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.