This is my first entry in over three weeks and I have much to tell—we have new readers, new friends, new schedules, and more. But, the biggest and most exciting adventure to tell when we escaped the threat of becoming illegal immigrants to find refuge in the mountains and forests of Costa Rica for a weekend of “Pura Vida” as they say to our north…pure life/excellence.
Neither Erica, Rachel, nor I had ever been to Costa Rica, so outside of a few recommendations from people at home, we searched the web and thumbed through our trustworthy (or at least we hoped it was) Costa Rica Backpacker’s Guide to traveling on a budget. My parents were generous enough to bestow such a great Christmas gift upon me last year, and without it, we would have felt even blinder than we did with it in tow. We landed in Alajuela, Costa Rica at the “San Jose” airport, which is about as much in San Jose as the Cincinnati airport is in Cincinnati. We planned on going to the north, but our first stop was the ATM. Let me explain something. When I lived in Europe, everything was on the Euro, which is pretty similar in formation to US dollar, so it was not too difficult converting the amounts and throwing around numbers daily. The value between the two currencies was not even, but it was close enough to give rough estimation of cost. In Panama, they use the US Dollar, granted, it is often referred to as Balboa (which I find humorous because they only have US dollars and Balboa change), so we have not had to bother with currency exchange at all. A blessing from God? Yes, I think so. Especially since we have to record our EVERY expenditure to turn into LST a monthly budget. So, we land in Costa Rica, and having read in our informative guidebook that Costa Ricans will NOT accept the US dollar, we bring little cash along with us for the trip. We head directly to an ATM. We’re all prepared to withdraw cash, planning on withdrawing like, I don’t know, 200 Colones, thinking that will be between $150-$200 US dollars, and anxious to see just what these Colones look like. Excitement quickly fades to disillusionment? Is that a good word? Why? Number 1: Fifth Third, the bank that holds ALL of mine and Rachel’s funds apparently has very few relations with banks in Costa Rica, and our card is, of course, rejected. Would have been nice to have known before stepping foot into a foreign country with only $20 or so on hand. Oh, let’s just withdraw our own personal money and we can pay ourselves back—wait a second, that’s in Fifth Third, too. Number 2: 467 Colones (or some obscure number like that) is equaled to $1 US dollar—you do the math. Confused—to say the least. Luckily, Erica was able to withdraw cash and spot us, and the ladies at the currency exchange windows were kind enough to roughly estimate and label each bill’s equivalency in US dollars. Much to our surprise though, our math was wrong, and when Erica though she was taking out like $100, she took out $400.
…Oh, to be a fly on the wall…
We had been forewarned of the mob of taxi drivers waiting outside of the airport, so we strategically planned to fight through the crowd and find the city buses, head South to San Jose, pick up a bus, and then head north to Monteverde or Santa Elena…wherever we decided when we got there/wherever we were when we realized we should get off the bus. Hotel reservations—please, do you think we plan that far in advance? The guidebook had a nice organized list of hostels and the like, so we were trusting and praying that they’d all just have perfect availability…besides, we still weren’t quite certain where we were going to end up. So, we pushed through the broken English offers of taxis and made our way to the city buses. When we finally thought we had broken threw the taxi multitude (All with yellow shirts to nicely match their yellow cabs.), we heard a clear, English voice from behind. His name was Johnny, and he instantly became very helpful, and suffice it to say, we ended up getting in the car with him, and driving to a town called Puntarenas, where we’d be able to jump on a bus and get to our desired destination much quicker. We pile in his car, backpacks, bodies, and guidebook and begin a journey that we were praying would turn out alright. Scared? No. We were looking for adventure. Besides, he had a Christian bumper sticker on the back of the cab, an ID, and lots of other things that made him a legit travel agent.
Once in the car, we settled in to an extremely cheesy movie on Costa Rica and discreetly tried to muffle our laughs at the man with the ponytail and the girl with the crazy clothes…About seventy five kilometers down the road…the car starts smoking, perfectly in front of a beautiful vista. I’m not sure which brought more humor to me—that our unexpected taxi had broken down or that Rachel stood over the hood offering mechanical advice to the driver. (In her defense, she says she knows some stuff about cars…I, for one, do not know enough to evaluate her knowledge, so I will remain mute on the issue.) Got the car started again, and we booked it to catch what was then referred to as the “last bus” to Monteverde for the day…if we miss it, we’ll land ourselves in Puntarenas, a place we had not referenced in our book, and we don’t do anything that the book doesn’t tell us to do. That’s just the way we roll—we can only be so free-spirited, ok?
While we’re driving, he gave us some CD’s to choose from and Erica selected the Christian music CD. He clarified with us a few times before he put it in, wanting to make sure we understood that it was Christian music. I guess no one had ever requested it before. This ended up leading to a great conversation and introducing us to a man who believes that Jesus Christ is His Savior but who is in one of the valleys that we all face at one point or another in our faith and walk with the Lord. The point is, before this conversation, he was just our really nice taxi driver. After this conversation, he became our brother, our friend, another soul working for the Promised Land. We were not planning on taking an hour and a half taxi ride when we go to Costa Rica. And, we really didn’t have the budget for it, but when he approached us, something just told us to go, something just made us feel like it was ok, that it was safe, that we needed to go with him, and we didn’t really know why, but once he presented himself to us, there was little discussion about whether or not we would go with this man to Puntarenas. And, then, it was so clear. This wasn’t our plan. It was God. This man needed encouragement, he needed to be reminded of Who is important, he needed to know that he is not alone on this walk of faith. The point is that anyone can be a missionary. Anyone can be an evangelist. Wherever one goes, there are people who are dying before knowing the Word of God. They’re thirsty for it, they’re hungry for it. We have it, we just have to offer it to them. We just have to offer ourselves to God for His plans, and be willing to pause and make a change in order to complete His will and not our own. His knowledge far exceeds our own, and when He looks at us, He not only see the very instant, but He sees what could come as well, and He responds accordingly.
So, we leave our new friend, board the bus at a little bus stop right on the beach. We sat down in the comfortable seats (a step-up from Panamanian buses) and stared out the window to catch a glimpse of an old man who encompassed pura vida, playing his guitar on a bench, while others sat nearby just listening. As we approached the Monteverde area, we reached for the most useful tool we brought with us—our tour book—so we could start reading about a hotel for the night and determine the landmarks of our desired destination, but, when we all reached into our bags, we realized that our lone friend, our only guide, the source of all our information was AWAL…it was gone, disappeared to the Costa Rican abyss of who knows where…all we had left were our cunningly ways, cute smiles, and Panamanian slang to get us through. The culprit will remain nameless, but she’s a girl with brown, curly hair. You decide.
We got to Santa Elena, and decided to get off there, before Monteverde (partially influenced by full bladders that could not go any further, a good judge for destination, if you ask me)…We quickly found a place to stay (thankfully…that could have been a disaster that mimicked the time Haley and I crashed above a pub in what seemed like a halfway house in Vienna, Austria.) We had supper in a restaurant…ready for this…with a TREE growing through the middle of it—the restaurant had been built around the tree, which was pretty cool in my book.
Santa Elena looks a lot like a little Colorado ski-town, complete with a plethora of Gringos and more English than Spanish, but we loved it from the moment we stepped foot in it (Granted, it was quite the adjustment having to watch what we said about, because nearly everyone around us spoke English…this surely will hold awkward moments for us in the coming month when we return to the US and we forget that we are easily understood and our talking fast will not protect our secrets.). We stayed in a little hostel for only like $12 a night or something ridiculously cheap like that and the next morning set off to make Rachel’s Central American dream a reality—zip-lining through the rainforest. We headed out, got harnessed in and started…We did nineteen lines in all, lasting from just like 10 seconds long to almost a minute, and varying in height between fifteen feet and three hundred feet. It literally felt like we were flying through the trees and then just when you thought you weren’t very high, the ground would seem to drop off out of nowhere and then you’d be gliding far above the canopy and just finding yourself say, “Oh my gosh” Over and over and again. We also go to do a Tarzan swing, which I would be lying if I tried to say I wasn’t nervous about it at all, I’m not much for free falling, but I was propelled in when I was pushed off the platform, fell for a few seconds, and then few swung through the trees. Needless to say, it was quite the thrill…No, Barb and Jim, I did not beat my chest and howl like Tarazan. You don’t have to ask.
After we went swinging through the rainforest, we went back to Santa Elena to sit in hammocks, eat lunch, and await the next adventure—a Jeep, Boat, Jeep tour through the mountains to La Fortuna, a town on the other said of a huge lake (hence the boat) and the home of one of three live volcanoes in the world. We were all geared up ready to go with visions of a Wrangler with the top off and a roll cage thing picking us up to four-wheel through the mountains while the wind and dust blew through our hair and the sun scorched our pale skin…imagine how our deep our hearts sank when we weren’t greeted with a jeep, a truck, a hummer, or any other “adventurous” vehicle, but rather…a mini-van…a flash back to family vacations to Myrtle Beach had become a live reality to Rachel and me all the way in Costa Rica. Apparently, false advertising, as in lying, is allowed in Costa Rica. Oh yeah, did I mention the couple on the bench seat next to me, liked to be very “affectionate” while traveling?
Despite the disappointing, but very comical, transportation, the scenery was beautiful and we enjoyed the view…granted, through tinted windows rather than an open top. When we got to the boat part of the trip, the part that was accurately described to us, we crossed the lake and had our first view of the Arenal Volcano, towering over the rest of the mountains, and the towns at its feet. We had a night tour booked to begin at 5:00, so when we reached the other shore of the lake, they whisked into another mini-van (also supposed to have been a jeep) and quickly landed us very timely in front of our hostel where our night tour was patiently waiting on us.
The Arenal Volcano is one of three active volcanoes in the entire world, as in having red lava pouring down its side, volcanoes in the world. It’s said to erupt every five to fifteen minutes, but while we were there, it was erupting much more often. God has blessed me with being able to travel all over the world—I’ve peered into the Grand Canyon, looked over Niagara Falls, floated down the Nile, been in the mountains of Thailand, but nothing, NOTHING, has ever been or ever will be, I’m convinced, as amazing, as pure, as humbling as standing before a tremendous volcano, a volcano that in time has wiped out entire villages, has towered for years upon years, and has taken countless of individuals to meet their Maker. The red lava is only visible at night, hence why we took a night tour, and the entire volcano is blocked from being hiked or getting in near proximity to it, but from our vantage point, maybe a mile away from the foot, the fiery glow oozing down the steep sides looked like fireworks in the sky. A cloud sat on the top, but we were told that on a clear night, you can actually see the lava shooting out of the summit. As we witnessed the molten lava pouring down the sides, I’ve never felt so speechless, so inadequate in my words to describe the power that stood before me, and more so, the power of its Creator, my God. And, to know, that He had given us, little white girls from the Ohio and Wisconsin, the opportunity to stand before it and witness such an amazing, threatening, and beautiful destructor without having the slightest threat of harm. In its shadow, the word humility does not do justice the feelings I had inside of myself and the praises that I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs. To top it off, at the same time God had given us another opportunity to speak of Christ to a struggling Christian. Our tour guide, a young man, was so impressed to meet Christians his own age who believed in the extreme life that Christ calls us to live. Again, when our lives are open to His plan and not our own, He rewards us beyond belief. We must learn to be intentional, in everything we do—and when we are, even if we’re planning on going on a tourist adventure, He will provide us with opportunities to speak His name, and will bless us for doing that.
We finished off the night, and for that part our big activities in Cost Rica, by spending three hours soaking in the hot springs that come off the volcano, at a resort called Baldi—peaceful, relaxing, soothing, to say the least. They had over twenty something pools of hot, hot water—rewarding to us who can count the number of hot showers we’ve had in the last four months on one hand, and who were frigid in the cool evenings of Costa Rica. Each pool offered something a little different, complete with a curvy waterslide that a man poured water on from a bucket to keep it slick enough to get you started and slick enough to almost kill you at the end. Not quite sure it would have passed an US safety inspection. The treasure of the resort was finding the pool that had tile beds built into the pool itself, which sat right at the foot of a big waterfall. The water temperatures varied from lukewarm all the way to 152 degrees…which almost burned the tip of my toe off when I tested it out and which almost caught me when I tripped on the edge…I think I would have died if I had landed in it!
Sunday morning we spent sometime exploring the adorable town of La Fortuna. Sadly, Costa Rica is really expensive, so the shopping was limited, but the backdrop was priceless, with views of the volcano on a clear day. We then headed back to Alajuela, where we stayed for the night, in order to catch our flight out the next day. After having the fear of not being able to leave Costa Rica—even though we were able to get money out of an ATM finally, we used it all before we got to the airport, only to find out that we each had to pay some tax in order to leave…we all know that that the ATMs in the airport don’t accept our card…so use a credit card, right? VISA only…how’d we manage to leave the US with having three MasterCards between the two of us and no other access to emergency cash is beyond me…how’s that for planning? But, Erica, always prepared in Costa Rica, came to our rescue…otherwise, we might still be in Alajuela, begging for someone to take pity on our little, Gringa souls.
Our trip to Costa Rica was priceless and was a journey in and of itself. God took perfect care of us, and always provided a way out of a jam. He reminded us of His faithfulness everyday as everything that should have gone wrong worked out meticulously. Rachel and I have talked several times since leaving the States about Jesus’ words that described why He, God, came to earth as man to suffer and die: “I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.” John 10:10. So often, people have the idea that to be a follower of Christ means to be a follower of a boring, uneventful, life filled with laws dictating your every move, but being a disciple of the Lord is so much more than that—when one is living for Him, he or she never knows what tomorrow will hold, he or she has no roots in this world and can be blown in the wind and know they’re ok because their foundation is in Christ, not in this world…he or she’s always in constant motion, constant travel, constant adventure because they know that this world is not their home. Christ came to give life abundantly, the word that some translations use in John 10:10, and abundance is not found in Him denying us of joy, excitement, bliss, it’s found in Him giving us a purer form, a simpler form, a more natural form, outside of artificial stimulations, of pleasure and fun. It’s in giving us thrills that can help shape our eternity, make us into royalty, make us into Children of God, and when we let Him, He will treat us just as if we are citizens of His paradise, of Heaven. We have got to start sharing this Life in the Fullest and living it in the Fullest, because that’s where joy abounds, where surprise happens, and the greatest blessings come…even unexpected ones like watching a dangerous volcano erupting before your very eyes or taking you to unknown worlds across the sea. . Blind faith is sometimes the best means to an unimaginable outcome and future, because He knows what He’s had going on for us, and had it even in the works before our very time.
“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Jeremiah 33:3
Neither Erica, Rachel, nor I had ever been to Costa Rica, so outside of a few recommendations from people at home, we searched the web and thumbed through our trustworthy (or at least we hoped it was) Costa Rica Backpacker’s Guide to traveling on a budget. My parents were generous enough to bestow such a great Christmas gift upon me last year, and without it, we would have felt even blinder than we did with it in tow. We landed in Alajuela, Costa Rica at the “San Jose” airport, which is about as much in San Jose as the Cincinnati airport is in Cincinnati. We planned on going to the north, but our first stop was the ATM. Let me explain something. When I lived in Europe, everything was on the Euro, which is pretty similar in formation to US dollar, so it was not too difficult converting the amounts and throwing around numbers daily. The value between the two currencies was not even, but it was close enough to give rough estimation of cost. In Panama, they use the US Dollar, granted, it is often referred to as Balboa (which I find humorous because they only have US dollars and Balboa change), so we have not had to bother with currency exchange at all. A blessing from God? Yes, I think so. Especially since we have to record our EVERY expenditure to turn into LST a monthly budget. So, we land in Costa Rica, and having read in our informative guidebook that Costa Ricans will NOT accept the US dollar, we bring little cash along with us for the trip. We head directly to an ATM. We’re all prepared to withdraw cash, planning on withdrawing like, I don’t know, 200 Colones, thinking that will be between $150-$200 US dollars, and anxious to see just what these Colones look like. Excitement quickly fades to disillusionment? Is that a good word? Why? Number 1: Fifth Third, the bank that holds ALL of mine and Rachel’s funds apparently has very few relations with banks in Costa Rica, and our card is, of course, rejected. Would have been nice to have known before stepping foot into a foreign country with only $20 or so on hand. Oh, let’s just withdraw our own personal money and we can pay ourselves back—wait a second, that’s in Fifth Third, too. Number 2: 467 Colones (or some obscure number like that) is equaled to $1 US dollar—you do the math. Confused—to say the least. Luckily, Erica was able to withdraw cash and spot us, and the ladies at the currency exchange windows were kind enough to roughly estimate and label each bill’s equivalency in US dollars. Much to our surprise though, our math was wrong, and when Erica though she was taking out like $100, she took out $400.
…Oh, to be a fly on the wall…
We had been forewarned of the mob of taxi drivers waiting outside of the airport, so we strategically planned to fight through the crowd and find the city buses, head South to San Jose, pick up a bus, and then head north to Monteverde or Santa Elena…wherever we decided when we got there/wherever we were when we realized we should get off the bus. Hotel reservations—please, do you think we plan that far in advance? The guidebook had a nice organized list of hostels and the like, so we were trusting and praying that they’d all just have perfect availability…besides, we still weren’t quite certain where we were going to end up. So, we pushed through the broken English offers of taxis and made our way to the city buses. When we finally thought we had broken threw the taxi multitude (All with yellow shirts to nicely match their yellow cabs.), we heard a clear, English voice from behind. His name was Johnny, and he instantly became very helpful, and suffice it to say, we ended up getting in the car with him, and driving to a town called Puntarenas, where we’d be able to jump on a bus and get to our desired destination much quicker. We pile in his car, backpacks, bodies, and guidebook and begin a journey that we were praying would turn out alright. Scared? No. We were looking for adventure. Besides, he had a Christian bumper sticker on the back of the cab, an ID, and lots of other things that made him a legit travel agent.
Once in the car, we settled in to an extremely cheesy movie on Costa Rica and discreetly tried to muffle our laughs at the man with the ponytail and the girl with the crazy clothes…About seventy five kilometers down the road…the car starts smoking, perfectly in front of a beautiful vista. I’m not sure which brought more humor to me—that our unexpected taxi had broken down or that Rachel stood over the hood offering mechanical advice to the driver. (In her defense, she says she knows some stuff about cars…I, for one, do not know enough to evaluate her knowledge, so I will remain mute on the issue.) Got the car started again, and we booked it to catch what was then referred to as the “last bus” to Monteverde for the day…if we miss it, we’ll land ourselves in Puntarenas, a place we had not referenced in our book, and we don’t do anything that the book doesn’t tell us to do. That’s just the way we roll—we can only be so free-spirited, ok?
While we’re driving, he gave us some CD’s to choose from and Erica selected the Christian music CD. He clarified with us a few times before he put it in, wanting to make sure we understood that it was Christian music. I guess no one had ever requested it before. This ended up leading to a great conversation and introducing us to a man who believes that Jesus Christ is His Savior but who is in one of the valleys that we all face at one point or another in our faith and walk with the Lord. The point is, before this conversation, he was just our really nice taxi driver. After this conversation, he became our brother, our friend, another soul working for the Promised Land. We were not planning on taking an hour and a half taxi ride when we go to Costa Rica. And, we really didn’t have the budget for it, but when he approached us, something just told us to go, something just made us feel like it was ok, that it was safe, that we needed to go with him, and we didn’t really know why, but once he presented himself to us, there was little discussion about whether or not we would go with this man to Puntarenas. And, then, it was so clear. This wasn’t our plan. It was God. This man needed encouragement, he needed to be reminded of Who is important, he needed to know that he is not alone on this walk of faith. The point is that anyone can be a missionary. Anyone can be an evangelist. Wherever one goes, there are people who are dying before knowing the Word of God. They’re thirsty for it, they’re hungry for it. We have it, we just have to offer it to them. We just have to offer ourselves to God for His plans, and be willing to pause and make a change in order to complete His will and not our own. His knowledge far exceeds our own, and when He looks at us, He not only see the very instant, but He sees what could come as well, and He responds accordingly.
So, we leave our new friend, board the bus at a little bus stop right on the beach. We sat down in the comfortable seats (a step-up from Panamanian buses) and stared out the window to catch a glimpse of an old man who encompassed pura vida, playing his guitar on a bench, while others sat nearby just listening. As we approached the Monteverde area, we reached for the most useful tool we brought with us—our tour book—so we could start reading about a hotel for the night and determine the landmarks of our desired destination, but, when we all reached into our bags, we realized that our lone friend, our only guide, the source of all our information was AWAL…it was gone, disappeared to the Costa Rican abyss of who knows where…all we had left were our cunningly ways, cute smiles, and Panamanian slang to get us through. The culprit will remain nameless, but she’s a girl with brown, curly hair. You decide.
We got to Santa Elena, and decided to get off there, before Monteverde (partially influenced by full bladders that could not go any further, a good judge for destination, if you ask me)…We quickly found a place to stay (thankfully…that could have been a disaster that mimicked the time Haley and I crashed above a pub in what seemed like a halfway house in Vienna, Austria.) We had supper in a restaurant…ready for this…with a TREE growing through the middle of it—the restaurant had been built around the tree, which was pretty cool in my book.
Santa Elena looks a lot like a little Colorado ski-town, complete with a plethora of Gringos and more English than Spanish, but we loved it from the moment we stepped foot in it (Granted, it was quite the adjustment having to watch what we said about, because nearly everyone around us spoke English…this surely will hold awkward moments for us in the coming month when we return to the US and we forget that we are easily understood and our talking fast will not protect our secrets.). We stayed in a little hostel for only like $12 a night or something ridiculously cheap like that and the next morning set off to make Rachel’s Central American dream a reality—zip-lining through the rainforest. We headed out, got harnessed in and started…We did nineteen lines in all, lasting from just like 10 seconds long to almost a minute, and varying in height between fifteen feet and three hundred feet. It literally felt like we were flying through the trees and then just when you thought you weren’t very high, the ground would seem to drop off out of nowhere and then you’d be gliding far above the canopy and just finding yourself say, “Oh my gosh” Over and over and again. We also go to do a Tarzan swing, which I would be lying if I tried to say I wasn’t nervous about it at all, I’m not much for free falling, but I was propelled in when I was pushed off the platform, fell for a few seconds, and then few swung through the trees. Needless to say, it was quite the thrill…No, Barb and Jim, I did not beat my chest and howl like Tarazan. You don’t have to ask.
After we went swinging through the rainforest, we went back to Santa Elena to sit in hammocks, eat lunch, and await the next adventure—a Jeep, Boat, Jeep tour through the mountains to La Fortuna, a town on the other said of a huge lake (hence the boat) and the home of one of three live volcanoes in the world. We were all geared up ready to go with visions of a Wrangler with the top off and a roll cage thing picking us up to four-wheel through the mountains while the wind and dust blew through our hair and the sun scorched our pale skin…imagine how our deep our hearts sank when we weren’t greeted with a jeep, a truck, a hummer, or any other “adventurous” vehicle, but rather…a mini-van…a flash back to family vacations to Myrtle Beach had become a live reality to Rachel and me all the way in Costa Rica. Apparently, false advertising, as in lying, is allowed in Costa Rica. Oh yeah, did I mention the couple on the bench seat next to me, liked to be very “affectionate” while traveling?
Despite the disappointing, but very comical, transportation, the scenery was beautiful and we enjoyed the view…granted, through tinted windows rather than an open top. When we got to the boat part of the trip, the part that was accurately described to us, we crossed the lake and had our first view of the Arenal Volcano, towering over the rest of the mountains, and the towns at its feet. We had a night tour booked to begin at 5:00, so when we reached the other shore of the lake, they whisked into another mini-van (also supposed to have been a jeep) and quickly landed us very timely in front of our hostel where our night tour was patiently waiting on us.
The Arenal Volcano is one of three active volcanoes in the entire world, as in having red lava pouring down its side, volcanoes in the world. It’s said to erupt every five to fifteen minutes, but while we were there, it was erupting much more often. God has blessed me with being able to travel all over the world—I’ve peered into the Grand Canyon, looked over Niagara Falls, floated down the Nile, been in the mountains of Thailand, but nothing, NOTHING, has ever been or ever will be, I’m convinced, as amazing, as pure, as humbling as standing before a tremendous volcano, a volcano that in time has wiped out entire villages, has towered for years upon years, and has taken countless of individuals to meet their Maker. The red lava is only visible at night, hence why we took a night tour, and the entire volcano is blocked from being hiked or getting in near proximity to it, but from our vantage point, maybe a mile away from the foot, the fiery glow oozing down the steep sides looked like fireworks in the sky. A cloud sat on the top, but we were told that on a clear night, you can actually see the lava shooting out of the summit. As we witnessed the molten lava pouring down the sides, I’ve never felt so speechless, so inadequate in my words to describe the power that stood before me, and more so, the power of its Creator, my God. And, to know, that He had given us, little white girls from the Ohio and Wisconsin, the opportunity to stand before it and witness such an amazing, threatening, and beautiful destructor without having the slightest threat of harm. In its shadow, the word humility does not do justice the feelings I had inside of myself and the praises that I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs. To top it off, at the same time God had given us another opportunity to speak of Christ to a struggling Christian. Our tour guide, a young man, was so impressed to meet Christians his own age who believed in the extreme life that Christ calls us to live. Again, when our lives are open to His plan and not our own, He rewards us beyond belief. We must learn to be intentional, in everything we do—and when we are, even if we’re planning on going on a tourist adventure, He will provide us with opportunities to speak His name, and will bless us for doing that.
We finished off the night, and for that part our big activities in Cost Rica, by spending three hours soaking in the hot springs that come off the volcano, at a resort called Baldi—peaceful, relaxing, soothing, to say the least. They had over twenty something pools of hot, hot water—rewarding to us who can count the number of hot showers we’ve had in the last four months on one hand, and who were frigid in the cool evenings of Costa Rica. Each pool offered something a little different, complete with a curvy waterslide that a man poured water on from a bucket to keep it slick enough to get you started and slick enough to almost kill you at the end. Not quite sure it would have passed an US safety inspection. The treasure of the resort was finding the pool that had tile beds built into the pool itself, which sat right at the foot of a big waterfall. The water temperatures varied from lukewarm all the way to 152 degrees…which almost burned the tip of my toe off when I tested it out and which almost caught me when I tripped on the edge…I think I would have died if I had landed in it!
Sunday morning we spent sometime exploring the adorable town of La Fortuna. Sadly, Costa Rica is really expensive, so the shopping was limited, but the backdrop was priceless, with views of the volcano on a clear day. We then headed back to Alajuela, where we stayed for the night, in order to catch our flight out the next day. After having the fear of not being able to leave Costa Rica—even though we were able to get money out of an ATM finally, we used it all before we got to the airport, only to find out that we each had to pay some tax in order to leave…we all know that that the ATMs in the airport don’t accept our card…so use a credit card, right? VISA only…how’d we manage to leave the US with having three MasterCards between the two of us and no other access to emergency cash is beyond me…how’s that for planning? But, Erica, always prepared in Costa Rica, came to our rescue…otherwise, we might still be in Alajuela, begging for someone to take pity on our little, Gringa souls.
Our trip to Costa Rica was priceless and was a journey in and of itself. God took perfect care of us, and always provided a way out of a jam. He reminded us of His faithfulness everyday as everything that should have gone wrong worked out meticulously. Rachel and I have talked several times since leaving the States about Jesus’ words that described why He, God, came to earth as man to suffer and die: “I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.” John 10:10. So often, people have the idea that to be a follower of Christ means to be a follower of a boring, uneventful, life filled with laws dictating your every move, but being a disciple of the Lord is so much more than that—when one is living for Him, he or she never knows what tomorrow will hold, he or she has no roots in this world and can be blown in the wind and know they’re ok because their foundation is in Christ, not in this world…he or she’s always in constant motion, constant travel, constant adventure because they know that this world is not their home. Christ came to give life abundantly, the word that some translations use in John 10:10, and abundance is not found in Him denying us of joy, excitement, bliss, it’s found in Him giving us a purer form, a simpler form, a more natural form, outside of artificial stimulations, of pleasure and fun. It’s in giving us thrills that can help shape our eternity, make us into royalty, make us into Children of God, and when we let Him, He will treat us just as if we are citizens of His paradise, of Heaven. We have got to start sharing this Life in the Fullest and living it in the Fullest, because that’s where joy abounds, where surprise happens, and the greatest blessings come…even unexpected ones like watching a dangerous volcano erupting before your very eyes or taking you to unknown worlds across the sea. . Blind faith is sometimes the best means to an unimaginable outcome and future, because He knows what He’s had going on for us, and had it even in the works before our very time.
“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Jeremiah 33:3
Pictures of Costa Rica: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2067421&l=3b86d&id=71000688
