Happy Birthday?

What a (long) weekend!  The last four days seriously went by in a blink, and this trip home had to be one of the best birthday presents I have ever received.  To my friends in Lincoln who are wondering why they didn’t see me: I’m sorry.  I always try and see at least some of you guys whenever I’m stateside, but this time it was just too fast and I had a lot of acquainting to do.  I’ll be back in April - let’s party.  To my family: thank you so much for an awesome time and for my new little sister.

We've gone from a basketball team of boys to a mixed volleyball team.
Or a full game (two teams) of polo.

I wish I were able to spend more time with Kristina during her first few months, but sitting on my plane back to Houston and then to San José I have no doubt whatsoever that the trip to meet her for the first time was worth it.  Seeing her smile just once would have been enough, and while communication was certainly a difficult hurdle I have full confidence that she will be doing fine in a matter of months.  Her comprehension and phonetics are very good, and as soon as she gets the confidence to start producing she will really take off.  I’m so proud of what she has already done, and I can’t wait to get to know here more fully once those barriers begin to crumble.

Birthdays, as I rediscovered this weekend, are one of those few holidays we have left which truly brings people together to celebrate something pure and good.  It’s not about the person having the birthday (unless you choose to make it so).  It’s about the collective effort of everyone involved in making that life what it has been, is, and is becoming.  I had the extremely rare opportunity to see all four of my grandparents, an aunt and uncle, a cousin and cousin-in-law with their beautiful baby, and a new family member in a four day span, not to mention the rest of my friends and immediate family.  During my birthday celebration itself, something remarkable happened.  Kristina, my twelve year old sister of about a day and a half, sang “Happy Birthday” to me.  It was amazing because everything they had heard about and from her indicated she couldn’t or wouldn’t sing, yet somehow standing around an ice cream cake with the people who loved her enough to bring her into their family and meet a strange, bearded 23-year-old English teacher who called himself her brother was enough to spark that spontaneous outpouring of solidarity and celebration.  I feel truly blessed to have experienced such a thing for my twenty-third time, and to have shared that most recent occurrence with such an amazing little girl.

Unfortunately, my trip was no bed of roses.  On Sunday, my birthday, I received a couple of unwanted presents.  The first was a welt in the shape of a baseball I received from Sam while I was pitching to him for batting practice.  I got my head and shoulders behind the L-screen just fine, but that line drive came fast enough to find my ribcage before it made it to safety.  In his words, he “really laid on that one” (coming from a high school junior who hit over .400 with a nice collection of home run balls last season).

Sometimes, life slaps you upside the head.
With a baseball.

The other present was the reason I had gone down to hit, pitch, and be hit in the first place.  I found out that I’d been placed on the waitlist for the University of Minnesota Law School.  When I was denied entry to the University of Chicago, it was just the hope-crushing fulfillment of a realistic expectation.  This letter was somehow different.  Judging by last year’s incoming class, I should have been near the top quartile in both GPA and LSAT scores.  My resume is pretty good, and I’ve been doing a bit of volunteering recently as you may have heard.  Somehow a set of those factors didn’t add up in my favor or I blew it with a poor personal statement, and to be honest what truly frustrates me is the assurance that I’ll never know which it was.  Don’t get me wrong: the rejection stings much worse than that baseball.  Minnesota isn’t just a great law school; I had also applied to a dual program in Bioethics that I was really excited about.  Additionally, I have friends, family, and a significant other all living in the Twin Cities area.  Studying there would have been an honor and a privilege, but the knowledge that it will never occur is still not as frustrating as the question: why?

As hurtful as that letter was (and is), at least I wasn’t one of the baseballs who felt my frustration’s conversion into kinetic energy.  I don’t often let myself really get angry, mostly because I hate the effects when I do, but a batting cage is one of those few safe havens where a person can unreservedly and unashamedly let pain manifest itself in a tangible way.  Samuel was very careful to stay behind the L-screen.  Channeling exasperation in a positive way is very cathartic, and a batting cage has one big advantage over my usual medium: it doesn’t leave you with a song to sing to remember the thing that made you angry in the first place.

It's times like these when I think God must be a woman.

As a good friend once told me, the past can hurt, but it always presents us with two options.  We can run from it (deny it or, in my case, explain it away), or learn from it.  The fact that I don’t know why I didn’t get in would be frustrating either way, but I’m going to do my best to learn whatever I can from the experience.  Maybe I’m not supposed to be in Minnesota (or maybe just not yet).  Maybe God has a different plan for my life.  Maybe he doesn’t, and I need to honestly reevaluate myself to improve upon what I’ve done with it so far.  Even if I do, I have security in the knowledge that the God who created life, the parents who gave it to me, the siblings who make it worth living, and the friends and other family members with whom I share it will continue to love and support me no matter who accepts or denies my applications or aspirations in the future or in the past, and if I’m honest with myself I think that’s all I really need.

In the end, this trip was one of those times that reminds you what life is really all about.  Joy and pain are just the black and white sketch by which we remember our past;  relationships are the colors that make it memorable.  If you are one of the people I just mentioned, thank you.  If not, I don’t know how you found this blog.  Either way, thanks for coming along with me on this crazy adventure we like to call life.  If you feel the same way about the people in your own adventure, do me a favor.  Tell them.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from traveling alone, it’s that the people (not the places or the sights or the sounds or the work) are what make life worth living.

Bloody Mary Mix

Well, I made it to Houston in more than enough time.  Unfortunately for my readership (you), that means I have time for another post.  Feel free to take a break and come back later.

On the bus to the airport this afternoon, my mouth started to salivate.  I noticed this like you might notice a fly landing on the seat to your left; I was aware that it happened but couldn't have cared less why.  Then I actually started to think about it, and realized my mind had wandered to the title of this post as I had been thinking about the airport.  A free can of Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix is the highlight of every flight I take, and I have no real explanation as to why.  It's not just a simple courtesy to me; it's an indulgence that my brain has been rewired to expect as a result of going through the ridiculous circus we like to call security.

Fast forward to the flight itself: I'm on the plane and the drink cart finally comes by.  I'm squirming like a five year old waiting for an ice cream truck and I blurt out that I want my spicy tomato candy before the attendant gets the chance to ask.  I stretch it out for about half an hour, trying to make the most out of my blissful aluminum can, and go back to trying to finish Psalm 119 (not as easy as it sounds).  Somewhere around verse 80, I realized two things.  First, I am not even close to done with this Psalm, and second, my stomach is starting to hurt.  Badly.  "Did I eat something funny?" I ask myself.  "What was on that chicken sandwich anyway?"  Then it hits me.  It was Mr. T himself.

We have this weird tendency to find these dichotomies of preference (some of us may even seek them out).  Why is my palate's love for bloody mary mix only equaled by my stomach's hatred for the same?  More importantly, knowing this inter-corporal ambivalence occurs every time I drink the stuff, why do I always ask for it?  And why on earth do I look forward to the sensation?

Sometimes, these dichotomies seem to seek us out themselves.  Such was the case for me watching President Obama's State of the Union Address.  Given his previous actions, I went into the experience with less than an open mind, but gradually, bit by bit, I was shocked to actually like a lot of the things he said.  A few examples:

"At a time when too many of our institutions have let us down, (our service men and women) exceed all expectations. They’re not consumed with personal ambition. They don’t obsess over their differences. They focus on the mission at hand. They work together.  Imagine what we could accomplish if we followed their example."

"I believe as strongly as ever that we should take on illegal immigration. That’s why my administration has put more boots on the border than ever before. That’s why there are fewer illegal crossings than when I took office...The opponents of action are out of excuses. We should be working on comprehensive immigration reform right now."

"The executive branch also needs to change. Too often, it’s inefficient, outdated, and remote.

That’s why I’ve asked this Congress to grant me the authority to consolidate the federal bureaucracy so that our government is leaner, quicker, and more responsive to the needs of the American people."

In fact, he said a lot of things that could have come straight from the mouths of the people trying to replace him:

"...if you’re an American manufacturer, you should get a bigger tax cut. If you’re a high-tech manufacturer, we should double the tax deduction you get for making your products here. And if you want to relocate in a community that was hit hard when a factory left town, you should get help financing a new plant, equipment, or training for new workers." - Rick Santorum?

"Let’s never forget: Millions of Americans who work hard and play by the rules every day deserve a government and a financial system that do the same...no bailouts, no handouts, and no copouts." - Ron Paul?

"America is determined to prevent Iran from getting a nuclear weapon, and I will take no options off the table to achieve that goal." - Newt Gingrich?

"We don’t begrudge financial success in this country. We admire it." - Mitt Romney?

Heck, he even took one from an ex-candidate's playbook:

"A small fee on the largest financial institutions will ensure that it won’t add to the deficit and will give those banks that were rescued by taxpayers a chance to repay a deficit of trust." - John Huntsman?

The fact of the matter is, even if you strongly disapprove of the way President Obama has gone about his business, you had to hear something in that speech that resonated with you (unless you weren't listening).  He didn't bring a political sniper rifle, poking holes from on high in what is an admittedly weak opposing field of candidates.  He brought an idealogical shotgun and sprayed concepts and buzz words ranging very nearly from Karl Marx to Glenn Beck.  If I had heard that speech without any previous experience, I wouldn't have a clue what to think about the man as a politician.

And therein lies the problem.  Throughout the speech, despite the savory moments where he almost seemed to concede an argument in my political favor, I kept feeling like I was drinking a can of bloody mary mix.

"On the day I took office, our auto industry was on the verge of collapse. Some even said we should let it die. With a million jobs at stake, I refused to let that happen. In exchange for help, we demanded responsibility. We got workers and automakers to settle their differences. We got the industry to retool and restructure. Today, General Motors is back on top as the world’s number-one automaker."

USA!  USA!  USA!  Yeah, man.  We build some awesome cars.

"Chrysler has grown faster in the U.S. than any major car company. Ford is investing billions in U.S. plants and factories. And together, the entire industry added nearly 160,000 jobs."

JOBS, JOBS, JOBSJOBSJOBS, JOBS, JOBS, JOBSJOBSJOBS, JOBS, JOBS, JOBSJOBSJOBS JOBS, EVERYBODY!

"We bet on American workers. We bet on American ingenuity. And tonight, the American auto industry is back."

WOOO GAMBLI...wait a second.  "We bet on American workers?"  Who's "we?"  I didn't...wait, yes I did.  You took my tax money and bet it on a company in the name of saving jobs.  That's like a church official taking the offering money to a casino so he can donate his winnings to the church (and save casino jobs).  Don't get me wrong, I'm really thankful for the jobs the auto industry has brought and continues to bring to my country, but I'm of the opinion that companies can make their own financial decisions.  Look at Ford, for examp...

Wait a second.  "Ford is investing billions in U.S. plants and factories."  That's great, but you didn't have anything to do with that.  In fact, you're taking credit for something you tried to thwart by giving their biggest competitor (GM) a bailout. 

"Today, General Motors is back on top as the world’s number-one automaker."

Check that.  You bailed out an irresponsible company and enabled it to make an artificially fast comeback, allowing them to surpass the competitor who responsibly reorganized their company and is doing very well on their own, and then took credit for their (Ford's) success as a result of your bet?  Are you kidding me?  That's approaching a Gingrich-esque level of fidelity to your supposed earlier principle:

"Millions of Americans who work hard and play by the rules every day deserve a government and a financial system that do the same. It’s time to apply the same rules from top to bottom: no bailouts, no handouts, and no copouts. An America built to last insists on responsibility from everybody."

You see, even when I like your rhetoric, I can't get behind your methods of implementation due to a simple belief in a variety of principles, including the one that tells me to follow the others (namely, my conscience).

There are at least three more examples I wanted to write about, but I have to stop for two reasons.  First, my battery's about to die.  Second, my bloody mary mix is here.

Life is short, but sweet for certain

My "second semester" here in the land of Pura Vida is experiencing an unexpected break this weekend.  As I write this post, I sit in SJO waiting for my flight.  When I checked in, the attendant informed me that my flight was delayed and wouldn't arrive until about half an hour before the plane in Houston was set to take off.  She put me on an earlier (delayed) flight, which I will board about 45 minutes after I was supposed to depart.

Should I be freaking out?  Probably.  Am I?  No, and it isn't the first time I've experienced this today.  This afternoon, I set out for the airport having almost no idea where to catch the bus.  I've been there twice before, but both times I had been in a cab and couldn't remember where we went.  Today I went by bus, confident that my feet and some friendly strangers would get me there safely and on time (which, as you're starting to notice, may be more or less a relative term around here).

I'm calling this phenomenon "Pura Vida" syndrome, and while I've always been a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy this condition has augmented itself in me over the last few months.  It happens organically when everything's half an hour late and phone calls aren't returned for a day or two.  Is it problematic?  Of course, if you're focused on the future.

You see, it isn't that Costa Ricans are by nature tardy or lazy or anything else - corporately, they choose to focus on the present.  Anything that hasn't already happened is eligible to be moved to mañana, and whatever is happening now is more important than those plans along with whatever happened yesterday.

This contrast or conflict has never been starker than over the last few weeks.  I tell my neighbors my girlfriend of one year is coming, and only a few believe me because the idea of maintaining a remote yet romantic relationship seems impossible.  I show them our rapid-fire itinerary and they look at me like I'm insane.  I talk about the five year process which has finally come to fruition in my newly adopted sister, Kristina, and people shake their heads in disbelief.  How could we maintain ourselves for so long based on hope or expectation?

But here comes the tough part: I don't actually espouse "our way" as better.  In fact, I've learned a ton from a worldview like nothing I'd ever seen before, and it's profoundly changed my own.  Sure, a society oriented around enjoying the present may never solve world hunger or invent an iPod or build an atomic bomb, but maybe that's not a bad thing.  Aristotle defines the goal of human existence as something like "flourishing" - doing whatever it is you do well.  I would argue that the Bible defines it as "loving."  I think my own perspective involves both definitions, but also both worldviews.  To be human to the fullest is to plan, but it is also to enjoy.  It is to love, and to do so to the the best of our imperfect ability.  This involves working, playing, cooking, eating, praying, meditating, sleeping, and laughing in the fullest sense of every word, and doing so is certainly an impossibility.  How can we unreservedly enjoy a present on which our future vitality depends?  How can we find fulfillment in a future we know will ultimately be taken away by our own mortality?

Where does this leave us?  I'm not really sure, but I think that very confusion is a more accurate perception of what life is all about than the one I had when I started this post.  Here's what I do know: I'm excited about my future and thankful for my past, but so far as it is possible I am going to try and focus on the present.  Right now, that means making sure I get on this plane so I can meet my new little sister (right after the first class passengers).  See you stateside.

Todo Cambia

Sums it up nicely.

There's this stubborn stereotype that Lutherans just don't (or can't, or won't) change.  We like our coffee and our hymnals and our organs.  That isn't necessarily a bad thing: all three of those things are important common ground on which a whole lot of valuable relationships are founded.  That said, I'm not convinced it's true.  Not in the slightest.

I remember telling some of my "higher" music friends at Valpo about learning to use a microphone and play my guitar in front of my home church and the perplexed look I would sometime receive in return.  It was almost as if to say, "...but you care about Bach and music theory and vocal pedagogy - you can't possibly come from a contemporary church."

I was inspired this morning by my breakfast (yes, you read that correctly).  It consisted of three components; eggs, gallo pinto (that link won't work today - a whole separate issue - feel free to sign the petition), and coffee.  First, I lit the stove and put on a tea kettle to make my coffee.  I love listening to tea kettles - first the gassy simmer, then the bubbling, then the screaming whistle.  It's almost exactly like telling a little child a secret; it starts as a whisper, threatens to boil out of them, and finally bursts out loud enough for the whole world to hear.  Next, I heated up my refrigerated gallo pinto.  As you can imagine, it sort of clumps together in a big block in the refrigerator.  I put it in the microwave on 80% for 4 minutes (write that down if you ever plan on living in Costa Rica) and lit another burner for the eggs.  I cracked them onto the pan, watching them slowly change from a clear and yellow liquid to a white and yellow solid.

As I ladled the coffee grounds into the filter, I began to think about what was really happening in my now cacophonous kitchenette.  The solid I had put in the microwave was becoming more like a liquid.  The liquids I had emptied into the pan were becoming solid, at different rates.  One was changing in color, the other was not.  Perhaps most amazing, the liquid I had poured into the kettle was becoming a gas to signal me that the remaining liquid could be combined with a solid to form a deliciously energizing liquid.  I was providing them all the same basic energy (heat), but each substance was drastically changing its physical makeup based on its chemical blueprint.  Some were capable of returning to their former state (or very close to it).  Some were dramatically and irreversibly changed forever.

You see, change isn't a variable.  It's a constant.  It happens whenever a stimulus acts on an element, a substance, or even a human being.  What defines us is not whether we change, but how.

I think this is one of the things Costa Rican (or Nicaraguan) Lutherans may understand better than their North American counterparts.  I'm not saying they've got it all together or even that they're better off on the whole; any of you who've spoken with me about this subject know I have my reservations, but I remember vividly one of the first hymns or songs I learned here.  It simply translates, "Everything Changes."  Click here for a full translation.

I've been wrestling with this idea myself, especially since coming back on December 30th from an incredible few weeks in my home country.  I have to have changed.  It would be impossible not to, and I think trying to understand those changes is vastly superior to denying their existence.  I feel very much like the poet who penned this song: my loves have never wavered, but the fabric of my being (or at least its expression) must have.  The last few weeks have been a bit dramatic; a fallen soldier, a suicide among my high school graduating class, a (distant) young relative being diagnosed with lymphoma, a week of new friends and rewarding work, and the vacation of a lifetime.  It feels less like I'm on a roller coaster and more like I've gone through a washer/dryer combo.  I'm trying to understand the inevitable changes through my own pen, and I'm sorry for those of you getting caught in the crossfire.  It is my prayer that a disjointed rambling like this post will give you clarity or confusion: whichever will bring you closer to a greater awareness of yourself, your creator, and the world he put you into.

Uphill Slalom (In Review)

I can't really put into words just how incredible that trip really was, so I'm just going to give all of you a quick rundown of our itinerary and try to let the pictures do the talking.

Monday

Heather gets into town (sometime around 9, I think).  Gregorio drove me, so she gets her first chance to meet a Nicaraguan within about 30 seconds of leaving the airport.  We go home and try to catch some sleep.

Yes, she always looks this fantastic when she flies.

Tuesday

We catch the 6am bus to Sixaola, the border town with Panama.  It's a total sham at the crossing - tons of people pretending to help you and offering you "the best prices" on cab fares and making you pay fake tourist stamp fees.  They even make you buy a bus ticked back out of Panama in order to prove you intend to leave...pretty absurd, considering Heather already had a flight booked from San José the next week.  Add to that the old fruit bridge you have to cross, and it makes for an interesting if a bit nerve-racking experience.  Eventually, we made it to the coast via taxi, which was just flat out terrifying.  From there, we took a water taxi out to Bocas del Toro on Isla Colón, where we would be staying for the next few days.  We were hanging out at the hotel when Heather made a new friend (Mali), and we decided to have a simple little supper of bread, ham, cheese, a tomato, Ritz, and apples.

Those are actually candles (not beverages).

Wednesday

"Oh thank God...I'm not a guy."

This was our one year anniversary, and I think I'd say we made the most of it.  After breakfast at a little sea-side diner, we went over to Bastimentos island for a zipline (or canopy) tour.  It wasn't as long or high as some of the really big ones in central and Western Costa Rica, but it was really cool to zip through the rainforest and the ropes course was certainly a challenge.  Our guides were very funny and made the prospect of launching oneself off a 100 foot-tall platform much more comfortable than the harnesses (especially for the male participants...I'm wearing some kind of protection next time).

Heather, clinging to that safety strap for sweet life.

Worth it?  Yepsolutely.  Lawyered.

After that little adventure, we finished off our supper from the night before and decided to ride our free rental bikes up to Bluff Beach, which was supposed to be something like 8 or 9 kilometers up the shoreline.  At least an hour and some sandy bike tires later, we made it.  We hung out there for a few hours, then set out for the hostel.  Unfortunately, my bike couldn't quite handle a 200+ pound gringo determined to make it up a pretty large hill and the chain slipped off, lodging itself under the bolts that held the wheel to the frame.  I could still ride it downhill (without any brakes whatsoever), so we decided to ride it to a hotel/restaurant we'd seen on our way with what looked like an incredible view.

The view and rum punch were
equally breathtaking.

We'd brought $50 cash along and decided we'd treat ourselves to a nice supper, it being our one year and everything.  The food was incredible, especially the nachos I insisted we try.  They were very worth the $7 until the check came.  Between those, our two fajita entrées, and our rum punches, the bill came out to $49.18.  Perfect, right?  Except for the fact that we were still several miles and a dark beach away from the hostel.  We called a cab (all the cabs out there are crew cab pickups) and, after a little sweet talking, he agreed to take us to the hostel on good faith.

She wasn't quite this happy about the nachos.

Thursday

Yes, that rope is for a hammock.
Yes, I took a nap in it.

We decided to try and catch a private shuttle to Puerto Viejo instead of taking the same route we had used before in reverse, but we waited for the shuttle at the wrong office and consequentially missed it.  We just rolled with the punches and made our way back to Changuinola, the border, and eventually Puerto Viejo in decent time.  PV is a beautiful little Caribbean town complete with dive shops, a black beach, and plenty of Rastafarians.  I finally got Heather to try a pipa (which she loved) and we spent the day walking around town, laying on the beach, and trying to snorkel (the waves were pretty bad).  I'm sorry we didn't get a picture of the latter two - that black sand was really cool.  We went out for sushi and pasta at a place called Flip Flop which I'd definitely recommend to any potential visitors and then went out for a drink or two.  It would have been really fun with a bigger group, but I think it just kind of made us feel old.  We came back early and got ready for a big day.


Friday

I kept this day a surprise until just a day or two before Heather came down, but eventually I had to tell her because I'm not sure how to trick someone into bringing the right clothes for white water rafting.  We had an absolute blast with Exploradores Outdoors on the Pecuare river - I'd definitely recommend them.  They picked us up outside our hostel at 6:30 and drove us to base camp.  There, we had a few minutes to eat a delicious breakfast before heading up to the entry point.  In total, we rafted for about four hours with an hour lunch break in the middle - I couldn't take any pictures for obvious reasons.  Your free tip on this one: don't wear any shoes other than sandals, no matter how waterproof you think they are.  They may never dry out.

At base camp, wearing the clothes I should have worn on the raft.

After we had dried off (sort of), we hopped in a van and were driven to La Fortuna.  It was a pretty substantial drive, so we stopped at a nice little soda for supper before catching a cab up to Arenal Paraiso, an awesome hotel complex with its own hot springs and zipline (we only tried the former).  The joke about the whole thing was that we added an additional eight hours or so of travel time just so we could see the Arenal volcano, but it was raining when we got into town.  I woke up at around 6am the next morning and saw it, but Heather slept in until about 8:30.  By the time she looked, the clouds had moved back in - she never saw the thing!

Fortunately, she did like the hot springs.

Saturday

We ate breakfast at the hotel, then went into La Fortuna to catch the bus home.  This was probably the least fun 5.5 hours of our trip and one of very few things I regret about it.  The bus ride was obscenely long and twisty for the actual distance we traveled (approximately 75 miles if we hadn't made any other stops).  It took us approximately the same amount of time as the bus to Sixaola, which is about twice the distance.

Our seating was less than ideal, but that ice cream was good.

Eventually, we made it back to San José, where Heather and I learned/re-learned how to make homemade tortillas and arroz con leche (lit. rice with milk, kind of like sweet rice).  We ate with Gregorio's family and met a bunch of the kids in the neighborhood during their youth group time.  Afterward, we went out with a few of my friends from work for a few beers but called it a pretty early night.

Sunday

At Central Park.

We went to church, which starts at 10am.  By "went to church, which starts at 10am," I mean we walked by the church and sat around with Gregorio's family until people started arriving to set up the sanctuary at about 10:20.  Heather did really well with her Spanish, in and outside the church service.  I think everyone (especially the kids) really liked her.  After church, we went into San José to do a little sightseeing, souvenir shopping, and hot chocolate drinking, then we came back to pack and eat supper.  I made a simple little meal of rice, beans, salchichón, yuca, and salad.

Yum.

Monday

Luckily for me, Heather's flight got delayed for a few hours, which meant waking up at 7 rather than 4.  We went to the airport, had one last cup of Costa Rican cocoa, and she was off.  I can't believe that trip lasted a week - it felt like it went by in a blink.  We made some memories we will never forget and some we've already forgotten, but on the whole I can't think of a better way to celebrate a year together.  That happened coincidentally, it being the only time she could come down to Costa Rica with her academic schedule, but there was something ironically appropriate about her hopping on a plane to come see me in a city she had never known to commemorate the miracle that was the birth of our relationship.

It's back to the grind this week - while a vacation was very needed, I think it will feel good to get back in the swing of things.  I'm looking forward to seeing you all again in April or so, but I have plenty of work to do in the meantime.

¡Ciao!

Uphill Slalom

1/10, 6:00 am
Well, we're officially on the bus and on our way! Heather's worried about the weird little bugs she's been trying to kill potentially running up her legs, but other than that we can't complain. We should be in Limón for a quick break in a couple of hours.

1/11, 2:00 pm
We've been in Bocas del toro for almost 24 hours already - what a whirlwind. Yesterday, we went and bought groceries for a couple simple meals, picked up our bikes, and tried to catch up on as much sleep as possible. This morning, we went zip lining on Bastimentos island, which was quite the experience. I felt very safe the whole time (though I think Heather was a little iffy about the ropes course). The guides were knowledgable, helpful, and hilarious. 5 stars.

Anyway, we're about to have a quick snack/lunch and then head out for the beach. Today is our one year anniversary - I don't think either of us could have imagined being here today, and we'd like to thank all of you reading this who've made it possible.

Hasta luego,
Jake and Heather

Requiem

Date: Jan 7, 2012
Listening to:  Robert Buckley Farlee - Requiem

In Latin, the word simply means, "rest."  I can't think of a more applicable way to resume a blog I've left to smolder for over a month now, but unfortunately there's a more poignant meaning behind it right now.  My friend and fellow member of Chorale and VuVox at Valpo, Christopher Patterson, was serving as a Combat Engineer in the Indiana National Guard in Afghanistan when he was killed in action.  I don't know exactly when, where, or how, but the story broke yesterday and my prayers go out to his family, his ΦΜΑ brothers, and the rest of us who were touched by his voice and his heart.  I personally had the privelege to sing with him in Chorale and VuVox.  You will be sorely missed, but I look forward to singing with you again someday.

Colonial Museum

You see, it isn't that I haven't wanted to write or even that I haven't been doing so.  Rather, whenever I've tried, I've come up with a horribly pessimistic draft that I can't revise into civility.  My heart was aching for home when I wrote my last post.  I went home and loved the time I was able to spend with my family and friends.  I came back and couldn't help but wonder why I was doing so.  Even after 2.5 months, finding an apartment, finding a job I love, and helping at least one young man pass his English tests against many odds, I still felt like I was floundering, looking for something or someone to impact in the name of Christ, humanity, or at least productivity.  I spent New Years' Eve curled up in my bed because my stomach decided to react to all that negativity in ways I had forgot it knew how to do.

Ripe coffee beans

Last week, a group came from Sesquehanna University on their "Central America Service Adventure," which is themed around the Images of Christ in Central America.  Yesterday, they left for Nicaragua, but from Monday through Thursday I worked with them as a translator at Sola Fe and in Pavas.  It was some of the most fun I've had since I came here.  I worked with VBS, construction, and medical teams throughout the week, and it was pretty incredible to watch what 30 or so people could do where 1 person (namely, me) had been trying for so long.  It really humbled me - I realized that I'm not going to be able to have that kind of heavy impact because I'm just one man, and there's something very freeing in seeing the comparison.  If any of you (Sesquehanna students) are reading this, look me up on Facebook - I want to see those pictures!  In addition to working in the communities, I also got the chance to visit a few new places like the Biblical Latin American University, Our Lady of the Angels Basilica, a Columbian-era art museum, and a coffee plantation.

Colonial Church

I'm exponentially more excited about this "semester" than I was about the last three months because I'm finally going to get the chance to travel outside San Jose starting next week.  I can't wait.  I also get the chance to work with another group from Valpo for two weeks, and with that group I actually get to go to Nicaragua for about half the time.  Add in the fact that Heather (and hopefully my family) will be visiting me along the way, and March 29 is going to be here very, very quickly.

So, to come full circle, I apologize to any of you who had been reading this blog regularly for my little Christmas hiatus.  I hope to be updating it much more regularly over the next few months with many more details and photos, though it may come in big chunks after I travel.  On a more serious note, Chris's passing has made me think about my own family and friends quite a bit over the last few hours.  I'm so incredibly thankful for each and every one of you, and if you're one of the 99% of that group who I don't tell this to enough, I love you and I'm so glad to share this life with you.  ¡Hasta la vista!