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.

On Friday Krysta and I went to coffee in San Jose. Well, we did a lot of other things too, but it is the coffee date that still has my attention.

I think it was one of those significant moments. You know, the kind that you want to hold onto. A marking point. One that will be referenced in the future to remind us of the way in which we want to move through this life.

So, you see, here's how it happened. We walked into this small nook of a cafe, covered in local art and neon colors. We ordered our coffees from the man with the big smile and kind eyes. We took our seats across from each other in the hot green chairs. We leaned our elbows on the tiny white table with the tiny bright flowers. We looked at each other. Released a collective sigh. And fell in.

Into an honest and vulnerable space. Sharing thoughts from the past couple of months, we finally gave voice to the discontentment that has crawled in and settled between our bones. Such an unwelcome presence, Mr. Discontentment. But present he is, sitting comfortably he has been influencing much that we feel and do. Once we firmly established the existence of such an unwelcome intruder, we began searching for its cause. Who was to blame for allowing such a sentiment to enter into our lives? We decided it was only the most obvious culprit of course...This very country. Yes, we blamed Costa Rica. And with our whole selves did we give into this rant. This country's overwhelming inconvenience, annoying inaccessibility and consistently unpredictable nature. It limits our mobility, cramps our verbal expression and steals our personal style. Damn this country.

...

And then. We got realistic.

Obviously it is not this beloved country that has opened the door and provided seating for Mr. Discontentment. No. For it is not simply location alone that determines the quality of our lives. So then, Why? Why do we feel this way? What specifically is missing?

And here is where things get significant.

Through tangles and webs of conversation there are three words that have stuck with me. Clinging, they saturate my mind with their magnitude.

Inspiration. Magic. Whimsical.

It seems my life has been stripped completely bare of such things. I am uninspired. Blind to the magic that is everywhere. And refuse to be caught up in anything stinking of whimsy. Once a large part of my daily life (think: the magical fairyland that is L'abri) it is their absence that has left a gaping hole in my existence. A hole that Discontentment has gladly filled with his weighty presence.

And so then what? Well, sharing in my love of lists Krysta and I proceeded to produce a verbal inventory of possible ways to increase the magic in our lives. Sitting at that tiny table, with the lush green outdoors visible through our window and the familiar sound of traffic making up the background, our eyes began to shine with each new idea. We spoke of the importance of perspective, the willingness to see the ordinary as extraordinary. Of moving slowly, taking the time to see the charm in all that surrounds you. Of creating opportunities. We spoke of spontaneity. Of being brave. Of getting out of the city. We spoke of creativity and its outlets. Of allowing ourselves to be caught up in the moment. Of recognizing the splendor in the broken. We spoke of God, and I said He is everywhere, my throat closing with such a bold recognition.

You see, I want to live a life of intention. Surrounding myself with people, literature, music and other expressions bound to inspire. Recognizing and naming the divine magic that is everywhere. And not being afraid to be more than a little bit whimsy.

Some recent bits that seem to face the right direction:

A 1am walk to the park. Where we swung on swings, slid down slides and monkeyed across monkey bars.

Attending San Jose's first organic farmer's market. Where the strawberries were sweet and the attendees were hippies.

Pausing to appreciate the view: a colorful city, mountains framed by clouds and water rushing between two dirt banks.

A day trip to Valle de Orosi, where we romped through coffee fields and had a picnic by the clear cold river.

And then today, today Krysta and I walked barefoot through the street while the sky poured buckets of water upon our heads.

I swear to you, life is magical. If only we can have the sense to see it.

The character has to jump into the story, into the discomfort and the fear, otherwise the story will never happen.

This is one of the many quotes underlined, circled, highlighted and scribbled down onto the wrinkled pages of my journal. Taken from a book my brother deemed “unimpressive”…in fact, I actually think he went as far as to declare the content “blah.” Yes, yes that’s what he said, “blah.” Well, my feet are planted and I steadily disagree.

But I don’t want to talk about the book. I mean, besides the one sentence copied above.

Anyway. So a couple months ago, after an especially inspiring listen to Emiliana Torrini’s song Big Jumps, I decided to hijack it as my anthem for 2010. My friend Jen creates a motto at the beginning of every new year, a theme to mark the segmented 365 days. I’m simply following suit. Thanks Jen. I even scrawled the words in large letters on a page of my planner, ripped out said page and slapped it onto my wall o' bits. To make the statement even more official, I told some boy about it. As if it was some huge epiphany or something, as if I stumbled upon some bit of inspiration to start walking towards. He asked me what this looks like, I mean, what sort of big jumps exactly? Well, it does just sound so awfully exciting doesn’t it?

I didn’t respond.

Anyway. So I spent last week in Guatemala. It was incredible. But I don’t want to talk about Guatemala either. I mean, besides this one little boy. Well two actually, but mostly just the one. So Cailah and I took a boat out on Lake Atitlan to this little community called Santa Catarina. After wandering around a bit we followed a woman up some stairs to an outdoor café overlooking the lake. We watched women and children doing their laundry in the lake and talked about taking pictures. You know, that fine line that exists between attempting to capture moments versus living through your lens rather than your senses. And then there’s the other one, the idea of making people into caricatures by photographing them in order to tell your story, your experience, your adventure. Cailah didn’t take any pictures.

I did.

Anyway. So out in the lake there were these two young boys. Swimming and splashing and throwing rocks. After a few minutes they discovered the joy of climbing up onto an abandoned boat. Making their way to the edge, they stepped up and wrapped their arches around the curved lip of the boat. Laughing they began swinging their arms for momentum, counting down, preparing for the big moment. When the time came, only one boy felt his feet leave the white fiberglass and be swallowed by the cool water. The other boy, my dear Guatemalan counterpart, he remained clinging to the roof of the boat. His friend paddled around the other side and climbed back aboard, they tried a second time. Once again, only one body felt the freedom of pushing off into the air. This process repeated itself. Many times. I watched intently as the desire of this young boy struggled, fought and was defeated continually by the nemesis fear. He swung his arms, he bent his knees…and he watched his friend’s splash from the side of the boat. Cailah and I were enthralled. We were rooting for him, we were whispering the words jump jump jump to ourselves. I wanted to tell him he could do it, that it wasn’t that high, that the longer he waited the harder the task would seem. After what seemed like hours of this agony, when it was least expected, when I had almost given up hope…he jumped. His friend squealed. I clapped. The boy’s face broke through the water, he was smiling.

And so he jumped in. That day will now be remembered as the day he crawled up onto that boat and did cannonballs off its tarnished side. It’s a memory created. It’s a story. It’s a good story. Standing on the side of an old boat crippled by fear, that’s not a good story. That’s not an event to be remembered. That’s just kind of sad.

What am I saying? I’m saying I want to actually really listen to Emiliana. I want to imitate this young boy. I want the story to happen. Living here in Costa Rica for this period of my life offers so many unique possibilities, not the least of which is to learn a second language. Spending months in a Spanish speaking country, my lips bound shut by fear: fear of making mistakes, of embarrassment, fear of failure. That’s not a good story. That’s not even an event to be remembered. That’s just kind of sad.

And so here’s to trying harder. To giving myself wholly to this challenge. To taking risks. To not walking away.

To jumping in.

I think I should write about the month of February. You know, to say how it has absolutely flown by. How it was eaten alive by a flurry of activity and adjustments. These carnivores that ate my days, all fun and friendly: documentaries shown on rooftops, weekend trips to the sand & sea, mornings conjugating spanish verbs, afternoons of art & tutoring, adventures with new friends and costa rican karaoke. But right now, listening to Tom Petty and tapping my feet, all I really want to do is talk about Felicia.

Felicia, who has taken me in as her own daughter, feeding me mountains of food and consistently worrying over my safety. This woman who is always on the brink of laughter and so full of sass. Felicia who forces me to speak Spanish, repeating the word digame over and over again until I eventually do figure out a way to tell her what I am thinking. Felicia who corrects my mistakes and lectures me for speaking in English.

This woman who insists on doing my laundry and refuses to allow me to leave the house in a wrinkled shirt - to the point of removing the guilty article of clothing from my body and leaving me to eat breakfast in my bra while she irons. All the while shaking her head at my crumpled appearance.

We watch novelas together. She repeats que guapo each time a certain male character enters the screen, and then immediately looks to me for confirmation of the level of this mans attractiveness. At which point I willingly oblige, giggle and repeat, si, muy guapo.

I am learning so much from this Felicia. In the way she has approached our relationship she is unknowningly teaching me the depths of true hospitality. In witnessing her relationship with her neighbors Felicia is showing me what it looks like to live in community: it looks like coming over for coffee, going grocery shopping for one another, rotating caring for the 2 year old child while her mother is in the hospital, watching, and when necessary disciplining, the neighborhood boys who are daily playing out in the street, bringing an unknown elderly woman into your home while she waits for her grandson to come pick her up. The doors of this neighborhood are quite literally always open. Forming a living breathing community, an organism that is full of bright colors, children shrieking and the beauty of giving and receiving.

And on Friday, on Friday Felicia taught me something powerful about love and sacrifice. Recounting the four years that her and a young Steven moved in with their old neighbors. An elderly couple who needed to be cared for. Felicia explained she thought it would simply be easier to live with them, only in that way would she be able to offer them the full time care they so desperately needed. And so for four years her life was spent living with and caring for this couple, doting on them as if they were her own two small children. And over time, she watched them both pass. She described this experience as having a large impact on her, a time of great beauty and great pain. I tried to tell her of my admiration for an act of such bold kindness, to which she quickly responded that this is just what you do. Without hesitation, this is simply what you do for your neighbor. You share in life and when it is coming to an end, you share in death.

Felicia. From living with this woman I am learning so much.

on being present...

i like our saturday morning tradition of waking up and walking to the feria (farmers market).

i like the heat and the crowds that press down upon you as your feet weave through each isle.

i like the distinct & pungent smells that come like waves as you walk: the acidic & citrus of fresh fruit, the earthy & crude of just plucked herbs, the sweetness of fried churros and the perfume of newly cut flowers.

i like that we are consistent in the stands we frequent, choosing not by price but by fondness of seller. avocados from the dark haired man with glasses and boysenberry stained fingers, whose young fohawked son assists with ease and professionalism. strawberries from the young girl who always offers a laugh, a free sample of jam and a taste of the days berries. and then there is the lettuce, lettuce from the teenage boy with the sweet smile and lively younger brother. the younger brother whose yells and persuasion can compete with the best sellers.

and of course, i like that after wandering around for 45 minutes being called at from every direction, i leave completely convinced that all those vendors were telling the truth: that yes, in fact, i am a queen.

Much has happened these past two months. So many things that I would like to share on this little space of the interweb. But as I failed to document these events as they occurred, I am hesitant to reach back in time and attempt to truly drag them into the present. Meaning would be lost. So instead of capturing depth I will simply cast a shallow net over the past couple of months and catch the highlights:

Leaves&Lizards

Krysta and I had the incredible opportunity to take a few girls and one mom from the Tutoring Center on a trip into the countryside - to a lodge called Leaves and Lizards. This was a trip of firsts: for many the first time away from home overnight, the first time being out of the city, the first time to ride a horse, to see pigs and goats, the first time venturing into the rainforest, the first time using a blowdryer and the first time to eat Mcdonalds (this was VERY exciting). The trip was a huge leap for the girls, the Tutoring Center and for krysta and I – one that deserves much more time than this cursory synopsis. Krysta gives the experience its rightful attention on her blog: http://krystaleanne.blogspot.com/

The Brothers

My brothers came to visit! They had been planning for months behind my back, I was completely unaware of the surprise that was to come, the whole family was sneaky and secretive. And then, only days before they were scheduled to arrive, the tragic slip came in the form of one Nate Huber. It’s not really his fault he spoiled the surprise – no one ever tells him anything, he’s usually sent into the other room. SO... the boys came and it was truly an incredible time. I loved having them here and tried my best to manipulate them into staying longer. It failed. But it was simply great while it lasted.

A Costa Rican Christmas

Right before I left Costa Rica for the holidays, we had a day of Christmas. We got a tree, decorated the house, Josh made cookies, Dustin and Cailah hung lights and we strung popcorn. It was really a lot of fun. There's nothing like a tropical Christmas.

England

After being back in California for a mere 24 hours I hectically headed off to England. There was a L’abri reunion of sorts and the wedding of the year. Marta looked like a beautiful Hungarian princess and I was so grateful to be there. Over the course of approximately 3 weeks I got to spend time with some of my favorite people. To eat good food, drink good drinks, share good conversation and laugh a good amount – all the while wearing colorful paper crowns.

Scotland

My time in England was broken up midway through by a brief stint in Scotland. The 10 hour megabus ride treated Kari and I well, and once there the country treated us even better. Thanks to the Kellocks we were spoiled rotten and spent the week up North in a lodge all to ourselves. Complete with back patio, spa, pool, steam room and sauna. We spent the hours talking about every subject imaginable, we literally talked with minimal interruptions for full days. Words cannot express the goodness of this time.

California

And then, on December 21^st, I flew back to California. Where I have been rested and rejuvenated for the past month. I have no pictures, but I tell you it was a time of pure refreshment. Full of family and friends. These people that I love, in Fresno and Santa Barbara and Long Beach and San Jose, and others scattered throughout the state, these people breathed new life into me this past month. And as is always the case when I take stock of the relationships that fill my life – I once again am overwhelmed with gratitude. For I am convinced, it is the people whose lives have become tangled with mine that make my life good.

And so now, here we are, January 19, 2010 back in Costa Rica. I have been here a mere 24 hours and already I have: scooped up the multiple dead cockroaches lying around our house, taken an ice cold shower, found ants nestling in the bristles of my toothbrush, sat on the perch with Dustin and lingered over a 3 hour dinner with Krysta and Josh. It feels good to be home.