When in Costa Rica, Do as the Ticos

When I came to school this morning, another missionary teacher, Christine, wanted to talk to me about supporter communication. She even went so far as to say that I'm "soooo good at it."

"Dang it," I thought, "now I have to go write a blog."

The truth is, I just couldn't bring myself to write a blog lately in the last four months. Why not? I have no idea. Yes, life is busy but there's been SO MUCH happening that you guys should have been the first to know about. God's glory is shown everywhere and Costa Rica is no exception to that.

I know that many, if not all, of you follow my posts on Facebook which is wonderful, but Facebook never tells the whole story. For example, the recently established relationship with my man of choice. All you see on Facebook are some pics here and there with a short caption which is likely to be a sarcastic line of mine. But am I really being open about my life and what's happening here? Don't get me wrong. I don't think that anyone and everyone has the right to know every detail of my personal life just because I call myself a missionary. And I'm certainly not one to put my laundry (be it clean or dirty) on Front Street for the world to read about. But if I love all of you as much as I say I do, (and trust me, I do) then I should be updating you regularly for no other reason then to share my life on this side of the world with you.

For my lack of that, I am truly sorry.

Well, as long as we're on the topic, I might as well let you in on my little love adventure happening over here. His name is Alonso and he is all things Costa Rica. From music to soccer to patriotic pride, he truly represents Costa Rica well. However, before he ever knew I existed, God called him to be a missionary. What will that look like for him in the future? Neither of us know, only God does. We do know, though, that God is calling Him into bigger and deeper things than a normal, typical life (for lack of better words). And for that, he is very excited.

While he's not close to being perfect (sorry, Babe) he is a wonderful, strong man of God. It's really kind of cool for me to see God loving me through him. Thanks to my journey on the World Race, my eyes and heart were opened to many things that I now see benefiting my relationship with Alonso. I'm tempted to stop there and not say "too much" because that would be more socially acceptable. But when have I ever been one to follow social graces? And how will anyone ever be able to relate to me if I keep all the good stuff inside and never let you see me and my life for what it really is?

So on that note, Alonso and I both feel like God crossed our paths for a reason more than a good friendship. While we know that OUR desire is to continue a life together, we want to be sure that it's what God wants. Beyond that, we want everything to happen in God's time. Recently there have been a few tangible reminders of God showing us that His time is much more perfect that we can imagine. For that, we are beyond thankful.

On another note, there are some really, really exciting things happening around here.

1. I have committed to teach another semester here at Glory Christian School! I'm really excited for this because I feel like this year was just getting my feet wet. Next year I will be able to be more excellent at my work.

2. I've recently paid the deposit for my NEW APARTMENT here in Costa Rica!! This may not sound like much but when you live in another country with limited friend supply, no vehicle, and a big fat language barrier staring you in the face, you quickly become dependent on other people. VERY dependent. And I personally, hate every second of it.

To the point of wanting to retreat back to a country that I know well, I hate not being able to get around on my own. But since learning the public transportation system, getting a Price Smart membership (like SAM's Club or COSCO), and now a new apartment, I feel much better about being here. Also, the better my Spanish gets, the better my attitude toward the language barrier gets! ; )  Because hey, when in Costa Rica, do as the Ticos!

3. God sent me a roommate because He knew I couldn't afford to live there alone. Thank you Jesus! So I'm excited to welcome my new missionary-teacher-friend-roommate, Emilie, to Costa Rica in January!


4. I'M COMING HOME!!! December 22 - January 16. So: 1. I want to see you. 2. I want to speak at your church. 3. I want to see you. 4. I want to see you.

5. I got a new tattoo. If you want to see it, you'll have to watch for the next blog! : )

UPDATE: here's the blog!! 




Love Peace and New Blog Updates,

When I Moved to Costa Rica, Illegally - Pt. 3

Megan and I arrived at Immigration and began our hunt for the person who would stamp my papers and let me out of there. The first line we were told to wait in wrapped around the entire building and on to another building. When following that line to see where it ended, we saw that there was a bank ON PROPERTY. Yes, the exact bank I need to deposit money into. The exact bank that NO ONE TOLD ME WAS BACK THERE. At this point I was ready to leave and just get deported. I didn’t even care anymore. I said, “Come on Megan. I am not standing in this line. We’ll be here until midnight if we do.” As we walked back by the man guarding the door to the office I needed to be in, Megan asked him one more time if we were in the right line. He told us that we were in fact NOT in right line and needed to be in a much shorter line. THANK YOU JESUS! We got in line and waited ..... and waited ..... and waited ..... and THREE HOURS later we were let in the door to immigration.

You can probably hear the angels singing “Haaaaallelujah” at this point, right?

No so fast.

It was like a movie scene in slow motion.

He opened the doors and we walked through with huge smiles on our face which quickly turned to frowns when we saw three sections of 30 rows of chairs all full of people waiting for different things. In fact, there were even people standing. We stood in a line that was moving very quickly toward the front of the room where people were getting tickets with numbers. When I gave the lady my papers she said I didn’t need a ticket and to wait in the green chairs and they would call my name. Remember there are three sections? Green, yellow and orange.

So we sit. And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until Megan thought she saw Jose, the guy who helped me last time. I walked to find Jose and when I did, I BEGGED him to stamp my paperwork and me on my way. He of course, could not because he was sitting at a desk with his own line of people waiting for this or that. However, Jose did tell me that we were sitting in the wrong chairs and that we should be in the yellow chairs. That was a big deal because here’s how the chairs work:

·      Green – you wait for your name to be called

·      Orange – you wait for your number to flash on the screen

·      Yellow – you wait in the line and as the line goes up, so do you

So we got a ticket with a number – the one the lady said I didn’t need – and we walked toward the yellow chairs. When a guard saw us, he looked at our number and my paperwork and said that were shouldn’t be in the yellow chairs we should be in the orange chairs. So we sat down in the orange chairs with number 147, looked up at the screen and almost fainted when we read the number, “49.”  We waited .... and waited .... and waited. I got a suspicion that something wasn’t right so I asked Jose again, just to be sure that we were in the right line. I told him the guard sent us to the orange chairs and he said, “No! You are definitely supposed to be in the yellow chairs.”

Megan and I looked over at the yellow line and had we been in the correct line/chairs this whole time, we would have been only a few people away from the front of the line. But NOW, thanks to a lot of people who clearly do their jobs so well, we were in the very back of the line. At least we knew it was the right one, finally.

Two hours later, we reached the front of the line and made our way to the window. Stamp, stamp and we were done. “Come back in 10 days to see if it’s approved,” said the guy behind the window. “Excuse me? 10 days? Are you kidding me right now? Do you know what I’ve been through to get to the front of this line and NOW I have to come BACK HERE in 10 days??”

“Yes ma’am. See you in 10 days.”

.... to be continued with part four .... 

When I Moved to Costa Rica, Illegally - Pt. 2

If you're lost, click here for part one!! 

     “Starting the process” wasn’t as simple as it sounded but for time sake, we’ll skip those gory details. Let’s just say it involved, among other things, me/Charlie (the Spanish speaking boyfriend of Megan) writing a letter detailing who I am, why I’m here, and why I need an extension.

     We finally left with the plan that Megan and I would go back the following Monday to complete the paperwork and be done once and for all.

Ha.

Yeah right.

     Remember when they said I “might” have to pay $100? Well, by ‘might’ they mean ‘definitely.’ And they didn’t mean “go to our finance office and pay a lady behind a desk $100 then bring us the receipt.” They meant, “Go to this specific bank and deposit this specific amount into this specific account.” So bright and early Monday morning, Megan and I set out to San Jose to finish this madness. Between here (home) and San Jose there are a couple of different towns with the bank I needed. EXCEPT THAT the banks open at 9 and by 8:45, which is when we arrived, the line was literally wrapped around the building.

Every. Single. Bank. Between. Here. And. There.

I. AM. NOT. EXAGGERATING.

     So as we approached the mall, Megan remembered that there was a branch of the bank we needed inside the mall and surely, the line wouldn’t be as long. We parked and walked up to the door to realize that the mall didn’t open until 10 am so we did the only logical thing and went to get coffee right outside the mall. 

     As soon as the mall door opened, we went straight to the bank only to see that it didn’t open until 11 am. So we walked around and killed a little time until the bank opened and we got in line. Just before our number was called, I realized that I didn’t bring with me the account number that we were supposed to deposit the money into. With high hopes, we asked the teller if perhaps he knew the account number for immigration. Naturally, immigration has 85 million account numbers and this guy needed me to tell him which one I wanted to give him money for. So we got BACK out of line, went to the car, got the paperwork and returned to the bank. We got a NEW number, got BACK in line and waited for our turn. The NEXT time our number was called I gave the teller everything he needed including my debit card to pay the $100. FINALLY... we were making progress.

Ha.

In my dreams.

     The bank’s online communication for credit cards was down and the teller so gently told me that I needed to go to the ATM and get cash. Lucky for me, this bank had an ATM right outside it’s door and this nice teller would let me back in line without getting a new number. We went outside, got in line for the ATM, and waited. When it was finally our turn, I stepped up to the computer screen only to realize that it was out of money. BOTH of them.

Seriously?????

      So we went around the corner of the mall searching for another bank with working ATM’s until finally we found a bank with 4 ATM stations outside of it. Pretty good odds, eh? ONE of the four worked for me and I was on my way back to the bank I needed. We finished our business there at 12:10 pm. So we left the mall with the plan that we would go BACK to immigration later in the week to turn in the bank receipt and the rest of the paperwork.

     The following Thursday, Megan and I went to immigration at 9 am and I told my substitute, “I should be back by lunch.” 

...... 

Stay tuned for part 3 :) 

When I Moved to Costa Rica, Illegally - Pt. 1

     

      If I could describe this season of my life in one word it would be: inconvenience. I mean, just getting here legally is a story in itself, not to mention the every day things that will drive a girl mad. But before we get ahead of ourselves, allow me to share with you the story that many of you have asked about. A lot of you probably saw my mom’s Facebook status or a random post from me about immigration so here is the full story of my 84758423957 hours spent in the hellish place called La Oficina de Migration. But first, you need to know a little background information. No one is allowed to come into Costa Rica for more than a few days without proof that they are in fact leaving. So if you're staying more than about a week or so, (like me), you need to show a plane/bus/train ticket that proves you WILL leave Costa Rica in a timely manner. If you do not have this, they can legally put you back on a plane (or whatever) and, at your expense, send you back to where ever you came from.

     In case you're wondering, I was one of the lucky people who got in without an exit ticket. But it caused quite the uproar, to say the least. Here is the full account: 

     On Wednesday, Aug. 21 my mom and I entered Costa Rica with 8 suitcases and excited hearts. I wasn’t nervous at all but rather excited for what God was stirring up between the CR and me. (Duh, I know it’s not called “the Costa Rica” but I like it, so work with me here). We went through the maze of the airport and finally reached immigration where my mom told the officer she would be here for one week. He gave her a 10 day visa and asked for my passport. Without hesitation, he stamped mine for the same: 10 days. As soon I noticed it, I corrected him but it was too late. He asked two different men before telling me that I needed to go to the immigration office in San Jose to ask for an extension. “No big deal,” I thought. I’ll run up there tomorrow and do it real quick.

Ha.

Yeah right.

     That Friday my mom, Marielos (my host mom), and I went to San Jose to get my extension.  Let me pause here and tell you that getting around from town to town is not convenient if you do not know where you are going. Even if you DO know where you are going, it still takes 3-4 different busses and a LOT of walking to get to immigration. (Or at least it did for us that day). Once we arrived, we so graciously received “the run around” and went to about 4 different lines before we found someone who could tell us what to do. Keep in mind that neither my mom nor myself speak Spanish so we were totally dependent on Marielos. I finally found someone who spoke Spanglish and I figured out that I need to buy an exit ticket from the country and possibly pay $100 in order to get my extension. They handed me some random brochure in Spanish and sent me on my way.

$100.

Possibly.

But it could be less, they said.

???????

     Moving on. Frustrated, we left. I talked to my friend Megan who has two things I desperately needed: a car and a boyfriend who speaks Spanish. We coordinated our schedules and found a time that all three of us could put our lives on hold, travel to San Jose’s Tica Bus station, buy me an exit ticket, and head back to the immigration office. I’m a teacher, right? I have school and responsibilities so we went after I got out of school at 2 pm. By the time we got to the office it was about 3:30 pm which was fine because no office with any sense would close before 4 pm, right? 

Ha.

Let's keep going.

     The visa/residency office was closed. They close at ..... 12 pm. (Yes, you read that correctly. The office that is in the highest demand for the whole country is open from 7 am to 12 pm. It makes so much sense). However, being the stubborn one that I am, I walked throughout the building until I found someone who spoke English and was willing to listen to me whine about my little “situation.” Jose was his name, and he was a nice man. Except that he couldn’t complete all of my paperwork that day. Why, you ask? Remember the random little brochure in Spanish. Yeah... that was a list of NINE different things I needed to bring with me to get my extension. He told me to bring it back Monday. When I started having a mini freak out moment on him ... something like, “Sir. You don’t understand. I don’t live here. I live in Heredia. I am a teacher. I have a job. I can’t just come here whenever I want. I don’t have a car. I don’t speak Spanish. My 10 days expire tomorrow, Monday will be too late. I need to find a translator and a ride and take off work and....” You get the picture. He finally said, “Ok, if you have half of the paperwork today, I can start your process and you can bring the rest Monday.”  

Click here for part 2!!