I’m currently sipping a small coffee in Costa Rica. I’m on a balcony, outside of a Starbucks, and I’m thinking about how my kids from ministry would feel so uncomfortable here. Outside of their homes they become aware of a world in which they’re seen as dirty and unkempt. A world that looks at their shoes, which are two sizes too small, and their shirts that have holes in them, and rights them off from the community. It’s hitting me today; that there have been generations of young girls like the ones that I play jump rope with every morning that have lived out the same cycle of poverty that they see around them. I want you to understand, I want you to see the things that I see everyday, to feel the ache in your heart this evening when you look at your own siblings, children, and grandchildren. And when when you feel that ache remember to pray for this community that I’m living in for these short three months. Pray for God’s hand to be upon them, for healing to happen, for forgiveness to reign. I want you to see what I see… but more than that I want to try to paint a picture of the pain that God has sent us to shower love over. God has not forgotten these amazing people, we shouldn’t either.
Our Daily Walk:
As my team walks through a small sector of the impoverished community in San Jose I look ahead of me. It’s 8:55am, my team just rode an hour and a half over bumpy roads to get to the spot of dirt that we are now standing in. Ahead of me are two young men; saggy pants, dark sunglasses, cigarettes. They guard the bridge everyday; they’re the scouts of the gang that resides in the community. My team starts moving forward and I squint as I follow them, the sun is so bright so early here. I remember that the windows of our van are tinted a dark black, like every car in Costa Rica, and it makes adjusting to the sunlight a little harder. As we step onto the bridge single file the rusted metal creaks and I can see the river rushing below us through the bridge’s holes. On either side of the bank lies piles of trash that seem to be never-ending. This week my team will go back down to the banks with our kids and try to pick up some of the waste before it further pollutes the river. As we pass the young men they nod to us today, what a step! It’s been two weeks now and they seem to be a little less hostile now that they know we play with and feed their siblings everyday. As my team walks down thin dirt paths between tin roofs and crumbling drywall, I begin to hear the yelling of kids. As we walk I see numerous children peeking out of doors, mothers hand-washing clothes outside, bright birds hanging in cages, chickens-chickens everywhere, and men in torn clothing carrying various tools for construction work.
As we approach our ministry site the kids come flooding out, the more often we come the earlier the kids seem to arrive to play. Bright smiles light every face and I can swear that the sun got brighter as we saw them. The air is charged with excitement and love as the little ones jump all over us waiting to be picked up, all exclaiming “Buenos Dias!” A laugh escapes me and It’s hard for me to truly comprehend that this is my life now. Jumprope immediately commences, the “ministry moms”-hilarious, beautiful costa rican women, are already inside the kitchen cooking rice, beans, and chopping various vegetables for lunch. I go inside and greet them with a kiss on the cheek and a baby on my hip. God is so good.
As more kids arrive I make my way past the communities indoor trampoline, the children’s pride and joy, and pick up a faded, torn soccer ball. Every little boy’s head immediately turns to me and they all rush to the center of the room as soon as they hear the ball drop to the floor. I laugh and lift the ball above my head as I try to push the mob out the door to the cement field in the center of the community. The sun is blazing and and as the kids file out I can hear my teammates at one of our lunch tables teaching English to some of the older teens. They’re so enthusiastic and my heart is filled with love for all of them. As I step outside of our little blue classroom I can hear their laughter echo as each of them strains to pronounce things. Teaching English has truly taught me that it’s one of the most pointlessly complicated languages- but in that struggle it does create some truly hilarious moments!
Acacia and I walk with the kids through lines of disheveled houses and one of our leaders, Kevin, heads up the back and makes sure that all of the toddlers can climb over the broken concrete. Everywhere I look I see the bobbing heads of kids peeking out from dark corners in houses or weaving through little dirt paths in front of us. How are there so many? How is it that there are so many tasks that preoccupy their parent’s minds that their child’s education is not a pressing matter to enforce? That’s what happens in this circle of poverty. Children grow up, mostly raised by older siblings, as uneducated parents do their best to provide in whatever means necessary for their growing families. In many of the cases that my team witnesses children simply don’t go to school because their parents are too preoccupied with addictions to drugs, alcohol, etc. It breaks my heart more and more everyday.
Soccer is a riot; kids flying up and down the courts doing their best to imitate pro soccer moves, shouting “aqui, aqui! Here Here!” As the kids start to get hungry the game winds down and I pick up some of the little ones and start walking back to our classroom. I make my way past the small crowd of community members that come to watch us “gringos” play soccer with the kids and try to flash a shy smile in their direction.
The kids only know one decibel, which is fighter jet loud and as we all run into the classroom the place is flooded with energy again. I go to the kitchen with my teammates and we start dishing food and loading old tupperware lids with drinks, sort of a makeshift waitress style tray. About thirty kids shout gracias as we pray over the meal and start handing everything out. Hands reach out from every angle, and the kids smile their gratitude towards us as they take their one guaranteed meal for the day.
After everybody eats clean up begins and we take all of the dishes to the kitchen to wash and dry by hand and then some of us grab brooms to start sweeping the floors. There’s so much laughter and smiling as we sweep because we can hear the kids chanting jump rope rhymes outside, counting the minutes until we are done. When everything is clean we are always dragged back outside for more variations of jump rope, soccer, basketball, and english and math lessons. By now its close to 1pm and Bella Florr, our Pastor, comes out and begins to move the kids somewhere else to play so we can go to a house up the road and pray over Horacio, a man who is fighting cancer.
My team travels up the dirt paths, past the chickens and then the kiddos yelling “chow!” as we walk towards Horacio’s house. As we arrive everyone yells “Hola Mary! Habre la puerto!” A sugar sweet woman comes walking out of the shadows of a small stone walkway that leads back to the house. As she opens the locked gate we all step through, one at a time, lightly brushing the vibrant plants that she has lining the walls. As we walk the edge of this stilted home creates a shadowed hall with laundry lining the sides of it and we squeeze through it to a steep, short staircase. At the top of these stairs is Horacio’s home. His wife greets us and the four other families that live in this two-room plus a kitchen home come out to welcome us as well. Today Horacio was too weak to rise from bed so my team gathered in his room around him and began to pray that the Holy Spirit would heal him. We prayed that God would bless their beautiful family, provide for their needs medically and financially, and bring peace upon their souls and their home. The room was quite full since it already barely seemed large enough to fit the couple’s modest bed but the Holy Spirit continued to fill up their home even more as he expanded each of my teammate’s hearts to let his power flow out. Horacio’s condition changes day to day but please keep his healing in your prayer’s as we do.
As we close in prayer Horacio gives us a weak wave of thanks and Bella Florr hugs her friend goodbye with a heavy heart. We whisper “chow, hasta mañana,” and then we are outside crossing the bridge towards another bumpy bus ride back to our home.
