When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. -Kahlil Gibran The Prophet

it started with three months, add thirteen and we find today.

a seven hour layover in dallas,

just enough time to deplete the strands of anticipation

and fill my stomach instead with anxiety and loss.

16 months ago it was all adventure, spanish and fleeting.

today it is the guido, community and invested.

i can see how the transition happened.

i chose it.

and now i am choosing to leave it.

all of it.

full of doubt i falter

feeling the tears of alicia and maria on my cheeks

seeing dustin in his new studio

imagining krysta alone in that space

hugging felicia one last time

i can't say i have ever felt confident in directing this life of mine.

every application, each new city, all travels to foreign lands and cultures -

every endeavor is wrapped in layers of self-doubt and hesitation.

consistently choosing to walk into the unknown, i am always uncertain.

and this time is no different:

is now really the time to be leaving all those mint walls, small hands and portones?

the jury is out.

To savoring. The Beach.

Underneath my burned body and blue towel there is white sand. Well, it's more like white sugar cookie with a thin frosting of the richest black. The tide rolls over making it bleed and run and seemingly drip down the white cookie canvas. I could watch it for hours. Making a black rimmed footprint, I watch the wave easily erase my presence back into a smooth slick untouched surface.

To my left there is a colony of crawling crabs. They are spread out over the sand, shells of different size, shape and color all seemingly dancing by their own will. Coming in and out of their burrows in the earth, it appears they are pushing and shoving each other. Their antennas move so rapidly and with all those eyes bulging - I imagine them shouting orders at one another. They are frantic. Enraged at the others incompetence, they are all trying to dictate and mumbling profanities under their breath.

This angry hermit workshop is occasionally interrupted by the stomping of a clumsy paw - with four legs, a wagging tail and a silly grin on its face - this yellow dog has no idea how much she just pissed off the Hermits. I love watching the dogs run wild on the beach. Playing in the waves, rolling in the sand, attacking the other, chasing sticks...And my favorite, well my favorite is when they sit at the waters edge, staring intently, barking occasionally, waiting for their owner to come back in from their morning surf. I love watching the dogs. I find myself watching them almost as much as I watch the sky. Almost.

The last few days the sky at this beach has been a perfect celeste. Layers of white puffy clouds form dinosaurs and strawberries and I swear I spotted Ab Lincoln. The sky lets me know when I should head down to the water because the sun is going to shine through - with all its sizzle and steam I can't handle it without the courage of the cool salt water. And when a big patch of those light airy clouds roll in, this the sky is telling me it would be a good time for a walk. And when it all turns grey, those clouds heavy and dense with all they are holding, this means take cover for the rain is coming. I mostly watch the sky, and now it is telling me with its passing clouds and spots of sunshine - to savor the beach, before I leave it.

How have I said so much and not spoke of the ocean? I guess as its size indicates, it's kind of an overwhelming subject. What can I say besides, its waters are refreshing, its sound is soothing and it does not obey orders. Let's be honest, we know I have tried to command those powerful waves, and we know I have failed. Over time I have learned submission. Submission and Respect. For the ocean holds no favorites and without a seconds pause of hesitation, it will pull you under.

So today I was walking, right along the line where the dark damp sand meets the warm dry sand. Sometimes I like to follow this line, it zigs and zags and like a crazy person my feet do the same. But not today, today I was just walking. And I came across a little fount, water bubbling up from the earth surrounded by all that dry sand, it had created a little pool for itself. I don't know how it works, I'm just saying how it happened. So because of the gurgling cool water, all that fine and airy sand was cleared and pushed away. Removing all the filler and leaving the gems. These gems looked like a pile of rocks, polished stones, smooth shards and tons of shells. A treasure chest free for the looting. I squatted and sorted and took my pick. Four bright purple and pink swirled shells. The colors are dense and soaked, they remind me of spring flowers and swimsuits. Krysta will love them.

There is so much more I could say, for I have yet to speak of all the people that occupy these stretches of sand and the unique culture that has formed around it. I also have not told of the palm trees and coconuts and wild untamed jungle that meets the white sand. I could also speak of the lizards and monkeys and sloths and toucans and paired macaws that make the beach their home. There is so much that could be documented here in these white pages - but I think if I am truly working in the name of savoring, I must get up from this towel and allow myself to be buried by the sand and the salt. And so I go.

i just looked at my planner. you know, that little red book with those dates and days and empty white space just waiting to be written on. ya, that. well, i just looked at it. and i was confronted with what juustin has been telling me for weeks now: my time here is almost up. i realized, just right now, that i only have one more normal week in the tutoring center. sure, we’ll have christmas talleres and little events with all our separate little groups in the following two weeks… but there is only one more week of: a session in the morning, hour lunch, a session in the afternoon, and art or english class to close the day. only one more week of putting myself on repeat to those small little people: donde esta su cuaderno? tiene tarea? que quiere hacer para su descanso? only one more week of counting dinosaurs, sounding out ma, pa, la, ta and relearning 5th and 6th grade math from old spanish textbooks. and only one more week of hearing my name called repeatedly from every direction, with questions and comments and frustration and most commonly venga aca. this is too much for me to handle. thinking that it could quite possibly be the last time I see many of those little faces. it makes me want to cancel the trip I’ve planned with my brothers, cancel all activities and move myself right into the tutoring center. the benches for a bed, paint t-shirts for a pillow and scrap paper for a blanket. it makes me want to hop on a bus to los guido, brave those dark streets and search for my kids – simply to give them a hug and possibly pat their heads. and really, it makes me want to have my first real breakdown as a result of my impending departure. right here in this coffee shop i want to curl up in a ball and weep for all i will be loosing. what an inappropriate time to finally be hit in the face with this devastating reality. i should have waited. should have waited to open that little red book, at least until i was within the safety of those four windowless walls that make up my room.

so as an alternative to this looming emotional collapse, i will focus on ending out my time here well. i will look back through all that has been. one being all those months spent with those small hands making little crafts from modest supplies. and i will force myself to learn how to say goodbye.

sometimes.

well, sometimes those little green bills can turn a person ugly,

and sometimes emotional breakdowns happen.

sometimes small children steal cell phones,

and sometimes large adults get angry and yell.

sometimes you find flies in your coffee,

and sometimes there are cockroaches in the cupboard.

sometimes pre-adolescent girls fight and bully,

and sometimes their protective young mothers throw strong words and threats into the streets.

sometimes moms want to pull their daughters out of school,

and sometimes you have to be the one to tell them no.

sometimes disagreements happen,

and sometimes they happen with your very own mama tica.

sometimes it is hard to talk about jesus,

and sometimes it results in tears and torn emotions.

sometimes home visits are a part of the job,

and sometimes you discover things you would rather not know.

sometimes it rains buckets for full consecutive days,

and sometimes this results in flooding&landslides&blackouts&no water&missing&lost persons.

sometimes it is hard living in a tiny community filled with intention,

and sometimes hard words are thrown, feelings are bruised and communication is broken.

sometimes working in impoverished communities puts you at risk for certain things,

and sometimes, i must say, sometimes you get lice.

sometimes.

well, sometimes this all happens in the very same week.

and then it is up to you not to get overwhelmed, and to simply say:

well, i suppose sometimes that is just life.

and continue to walk forward.

.PART.II.

I wish the world was flat like the old days

Then i could travel just by folding a map...

Limon.

you southern province on the caribbean coast.

i am finally able to see your face.

those eyes of colorful wooden houses, lashes blinking open windows and front porches.

the history of jamaica written on your forehead, with secrets and tradition folded into every crease.

i now know that the rest of these dry streams, the wrinkles that cover your leathery face, are filled with flying toucans and resting sloths.

and la nariz, well, it has been smelling tourists for years and making the necessary adjustments.

below this, your beard. it grows wild and untamed, green forests that refuse to be shaped or trimmed.

hidden among this lush growth, in an act of pure indulgence, your lips lie puckered - kissing the caribbean sea.

each morning, mouth open you breathe the sunrise over those blue waters.

and covering it all, the braids reaching from scalp to waist, woven with a myriad of languages: jamaican flavored english, french and spanish - forming a dialect all of your own.

Limon.

you are wrinkle-faced dogs, clutch fluid and llave #10. mosaics, feathers and pink floyd t-shirts. you are white haired old men, napping hammocks, silent clearings of fireflies and climbing in trees over the breaking tide.

Limon.

I am so glad to have met you.

...I have an impulse - more of an old urban reflex than an impulse, thank God - to say something mildly caustic about the twenty-four young ladies, just back from big weekends at Cambridge or Hanover or New Haven, who will be waiting for me in Room 307, but I can't finish writing a description of Seymour - even a bad description, even one where my ego, my perpetual lust to share top billing with him, is all over the place - without being conscious of the good, the real. This is too grand to be said (so I'm just the man to say it), but I can't be my brother's brother for nothing, and I know - not always, but I know - there is no single thing I do that is more important than going into that awful Room 307. There isn't one girl in there, including the Terrible Miss Zabel, who is not as much my sister as Boo Boo or Franny. They may shine with the misinformation of the ages, but they shine. This thought manages to stun me: There's no place I'd really rather go right now than into Room 307. Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?

Just go to bed, now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly...

Buddy Glass as written by JD Salinger in the final paragraph of: Seymour an Introduction.

this monday night, preparing to begin another week in los guido, i'm thinking of how the tutoring center is my very own room 307. i too share in that old urban reflex - finding myself entertaining caustic thoughts about those precious children and that beautifully difficult place. but, as is said, i know, i simply know, there is nothing i do more important than entering into that tutoring center everyday. and really, there is no where else i would rather be than occupying that tiny little piece of Holy Ground. this is truth. and it is good to be reminded.

and now, i shall just go to bed. Quickly. Quickly and slowly.

a few weeks ago i went to california. and i want to talk about it. i've been wanting to talk about it. but, you see, i don't really know where to start. not really. i mean, how to sum up nine days so heavy and yet simultaneously so full of sweetness? how to articulate the goodness of all that prying and poking and painful pulling back of the layers? i don't really know how. not really.

i boarded that return flight with my back to california, feeling very aware of the richness of great friends. of these three ladies in particular. But also, also i was taking with me the heaviness. it stuck to the bottom of my shoes and made its way into the pockets of my backpack.

this weightiness.

it is the complicated parts of my personal life and the ugly pieces of my character - dragged out into the sunlight where they cannot be ignored. it is the rubble that only can be reached and unloaded by dear, brave friends.

it is also the seriousness of entering into a loved one's pain. life is messy. can be filled with darkness, loss and entirely absent of easy answers. several times that week i was rendered helpless, unable to provide a neat or tidy or even possible solution to precious friends. i could not fix things. or erase the pain. i couldn't take back the months of her suffering, or remedy the broken and piercing relationship. and with another, i didn't have a solution for what defines "home" and how to decide where to make it. and even another one still, i couldn't heal the damage of a chaotic upbringing, or ease the turmoil of the existential search. i was made powerless in the face of such enormities of this life.

and so all i did, all i could do, was simply sit and be present with these friends. enter into their loss or pain or confusion with them. listening, questioning, sharing tears and being silent. i felt it. i sat in it. and i tried my best not to be afraid to hold it all with them. to take what i could and hold it for them.

and to be honest, all of this felt entirely insufficient. lacking and inadequate. but really, i think at times it is the best we have to offer. this presence. all we have to offer. and i hope, i just hope that it was enough.

"Because I don't live in either my past or my future. I'm interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you'll be a happy man. You'll see that there is life in the desert, stars in the heavens, and that tribesmen fight because they are part of the human race. Life will be a party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we're living right now." Paulo Coelho

Lime green walls and filthy benches, they welcome me each morning as I enter. And new purple tables, these laugh at the missing ceiling panels and leaking roof. The bookshelf, our solitary bookshelf, it sags bravely with the weight of donated books and recycled materials. The beans have sprouted between cracks in the floor, these green stems stand tall, their faces smug and proud. And then there are our tiny tenants, the spiders in corners and cockroaches hidden in crevices, these all scurry quickly from my sight.

And in this place, a sigh is freed. A smile is formed. And challenges are met.

Small children show big teeth between parted lips. Besitos accompany all those entering and exiting. And brown eyes gleam with mischief.

Fabian calls me Tia and is exasperated by my failings in the Spanish language. Reyner takes full advantage of my weakness for his slight lisp and long hugs, knowing I will almost always let him have his way…and the majority of my lunch. Julio uses beans to once again add 4 plus 2 while Ana concentrates for the third week in a row on the sounds ma pa la and ta. Cynthia reads like a girl twice her age and Yurly fills me in on the daily gossip. Alicia helps Rebecca with English and Estefani works diligently at a table all to herself. The brain that is Luis finishes his homework at record speed, and then proceeds to make me roll with laughter as he reenacts his fall into a hole as deep as he is tall. Brayan asks a million questions, while Cristofer lifts his face to the hole in the roof and repeats lovingly, me encanta el sol. And Catalina does math practices while rolling her eyes at Maria, who is usually without books and just generally distracted.

This is the Tutoring Center. And it is in this place that, a sigh is freed. A smile is formed. And challenges are met.

At this time in my life I recognize my future to be completely and entirely uncertain. And it is easy to both idealize and question the decisions of my past. But following Coelho, I will be intentional in consistently taking notice and choosing the present. I will recognize the life that is in the desert, the stars that are in the heavens, the beauty that is in a bean sprout and the light that is in every child that sits between those lime green walls.

A Ojos Cerrados

that empty bed.

when that empty bed appeared on the screen, the abuelitos face blank and drawn, i think an audible oh god escaped my tear filled lips.

from the moment he returned inside, after watching the rain fall onto the blooming heads of his plants, from this moment on - every picture was punctuated by pain. he found his wife sprawled on the floor of their bedroom. he did not react. he simply stared in silence. stoic in his buttoned cardigan and high belted trousers. he moved slowly to sit on the couch. he stared absently down at his boat shoes. surely he was seeing his whole world crumble from behind those square rimmed glasses.

the days to follow were captured by slow scenes, violins and closed eyes. it's as if he could not bear this new reality that existed without her presence, could not bear the suffering, and so he closed his eyes. closed them to the cold woman behind the desk at the crematory. closed them to the lawyer reading her will. closed them to that now empty rocking chair besides his on the front porch. he closed his eyes to the whole of the caribbean ocean, no piece of that giant sea good enough to hold her ashes. closed them to his granddaughter, as she too learned how to cope. and he closed his eyes to that perfectly made, completely empty, bed for two.

and i cried. in that theater i could not contain my tears. and i cry now. for the portrait of this grandfather whose wife was stolen by death. for the loss and emptiness that forever holds hands with Beauty and Life. and for all of those who are left alone in their old age. left to live in loneliness. left to attempt to fend off the growing helplessness all on their own.

you shall enter deeply into human suffering, and from there, speak. Henri Nouwen

Well. It's been quite awhile since I have assaulted this space with a flurry of photos. So, without any ado at all, let the brigade begin...

Way back, long ago, in the month of April, my parents came to visit this place I call home. They stayed nearly two weeks and together we experienced the range of beauties Costa Rica has to offer: the hectic city where I live, the life-filled rainforests and we ended the trip at the restful beach. Having them here - seeing, experiencing, breathing in my life made this existence I have chosen seem more real. My dad made friends with everyone he encountered, no language barrier could hold back his charm. And my mom supplied Krysta and I with the most accurate description of our work and lives here to date, saying: It is not sexy, but it is good. And I, well I was just ecstatic to have them here.

After our two weeks in paradise I flew back with the parents for a California visit. Once again it proved to be such a refreshing time of friends and familiar faces. The culmination of which was surely the beautiful celebration of two lovely friends coming together: The wedding of Garrett & Acacia.

I then returned home to Costa Rica, only to repack my bags and board another plane a mere two weeks later. This time the destination was Austin, Texas. There I visited a dear friend who at L'abri became a part of my very person. Her name is Kari and our days together were filled with stimulating conversation, lots of laughter, new people, good music, some doses of whimsy and lots of driving.

Driving to Mississippi that is. A one nights stay along the way in New Orleans where we danced, selected our first round drafts, frolicked in a park in the wee morning hours and ended up at Flo's. After approximately 14 hours on the road we reached Oxford Mississippi and entered into a magical land. The magical land that consists of hours of substantial conversation, with a background of guitars and voices singing, lots of coffee and pictures, and meals that are cooked and enjoyed merrily together. For four days thirteen of us nested in a cabin in the woods of Mississippi. Brought together for the purpose of joyfully attending the union of two precious friends: Aaron and Marcie. It was such a sweet occasion that I will cherish for years to come.

And now I am back in Costa Rica. Upon my arrival to the San Jose Airport, greeted by the smiling faces of Krysta and Dustin, all hesitation and, might I say dread, of returning to this tropical country dissipated. I was reminded once again that it is relationships that form and sustain my life, and in this time, those relationships, that community, is found here in Costa Rica.

And so for the past week and a bit I have once again been settling back into this place. Living with Felicia, working at the tutoring center, language tutorials twice a week, and lots of fun outings interspersed between... my life feels full. Here are a few highlights from the past two weeks:

The Tutoring Center has started a Girls Group that meets every other Friday. It's pretty great and I love being a part of such an intimate time with the girls. Two Fridays ago we took the girls to the National Park in San Jose. This was a big deal. To get out of Los Guido for a day, to experience the city, to play in the park, these were all big deals. If you want to know why, or more details, just ask. Or look at Krysta's blog as she, in general, is much better at articulating the significance of such things. But for the purpose of this post - here's a photo.

We took a weekend trip to Valle de Orosi. Where we picnicked, swam in the freezing river, continued to swim in said river as the black clouds opened up and water fell from the sky, relaxed in a natural hot spring and stopped for a lunch with a gorgeous view.

And last night we went to see another French film. With Spanish subtitles of course. Ironically I think I have seen more French films whilst living in this country than ever before. On the drive downtown we dropped Josh off into Peace Corps land. Along the way he played with my camera, here is what happens when one Josh Hardester is entrusted with a digital picture taking device.

And now it seems we are up to date.