Day 3 of Giving That Gives Back: Lovely Linens

I was stressing a little over getting this post out today. My mom load, life load, laundry load, home educator load has me full to the brim and short on time.

But God is good to us when we are trying to be faithful, isn't He? So He sent the lovely Amy Welborn to do my job for me today. She kindly referred to this series in today's post on her blog, and by happy providence shared a lovely little tidbit about her weekend that led me to discover a wonderful ethical shopping opportunity to share with you today.

Nansu Home provides gorgeous home linens that are made from organic color-grown or naturally died cotton that is hand-woven my Maya women in Guatemala who are paid a fair trade wage for their work. Really, what more could you ask for? Oh, wait, there is more. They have a product called monk's belt towels! I love it! It makes me think of these guys. And that makes me happy. Because they are coming to visit again right after Christmas. That will be my Christmas joy.

These would be lovely to wrap a recipe and some yummy baked goodness in and deliver to your pastor, neighbor, or favorite missionary. Just joking. Kind of.

Tomorrow let's talk about ways to get the people in your life on board with non-consumer options for Christmas. I promise to get up before the day attacks with reality and get it done! In the mean time, let's all thank Amy for serendipitously keeping us on track today!

Don't forget you can find all the links to the posts in this series in the introduction post here.

Feeling Tense?

I am taking a break from my 30 Days of Action posts to write about something that has been rumbling and bubbling and then finally settling peacefully in my heart these last few weeks. Something prompted by a thought that has followed me since I read Heather King's Shirt of Flame: A Year with St. Therese of Lisieux in July. It's about being tense, or more accurately living in tension. And how that differs from but is not totally different from what we call guilt.

I have had many conversations with people who have read books or articles full of inspiring stories about people who are living radically, sacrificing everything and making huge differences in the world. While on the one hand they are inspired by these stories, on the other they find themselves battling scruples and guilt over the state of life in which they find themselves. Often overwhelmed by the latter, they toss the inspiration in order to free themselves from the weight of the guilt.

This is a feeling I am quite familiar with as a missionary. I battle with myself all the time about how much is too much for us, how little is too little and is asking too much from our kids, how much is just enough. I put things in my basket at the grocery store and then take them out. I stand at the corner giving myself the luxury of hailing a cab then wave it off when it stops and head to the bus instead. Recently, we discovered that one benefit of living in this mission with a car is that it has revolutionized food purchasing.

When we could only get to the very nearest city and that by bus, our purchasing opportunities were quite limited. Turrialba, while it is a city, still remains very typically Costa Rican and the stores market mainly typical fare in regards to food. In addition, whatever we purchased had to be loaded into recycled rice sacks and lugged to the bus where it sat for two hours on the ride home. Then we carried it on our backs to our house. Even when we had the occasional ride to the store, we were always eager not to be overbearing and so limited our purchases. Even then, we bought way more variety of food than the typical family in our pueblo.

But with our car to drive, we have a wider variety of options. One which we recently discovered is the opportunity to take a monthly trip into Zapote, a suburb of sorts of San Jose, to shop at Price Mart (this is apparently how you say Costco in Spanish -- who knew?) We went for the first time last month. After filling out our forms and having our candid snapshots printed on to plastic cards, I turned to find a long forgotten wonderland of flavored coffee creamer, donuts, toothpaste in four packs, pancake mix and maple syrup, barbeque sauce and feta cheese. I was totally overwhelmed.

We walked through Price Mart reveling in purchases we had not made in eight months. Olive oil. Syrup. French vanilla coffee creamer. Dark chocolate granola bars. We passed on the lovely cheeses, the sticky sweet donuts, and a load of other processed foods that appeared lovely in their familiar packaging but that we have learned really taste no better then the packaging itself. We bought a lot of food. Good food at good prices. We bought toiletries and medicines to last a long, long time at the best prices we have found yet in Costa Rica. We treated the kids to the cheap pizza and got an oil change for the car. We priced out some items we will need when we are sharing our mission with groups and other families. It was a good trip, and while we indulged ourselves some, I don't think we did too badly.

But in the weeks that followed, I was haunted by guilt over the French vanilla coffee creamer. I stressed about buying it. I stressed about using it up too quickly, not fully appreciating it. I scrupulously only allowed myself only one cup of coffee with the creamer and then drank plain. I would see families walking down the streets of our town and wonder how much rice I could have given them to feed their children with what I spent on my coffee creamer. I was so shell-shocked that I have not suggested another trip to Price Mart since then. Some people in my house are still lamenting not buying the big box of chocolate covered almonds they saw and I have feared I would be like some indulgence monitor, putting things in the basket and then guiltily taking them back out and stashing them on the wrong aisle, much to the chagrin of the Price Mart employees, I'm sure.

A couple of weeks after that shopping trip, I found myself sitting on a beach in southern Nicaragua reading the book 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess and pondering a lot of over-indulgence, consumerism and lack of gratitude. And how hard it is to overcome a lifetime if living in a culture that embraces all those things. My time as a missionary has opened my eyes and changed my heart in so many ways, but it has not taken away the impulse to buy more shoes than I need or the desperate craving for Coke Zero in Sonic Ice. Or my love of sticky sweet donuts and flavored coffee creamer. And sometimes, in light of the poverty I see every day, my affections for those things make me feel what in the past I had labeled as guilt.

But reading and thinking on the tenets in 7 and some of things I had read about St. Therese in Shirt of Flame has caused me to rethink what I call this haunting feeling that pervades my thoughts, my desires, my affections and makes me weigh them against the stark realities of poverty, sickness, human slavery and death. What we have labeled as guilt and thrown out as an unhealthy emotion, I think, may not be something altogether bad. Now, I am certain, as many people have commented to me in the aforementioned conversations, that our merciful Savior does not want us to live a life hindered by crippling, debilitating guilt. After all, it was precisely this kind of law that Jesus came to free us from. But I also think we have been a bit quick to toss out some really good inspiration because we were afraid to go where the initial guilt was taking us. We do not need to be a people of guilt, but I think when we begin to hear a warning cry in our hearts every time something makes us see our own ugliness and brokenness that says, "No, run, don't think about that. That's too hard. Jesus doesn't want you to feel badly about yourself" that we need to respond like Christ did to Peter when Peter shouted a similar warning at Him -- about the very hard and ugly way in which He would redeem the world -- "Get Thee behind me, Satan."

Why? Because while I think the Lord does not want us to be encumbered by a burden of guilt over which He has already risen victorious, I think He's perfectly okay with us living in a constant tension. It is the reality of our lives on this side of heaven. We live redeemed but sinful. We worship a merciful but just Savior. We serve a broken and beautiful Church. We are dying every day that we live. And we die in order to live forever. We pray to know better our Savior and He teaches us to know better ourselves. We eat bread that is His body while it still looks and tastes like bread. And we buy and we consume and we live while others beg and starve and die in a world He created. This is our reality.

And as Christians completing, as the Word telsl us, what was lacking in His sufferings, I do think we would be woefully amiss if that reality did not weigh heavily upon us most of our days. If my coffee creamer makes me think painfully of the hungry in my midst, it may not mean I need to toss the coffee creamer, but it also should not mean that I push aside the painful reminder of the poor. Perhaps there is something He is asking me to do, and the tension in my chest with each sip of delicious creamy goodness is His way of knocking. If that experience makes me think long and hard about what I purchase on our next trip and helps me to leave behind some indulgences and replace them with basic foods that can be shared, it has indeed done a very good work in my heart. And if I deliberate long and hard over each item and allow us only three indulgent purchases per trip, is it that really some kind of debilitating guilt? I don't think so. Maddening as it may be for the poor men who are forced to endure the shopping trip with me, I think it does us all some good to pick and choose intentionally as a family and to see the alternatives we are afforded when we bypass overindulgence.

Heather King says St. Therese lived in this constant tension. Feeling at once favored and special in the eyes of her Sweet Savior and alternatively small and humble and feeble in His service. Wanting with all her heart to be a missionary and yet embracing the call to the silence of the cloister. Being childish and simple and yet a spiritual giant all at the same time. If this is what embracing the tension can produce, then who I am to wave it off because sometimes it gives me a stomach ache?

I will be the first to admit that sometimes living in this constant tension does not make me the happy smiley girl I want to be. Sometimes, I just freaking want a Pumpkin Spice Latte and a Coke Zero with Cherry flavoring and extra ice. In a separate cup. There. I said it. But I have come see that that too is okay. This is where His tender mercy sweeps in and makes something beautiful of the mess that is me. You see, while I'm tempted to sulk and whine and grant myself way more indulgence I deserve in repayment for my measly sacrifices, He swoops into my struggle and draws me to Him--says to me, "Sweet Princess, there are no lattes today. But I am here. Come close. Rest from the struggle. Breathe the sweet incense of my presence. Feel better, little one? Good. Get up and do what I have asked." And then, one day when I least expect it, right in the midst of serving and doing and falling and rising, voila, a pumpkin spice latte appears out of nowhere, with the extra whipped cream I never even dared ask for even though I wanted it really badly. Because my Daddy loves me. Deeply, tenderly and intimately. And He loves to lavish me with gifts and surprise me with loveliness.

So these days, I am working at seeing all these impulses both indulgent and guilty as the forces that pull taut my spiritual heart rope, that keep me sober and alert, intentional and dependent as I try to be who God has called me to be in this crazy upside world that reeks of sin and shines with glory all at the same time. I think the Lord only pulls that rope as taut as we permit Him too. Sometimes, life demands that we let it fall slack while we put all our energies into growing a baby human inside us or rekindling love in our marriage or serving the demanding needs of our families or recovering from an illness. Other times, I think He asks if we will let Him pull it uncomfortably tight, so that it strains and stresses and pulls at us until we grow up just a little bit more. But I do believe that we are called to permit the tension to live within us, the feel its weight and to embrace it, not as guilt, but as another tender mercy meant to bring us further into the abode of His heart. And I think the spiritual progress we make is directly related to just how taut we permit him to pull our heart strings.

So if you are feeling the tension today as I am and battling the guilty grumpies as I often do, slow down rather than pushing it away. Run to Him and let Him show you what He needs you to see. Seek Him in the quiet and the stillness and, yes, the pain of your heart. Move past the guilt and give Him permission to pull your heart strings tight. And then see what He might do with you. And then happily, one day, if He is merciful enough, we might find ourselves sipping a double whipped cream pumpkin spice latte inside the gates of the Promised Land with no more pain or suffering, where our hearts strings fly loose and free in the light of His glory. Walk with me?

***P.S. Following any of the Amazon links in this post or on the sidebar and making a purchase will generate a small amount of credit for me. All credit will be dedicated to purchasing items for the Blessed Zelie Martin Initiative laid out in this post.

I have added this post to this week's Walk With Him Wednesdays link up at Holy Experience.

Joy Abounds

I have not been able to find the time to blog for a while now. I wish there was a way to make my Facebook status updates show up as blog posts. I find it so much easier to update regularly there than here. When I post here, it's like I need to have something worthwhile to say. More than what I bought off  the fruit truck that day or the fact that I realized I haven't driven a car in six months. But these little tid bits really are the fabric of our missionary lives here. And it occurred to me that the last couple of things I posted here may have made it seem like I walk around with the weight of the world on my shoulders all the time here. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
The truth is, joy abounds in our life here. Much of our time is spent just the same way it was before, living our family life to the fullest, playing games, reading books, cooking meals, making beds, learning algebra and division and subtraction with regrouping. And of course, joy abounds in those things. Greg and I both earnestly enjoy the challenge of cooking here. Figuring out how to use the things we can get regularly to create interesting nutritious food to share with our family and, quite often, our friends.  Today, my boys water colored sky backgrounds and made city sky scrapers out of paint swatch strips while I hung the laundry on the line to dry. It was a moment to savor. Tranquility, peace, joy filling every corner of our home.Creativity drawing out the best in my boys.
Then there is the life outside my front door. The life of the place we live. Yes, there are people here, friends, who struggle to make life work on a daily basis. Yes, there are times when the pain and injustice of poverty slap me in the face and it hurts. Yes, there is a longing in my heart for the people I see in the street every day to know Jesus and the great gift of mercy and salvation we have in our all-loving God. But most of the time, walking around this town, what I feel is joy.
I pass the homes of friends and we call greetings back and forth. Usually, someone comes to the gate to talk a bit more or beckons me in for a visit. Older ladies pat my hand and take my arm and walk with me for a bit. One of my favorite parts of any walk through town is running into my friend Don Luis.
Don Luis is a stroke victim and has lost most of his speech abilities as well as the use of his right hand and leg.  He walks with a cane and significant limp. But walk he does. All day.  We have a little game we play each time he sees me. He offers me his good hand for a hand shake but quickly pulls it back before I can reach for it. I then proceed to try to catch his "mano magica" as I have come to call it. He has his own rule. I can only play with one hand since he only has one hand. When the game ends with me catching him, I dance and cheer in my victory. He laughs. Other times, I cheat a little and steal the cap he's wearing and kiss him on the forehead instead. Or poke him in the belly and run. Whatever way it ends, it always ends with him laughing. And me too. Because despite our brokenness, despite our weakness, for the both of us, joy abounds. Yesterday, Don Luis was standing on the bridge listening to the music wafting from a festival they were having at the school. As I walked home from that very festival and headed toward him on the bridge, I heard the other men calling to him asking him why he was not dancing. So I took his hand and danced with him. There, in the middle of the bridge, dancing freely for all to see with Don Luis, who just that morning had been so frustrated when he couldn't get the words out to make me understand what he was trying to tell me, I was overcome with joy.
One night as we were leaving the priests house to head home, we crossed the gate at the same moment that an indigenous family was entering to spend the night in the hostel that the church provides for them when they are traveling to and from town. The woman who passed me was dressed in a t-shirt, brightly colored skirt and black rubber boots, as the indigenous women usually are. There was a baby strapped to her back, tied with a piece of old cloth, also very common. The baby had fallen asleep as she walked and his head hung backwards, bobbing with each step. As she crossed me, I said to her, "oh pobrecito el que sueno tiene", meaning "oh poor baby, how tired he is". She smiled brightly, flipped her back toward me so I could see the baby better, then held up her hands which held a live hen by the feet  and a machete. She giggled and answered, "which one?" We laughed wildly there in the dark at the gate to church. The baby stirred. My kids noticed that the t-shirt she was wearing was from the Christian Youth Theater organization, which has been a huge part of our lives and a major blessing for us. We smiled the whole way home marveling at how close that made us feel to our old lives. And how sweet and funny that moment was.  Because even after walking for hours in the dark, when your baby sleeps gently on your back and dinner wriggles in your hand, and you have arrived finally at warm shelter for the night, well, joy abounds.
The other night, we were at the rectory going over chapel plans with the priests. Greg handed me a machete that he was going to borrow from them. I stood there for a minute feeling awkward with the machete hanging at my side, then announced to Fr. Johnny, "Look, I'm becoming just like an indigenous woman. I just need a skirt with pretty flowers and a pair of rubber boots." He smiled as he added, "and a baby on your back." A few minutes later, I found myself on the porch, arms full of a beautiful indigenous baby boy as I lent his mother my telephone so she could call her mother and let her know she and the children had arrived safely in town. We chatted and the baby cooed in my arms. My heart swelled there on the porch. Because when your husband chats with the priest in your mission and the topic of the conversation in the construction of a chapel which your imperfect "Yes" to God inspired in another beautiful family AND your fluency in the language affords you the opportunity to make jokes AND someone entrusts you with her beautiful baby and gifts you with conversation while you wait, well, joy abounds.
I keep wishing there was a way to capture it all in images to share with you, this joy, the beauty I experience every day. But the truth is, this is my life. Every day. I can't frame it in perfect pictures. I can't carry a camera around just in case Don Luis' smile is extra bright that day or I happen to end up on the porch with a beautiful baby in my arms or the canopy of clouds and banana trees above the clothes line is especially peaceful one morning. What I have are words. And I hope in this humble offering you can see that joy abounds in this life I live. That amidst poverty and brokenness and real, gritty every day life, God descends to be with His people. And when we walk in that grace, joy is what we find.
I will, however, include here this month's video news about our mission as I think it does portray a bit of the life with live with great joy. I hope you smile watching it.

The Center of the Universe

So yesterday I had been bouncing along in a crowded bus for about an hour and half when I realized something. An hour and half after leaving Grano do Oro, we still hadn't reached the paved road, still hadn't passed any of the bigger-than-tiny towns that are harbingers of the city to come, still hadn't seen much more than breathtaking mountain views and the communities dotted there in. And it suddenly occurred to me that I live in the middle of nowhere.

The Middle of Nowhere

Now this is funny because that was all I could think as we made the drive to Grano de Oro the night we arrived here.  Greg was the only one of us who had been to Grano.  And he had only been twice before. He had a vague idea of how to get here and about how far it was from town. A vaguely optimistic idea that is. So after we passed through Turrialba, the closest large city to where we were headed, he began to pepper us with encouragement that we were almost there. "About 15 more minutes," he would say optimistically as the van climbed and descended narrow mountain roads. "Oh, now we're really close," he encouraged as the paved road gave way to dust and rocks and wooden suspension bridges. And on we went, further and further without arriving at our destination. And all I could think was, "This man is taking me to the middle of nowhere."

The Middle of the Middle of Nowhere

But I haven't felt that way again since that night. From the first day I lifted my head from my pillow on my bead in my house in this town, lifted my head to rising sun and the cool mountain air and the chirping of hundred of birds, I have felt like this was the center of the universe.  Now four months in, when I walk the dusty roads of this place and respond to the greetings of friendly faces, I smile as I realize that in almost every home I pass, I know at least one face, at least a part of their story. And I want to know more. My mind races as I plan visits, invites, think of ways to build more into these relationships, to love deeper. How to know these hearts and histories so that the love of Christ can spill into every corner of these hearts, these lives this town. I pass our Church and dream of the day when it is too full, when there is adequate space to teach throngs of children who come to learn about Jesus, to understand that He is fully present there in that Church, and to receive Him with open hearts. I dream of young people assured and confident in themselves and their faith spreading out from here to sing of His greatness.

The Center of the Universe

I watch Cabecar families make their way into town. Women with babies strapped to their backs, whatever piece of cloth they could find securely fastened just above their chest. Men leading horses laden with items to sell or to bring back to their homes in the mountains. I wonder about where they live and how long they walked to get here. I wonder if they will accept the invitation if I invite them to come home with me. I wonder if their children would hide in a corner, shy and unsure if I speak to them. I want to know if they are hungry at night, if they are sick or cold or lonely. I want to know if their babies might have worms or bacteria causing their bellies to bulge. And I want to fix it, to feed them, to make their babies healthy and whole. I want to win their trust so they don't hide, to figure out how to get to where they live and speak to them in their own language.

Because I want to tell them about this God, this amazing, loving creative God who crafted this end of the earth especially for them.  Who loves them with a love that is deep enough to make their lives last forever. To tell them that although their bodily needs are great and the earth that feeds them something to be cherished, they are so, so much more. That they are souls created, like these mountains, to take people's breath away with their beauty, to love and be loved, and to live forever.  Because of a man named Jesus, who lived in a little small corner of the world, poor and simple just like them, and yet, saved all of humanity.

Friends at the Center of Our Universe

As the bus continued toward the city, finally, reaching the paved road and lurching forward at a slightly quicker pace, my thoughts turned to the missionaries I know and the little places just like this one where they live and serve. I think of how they too have allowed Him to take them to the middle of nowhere somewhere, to mountain villages and tiny islands, to little slums in big cities, to big jungles in small countries. and made them the center of their universe for the Lord's sake.

And then my thoughts raced to all the millions of places like this one on the earth, all the middle-of-nowhere centers of the universe for somebody in Africa, Asia, Russia, in the middle of the oceans and at the tops of mountains. All the places hours from the nearest city that teem with the lives and the stories and the culture of my brothers and sisters in Christ. And my hurt began to burn with the desire to know those places and the people in them, with the longing to pat round Asian cheeks and rub weathered Indian hands, to laugh long and long with wide African smiles and sit in the still cold of long forgotten churches of Eastern Europe breathing new life.  And I was pained to know that I couldn't. That even if I give every day of my earthly in service to Him I will likely never get to do all those things.  For Him. In love.

Us, Our Neighbor, and the Bishop of the Middle of Nowhere Center of the Universe

(Bishop Rojas, Bishop of Cartago)

And that made me think about Him. This God who created all those middles of nowhere in this great big world and populated them with people painted in different shades whose mouths sing in tune to different melodies but who were all meant to know, love and serve Him, to sing of His greatness.  And I know a little of His longing as I think how many do not yet know His love, how many more do not really understand His mercy, and how many have forgotten what their grandparents once knew deeply.  It is a sharp pain and an aching desire all at once to realize how many people do not hope for heaven, how many mothers place babies in the ground and think it is the end of the story, how many of my brothers and sisters are hungry, lonely and sick from things that could have been prevented if someone had only acted on their behalf. And I know just a portion of His thirst, the thirst that held my sweet Jesus to the cross, the thirst that is not quenched with water but with the love of souls.

The Fruits of This End of the Earth

And so today, I rose with the morning sun, aware that I am here. Only here. And for today, this is not the middle of the nowhere, but the center of my universe. For today, I quench His thirst by pouring out His love here. And I am comforted to know that it is enough for Him. He has not called me to everything. He has called me to do something, and I am doing it the best I can. And He, He becomes the center, the knot that tethers all those ends of the earth together in one singular purpose, one eternity. And if I do my part, one day  I will walk not dusty roads but streets of gold where no one is hungry or lonely or sick. And everyone shines with His light. And I can only hope that I will find the faces I have loved there to pat the seats next to them and smile wide as they realize that I too am traveling with them.

Planting My Feet and Loving in His Name 

in the Middle of Nowhere

Center of the Universe 

that is the place.

Home Sweet Home

Hola! Bienvenidos a nuestra casa misionera! For you gringos, that's "Hi! Welcome to our missionary home!"
Would you like to come in for a little tour and see what our house looks like here in Grano de Oro?

Well, okay, come on in through the side gate. You'll find yourself in the breeze way that connects our open-air kitchen to the rest of our house. We use it for a casual every day eating area.

See that picture hanging on the back wall? it's a puzzle I brought with us. We built it to celebrate Mardi Gras even though we were far from my beloved NOLA. It's Rex turning down Canal Street!

If you turn to your right from here, you can come in and see our kitchen! It is separate from the house and enclosed in lattice work.

Small Sink

Larger Cement Sink, Woodburning Stove, and Pot Storage

Cabinet/Pantry Space, Counter Space, Oven

Fridge, Laundry Area

(I use that wall as additional pantry storage.)

Well, that's about it for the kitchen. Shall we head over into the main area of the house? The bathroom? Sure, it's right inside the door.

Oh, make sure the you don't throw toilet paper in the potty. The plumbing here is not made for that. That's what that trash can is for. All done? Okay. Let's head over here.

I think this room was destined to be an indoor kitchen at some point, but was never completed. It makes great storage and display for all our school stuff, shoes and other items for coming and going.

Let's go see what Quinn is up to. I think he's in his room.

Yep. There he is. His is the only room downstairs. It's a nice little spot and gives him the chance to display some things that make it feel a little more homey.

I saw an idea on Pinterest using embroidery hoops and fabric to decorate a wall. I thought it would be cute to do with t-shirts. And wooden hoops were inexpensive, light and easy to pack. I'm pretty satisfied with the result.

This is the, um, dining room....where I am folding today's laundry. Some things about a mother's life never change. This nice table does make a nice folding spot and a great space for spreading out for school work or board games or puzzle building. Let's keep walking out that door in the corner. It's really nice out on the patio.

That chair is one of my favorite spots in the whole house. I sit there early in the mornings with my coffee, bible and prayer journal and watch our little town wake up. Tea and knitting in the afternoon. The Kindle and a blanket in the evenings. Yep. I like this spot a lot. And the kids have found it to be a nice play room too.  

Would you like to come upstairs? Okay, follow me.

Here's our little "sala" or living room at the top of the stairs. I've always wanted to live in a log cabin home. I love that the upstairs of this house feels just like a log cabin. Take a peek in that door over there. That's the boys' room.

I love their sweet room. Right now the little boys are using mattresses on the floor to sleep, but we plan to get another double bed for this room.  Their football jerseys and team pictures make such the room cozy and personal, and they were easy to pack too.

More football paraphernalia. And thanks to Drew Brees double duty as inspiration and cover up for the random Rasta man painted on the wall there. Well, only one room left on our tour. Our bedroom is right over here on the other side of the sala.

Isn't it sweet and homey? I spent the months before we left pinning pretty vintage quilts and granny afghans laid out in old barn style homes to my home inspiration board and kind of laughing at myself. I mean, really, where did I think I was moving to?  I packed a few things to try to make our new home feel like "us" but quilts and afghans were a bit much. I resolved to use the things we were given and only buy the things that were not made available to us when we arrived. Imagine my delight in the Lord on the night we arrived when I found this quilt and afghan tucked in the stack of blankets I was handed.  

God loves us so well, doesn't He? Right down to all the little details.

Add in the amazing views out of our windows....

A little vintage pretty that I brought from home...

A place to store clothes ( yes, that is our shared dresser and closet)

Some lovely art to look at on the walls and a little corner for the computer and we have all we need to feel comfortable, happy, and at home in our house here.  I hope you've enjoyed your little tour. As you can see, we have plenty of space, so come visit us any time! 

Where In the World Are You?

Now that we have been living here in our mission home in Grano de Oro for a while, I'm starting a little series to tell you more about where we live, about our home and life here, about the Church here and the work we are doing at this time and hope to do in the future.  I wanted to wait a while to get our bearings in this new place, and surely, there is much, much for us to learn, but I do feel like we are becoming more familiar day by day with our surroundings. So, are you up for a little geography lesson first?

Costa Rica is in Central America, a group of countries south of Mexico that form the small strip of land that connects North America and South America. In the map below, it is the curving strip of red just above the blue of South America.

In Central America, Costa Rica is located south of Nicaragua and north of Panama.  In the map below, it is light green.

Now for Grano de Oro. It gets a little harder here. See, Grano de Oro doesn't really show up on maps.  Just 20 years ago, it didn't exist. It was all one farm owned by one family which bordered the mountains where the indigenous Cabecar communities of Costa Rica lived in the Chirripo River region.  Over the last twenty years, as the older generation of the family died and the land was split and children married and bore children of their own, a town has sprung up.  Electricity, running water and roads have only been installed in the last 10 -15 years.  When those things were introduced, the town became the entrance and exit point for people traveling in to and out of the communities in the Chirripo reservation lands. There are about forty communities in the reservation, spread out wide and far. Some are as close as 2-3 hour walk or 40 minute drive, others require an hour long drive to where the road ends and then 12-15 hours of walking.  

On the map below, just under the letter "A" in "CENTRAL", you will see a town called Turrialba.  That is the nearest full size town to us. It is about an hour drive. There are supermarkets and lots of places to get good fruits and vegetables there as well as a good number of all purpose stores and pharmacies to stock our house with the little extras. Just southeast of Turrialba, you'll see a town labeled Moravia.  That was the original farm land our town was once a part of. We are a further east of there.

Geographically, we are surrounded by lush green mountains and clear flowing rivers that remind me of the Smoky Mountains to some extend. On an average day with high sun, it is about 75-80 degrees here. In the evening, the fog rolls in off the mountains and the nights and morning can be down right chilly, 50-60 degrees. 

Even with the cooler climate, we are still surrounded by tropical beauty, with hydrangeas and bougainvillea in full bloom at all times, banana, plantain, avocado, and a host of other tropical fruits growing in our own back yard, and lovely bromeliads adorning the branches of our trees.  

Right now, we are in the dry season, and it is quite easy to get around town on foot and to get to neighboring towns and villages by car. Once the rains return in June and July, things will get a little more complicated.

For now, we are just enjoying getting to know this place. I hope my heart never stops skipping when we curve our way through the mountains and I catch that wide open glimpse of the lush mountain side, or when I look up and realize that we are at the top of the range, with nothing between us and the sky, or when I walk our dusty roads and glance to my left to see the clear rippling waters of the river bubbling over its smooth rocks. I hope that no matter how familiar this place becomes, I always stop to look close at the flowers beneath my feet, the lightening bugs dotting the bushes in the evening and the clear expanse of millions of stars overhead at night.  

When God created this magnificent sphere of earth, He was already there, in the person of Jesus, commanding His disciples to bring the Good News to the ends of the earth, and in order to ensure that we would listen, He bestowed an extra helping of beauty of those ends.  I will forever be grateful for this great act of love.

He Keeps Giving and I Keep Counting

Another week has come and gone and I am counting on, sharing graces, noticing with an attentive heart the ways God shows us His love very day. In a life that can sometimes feel lonely, it is a grace to give thanks, always turning my heart back to Him who loves and gives and is ever present, never leaving me to myself, always drawing me out, drawing me up, to think on things good and holy and lovely and eternal.

These photos are from our Sunday play at the river, just a stone's throw from our front yard.

25. For a change of pace just when my heart cried for it most.
26. For the man who loves enough to see my needs and meet them as best he can.

27. For the determination of little boys to do what they set their minds to.

28. Especially when the things they set their minds to makes a momma smile wide (Kolbe was determined to walk around the river in these fins. He did not give up easily. I could not stop giggling.)

29. That I have a friend here I like enough to miss.

30. And that she came home today.

31. For the conversation and laughter shared around her table this morning.

32. For the Lord's provision for transportation. Always there is a way to get where we need to be when we need to be there even without a car of our own.

33. For constant invitations to be somewhere.

34. For the gift of song and the way it lightens my heart when the daily duty seems redundant and tedious.

35. For boys who sing the hymns of faith loud and clear and confident in morning prayer.

36. For a long walk with my group of girls that opened the door a bit wider than shy smiles and awkward giggles. For the hope that real relationships will grow there.

37. For the Sign of Peace at Mass where everyone travels, everyone embraces. No one  nods or waves or looks the other way.

38. For e-mails and messages that encourage.
39. For a God who lives and breathes and speaks -- in His Word, in His Eucharistic presence, in His Church, in His people.

40. For an evening walk that we called a date that lingered on into the dark of night.

41. For a glass of wine offered and sip slow, savored.

42.  For a calendar gifted and filled with dates and activities scribbled in Spanish -- in my own hand. I am ever amazed that He has taught me this.

43. For a walk in the rain and a stop for ice cream -- the laughter at the irony of it all.

44. For the Super Bowl on TV and how ESPN International call to mind a friend I miss so dearly and brings her just a wee bit closer in my heart.

 45. For boys who jump bravely and smile wide at their valor.  And for their excitement at being caught in midair.

 46. For all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.

47. For eyes to really see those things and recall that Lord who made them all.

48. For morning glories blooming bright on the birthday of a friend who bears their name. For the quiet celebration of her life I had in my heart.

49. For a to -do list that filled only with ways to love, ways to serve, ways to really live.

50. For the people who give and pray and love from afar so that we have the grace to count on.