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!! 

Teaching With Language Barriers

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I can speak Spanish. I know words. I know phrases. I know verbs and how to conjugate (most of) them. I can get around by myself if I need to, but I’d rather not. Because I teach at a bilingual school, and all of my classes are in English, the point is for the students to be immersed in the language with a native speaker. Enter: me.

Now, it's very hard not to practice my Spanish in the classroom because (1) I just want to and (2) they obviously understand that language better than the other. For example:

Me: “Students, find your seats.”

Students: blank stare.

Me: “Find. Your. Seats.”

Students: “Fye my whaaa?”

Me: “Sentase!!!!” (Not even knowing if that’s the right word.)

Students: “Ooohhh!! Sit down!”

Well, before I got to Costa Rica, the students whined to the sub (a girl from Costa Rica) – “Can’t we just speak Spanish?” She told them no, that they could not speak Spanish because when their "real teacher" got there (me), I wouldn't understand it - so they would need to always speak English. Never Spanish because their "real teacher" (me) didn't speak ANY Spanish.

Well the first day, I let a few Spanish words slip on accident. For example:

Me: “Students, listen to me please.”

Students: A few looked up, the rest still lost in distraction.

Me: “Escúchame!!”

Students: Everyone looked up and paid attention.

On the second day, I accidentally let a few more slip throughout the day. By the end of the last period, I had “practiced” quite a few Spanish terms on my students. So when Josué brought his notebook to my desk I said, “Gracias, mi amor,” which means, “Thank you, my love.” He walked away and Sofia, whose desk is right in front of mine, turned around and said, “Miss Ashli. You’re such a fast learner. You Spanish is SO much better today!”

I smiled and remembered that she thought I came with zero knowledge of Español. How cute she was, to encourage me in my “learning.”

And that’s how we started our first week in Miss Ashli’s class.

5 of my beautiful 8

Death's Relentless Pursuit

Death is:
 
                      Hard
           Permanent
   Empty
 
It is relentless.
 
It just might be the dang most ambitious thing any of us have ever laid eyes on. When it finalizes its attack, it stops at no one. It waits for nothing and frankly Scarlet, it just don’t give a damn about your plans. Let’s get real: death sucks to those of us left in its dust. 
I suppose we could thank death for its considerate warnings. After all, it often sends accidents, surgeries, and diseases to preface its unruly arrival. But we’re never really ready when it decides to grace disgrace us with its presence. “We knew it was coming, just not this soon,” seems to be one of the most common phrases uttered through tears at funeral services.
___________________________________________
As I stepped out of the car, I took a deep breath, for I knew what I was about to walk into. The night was hot, the air was thick, and every step closer to the door seemed heavier.  Walking in Papaw’s house I could tell others had been crying but for a moment, it was calm. Harold, Papaw’s dearest friend and caregiver, met me at the door of the dining room with a hug. “I told him you were coming in the morning,” He said, “I told him you were coming to read the Bible to him in the morning. But he just couldn’t wait.” For a brief second I was sad because I would have given anything to read one more Psalm and Proverb to Papaw. But before I could stop it, my mouth opened and out came, “There was no need for him to wait, he’s with the Real Thing right now.” 
 
I always was the curious type so when the coroner went back to see Papaw’s body and get details, I followed him into the bedroom. I sat down on his portable potty chair because well, it was the first available seat and besides, its what I sat on to read him the Bible so, why not? All the voices in the room faded, as I got lost in prayer, looking at his colorless body. “God, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to ask this. There’s no color on his face, there’s no blood running through his veins. I mean, there’s no life circulating through this body in front of me. Breathe life in to him, God.” Before I could beg the Father for revival any further, He stopped me. Maybe God was talking or maybe it was just my memory reminding me of what scripture says about heaven. But suddenly, I couldn’t ask God for life anymore. Cliché as it may sound, in an instant, my grandfather went from this life to the next. I mean, just like that, he went from being here to being gone. From suffering to perfection.
 
He went from being miserable in his recliner, covered with his beloved Ole Miss blanket, his body proving inadequacy to walking dancing down a street made of pure gold with undistracted attention to King Jesus. 
 
Just like that, all of it happened.
 
I thought of Isaiah and what God allowed him to see in chapter 6.
The train of His robe filled the temple.
I thought of the Psalms and Proverbs I had read to him in days before.
This day was the 8^th of August and once again, curiosity led him away from his side to the place we kept his Bible.
 
I smiled at God at I read Psalm 8.
 

O Lord, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth!
Your glory is higher than the heavens.
You have taught children and infants
to tell of your strength
silencing your enemies
and all who oppose you.
When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers—
the moon and the stars you set in place—
what are mere mortals that you should think about them,
  human beings that you should care for them?
Yet you made them only a little lower than God
and crowned them with glory and honor.
You gave them charge of everything you made,
putting all things under their authority—
the flocks and the herds
and all the wild animals,
the birds in the sky, the fish in the sea,
and everything that swims the ocean currents.
O Lord, our Lord, your majestic name fills the earth!

 
 
Last night, death came with relentless course. In the blink of an eye Papaw was gone and we were left with sorrowful tears and sweet memories. But in that very same blink, he stood in the presence of a God whose name is MAJESTIC and fills the whole earth. A God whose glory is higher than the heaven. He crowns an undeserving humanity with glory and honor.
 
Last night, Papaw was declared righteous and holy and deserving.

And now, he dances at the throne of the Most High. 

Apparently Our God Heals: Training Camp Part 2

You should know that I have zero theological training. One time in 9th grade I took a class called "Bible" and that was just because I was at a Christian school and didn't have a choice in the matter. Trust me, I’d rather been in Rhetoric or Debate. The one thing I remember about that class was sitting there wondering what the heck our Headmaster was talking about when he kept referring to “the fall.” I suppose I eventually figured it out and passed the class because I only had to take it once. But that single class is the extent of my sitting in a classroom learning anything even close to theology or doctrine or anything else. And to be honest, I like it that way.
 
So maybe I can’t explain to you WHY things happen the way they do. I can’t give you a prepared answer to WHY bad things happen or HOW God feels when they do. We could go rounds all day long talking about the WHY and the HOW and we’d both probably make some very good points. But right now, I want to talk about the WHO and the WHAT. Because some things happened at training camp that I can’t give an explanation for. All I can tell you is WHAT happened and WHO did it. And once you’ve experienced the power of the Holy Spirit like I did at training camp, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
 
On this particular night, our pastor and speaker for the week was teaching on prayer and healing and the combination of the two. I was so excited for this lesson because I’ve been praying for God to heal my back for so long now. When Ron asked if there was anyone who needed physical healing, a girl a few rows in front of me raised her hand immediately. Her name is Bekah. I had noticed Bekah right off the bat the first day of camp because she was on crutches. Although I saw her from a distance and I was discouraged by the amount of weight pressing down on me from my hiking pack, I instantly felt pain for Bekah. “My gosh it’s so hot and that poor girl has a boot on her leg. I can’t imagine dealing with all that and carrying a hiking pack too.” As I watched Bekah struggle to walk down to the front of the room without her crutches, I couldn’t help but wish it were I walking down that aisle for healing. 
 
As Bekah began to tell her story, something happened inside of me. But in this moment, all I could do was sit and stare. Bekah began to tell how she is a professional dancer and in many ways dancing is her ministry. God moved her and her husband, Josh, to LA and living in a secular world has been a very real struggle for them. She always had dancing to hold onto until she hurt her ankle. The more she spoke, the more I cried. A knot was growing in my stomach and my legs began to go numb. They started to tingle and eventually began to hurt. I felt actual pain in my legs and this is one of those times that I cannot explain WHY.
Now there were several girls on my squad who knew how bad my back has gotten over the last few months and I knew they were going to make me sit still long enough to pray over me. So I sat there thinking to myself, “I’m going to have to stand soon. These legs better start working.” Ron and a few others began to pray over Bekah and she felt tingles and movement in her foot. After a couple of minutes the whole room of 300+ stretched out our arms toward Bekah and begged God for healing.
 
As they continued to rub their hands over her leg and pray fervently for her, the rest of the room broke into small prayer circles praying over others who needed it. (I was one of those people and that specific blog is coming next so get ready.)
 
The next day in our first session all together, AIM staff asked Bekah for an update on her ankle. She said it felt so much better but she was still wearing her boot to be cautious and besides, she didn’t have a left shoe. As the week progressed and I would bump into Bekah during lunch or in the bathroom, she talked about how her ankle was healing and it was feeling better each day. She was still a little hesitant to take off her boot and walk freely.
 
One of the last days of camp I saw Bekah walking across campus with NOTHING ON HER FEET BUT TWO RUNNING SHOES. She was not limping or struggling … she was walking freely. “Wow, this girl is for real,” I thought. And then, it happened. That night with 300+ people in a room worshipping a God who had done more in that week than any of us could have imagined, it happened.
 
I was facing the back of the room praying for some girls on my squad when I heard the worship leader begin to sing “Revelation Song.” I looked up at Emily and said, “I love this song” as I turned around to worship. I couldn’t believe my eyes. They instantly filled with tears and my mouth dropped wide open. This is what I saw… 

Apparently Our God Exceeds Expectations: Training Camp Part 1

DISCLOSURE: You, the reader, should probably know that you may or may not like what you read here. If you can’t appreciate honesty, transparency, and raw, unedited word vomit then you should probably stop with this sentence. Because I, the writer, have a tendency to say (type) things that most people don’t say out loud. I tend to forget about social boundaries and sometimes I even cross those boundaries. As you’re reading, you may even think to yourself something like, “She really just went there?” And the answer will likely be yes.BUT, if you can hang with me to the end, you may see that I’m not so bad and we might actually have a lot more in common than you thought! So over the next few weeks I’ll be blogging a series about training camp and how I did or did not love every second of it. If you’re reading this sentence, you’ve decided to come along for the ride and quite frankly, I’m glad to have you here. Let’s go….     So what if AIM tells you to come to training camp without expectations? You know you had them. Even if you didn't know what to expect, you expected to be surprised.  It's ok, I had them too.  But honestly? Mine weren't so great. When asked if I was excited about camp my response was almost always, "Heck no. I heard it's worse than the race. The only thing I'm happy about is meeting my squad." But the truth is, I would have been fine putting that off for a few more weeks. I was not ready to leave my bedroom and bathroom and hot running water to sleep on the ground (and sometimes other conditions which shall remain secret) and take cold showers. And by "cold showers" I mean three. Three showers… in one week... cold... and the water pressure was equivalent to the drizzle when you don't turn the sink off all the way.   Some thoughts I had before training camp: “I don’t really want to do this.” “It’s ridiculous that they won’t tell us anything. We’re adults and we need details!" “If they don’t feed me enough food, I’ll just eat my snacks the whole time.”·      “Why am I leaving my parents and boyfriend and a good life for uncertainty?” “I have no gear. And when I get it, I won’t even know what to do with it.” “I wish God would free me from this.”   Who would be excited about this?  I'll tell you who.  Anyone who has ever been to a World Race training camp, that's who. Because that person knows what the heck he or she is about to experience and no bed or warm shower will compete with the power that comes from that encounter. I’m referring The Encounter. You know, the one that’s undeniable, irresistible, and quite impressive. I’d love to be able to narrow this encounter down to one specific time where the Holy Spirit came over me with strong wind like tongues of fire (Acts 2) but I just can’t do it. Simply because I believe that July 14-21, 2012 was one big kairos of lesson after lesson in which Jesus never left my side.   This is going to sound vague but there were chains broken. Chains that had held my brothers and sisters down for a very long time. Chains that were beginning to get tighter and leave bruises. They were now shattered and left to rust. There was healing. Physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental healing. Heck, people were healed in ways they didn’t even know they needed it. And mostly, there was love. A word that we toss around lightly indicating we enjoy/like/feel strongly about something. But this is a kind of love that I have never experienced in any other place. The best word I can think to describe it is: unconditional. Girls and guys became my brothers and sisters in a split second and before I knew it, they loved me… and they did it well. One night during worship everyone was singing "With Everything" to the top of our lungs. Rarely have I seen more passionate worship from young adults. There's a rather large part of the song that simply sings, "Woa" over and over and over and over and as I looked around the room I thought to myself, "This MUST be a glimps into heaven."    Some thoughts I’ve had since I’ve been home from camp: “I’ve honestly never been in a place where I felt more safe to be myself.” “God must have thought it was funny when my bag of snacks was invaded by ants and later ransacked by other campers… on night TWO.” “Thank you God for knowing how I tick. And that my ticking doesn’t have to look like anyone else” “Well, I made it through. I feel like I could take on the world.”   So ya see, training camp wasn’t all bad. I slept (or didn’t sleep) in some not-so-ideal conditions. I ate some not-so-ideal food for any time of the day on any day of the week. I walked some not-so-ideal miles up mountains all week and smelled some not-so-ideal scents. But I met a God who is ideal. In every way, reader, He is ideal. And this year He has planned out for me is more ideal than I can begin to tell you. I’m glad you’ve made it to this sentence and I can’t wait to tell you more!   After all, I feel like I could take on the world. And I just might try...

All I Need is Him

The church I go to has a service on Saturday night and because I'm usually already in Hattiesburg on Saturday, I go to that one. I therefore had no obligations or responsibilities today. Because of this, I slept the day away - according to my boyfriend who never exaggerates the truth. So here I am at 11pm on Sunday evening writing a blog instead of enjoying some serious REM cycles. I have to wake up at 5:30am for work but hey, YOLO...... right?

It's been like 80 years since I last blogged and a lot has happened since then! Um for one, I have a boyfriend? I'm not really sure what to do with one of those but ... ya know, one day at time. And he's great. And supportive of the race - we'll see how hunky dory he is come September 1st.

For two, my fund raising has been a roller coaster ride. Slow -- fast --- up --- down --- and just when it gets boring, the bottom falls out and you "lose your stomach" which makes for a fun rest of the ride. Some people have been awesome and donated like $500 at a time while others have been awesome and donated $11 on the 11th of EVERY month. How cool are God's people? Like, seriously. Sometimes I still debate on making World Race t-shirts to raise money. I just don't know if I have the time... or patience.

Training camp is in 6 days - I'll be gone for 2 weeks - and well, it's starting to get serious. Until now, World Race has just been talk. Training camp has been talk. I had a mini freak out moment the other day. Me and the boyfrann bought a devo book to do together .... and then I realized it's a nine week study. NINE WEEKS.  After training camp, I'll have five weeks left in the good ole states. FIVE WEEKS. I wanted to throw up and cry and send AIM an e-mail explaining why I've chosen not to go.
Then I imagined, for a moment, what that e-mail might sound like. That's when I remembered that He who is in me really is greater than he that is in the world. See, here's the thing: there are a million people in my life with a million different reasons for me not to go - some valid and some just plain ridiculous. But at the end of the day, despite the never-ending pain in my back and despite the fun times I am having right now with my family and friends and new love and despite the need here in the US, I have never... ever... not once... doubted that I was supposed to go. There have been times I wondered if God may be shutting a door but in the most deep parts of my heart, I knew He was sending me.

I know. He's sending me.


For three, I've been reading "Not a Fan" by Kyle Idleman. I'll be honest. I've been reading it for about 6 months now -- I suck at reading, okay? Anyway, it's a great book - an easy read and I'd recommend it to anyone who... well, anyone. It's about being a follower of Jesus as opposed to a fan. Sometimes I feel like a fan.

Sometimes I am just a fan.

And other times I don't feel like I'm much of either. The truth is, I'd like to put time into my earthly relationships rather than the Eternal One. I'd rather surf Facebook than the New Testament and I'd like to hang out with girlfriends rather than small group.

But lucky for us, this world does not operate on my wants or desires but rather on His. We can't live according to our feelings and expectations but rather according to Truth.


So here I am, on this late Sunday evening thinking about the last few months and the next few to come and suddenly my anxieties and questions disappear. At the end of the day [literally] all I need is Jesus.

All I need is Him.


Goodnight, world.

http://ashliblackwell.theworldrace.org/