Thursday Things: A Colorado Adventure, Part II

Well, it took whole weeks, but I've finally unpacked my suitcase from my trip to Colorado and shoved it in my storage closet, where it will keep the spiders company for one week. On Monday I will pull it out again and stuff it full of clothes for a trip home. It just occurred to me that, if I were in my right mind, I would have kept it packed all month—to save a lot of effort and lugging. ;)

I guess the silver lining in this unfortunate lack of strategizing is that my little abode is clean and tidy, and I have peace of mind enough to sit down and finish chronicling my Colorado adventure.

And so I give you: Part II (click here for Part I)

1. After a short stay in Denver, I spent the better part of a week in Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a retreat sponsored by Soulation, an apologetics ministry founded by Dale and Jonalyn Fincher.

Jonalyn and Dale

2. It was a grand week spent surrounded by golden aspen and brilliant minds.

3. Dale and Jonalyn's vision is to help others grow more "appropriately human." They used the retreat to facilitate the exploration of several ways we can grow healthier souls, and asked three attendees to contribute presentations on topics related to spiritual growth and formation.

4. First, I got to present on the way that beauty and the imagination can shape our souls. I focused on the especially powerful nature of fairy tales in helping us to recover our wonder at the world and our delight in a magical Gospel.

5. Jonalyn reminded us of the importance of taking time to play, to let something completely absorb us so that the process—not the product—becomes the point.

And play we did.

Jonalyn also reminded us that good play becomes so engrossing and delightful that we want to do it again and again, the way God wants to pull the sun up over the horizon again and again.*

This is my fifth attempt at trying to look like I belong on the set of "Oklahoma!".

6. Robin, fellow attendee and new kindred spirit friend, helped guide us to a better understanding of the redemptive nature of difficult transitions. She explained that transitions demand the reconciliation of life events and personal values, and force us to update our beliefs about ourselves. She encouraged us to allow tough transitions to "change the story you tell about yourself to yourself."

It was a timely talk for all of us.

Robin preparing her presentation

7. Aubrie—another attendee, a bosom friend, and a grad student majoring in thanatology—gave a presentation on grieving well. She reminded us that grief is work; it is a death and resurrection experience in which we are stripped "of the props we rely on for our well-being." Grief helps us to recognize our true identity as naked souls beloved by God.

Dear friend, Aubrie

8. On Friday, Dale talked a bit about the way our thinking about work has evolved since the industrial revolution from something to be proud of, to a mere money-maker. Then his wife shared one of the questions he asks himself when he's engaging in menial tasks:

"If the world were to watch me do this task to learn something about my God, what would they learn?"

And so we worked as unto the Lord and took great pleasure in it.

Bob and Tanya getting ready to stack firewood

9. Toward the end of the week we talked about the importance of including a Sabbath rest in our weekly rhythm, and determined to live the Sabbath as if God could hold the world together without us. Then we engaged in the Jewish practice of welcoming the Sabbath, and we rested.

Some of the girls on our Sabbath walk

10. We closed our week with "Mole's End"—a time to share poems, songs, and our own writings. It was a joyful and meaningful time.

This is what I look like when I'm about to chop off a fish's head.

This is also what I look like when I'm explaining what slam poetry is.

11. I am so thankful for my new dear friends, and for the renewal and restoration I experienced in such a life-giving community. In the wake of the retreat I have felt refreshed and hopeful, settled and satisfied.

*Jonalyn was referencing an idea in G.K. Chesterton's book Orthodoxy.

Thursday Things: A Colorado Adventure, Part I

1. I'm in Colorado.

2. I love it here.

3. I could move here.

4. Here's why:

4a. This is what it looks like when you decide to go driving in the Colorado mountains in September.

Saffron and Tangerine

Mustard and Caramel

Amber and honey

4b. The touristy section of Denver has a piano on every city block.

Middle C sounds like F and Chopin's Prelude in C# Minor sounds like pea soup on these inner-city pianos, but there's nothing quite like playing outside in the fresh mountain air.

One of my dreams is to play a grand piano in a mountain meadow surrounded by quaking aspen and towering pine. This is the closest I've gotten to that dream.

4c. This is what impromptu picnics are like in Colorado.

4d. This guy lives in Colorado.

Everyone, this is Dirk.

Everyone: "Hi Dirk."

Dirk's family and my family go way back: as kids we homeschooled together, camped together, communed over $5 "cardboard" pizza together, and explored, created, and got into trouble together.

Dirk is family, and eating Peruvian fare at the base of the Rocky Mountains with him felt like going home.

4e. There is lots of leather in Colorado. Soft, fragrant, turquoise-studded leather.

This is my best cowgirl face.

4f. Small mountain towns like Steamboat Springs, Colorado have drug stores with real live soda fountains and jukeboxes that play Elvis. This is me cuttin' a rug with some mad (i.e. "awkward string bean") moves.

I believe this photo has captured my inimitable "Sprinkler" move.

4g. Colorado is a great place to make new kindred spirit friends.

5. The fresh, clean Rocky Mountain air has been so good for my body, and the fellowship with new friends so good for my soul. The Lord has buoyed and bolstered my health the last few days and this is the first week in months and months that I feel like I've been able to really participate in life. I am loving it.

Thursday Things: Sometimes Even Corvettes Have Engine Trouble

Well folks, it's that time of the week again, and I'm sorry to say I'm still lugging around my station wagon computer and its impossibly long and bulky power cord, because of course station wagon computers have a battery life of about 3 minutes.

I did get my honda-turned-corvette back on Tuesday, and boy was she fast. That little baby blazed many a smokin' trail through my piles of work all evening, and then her engine starting acting up. So now she's back in the shop in the hands of an amazing tech guy named Jim Bob. Well, his name is James Robert, but at this point the IT guys and I are on a nickname basis, and Jim Bob is so much more fun to say. It makes me want to get on a pogo stick and start wildly bouncing. Try it. Say Jim Bob five times fast and see if you don't want to get your hop on.

Anyway, the absence of my trusty Mac means you're in for some real spacing/layout treats today. So, without further ado, I give you this Thursday's Things, the Thursday edition:

1. I was just trying to revive my wilting petunias (we've had a real scorcher of a week here SmogVille) and my heart started aching for this:

My family stayed in an old renovated castle in Austria during the summer of 2004 so my dad could utilize the castle's library while he worked on his dissertation. One of the highlights that summer was hiking down into the village where we'd walk along the river and admire the blossom bedecked balconies and windowsills. Ever since then my gardening skills have seemed a little...lacking.

2. Thinking about those walks along the river gave me a hankerin' for some fresh Austrian mountain air, and maybe a yodeling session or two.

I don't know if my brother and I are doing any yodeling in the picture below, but we are definitely bellowing, "The hills are aliiiiive with the sound of muuuuuusiiiiic!"
#36 on my bucket list: cheeeck.

3. Of course those hankerins gave me more hankerins:

For a jubilant Lithuanian polka around a dancing fire in the alps (there were quite a few Lithuanians staying at the castle):

And a hayride on a MidSummer's Eve:

According to Lithuanian tradition, we made flower crowns to wear in our hair for the longest eve of the year, and then rode through the Austrain alps before sunset. (My sister and my backs are facing the camera. She's in red and I'm to her right in denim, with my hair wrapped around my head like a fraulein).

4. Ahhh, such glorious travel memories. I even began to wish for another opportunity to travel like this:

(Because there's nothing quite like driving through the Alps, your face smashed against the window, not because you are eager to drink in the scenery (although you are) but because there are 12 suitcases bearing down on your gravity-compliant little body.)

And this:
This was at a truck stop in France (we took week-long trips to nearby countries that summer). It was a much, much better alternative to getting some shut eye in our stuffed little Puegeot van.

5. And of course thinking about France made me wish I could eat a strawberry tart at a picnic table surrounded by this:

6. But instead, I'm going to go watch this in preparation for the class I teach in two weeks:

I am hoping the foreign scenery and occasionally convincing French accent satisfy my travel craving.

It's amazing what wilted petunias can do to a person's Thursday, isn't it?

Salut mes amis!

The Valiant French Canadian, Part II

I frantically spewed out my predicament for a second time, and then paused to catch my breath. Alarm flooded the young French Canadian's face, and in that instant I knew I had found a kindred spirit. Not the romantic kind of hunk that would sweep me off my feet and whisk me into the Costa Rican sunset, but the type of man who would fly into a maniacal panic when necessary. Like that night.

Without hesitating (and shoeless, I might add), he did fly out the door in a frenzied panic, yelling something in French (or was it English?) that I still haven't figured out. I followed him down the steps and back toward the main lodge, a warm feeling of peace flooding my body as I watched his bedraggled hair flap over his frazzled countenance.

Breathless, he burst through the front door of the lobby and began pounding on the office door. "'Ello?!!! 'Eello?!!!" No answer. He ran up the stairs to the darkened cafeteria. No one was in sight. He ran back outside and began turning in circles, surveying the cabins surrounding the main lodge.

This feels vaguely familiar, I thought as I thanked the Lord for our rescuer. He may not have done a thing to change our situation yet, but at least he was running to and fro, shouting like a maniac, and panting loudly. There's nothing more comforting than rescuer who is a blur of movement and oozes determination.

"Eez your friend 'aving an allergic reaction?" The French Canadian stopped in his frantic tracks with a concerned look on his face. "Oh shoot." I took off running up the hill, yelling a warbled , "I don't think so!" over my shoulder as I ran.

I shoved through our little cabin door and looked at Megan, relieved to see that she hadn't blown up into a giant, bumpy blimp. Closing the door, I ran back down to the French Canadian who was hopping down the hill toward town while he tried to put his shoes on. "I think she's OK!" I shouted.

"Good. I am going to town for 'elp. You run around and look for the secureety guard," he grunted as he continued to hop downhill and pulled on his left shoe. I sprinted off in the opposite direction and then froze. I spun around and yelled, "Wait! Do you speak Spanish?"

"No." A new realization dawned on his valiant face. "Do yoo?"

"Yes. I'd better come with you."

"Gude zinking."

Together we hopped/sprinted down the hill and almost ran full throttle into the security guard. In a hodgepodge of Spanish/French/English/Pig Latin we urgently filled the security officer in on our dilemma.

I will fast-forward at this point esteemed reader, only to spare you the painfully dull details regarding the reaction of Mr. Security Guard/Sloth-in-human-form. Suffice it to say that, after ages of very slow ambling, our "heroic" security guard managed to make it up the hill to Megan and produce: (drum roll please....) half a lemon. He asked Megan to rub it up and down her arm to sooth the pain. He also, after some superfluous comments and unnecessary laughter, found the scorpion, which he promptly declared the "good" type of scorpion (do try to get stung by this type, if you must), and then fed it to his dog.

Meanwhile, the French Canadian sprinted down to his cabin and back up to ours 4 times. He brought with him Benadryl, a flashlight to search for the scorpion in dark corners, and the results of some internet research on Costa Rican scorpions he was conducting down in the lobby. Each of his trips ushered a little beacon of light and hope into our dark cabin.

It was at this point in the saga, dear friends, that I realized a true hero doesn't necessarily save the day. A true hero is the very definition of empathy and concern. A true hero forgets that you are complete strangers and treats you like family. A true hero moves quickly, even if he is shoeless and has no clue where he is going. A true hero does not crack pointless jokes poking fun at the damsels in distress. A true hero usually has some sort of mysterious accent. And a true hero produces more than a half a lemon in a time of dire need.

Thank you, dearest French Canadian (wherever you are) for being a true hero.

We will remember your kindness forever and ever.

Amen.

The Valiant French Canadian, Part I

It was a dark, blustery night in Monteverde. Rebecca, Megan and I were snuggled up in our bright Costa Rican comforters talking and reminiscing quietly as we listened to the menacing mountain wind whip around our small cabin. Warm and content, our girlish chatter distracted us from the ominous weather outside.

In the middle of describing a particularly rosy memory, Megan suddenly squealed in pain. "Something bit me! Something bit me twice!" She jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to nurse her throbbing, but barely visible wound. Rebecca and I laid rather unfazed in bed. I, for one, was convinced it was nothing more than a small jungle spider.

Megan walked out of the bathroom and began peeling back the blankets on her bed, searching for the guilty insect. "Hmmm. That thing looks like a squished raisin." She pointed at a bug lying still on her sheet and leaned in for a closer look. "Um, actually I think that is a scorpion" Megan stated calmly, as she watched it crawl toward her pillow.

"Impossible." I replied in my most confident, know-it-all voice. "No scorpion could survive in this climate." Right? Aren't scorpions notorious for hanging out in the desert? Has anyone ever seen National Geographic feature a mountain/jungle scorpion? I think not.

While Megan tried to get a better look at the feisty jungle creature, I laid in bed, calm and confident, my years of watching Oregon Public Broadcasting giving me unwavering peace of mind.

"It is a scorpion," Megan said quietly, interrupting the video I was playing in my head of a large orange scorpion scuttling across a sandy desert. Instinctively, Rebecca and I jumped up on the bed. Speechless,we stared in dismay at the little culprit.

I stood there waiting for my mind to kick into emergency situation mode and hastily form a plan of attack. Instead, I felt my lips forming a string of monosyllabic gibberish. "Ooooh. Uuuummmm. Ahhhh." I desperately looked at Rebecca, and then back at the "squashed raisin" as it pranced across Megan's bed, its venomous tail swaying arrogantly.

Megan picked up a very small drinking glass, apparently with valiant intentions of using it to capture the dangerous creature. Her movement interrupted my train of nonsensical babbling and my body snapped into action, with my mind trailing far behind as I tried to figure out what was my body was doing.

I jumped off my bed, ran out the door into the torrential downpour and heard myself shout, "Don't touch the scorpion. Just leave it!" As I sprinted down the slippery, wet stone walkway toward the main lodge, I tried to block visions of Megan's poor body going into shock from the scorpion's deadly sting.

Breathless, I burst through the front door of the lobby and began pounding on the office door. "Hello?!!! Hello?!!!" No answer. I ran up the stairs to the darkened cafeteria. No one was in sight. I ran back outside and began turning in circles, surveying the cabins surrounding the main lodge.

My eyes rested on a large, lit cabin to the left of the main lodge. Perhaps the lodge owners lived in this cabin. I ran up and knocked on the door. A wiry older man answered the door and looked at me expectantly. Skipping all formalities I burst out, "My friend got bit by a scorpion and I don't know what to do. It's still in her bed. Do you know where I could find a security guard?" He stared at me blankly. I immediately recognized the look in his eyes. He didn't have a clue what I was saying. I switched over to Spanish but his blank look persisted. Then he interrupted me with broken Spanish. "El Senor," he said, motioning to the back of the house.

He walked to the base of the stairs and began yelling in French. A young man in his late twenties came running down the stairs, a mop of longish dark hair spilling over his forehead. Wide-eyed, he rushed to the door and with a thick French accent asked, "What is zee problem?".

To be continued in part II of The Valiant French Canadian.

A Tale of Two Flies

Costa Rica, Night #13

An account of the happenings in room 6 of our San Jose hostel from the perspective of Charles, the fly on the wall.

7:30 pm I've lucked out.  After months of trying to make my habitation filthy enough to be fit for a fly, I've finally encountered roommates who will only improve my dwelling space.  Three greasy girls have joined me, complete with dusty luggage and mounds of dirty clothes.  As luck would have it, they haven't showered in days!  I am dreading the day they leave and disgustingly clean travelers replace them.  

8:30 pm  My new roommates got ready for bed.  Fortunately this involved putting on smelly pajamas and did not involve showering.  Unfortunately, their bedtime ritual revealed a weakness I did not anticipate.  They pulled back their sheets and began scouring every inch of their musty beds so they could remove any bugs, hairs or other delightful discoveries.  Of all the nerve.  Their search exposed  four boogers I strategically placed in two of the bunks. Pathetically, they requested clean sheets.  I can't figure these grungy girls out.  They are a bit of a contradiction.

10:30 pm The girls have been trying to sleep for an hour now.  Lamentably, their bedtime conversation has revealed a distaste for all things I find bright and beautiful.  They actually had the audacity to complain about the delightful aroma of cat urine that fills the room!  

11:00 pm Finally.  The girls have fallen asleep.  It took them awhile to doze off because of the sounds of other travelers coming in and out of the front lobby (sound certainly travels well in this hostel!) and using the community bathroom next to their room.  

12:30 am Sweet success.  The girls continue to sleep soundly, giving me time to undo some of the damage they did during their bedtime ritual.  I'm beginning to look forward to their departure.

Costa Rica, Night #13

An account of the happenings in the hostel lobby, 30 yards from room 6, from the perspective of Dickens, another fly on the wall.

7:30 pm A swarm of travelers arrived, trekking in dust from the busy city street and letting in a blast of exhaust from a passing bus.  This night is off to a great start.  The lobby has always been a bit too pristine for my liking.

8:30 pm The hostel owner is out of town fulfilling his responsibilities on a search and rescue team, so his wife and friend are holding down the fort in his absence.  I am taking advantage of his absence by trying to lay eggs in, and therefore improving, the bags of bread the owner will use for breakfast tomorrow.

10:30 pm  Travelers milled about the lobby, acquainting themselves with each other as they discussed their evening plans.  

11:25 pm The lobby cleared out, leaving the owner's friend and wife to get things in order. 

11:30 pm Three young men knocked on the locked door just outside the lobby.  Assuming they were unexpected travelers seeking lodging, the wife unlocked the door.  The travelers shoved past her and began raiding the cash box and grabbing nearby laptops and the tv.  I froze in my corner on the ceiling, trembling with fear as I tried to remain inconspicuous.  My hopes rose however, as I watched as the wife quietly called the police below me.  

11:31 pm The police immediately arrived on the scene, but were completely unprepared for what they found.  Their moment's hesitation was all the thieves needed.  One of the thieves pulled out his gun and shot the officer in the head and chest.  My wings quivered and I grew faint at the sound of the three bullet shots ricocheting throughout the neighborhood.  The echo of the shots was interrupted by the sound of squealing tires as the getaway car sped off, leaving the thieves standing over the wounded officer.  

11:32 pm Shocked and paralyzed with fear, the female officer began screaming frantically.  Amidst the noise, the thieves bolted and ran down the street.  Several more officers arrived on the scene and chased them down, catching everyone but the man in the getaway car.  

12:30 am About twenty cops arrived and shut down the entire street.  The wounded cop is in the hospital recovering.  Things are calmer now and I am counting my blessings.  My wings are in tact, I still have all of my legs, and in the chaos the hostel owners have forgotten to clean up the dirty treks in the entryway. 

Epilogue: A Tale of Two Flies is true.  Without Dickens' account of that night, we would have never known about the shooting, so calm and uneventful was our sleep on December 30th, 2008.  We can't be sure because there are no eyewitnesses, but we think there may have been angel warriors lining the hallway that night, keeping watch over our room.  We're also speculating that the angel barrier was soundproof, because that night the most terrifying sound we heard was the flushing of the toilet.  

"If you make the Most High your dwelling--even the Lord, who is my refuge--then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.  For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone."

Psalm 91:9-12

Back to the City

We just arrived in San Jose after spending a few days in La Fortuna, a sleepy town nestled at the base of Costa Rica´s most active volcano. Perhaps the ¨active volcano¨ part of La Fortuna escapes most tourists, because oddly enough, it´s where everyone wants to go. ¨A smoking, quaking volcano that spews out red hot molten that has historically killed dozens of people? Dude! Let´s go camp out at the base!¨




La Fortuna is in the rain forest, so our hostel´s lush grounds sported giant fuscia and purple flowers, papaya palms, and swarms of tropical bugs. We were very lazy during our stay in La Fortuna, and spent most of our time exploring the tiny town, reading, hiking, and trying to keep the foul odor in our bathroom from wafting into our bedroom. I´m fairly certain there was a dead skunk hidden in our bathroom walls that pooped right before he died.

There´s really not much else to say about La Fortuna. Now we´re going to escape our hostel in San Jose that smells like cat urine, by going to a nearby movie theater. There really is a wide spectrum of foul smells in the hostels across Costa Rica. We are looking forward to returning to the foul smell with which we are familiar: good ol´Los Angeles pollution.



See you fellow Glendorians in just 2 days!

Continuar

Highlights, continued.

5. Jalopies. Who doesn´t drive one down here? And if you´re going to make a statement by driving a dilapidated old car, then why not make sure you drive one that periodically self-combusts?

6. The impish chauffer. This bus driver got a kick out of pretending to drop us off at an old, run-down warehouse, (at night, no less!) claiming is was our hotel. Our subsequent laughter was purely from relief. He made up for his joke though, by giving us a tour of the town and helping us get signed up for a canopy tour the next day. His kind gestures initiated a string of events that allowed us to meet some really neat people we wouldn´t have otherwise met, including Chad and Tara, some fabulous Canadians.

7. The Franco-Israeli New Yorker. Need I say more? I´m sure you can imagine. Words really minimize this lady, so I´ll keep it short. "Maggie" was a hoot. She was energy incarnate and had us laughing throughout our entire 5-hour jungle tour.

8. The strangling fig. This jungle vine grows upside down; it begins growing in the jungle canopy, and grows toward the ground. As it grows, it gradually wraps itself around the jungle trees, and eventually strangles them. I think Tarzan used the strangling fig to whip through the jungle. I got to try out my Tarzan skills on a hanging strangling fig, but I think the only thing that even remotely resembled Tarzan was my war-like cry.



9. Bread. Did I mention we eat it for every meal? At night we lie awake and dream about the mounds of steamed broccoli and squash we will eat when we get home.



10. The Valiant French Canadian. I´m going to devote an entire blog to him when return. For now, just thank God for him.



The putrid mold smell in here is suffocating. I think I´m turning blue from lack of oxygen. Better go! Love and miss you all!

The Inevitable

Well, I've come down with the inevitable traveling bug. I don't think it'll last much longer, but it's kept me in bed all day. It hasn't been bad really; clean mountain air dances through our open window, and I enjoy watching the horses on the nearby hill graze and roll around in the wet grass. The brown horse (Rebecca calls him Edgar) is spunky, vivacious, and a little impish. Edgar is always ready for a romp. Sam, on the other hand, is a stately, white horse, who is a little more aloof. Sometimes, though, when Sam thinks no one is looking, he joins Edgar for a good roll down the hill.


As I've been lying in bed all day, I've thought through some of the highlights of our trip. Here are just a few:

1. Tuna and crackers. We eat them for lunch almost every day. We eat bread and cheese, crackers and cheese, and just plain old bread for all our other meals. This diet has been easy on our pocket books and kind to our stomachs. All of this bread has given us an unwavering confidence in our ability avoid Latin American Diarrhea.
2. Burnt bridges. When the bridges are broken around here, the locals just drive through the river. Who knows why they even build bridges to begin with.
3. Sloths. The laziest animal in the world can be found lounging in almost every jungle down here. We've seen quite a few. They look like large clumps of dirt, or enormous nests high up in the trees. It is hard to discern any signs of life when observing the sloth, as they only leave their high-up perch to defecate.
4. Traveling dentists. For those of you that have inquired, the dentists were on a mission trip with their school. Aside from keeping us in stitches, they saved us from a near-catastrophe involving a perriwinkle duffle and a broken strap. In the nick of time, they produced a life-saving safety pin. I'm thinking of writing a ballad about this band of traveling dentists from Georgia. Sounds poignant, doesn't it? I think I will have to finish this high lights list later. There is a line for the computer.

Feliz Navidad

Dearest Friends,
We are safely in the jungles of Costa Rica, staying in a very clean cabin nestled in the hills. Every night as I climb into bed, I gaze fondly at our recently recovered luggage. I am now equipped with deoderant, tooth paste, a tooth brush, and several changes of clothes! What more could a girl want...:)



We spent a few blissful days at the beach, enjoying white sands, turqoise waters, curious monkeys, tropical flowers, and a group of traveling dentists from Georgia. The dentists were about our age, and were loads of fun. God has been faithful to bring good friends into our midst wherever we go. The only downside of our days at the beach, was the frigid water that our shower insisted on producing. I quickly learned that doing the Hokey Pokey while showering was the only way to endure the icy process.



Now we are in in the north of Costa Rica, celebrating the birth of Jesus, his death, and ultimately, his resurrection. We have whizzed through the jungle canopy on a zip line, toured a coffee plantation, made new friends, tasted comida tipica, and endured fierce late night winds, all the while relishing God's goodness and favor as he continues to pursue intimacy with us, much in the same way he did 2,000 years ago when he came to earth to save us from the mess we created.



Daily we encounter people who haven't yet said yes to Jesus and all that he offers. Please pray that God uses us to nudge them toward friendship with their creator.

Hope all is well! See you soon.
Merry Christmas!
-Sarah

Ode to a Costa Rican Christmas

Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the hostel

Our luggage was missing; the airport said it was lost still.

Our passports were shoved down our pants with great care,

For fear that a bandit soon would be there.

We slept in our shoes, to keep ourselves warm,

Tossing and turning while we waited for morn.

As we lay shivering in our semi-clean beds,

Visions of deoderant danced in our heads.

When suddenly there arose such a clatter,

We pulled back the shades to see what was the matter!

There on the roof, was a Costa Rican man,

Wearing his tool belt, a hammer in hand.

He hammered and whistled, shouted and sang,

While a nearby old car died with a BANG!

We looked at each other and began shaking

From all the laughter our bodies were making.

For in that moment God helped us remember,

We walk in his favor, no matter what our adventure!