Costa Rica
I look out the window - everything is so beautiful here, in this part of the world. Here I cannot believe that the best has already past. If it were so, I would not be here.
It is not possible that what I have left behind can never be surpassed, though I wake so many days with that thought. Yet in saner moments, a few cups of very strong coffee later, I am left gaping at the mountains, knowing that I could not be here if I had stayed there.
Every sadness, every so called sacrifice, every difficulty that ever beset me, was sent to me with the purpose of making me different - a person capable of enjoying a day like today, capable of believing that the best is yet to come, capable (for the first time in my life) of submitting myself to a God who would go to such great lengths to get that truth through a thick skull, a stiff neck, a hard heart.
We go now to see the waterfall.
But it wasn't just one waterfall - but rather a river that runs down to the lowest place it can, and there are several "cascadas". Every one is different, but all have the same water, clear, clean, and cold. The mist is everywhere. I strain to capture it all. I breathe deeply to record the smell of this place, even when the humidity and the spray make it nearly impossible. I've never smelled anything like it. I want to touch every plant, every rock, every thing, even down to the rope that guides me down the stairs (so many stairs).
I pray that the sights keep fresh in my memory, but moreso I want to remember the voice of rushing waters, so strong and loud. I don't ever want to forget how the water throws itself over the edge with such joy, racing for the lowest place - the way love chases the humble - the way God's blessings pursue me - with reckless abandon and in such quantities as to make one dizzy at the sight of it.
And now we take a boat ride on the river - the Sarapiqui
Like a tree planted by still waters, how green, how lush, with roots which thirst to drink deeply, so shall I be. And not I alone, but we - part of a forest, but no, rather an entire ecosystem which exists - nourishing itself, and nourishing the rest of the world, too. The very air is thick with life and growth. That's the smell, the smell is growth. I didn't know what it smelled like until today. I am sad to think that I won't smell it every day for the rest of my life. Here nothing smells of draught, of dust - there is no hint of insufficiency to any of the senses - only an age, a permanence to such abundant provision.
So shall I be.
Look Look Look what the rain brings! A forest, a jungle, as high as the sky skrapers to which I am so accustomed. Because of the rain, because of the clouds, the rivers are full, the waterfalls pour forth, and the whole world is green - but not without the rain. How can one dread the rain? How can one respond to the gathering clouds, but to rejoice at the known result?
Please, oh please, do not take me from the rain, but keep me through it.
It is not possible that what I have left behind can never be surpassed, though I wake so many days with that thought. Yet in saner moments, a few cups of very strong coffee later, I am left gaping at the mountains, knowing that I could not be here if I had stayed there.
Every sadness, every so called sacrifice, every difficulty that ever beset me, was sent to me with the purpose of making me different - a person capable of enjoying a day like today, capable of believing that the best is yet to come, capable (for the first time in my life) of submitting myself to a God who would go to such great lengths to get that truth through a thick skull, a stiff neck, a hard heart.
We go now to see the waterfall.
But it wasn't just one waterfall - but rather a river that runs down to the lowest place it can, and there are several "cascadas". Every one is different, but all have the same water, clear, clean, and cold. The mist is everywhere. I strain to capture it all. I breathe deeply to record the smell of this place, even when the humidity and the spray make it nearly impossible. I've never smelled anything like it. I want to touch every plant, every rock, every thing, even down to the rope that guides me down the stairs (so many stairs).
I pray that the sights keep fresh in my memory, but moreso I want to remember the voice of rushing waters, so strong and loud. I don't ever want to forget how the water throws itself over the edge with such joy, racing for the lowest place - the way love chases the humble - the way God's blessings pursue me - with reckless abandon and in such quantities as to make one dizzy at the sight of it.
And now we take a boat ride on the river - the Sarapiqui
Like a tree planted by still waters, how green, how lush, with roots which thirst to drink deeply, so shall I be. And not I alone, but we - part of a forest, but no, rather an entire ecosystem which exists - nourishing itself, and nourishing the rest of the world, too. The very air is thick with life and growth. That's the smell, the smell is growth. I didn't know what it smelled like until today. I am sad to think that I won't smell it every day for the rest of my life. Here nothing smells of draught, of dust - there is no hint of insufficiency to any of the senses - only an age, a permanence to such abundant provision.
So shall I be.
Look Look Look what the rain brings! A forest, a jungle, as high as the sky skrapers to which I am so accustomed. Because of the rain, because of the clouds, the rivers are full, the waterfalls pour forth, and the whole world is green - but not without the rain. How can one dread the rain? How can one respond to the gathering clouds, but to rejoice at the known result?
Please, oh please, do not take me from the rain, but keep me through it.
posted by JennW7773 | 2:17 PM
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