Pura Vida

         The second purest air in the entire world whipped through my hair as the van trudged up the winding mountain road carrying fourteen gringos to the small village of Changuena, Costa Rica.  Sitting on the top of that van with 6 other men (I was the only girl brave enough), I had no idea what to expect.  I don’t speak much Spanish, so the language barrier I expected to find in a small village in Nowheresville, CR, seemed scarier to me then falling off that van.

         I sat very still, my hand in my pocket, fingering the two small glass hearts our minister Rick had given each of us the morning we left.  We were instructed to give one heart to someone who made an impact on us during the course of the week, and keep one for ourselves as a reminder of the week and of God’s love for us.  I tried not to think about it, but the stress of finding someone who made an impact on me, without being able to talk to them, sent heat all the way up my neck.  I removed my hand from my pocket, closed my eyes, and breathed the air in deeply.

         We arrived in the late afternoon, set up our pallets for sleeping and went straight to the river.  I sat silently in a whirlpool created by the rushing water, allowing it to cleanse the dusty buildup from my hair and skin, and wash away the makeup I had foolishly put on that morning; there was no need for makeup in Changuena.  Our group stayed for a long time at the river, longer than I think anyone expected.  I was fine with that.  I was still scared to approach anyone up at the church where we were staying, for fear that they would look at me like I had four heads when I greeted them with a big ol’ southern “hola” (that was about the only word I knew in Spanish).

         We finally made our way back from the river.  I walked alone.  I wanted to soak up everything around me, the palm trees awkwardly placed on the mountains, the cows grazing aimlessly; too skinny to be used for anything, but still the livelihood of many, and the sound of the birds with the split tails, a pure song, uninterrupted by cars and trucks.  I still don’t know what that bird is called.

         I was the first to shower of the group (a of the privelges of being one of the younger girls).  We used crude, makeshift outdoor showers, but at that point in time, it didn’t matter.  I was still tuned into the sounds around me, I closed my eyes and had a vision that I was showering under a waterfall in some exotic place.  I stepped out of the shower, and realized that most of that was true, minus the waterfall.  I dressed quickly, lured to the outdoor gathering area by the smells coming from the small kitchen attached to the Sunday school room where our “beds” were set up.  I ventured out of our room and was greeting by three of the most beautiful children I had ever seen.

         For a while they stared at me, and I stared back at them.  I was amazed by the silky smoothness of their sun-darkened skin, and the roundness of their brown eyes that seemed to gaze straight past me. 

         “Hola!” I said much louder than I expected.

         “Hola,” they each responded tentatively.

         Well that wasn’t as bad as I thought.  I have communicated!  I remembered some Mickey Mouse number cards I packed in my massive backpack, and told the kids as best I could with my hands to wait there while I went and got them, I also retrieved my “Spanish for Dummies: Pocket Guide”. 

         I motioned for the three to sit with me as I opened the box of cards.  I racked my brain making sure I knew my Spanish numbers, at least 1-20.  I began flashing the cards and the kids seemed to enjoy the game.  I decided to try asking their names.

         “Como te llamas?” I asked after referring to my book.

         “Mabi,” answered the oldest girl.

         “Gradi,” answered the boy.

         “Katie,” responded the smallest one.  Woo Hoo!  I had done it!  Now I was getting bold.

         “Cuantos anos?”

         “Ocho,” Mabi looked surpised that I knew something else.

         “Ocho,” Gradi said.

         “Dos,” said Katie.

         I continued playing with them, using very few words, but communicating through silly faces and sign language. 

         The next evening, after a long day of working on a church in La Bonita, another village about 20 minutes from Changuena, I rushed through my shower, forgoing the river, excited to play with my new friends.  Mabi was waiting for me as I stepped out of the Sunday School room, clean, dressed and ready to go.

         “Hola!” she almost shouted through her gap toothed grin.

         “Hola,” I answered.

         She grabbed my hand and led me to the tables, mumbling something in Spanish about numbers.  I retrieved my number cards and we played.

         The next night was similar.  Mabi and I played until it was time for the church service.  At 6:30, we all filed into the open air, concrete sanctuary and prepared our hearts and minds for worship, in Spanish.  I was surprised when Mabi, who was sitting with her family, walked across the aisle and situated herself right in my lap.  Her little voice carried high and bounced off of the concrete walls singing songs in Spanish as I sang the words I knew in English.  The language barrier was gone.  We finally understood what the other was saying, never mind that I was a 21 year old gringo from a big city and she was a 8 year old Costa Rican child who only owned one pair of shoes, we were singing together.

         The last day as we pulled up to the church in the back of pickup trucks I could see Mabi scan the group for my face, and I was doing the same, scanning the church yard for hers.  When we found each other, it was all I could do not to jump out of the truck, excited to see my new best friend.  As I climbed out of the back, I told her to wait where she was because I had something for her.

         I went to my backpack and dug around in the front pocket.  My fingertips settled on a smooth piece of glass, shaped into the form of a heart, I pulled it out and quickly dug around some more looking for the other one. 

         I walked over to Mabi and placed the cool, smooth heart in her small rough hand.  I held the other one in my hand and showed her that we had the same hearts in our hands.

         “Mi corazón para ti,” I whispered in her ear.

         “My heart for you.”