Goodbye Sarapiqui

One of the toughest parts of my time here in Costa Rica: saying goodbye to Sarapiqui. Sure, it's a relief to know that all the time and energy I've devoted to the Children's Worship Center in Sarapiqui is finally coming to an end. But it's tough, too, because I have an undeniable love for the church and the people there.

Sarapiqui is where I found myself in Costa Rica. Sarapiqui is where I realized that I was living somewhere different, somewhere that wasn't spoiled by the Western style of life. It was a place that breathed, a place that had a heart. Sunday afternoons in that town were one of the most peaceful things I got to know in Costa Rica. The shops would close down, the taxis would stay home, and the streets would be empty. All that was left was the beauty and the stillness. A calm. And I will miss that, forever.

The drive to Sarapiqui always brought a sense of joy and wonder to my heart. I'd get so excited about being back at "home," yet I'd also wonder what was behind the scenery. I'd look at the trees and I'd see the houses hidden in the brush or the seemingly endless plantations of pineapples and bananas, and I'd wonder about the people. I'd picture them in their homes, with their families, with their children, sometimes living on no more than $10 a day. It was tough. Yet it was true.

God has been moving powerfully in that area, and the Methodist Church is growing like you couldn't believe. In Puerto Viejo alone the church is growing its membership while simultaneously providing education opportunities for adults and ministry opportunities for women. Soon it will be providing a Medical Clinic for the undocumented and jobless. Before long the church of Puerto Viejo will be synonymous with rejuvenation. Rejuvenation of life. Rejuvenation of the spirit. Rejuvenation of a community.

Above you can see a picture of me with Roberto, Abraham, Javier and Johan. Those are my brothers, my co-workers, and my friends. Roberto, Abraham and Johan are native to Sarapiqui and have had me over to their houses for countless hours of fellowship, food, laughter and soccer. They have opened their lives to me, and they have continued working jobs that don't bring them recognition. The mission teams get recognized by church after church after church, as they should, but the construction workers who toil away for years at a time don't get recognized in front of anyone. But I know that God is smiling upon them, and that's all that matters.

Below is a picture of the sun setting behind the pulpit at the church in Puerto Viejo. That's the pulpit where I heard life-changing sermons, the stage where I saw true worship enacted through music, and the place where I gave my only two sermons in Spanish. That church will forever be a place of refuge for me.

Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to have shared my life with such a wonderful place.