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