here along with the community of Indigenous people that moved here in the early 20th century after splitting off from the neighboring reservation to take advantage of life by the river.

On this peaceful Sunday, I enjoyed a late morning and woke up to the sound of my host nephew laughing in the living room.  I went out to the kitchen and washed dishes while my host mom, Freddy, fixed us a breakfast of fried eggs and plantains.  Our kitten, my new defense against the mice that keep trying to board with me, rubbed up against my legs as we ate.  Afterward, I showered, put on my brown peasant dress, and walked to church, Bible in hand.  We sang adoration songs and listened to Olman remind us to turn the attention away from ourselves and reserve the praises for the Creator, not the creation.  My good friend, and the keyboard player for the church, accompanied me home, bidding me goodbye with "God bless you, Sara," in his halted, Latin-American accent. 

I quickly ate a late lunch of spaghetti, made with the surplus of tomatoes that Freddy didn't want to let go to waste, and I hopped on my computer to greet my family on Skype.  After a coffee break, I headed to my classroom to prepare for Adult English classes.  Few people are attending, but this week, I plan to hold an informational meeting to get the word out.  They helped me spell out the letters phonetically as we practiced pronunciations, and I shushed away the 6th graders that giggled outside the window.  I returned home and ate a warm, filling dinner.  Now, I'm working on my blog.  It's like a fellow volunteer commented, the months go quickly but the days go slowly.

Two weeks ago, we had our mid-service meeting, and we discussed the meaning of volunteering.  Is it the people we're serving, or is it more about ourselves?  Why did we come here in the first place?  I have to be honest in saying that my decision to come here was more about me than about other people.  I wanted to capitalize on the Spanish speaking opportunity and try out English-teaching in a real-life setting as opposed to studying about it in the university.  I wanted to live in a different country and learn about a different way of life from a different culture of people.   I wanted to see beautiful beaches and hear the monkeys in the trees.  It's true that I want to serve these people to the best of my ability.  It's true that I want to make a difference in the world. But, did I have to come to 2,000 miles south of my hometown to be a world-changer?  No.  Each of us can change the world, wherever we are.  A smile.  A kind letter.  An effective lesson plan.  A well-built bridge.  A patient reply.  A parent loving her child.  A marriage preserved.  A grateful thought.  A hug.  Forgiveness granted.  Grace accepted. 

Giving without expecting anything in return.  That's what love is, and it changes the world.  So, in some ways, that's what a volunteer is.  We give, we love, and we change the world.  And, we go home with empty pockets.  But, we are paid, and it's much more valuable than a sum of money.  It's a hug from a 1st grader.  It's hearing the 3rd graders singing the "Clean up" song in their math class.  It's hearing a high school student say they will miss you when you are gone.  It's making a bowl of guacamole from the freshly picked avocados and sitting on the floor to enjoy a movie in Spanish subtitles with friends.  It's taking a walk to a 100 meter water fall down the road, a native Indian and friend as your tour guide.  It's receiving a text message from your friend in the community saying, "Dios te ama."  ("God loves you.")  It's visiting your fellow volunteers and meeting the people that fill their days and their hearts.  It's the things that no amount of money could buy that are worth the most.

Satisfied Senses

On this Saturday in Rey Curré, my senses captured a host of sights, smells, sounds, and tastes.  When I opened my eyes, I saw the mosquito net hanging above me, and I smelled the "gallo pinto," fried rice and beans, cooking.  As I went for a morning run, I heard the sound of one of my most affectionate students, Maria, yelling, "Tiiicher!"  After inviting me to her house for a quick review lesson, I accepted and was gifted with a fresh cup of a pineapple rice drink.  I held her baby brother, but not for long, because they made the comment that he had "gripe," or the flu, and I want to stay far away from that.

In the afternoon, I heard for the first time the sound of a pig squealing right before it took its last breath.  My host brother held the pig down while a family friend beat it over the head and drained its blood at the neck with a knife.  I make it sound gruesome because it was.  But, I can't believe how much pork I have eaten in my life and, up to this point, had yet to see it from the farm to the table.

Later, I smelled the pork cooking over the wood fire stove, and I heard the sound of my computer keys ticking away as I finished writing a test for my 3rd graders and prepared for Adult classes on Sunday.  I heard the Spanish church songs as I prepared myself for the service on Sunday. 

In the early evening, I took a short walk up the road to the home of the retired Indian language teacher.  I heard her recite the words for father and mother in the Borucan language as I tried to imitate.  Constantly keeping myself in the shoes of a learner helps me to be a better teacher.  Right now, this indigenous language is just a bunch of letters and sounds, but equally, my students probably feel the same way about English. 

Finally, I enjoyed the tastes of the pork, rice, beans, and fried plantains as I rounded the evening off with dinner and a short Skype call with my sister, brother-in-law, and two wild nephews. ;) 

It was a lovely day and altogether intriguing to my senses.

Reflecting, Past and Present

On this day in Rey Curre, I am sitting outside the house of my host sister, ripe mangos dropping from the tree in front of me, working on lesson planning.  One too many mangos fell, and I had to go into the house and devour a few.  (How distracting that can be!)  Afterward, I returned and figured it was high time I update my blog.  On the 28th of April, I completed 25 years of age.  It was a wonderful birthday.  A walk to a waterfall, rice and beans cooked over a wood fire stove at a friend's house, a long walk back with a full stomach, a Skype birthday call from my parents, birthday wishes on Facebook, and a birthday cake from my host family.  It was unlike any birthday I've ever had: not better, just different. 

With frequency, an unforeseen memory of my childhood or college years or post-college years will pass through my mind.  I don't know if they're a symptom of being away from home for a long time, but regardless, they are always welcome.  It reminds me of what goodness and opportunity I have been given.  Snapshots flash through my mind of family vacations, holding my nephews, and coaching swimming.  I remember dancing with a choreographer one summer, driving a stick shift for my uncle's business another, and working as a camp counselor yet another.  I recall "cousin days," traveling to Spain and Haiti, and playing music with the family.  One minute, I'm preparing lessons for English classes and the next thing I know, I'm transported to some time in my past.  How many classes have I taken?  How many places have I visited?  How many days have I gone to bed with a full stomach and woken up in a dry, clean bedroom?  How many times have I been coached and mentored and counseled?  How many family and friends do I have that care about me?  I can't even begin to count.

I've been filled up to the point of overflowing with good things: love, support, opportunity, and hope.  Here, I have an entire community with which to share those good things.  I've just begun my fourth month of teaching English at the elementary school.  I've been tutoring a few high school students for several months.  I started classes with Kinder and adults this week.  I've traveled to the Caribbean coast, the tallest mountain, the cloud forests, the quaint coffee valley, and the Pacific coast.  I've witnessed weddings, baptisms, and birthday parties.  I've spent evenings on the porch chatting or playing cards.  I've cried from stress.  I've cried from missing family.  I've woken up almost every morning and thought to myself, "I am living in Costa Rica this year. Wow!"  I've eaten more plates of rice and beans than I can count.  I've devoured avocados and ripe mangos by the dozen.  I've taken walks with locals and played soccer with the grade school kids.  I've sang songs at the local church and received with eagerness the prayers of the pastor.  I've struggled to be present here and maintain the strong ties with so many amazing people back home.  I've met and spent time with so many good people here.  Every day is filled with laughter and some days bring tears, but every day I am thankful to be here.

Even as I pour myself out, the people here are continually pouring into me.  I spent one afternoon walking around to different homes to invite people to come to the adult classes, and I came back with 5 avocados, a chocolate-covered marshmallow, and an invitation to private lessons of the indigenous language.  Another afternoon, I went for a walk and bumped into a student who then took me to visit her house.  There we shared crackers, coffee, and laughs, and her little dog curled up in my lap and fell asleep.  Last Saturday, I went to my friend's house who plays piano for the church.  We practiced music and schemed about translating new songs.  Meanwhile, his mom served me coffee and plantains, and before I left, gifted me a painting and a little hand-stitched wallet. 

These are the memories that will unexpectedly pop into my mind in the years to come, and leave me feeling incredibly thankful and eager to continue sharing and serving.

Memories that will last

When packing for my year-long Costa Rican trip, I took great care in choosing what items to bring. I read all of the advice from the previous volunteers, everything from what to pack to what not to pack. But, there is one item that I did not pack and could not have packed if I had wanted to. But, now, I take it with me everywhere. It's small enough to fit in my purse, but it's always growing bigger. It is none other than my personal Costa Rican Spanish dictionary. I've studied Spanish since the eighth grade, but learning in a classroom setting is like gathering all the ingredients for a recipe but not knowing how to put them together. Living with native speakers has allowed me to discover some of the idiosyncrasies of the language, and with each new word or phrase that I learn, a memory is created of the particular situation or person from whom I learned it. Below, I will spell out a few of those memories for you so that, if you so choose, you can begin learning Costa Rican Spanish through the eyes of La Teacher of Curre.

 Me cuesta - It is difficult for me. The other volunteers and I spent the first month in the beautiful valley of Orosi for orientation. We attended several social nights to get to know one another and our host families better. One such game night, we were playing Bingo. Our lovely director was calling out numbers. Whenever she came to a number that carried a three, she kindly passed it off to another person, admitting that "me cuesta decir tres en espanol." Literally, it means that it is costly for her to say threes in Spanish. But, honestly, we didn't charge her a thing!

 Como amanecio? - How did you sleep? It didn't take long for me to realize that asking "How did you sleep?" would only merit a few strange looks or sarcastic responses like, "on my back." But rather, Ticans literally ask, "How did you break dawn?" Makes more sense if you ask me. How am I supposed to know how I slept? I was sleeping!

 Averiguar - to find out. This year, I was assigned to teach in Rey Curre, a small indigenous town in the hot, southern region of the country. A local here in Curré helped me to put my thumb on this word, a very useful word to describe my biggest task for the first week of classes: to find out what they students already know and what they don't know. With 66 students in grades 1st - 6th and 10 previous volunteers, I had my work cut out for me.

 Brincar - to jump On arriving to Curré, I had to orient myself to the school. It's an inviting place with open-air classrooms, a mural of the masked Indigenous figures on the outside wall, and a bright blue gate out front. Within the first week, I found myself asking the director how I would enter the school if no one was there to unlock the gate. I figured she would offer to have a key made, but her solution was much simpler: just jump the fence!

 Cera - wax used to shine floors or cars Some of the other volunteers have had quite the time helping the Spanish-speakers pronounce their English names. I'm lucky in that Sara is really easy for them to say, but it does sound different in Spanish than in English. Don't get me wrong, I love the way they say it, but I thought it would be fun to teach some of the high school students how it is said in the States. As it turns out, it's easy for them to remember given its similarity to another very common Spanish word. At the very least, I know they will think of me every time they are waxing their floors.

 Jale - Come on! The rainy season has begun and the river is muddied and rising, but earlier in the year, one of my 6th graders' favorite pastimes was going to the river to go for a swim. "Jale! Jale! Jale! Let's go to the river after classes," they would say. It is so hot here, so the water feels great! But, watch out for the crocodiles!

 Rojo - the color red; the colloquial way to refer to 1,000 colones One of my friends and a respected artesian in the town took the time to teach me this nickname for the commonly used bill worth 1,000 colones, named as such for its dominantly red predecessor. (It may sound like a lot, but it is actually the equivalent of $2.) Now, I can sound just like the locals and break a 2,000 colones bill with "2 reds."

 Venga - Come here When Semana Santa came around, I was blessed to host my parents for the week as we traveled around to see the country. In Manuel Antonio, we made our favorite memory thanks to a very entertaining and conscientious tour guide who nearly went hoarse in his effort to call the monkeys out: "venGA! venGA!" And, it wasn't for not, because the white-faced monkeys did come and even made themselves at home on our heads, eating bananas from our hands.

 Dejar plantada - To leave one stranded After living here a short time, it quickly became evident to me that I can't do without some sort of exercise everyday for my mental and physical well-being. For several weeks in a row, I grew accustomed to going to the soccer field to run or to pretend to play soccer. (I spent 10 years swimming competitively, so I can't make any claims to great coordination on the soccer field.) One particular week, everyone made plans to meet at the soccer field on a Saturday morning to do exercises and drills. I awoke with enthusiasm, laced up my tennis shoes, and arrived at the soccer field at the top of the hour. A half hour later, when it was still just me and the herd of pigs at one corner of the field, I started to grow weary of waiting. A friend ambled by and confirmed my suspicions that sure enough, the practice had been canceled but no one told the Teacher: they left me stranded!

 El cordero - the lamb In this case, it is in reference to Jesus Christ, or the "lamb of God," a title commonly found in Christian songs and hymns. I recently found myself needing to learn the meaning behind the word, as I was practicing a song to sing at the local Evangelical church. I've been attending for several weeks and have found it to be a great source of encouragement and joy. Not to mention, I really enjoy getting to know members of the community better and practicing my Spanish.

 Comase su dedo grande - Eat your big thumb I live with a big family, 6 children and more than 7 grandchildren. At any given time that I enter the kitchen, there could be anywhere from 1 to 10 people present, and for some reason they all seem to think that my only reason for coming to the kitchen is because I'm hungry. (Sometimes they're wrong. Haha!) Anyway, they've taken to teasing me about that from time to time. My host sister has been known to ask me on more than one occasion, "are you hungry?" only to then quickly follow it up with "well, then, eat your big thumb."

 This is a list that is by no means complete and continues to grow with each new day. But, I hope it has given you a flavor of life in Costa Rica and how fascinating it can be to learn a new language from the people who speak it. After all, that's the idea behind why myself and the other volunteers are here: to give the students a chance to learn English from a native speaker. It is truly a year of exchange: languages, cultures, and memories that will last.

A week set apart

On this day in Rey Curre, I imagine that it is a solemn and quiet day like it is in the rest of Costa Rica where many of the businesses are closed and cars are parked due to Good Friday. But personally, I wouldn't know because I am sitting in a hammock on a hilltop overlooking the Pacific ocean. My parents and I are staying in an older resort in a sleepy coastal town. We have been traveling all this week, enjoying the rich diversity of climates, landscapes, plant life and wild life. And, through it all, we've peppered our speech with two of Costa Rica's most famous phrases, "tranquila" and "pura vida." They are both tell-tale signs of the peaceful and contented way of being that characterizes the Tican.

After my parents arrived last Saturday, I took them back to where this year began for the other volunteers and myself: Orosi, acclaimed to be the most beautiful valley in all of Costa Rica. Coffee-covered hills, mounted by two volcanoes to the Northwest, surrounds the city, and a boulder-studded river winds down out of the easterly hills. The country's oldest church sits nestled into the brightly painted homes and restaurants of the city's center. As endearing as the views of the valley can be, they can't compare with the welcoming faces that sat across from us at the home of my host family as they met my parents for the first time. Their pale green home protected by black wrought iron bars extends back deeper than most to make room for their 10 person family. The mother and father have 6 children of their own and 2 adopted daughters whose mother tragically drowned several years ago. Their hearts are as big as their home, and they sat entertaining us for hours over coffee, dinner, and American music. Funny enough, the father may not speak a lick of English, but he can sing right along with Hey Jude, Dust in the Wind, and countless others. Even though the music bridged some of the cultural gap, I was both pleased and exhausted from translating English to Spanish and vice versa.

The next morning, we got up early and were accompanied by my host uncle to the nearest volcano, Irazu. The city of Cartago sunk behind us as we wound up and up the mountain, greeted along the way on either side by rolling pastures of onions and potatoes, watching as the scarved and hooded Ticans harvested by hand. On reaching the top, we peered over the lip of the volcano only to behold the thick vapor blocking the view. Fortunately, we ambled long enough that the vapor lifted, and we were able to see all the way to the blue hot pool at the bottom of the deep ashen bowl. Rejoicing at our good fortune, we lingered for a while, and afterward, we headed back down the volcano to begin our next trek to Manuel Antonio.

After a restful night at our hotel, we boarded a tour bus to Damas Island, named for its womanly shape, for our Mangrove tour. We boarded the boat and listened intently as our tour guide, Alex, imitated the sounds of the Howler monkeys, scissor-tailed birds, and sea crabs, all the while steering our boat through the streams of muddy water woven through the White, Black, Red, and Pineapple Mangrove trees. White-faced Capuchin monkeys leapt from the pages of magazines and postcards and onto our heads as we fed them bananas from our hands. Jesus Christ lizards ran across the top of the water, paying homage to their namesake, their back legs speeding away at 80 mph. Later that day, we let the warm Pacific waters carry us into the beach on their surf. And for dinner, we tasted the traditional Casado, typically an entree of fish or beef served with rice, beans, and a salad. Then, it was time to leave Manuel Antonio behind and travel North to the famed Cloud Forests of Monteverde.

On arriving, we settled in to our cozy mountain hotel and were greeted warmly by the Tican owners, two brothers who do nothing short of making you feel part of the family while you are there. After sunset, we followed Lisette, our Tican tour guide, into the forest for our night tour. We saw a tarantula the size of a hand and a leaf cutter ant hill bigger than a king size bed. We saw a soldier ant bite a branch the length of my forearm and hold it suspended in the air for several seconds. We saw a tree that grows from the top down, wrapping around an existing tree and eventually, choking it to death, but leaving in its path a hole that becomes a 'five-star hotel' for mammals, birds, and insects alike. And in every detail, we marveled at the incomprehensible creativity of its Maker. The following day, we raced through the tree tops on the zip-lining canopy tour, and my dad checked off a bucket-list item as he jumped off the 30 foot high platform of the Tarzan swing. Afterward, we smelled the tea leaves and tasted the fresh bananas outside the souvenir shop of a friendly Tican couple.

And now, I sit restfully outside our little cabana overlooking the warm, South Pacific waters, and I finally have a moment to think. And, I feel grateful for the beautiful things I got to see. Thankful that my parents were able to come and visit. Anxious to enter back into my role as Ticher! A little sad that this vacation is coming to an end. Glad to know that I have 9 more months here to enjoy, to serve, and to exchange cultures. Contented to know that I have a host family and friends to return to in Curre and, as always, my family and my friends back home. This was truly a week set apart from the others. And, this week is also set apart for followers of the Christian faith. Together with them, I praise God for the gift we have through Jesus, that He brought Jesus back to life and offers to do the same for us, both in the here and now and in the age to come. Thank you for reading!

P.S. I began writing this on Good Friday but didn't actually post until today.

Full

On this day in Rey Curre, I have writer's block, and I'm on my third round of trying to write a blog entry. So, I decided that I would let this be stream of conscious and let the reader follow along with me as I reflect on the last couple of weeks. It's so hard to put into words the number of things that I have been feeling and thinking. As many of you know, I have always thought of teaching as a roller coaster. Some days, I am up and thinking that I am a great teacher. Other days, I am down and thinking that I probably shouldn't step into another classroom again. It's silly and extreme to think such negative things. What good does it do me? For one, if my thoughts are focused on putting myself down, then I'm much less likely to be able to think on my feet and do a great job of teaching. Several thoughts have really helped me to improve my teaching lately. 1. This whole thing is about learning. So, plan, be prepared, plan assessments ahead of time and teach accordingly, but when all else fails, just try to help them speak the language. 2. I CAN think on my feet and adapt activities to the situation. Therefore, I need to spend more time researching new activities to be fresh on my mind and less time staring at a blank template, trying to write lesson plans. [Note: Not that I won't lesson plan, but just that the time spending researching new ideas must always be proportionately greater.] 3. Have fun! (Because if I'm not having fun, then chances are no one is having fun.)

I'm really excited about an upcoming project. The sixth graders and I are going to travel to a nearby town next Friday and teach an English class to a small school of 10 students that doesn't have the advantage of having an English teacher. It's neat how it all came about. I had been thinking about doing such a thing because it's a great opportunity for the students to make a difference in their home place. And, they say that the best way to learn is to teach others. It's like killing two birds with one stone. Anyway, about two weeks ago, there was a conference at the elementary school in Curre, and the director of a school nearby approached me about offering English classes to her students. Badabing! I took down her number and gained approval from the director, and the rest is history. Let's see how this goes. Maybe we can do this once a unit.

Every day is so full here. It starts early. Breakfast, morning exercises, reflection, and off to school. Three 80-minute classes followed by preparation time. Then, I run back to the house to change, drink a cup of coffee, and head off to plaza to play soccer, or to de-stress as I like to call it. Inevitably, I end up chatting with some of the high school students, shooting the breeze or talking about what they want to learn in the next English class. (Numbers have been scarce lately, so I'm trying to talk it up the best that I can.) Afterward, I amble slowly back up the hill, admiring the sun setting behind the hills. If I'm lucky, I run into some friends and chat a bit, trying to improve on my accent and fluidity. Then, my stomach draws me to the kitchen where I help Freddy with dinner. Some days, the house is brimming with people: two or more of Freddy's six children and their spouses and children, a visiting relative from Boruca (the neighboring Indigenous reservation), or one of Freddy's many friends in and around Curre. Other days, it's just Freddy and I sharing a relaxed dinner together. It's a nice mix, and I really like it here. Finally, sitting on the front porch, I bring the night to an end checking my email, chatting with family on Skype, or playing my guitar under the stars.

Don't get me wrong, not every day is this predictable. After all, you never know when the lights are going to go out and you have to eat dinner by the light of a flashlight. Or, you may catch the gripe (the common cold), and you have to spend the afternoon curled up on the hammock. Or, you may have an English lesson one evening and a dance lesson the next with your intercambio partners. Sometimes one of my good friends and fellow volunteers, Rachel, and I laugh at how often we heard it said that we would have tons of free time here. If anything, I have thought more often about how quickly this year is going to go by. There's so much left to do, and we're already three months down! Whew! :) So, how would I describe my experience here so far in one word? Full. Full of teaching, soccer, relationships, waterfalls, rivers, sunsets, smiles, hugs, kisses, rice, beans, Spanish, English, reading, learning, dreaming, remembering, hoping, feeling, praying, searching, reflecting, laughing, asking, answering, and believing.

As always dear reader, thanks for listening!

10 times

On this day in Rey Curre, I passed the afternoon under the hot sun practicing soccer, or bola, as it is often called here. My ten years of competitive swimming taught me discipline, perseverance, and teamwork, but it did not teach me how to juggle a soccer ball or assist a goal with a head ball. Little did I know then how much I would covet these skills. And, now that all my high school, soccer-playing friends have gotten a good laugh at picturing me trying to guard against my Tican students, half my size and not wearing shoes, I'll persist with the value of this Sunday afternoon solitary practice session.

I want to learn. I want to learn the steps to the Latin dances. I want to learn how to teach English. I want to learn the Spanish language. I want to learn more of the beauty of Costa Rica as evidenced by this picture taken while visiting my friend in Chirripo. I want to learn how to play soccer. But, most importantly, I want to learn because it enriches my life and it informs my teaching. I already know how to speak English, so I can't really relate when my students struggle to understand how to conjugate in the past tense. And, I've studied Spanish for quite a few years, so I'm far past square one. But, when it comes to soccer, I have very little intuition. So, I set a goal. On my way to the soccer field, I had it in my mind to do 10. 10 laps up and down the field with the ball. 10 minutes of juggling the ball. I0 sets of push-ups and sit-ups. Yet, justifiably, I predicted that I may be interrupted by a student who wants me to watch them climb a tree or a member of the community who wants to ask me if I've taken a liking to Curre.

But then, a lesson that I learned in my Senior year Calculus class surfaced in my mind. We sat in our desks, watching one of our classmates try to reach his destination: the door. The problem was that the teacher told him that in order to reach the door, he would have to walk half of the distance first. With the remaining half of the distance between the student and the door, the teacher broke the news to him that yet again he would have to walk half the distance before he could reach the door. And so on and so forth so that he was never actually able to make it to the door. It's called Zeno's paradox, and it's an attempt at showing that motion is impossible. Of course, we know this is not true, and there are reasonable explanations to be found. Nevertheless, my classmates and I walked out of class that day with a valuable lesson learned. If we want to reach our goals, we ought to set them higher than we think possible and, if we don't reach them, it doesn't mean we've failed. It just means we need to set them higher.

I didn't get to finish all 10 minutes of practice with juggling the ball, but I did practice. Next time, I will try again. More importantly, I gained the inspiration for my Wednesday afternoon high school classes. I'm not going to give them homework because I'm not their teacher. But, I'm going to give them challenges. Practice the pronunciation exercise 10 times. Or, write 10 verbs that you use every day and look for their translation. Or, write 10 sentences using the new vocabulary that we learned. What's so special about 10? Nothing, except that it's the goal. If they reach it, great! If they don't, maybe we just need to make it higher.

Let's set our goals high, and rise up to meet them!

Different Country, Same Struggle

On this day in Rey Curre, I taught my fourth graders to say how they are feeling and my third graders to recite the days of the week, and I gave my first after-school English class to the high school students. There were 14 students present in all, and they were eager and responsive. We teased; we laughed; we got down to business. It was informal but productive, and I really enjoyed it. So, what seems to be the struggle you may ask?

Lesson planning. Why does it cost me so much? How do I choose what to teach? There is much to consider...what they already know, what the government expects them to learn, what would be most useful to them in their future. Nevertheless, they are learning. They are learning the body parts during our morning routine when we stretch to music. They are learning to introduce themselves and greet other people. They are learning how to dialogue on the telephone.

Furthermore, they are teaching. They are teaching this American girl to be tranquila. They are teaching this American girl to accept hugs and kisses and snacks every from a group of 53 caring students. (Not a day goes by that at least a handful of students haven't offered me a bite of their snack, and I usually oblige except for that sticky ice cream that drips onto my skirt as the students eagerly hold it up to my mouth.) They are teaching this American girl that my presence here is enough.

As I sat drinking coffee today during the break between classes, I brooded over a less-than-perfect lesson. Unbeknownst to me, several of my fourth graders were in my room straightening up my desk and writing me a note to say that they loved me. Did I earn such a kindness? That would be difficult to calculate, but the selflessness of the students is not. Later on, I sat outside the house drinking coffee (yes, again!) and watching my host nephew running around in the front yard. Every few seconds, he would look back to see my smiling expression. We continued like this for several minutes. I didn't say a word to him; he just wanted to know that I was watching and that I approved.

As this day comes to an end, I too am looking back for that smiling face. And, I see it. I see it in my director who likes having me around to pick on me for working too hard. ;) I see it in my elementary students who race to hold my hand to walk to lunch. I see it in the tasty meals and warm welcome that I receive daily from my host family. I see it in the smiles and laughter of the high school students as I animatedly act out the language and solicit their responses. I see it in the friendly jeers from my soccer mates who patiently watch me learn to play. I see it in the letters and emails and Facebook comments from friends and family back home. I see it in the Creator God who delights in watching me experience the joys that He has created. Glory to God!

Little by Little

On this day in Rey Curre, I am reflecting on all the things that I knew before coming, those that I didn't, and those that I want to know.

I knew...
...that I would be eating rice and beans for every meal (yes, even breakfast).
...that I would be perpetually sweating from the heat.
...that I would learn to love coffee, it being one of Costa Rica's major exports.
...that this country was the size of Virginia, but I could drive from Indiana to Florida in the time it takes to get from one side of this country to the other.
...that I would have my own classroom with a whiteboard and lots of books.
...that I would be living with a grandmother who has six children of her own and 7 grandchildren.

I didn't know...
...that whatever you are wearing on any particular day also constitutes as a bathing suit.
...that shoes are optional in soccer.
...that you can call penalty shots in foosball.
...that it's acceptable for anyone to ask if you have a boyfriend at any given time.
...that I would see a salamander on my wall every morning.
...that I would have to break into the school every time I want to get in my classroom and my director is not there. (Today makes the fifth time that I've slipped between the crack in the gate and the fence.)
...that I would have to stand on a chair, stick my arm through a gated window, and use a ruler to open the door to the copy room.
...that all six children of the family (and their children) would be in and out of the house all day. (There's never a dull moment!)
...that every morning, I would wake up to the sound of the roosters crowing.
...that I would love teaching English as much as I do. (Think of it...singing, dancing, role-playing, and games...and they call this work! ;)
...that it would cost $30 more to take the taxi. (Note to self: Always take the bus. Generally the safer option as well, except in San Jose.)
...that Latin soap operas are even more dramatic than American soap operas.
...that Americans have a bad rap here for not showering frequently enough.

I want to know...
...how to dance the Merengue and Cumbia and Salsa and Bachata.
...how to get a classroom of 1st and 2nd graders to be alert and engaged for 80 minutes.
...why the school doesn't have a key to the copy room.
...how to dribble a soccer ball past a Tican.
...more songs and games and activities to keep it fresh in English class all year long.
...how to participate in a conversation with Ticans in which they don't have to pause and explain to me what's going on.

As the Ticans say, "poco a poco"...little by little.