It'll Only Get Better

The other day one of my students decided that the cake in heaven will be good.  Really good.  Even better, he declared, than Betty Crocker.  

Preach it brother.  

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!

Day 1 in Costa to the Rica, narrated by an exhausted, bleary-eyed traveler

Once upon a time there were three girls on opposite ends of the west coast that decided it would be a good idea to meet each other in Costa Rica over break. The first two girls, Megan and Sarah, left LA together and had a fairly effortless flight to Mexico City. They were thrilled to find that Mexicana Airlines serves tasty cuisine, most certainly unparalleled by any other airline. They ate, chatted, and laughed as they soared over the coast of Mexico. Unbeknownst to them, their third party, Sarah's sister Rebecca, was stuck in a plane in Denver, that needed to be de-iced.

While the plane thawed Rebecca's connecting flight to Costa Rica left without her. When her plane was finally thawed, she ran to her gate, but it was deserted. She ran up to the front desk and asked the kindest looking lady for help. Hastily, the attendant began looking for any flight (or series of flights!) that would eventually end up in Costa Rica. She typed in Rebecca's name and said, "Well, somebody must be looking out for you. There are 70 people on a waiting list for this flight to Miami but your name just got bumped to the top of the list. It looks like you're getting the only seat available. And you're in first class." Grateful and weary, Rebecca thanked the attendant and exclaimed, "God is good!" The man behind the counter agreed with an emphatic, "All the time!" Then, he searched the entire baggage area in the basement for her apparently lost bag. When he couldn't find it looked again. He never found the bag, but he bought her a smoothie and talked with her about their shared Christianity.

When Sarah and Megan found out Rebecca's flight was delayed, they began praying fervently. They prayed that God would place kind, caring people in Rebecca's path, and that he would direct their plans. They quickly came up with a tentative plan B, canceling their immediate trip to the beach, and hoping to find a place to stay an extra night in San Jose. As they prayed, they boarded their plan to Costa Rica. Their seats weren't next to each other, although they tried to get them moved. The plane was just too packed. The doors closed, and the girls kept praying for Rebecca and their plans. Right before they took off they realized that there was one empty seat on the entire plane. Right next to Megan. It turns out God cares about even the littlest details of traveling, like sitting making sure that two friends get to sit together.

Rebecca made it to Miami, and stayed the night in the airport while she waiting for her early morning flight to Costa Rica. She was cold, so she asked the cleaning man for some plastic bags to wrap up in. While she shivered and tried to sleep, an elderly man brought her a blanket.

When Megan and Sarah arrived in Costa Rica at 1 am, they discovered that both their bags were also lost. For the next 12 hours they called repeatedly to get news of their bags, but the airport was just as clueless as they were. While they waited they easily booked a place to stay in San Jose, and quickly found bus tickets for their postponed beach trip. They prayed that God would place a burden on somebody's heart to work diligently and go out of their way to get their bags to them as soon as possible.

Shortly after Rebecca arrived in Costa Rica, she got a call from a airport baggage claim worker. He called the girls' hostel from his cell phone, determined to help her get her luggage. He committed to help track down all three girls' luggage when he heard their story, although they flew with different airlines. He is still working to track everything down.

This narrator is having trouble forming intelligible sentences, so she's going to hit the sack. More news of God's goodness and grace to come in days 2-14.

Ah, the Spirit of Giving

Yesterday, my students made coupon books for their parents for Christmas. They created their own coupons, gifting their parents with anything from breakfast in bed, to help in the kitchen and a sparkling clean bathroom. There were a few coupons that stood out.

"This coupon is good for a 24-hour mashash [massage]"

Or,

"Turn this coupon in and I will pretend to like your outfits from the mall for 20 days."

And my personal favorite,

"Turn this coupon in and I will do the laundry for four weeks if you pay me $10."

Oh, how I love my job. :)

Help.

This morning, after calling my roommate twice, fiddling and refiddling with the coffee maker (who knew it had so many confusing nooks and crannies?), and saying a little prayer, I brewed my first EVER pot of coffee. It turned out looking something like this:

Needless to say, I could not taste it, nor finish it. And I am still very groggy.