Cuban Cigars & Caribbean Waves - A Perfect Ending

Juego Terminado. Translation: Game over. Our bout in the beautiful country of Costa Rica is officially complete. We are safely back in the United States without any major hiccups ... Praise the Lord of Abraham, Jacob & Isaac! Our last night in Costa Rica involved a ransacking of the local grocery store for their coffee, hot sauce, dulce de leche, and pineapple jam. Thus, with our bags packed to the brim with Costa Rican goods and our new brandished tans, we were warmly welcomed back into the Land of the Free. (And of course hot water, toilet paper, and to-go coffee cups.) Suprisingly, U.S. customs had no problem with our mini-export coffee operation that we had going on considering I transported enough to keep me and my network of brethren caffeined up until the Rapture.


It feels like a lifetime has gone by since we left, but at the same time its as if we were never gone. Already, the daily tasks are piling up in my head and its back to the grind! Its funny how the concept of time felt so different down there. The days felt more fulfilling, richer with memories, and slower than that of a "regular" day in my normal life. Additionally, the excruciatingly slow bus transit system literally forced us to sit, be still, and enjoy life sans the pressure to constantly be moving and doing something. Consequently, comparitively speaking I felt like our days were so lush with substance as oppposed to a day in the office where routine tends to sterilize the hours of the day. So in that sense it seems like years of memories have past with all that we were able to cram into the last 13 days.

My favorite memories throughout the whole trip was the memories that were made through all our interpersonal interactions with one another and the random people God placed in our path along the way. The natives were so extremely helpful, hopsitable, and downright sweethearts wherever we went. And the random foreigns that we met throughout our trek were nothing short of absolute hilarity and intrigue. Some top favorites include the French guy we met in Monteverde who was astounded that we would liken France to Crepes, the friendly housekeeper named Flor who rambled off much of her life story to us over bread and butter, crazy bus stop man who was deported from Costa Rica, the Brazilian-New Zealand-Estonia trio (enough said), weird mustache surfer bunk mate, cute zip line guide dudes, the foul-mouthed Swedes, crazy drunken Columbian restaurant owner, Amy's dance partner in Cahuita, the infamous to whom I am now a disciple: Swimmerman, and Silver the 21-year-old park worker ... just to name a few. The people definitely made the trip what it is, was, and is yet to come. (Not sure what that means, but I'm leaving it.)

But, I have to say, aside from the picturesque waves, the jungles, the wildlife, the culture, the culinary delights, the foreigns, and all the other blessings I expected out of the trip, the one and most important blessing I did not anticipate came from the four unlikely woman that made up the traveling posse. In hindsight, with four totally variant personalities, temperaments, and travel styles -- not to mention the fact that some of us barely knew each other -- I am astounded at how well we came together to make this trip such a monumental time. There were some rocky times for sure (missing buses, things lost in translation, robberies, losing bottles upon bottles of aloe vera, etc.) but in the end God taught us (or maybe just me) a lifetime's worth of lessons in teamwork, patience, and love.

The interactions between the four of us that often times are confined to surface-level mini conversations were stretched to deep levels that explored all kinds of facets of everyone's personality. Those three woman know so much about me at this point ... I should probably kill them. (A jest.) Likewise, I could now tell you who was hung upside down and tortured relentlessly by their brother, who flushed the toilet on their father, who broke a pen on someone's face and who once had to stare at a toilet for 30 seconds to appease their father's packing checklist. That was seriously the good stuff of the whole trip.

But vacay time had to come to an end and its back to work for all of us tomorrow at 8 a.m. Thankfully, I have a) Costa Rican caffeine to help make the transistion a smooth one and b) the perfect ending to a crazy showdown in Central America: smoking a Cuban Cigar in a rocking chair overlooking the ocean. Life. Is. Good.

The Caribbean.

Untamed palm trees. Fruit smoothies. Reggae. Coconuts. Small dogs named Jorgecito. Pineapples galore. The Caribbean. We have arrived. And so has my sanity.

With only a few days left of this legendary vacay in Central America, we are all completely speechless from all that has happened in what seems like a lifetime of events. From Day 1 to what is now Day 10 I think, we have traversed what feels like the entire country of Costa Rica and a sliver of Nicaragua, waited at a gazillion bus stops, spent about a gazillion colones, doled out over a hundred thousand "holas," caused a spectacle everywhere we went, and of course consumed more rice and beans than I ever wanted to in my lifetime. But we have finally arrived -- Caribbean side -- in what we think is going to be our last destination before heading back to the airport and hitchin' a ride back to the States. As I'm writing in a loft overlooking our hammock-strewn hotel grounds and the peaceful waves of the Caribbean, I am overwhelmed by all our adventures in the last few days.

In fact, I'm not even sure what to document anymore. Since the last update, we experienced San Jose ... again. And in case we forgot, yep, we still hate it! However, it was a quick and painless stop to get Amy a new passport after the stealth robbery in Puntarrenas. We then made our way on the snail-like Costa Rican bus to Monteverde where we found ourselves staying in the back of a gift shop. However, don't despair. It was the smartest decision we ever made. Love-struck teenagers and a friendly native named Jarve -- who in fact strongly resembled the Columbia Coffee Can Man -- aided us in strategically planning the duration of our time in Costa Rica and, most importantly, our run to the border into Nicaragua.

And I'm not kidding when I say run for the border.

Basically, everything our guide book said NOT to do when crossing the border ... we did. I guess you could say, we are the text book example in the flesh of the wrong way to cross the Nicaraguan-Costa Rican border. And once again, probably by the grace of our God, we are alive to tell -- or blog -- about it today.

The border crossing day -- which I now refer to as the longest traveling day in the history of man -- began with a 6 a.m. bus ride to a small town called Chomes. Or as I now refer to it "Hell on Earth." We proceeded to wait 3 hours for a bus that came and never stopped. Hopelessly we waited for another bus to come, which we were assured time and time again by the locals that it would indeed come. However, to our dismay, and 6 hours in the hot sun later, the bus never came. Now, with our entire plan to make it to Nicaragua by night fall blown and essentially much of the Jarve-inspired strategic trip plan obliterated, we found ourselves sitting helplessly at a restaurant in Liberia feeling glum and defeated. Much of our plan to come to Costa Rica hinged on the fact that we would make it to Nicaragua. Feeling that possibility slip from our fingertips was like a mighty blow to the large intestine.

But then a voice ...

"I will take you to the border for 50 dollars," a voice of an angel -- obviously in English -- said from a table behind the bar. "It's a good price. I want to help."

Ok, I know I'm making this sound all dramatic. But really, it was dramatic.

We knew that if we tried to make it to the border that day we would have to cross at night, which everyone and everything had warned us not to do because of tensions at the border and the danger level. You could probably say it was Code Orange danger level. But if we didn't leave that day due to the hideous state of public transportation here, Nicaragua was out of the picture. Determined to get there, we took the Taxi driver man and his wife up on his offer and we took a taxi to the border. Once at the border, we had to get our stamps and walk through a brief forest to get to the Nicaraguan side. Holding hands -- yes I know dramatic -- we crossed into Nicaragua praying for protection. And we got it. Upon our crossing, another angel showed up and led us through customs, immigration, paying taxes and took us to San Jorge, our destination spot in Nicaragua.

Our only regret thus far -- besides not owning a private jet -- is that we were not able to spend more time in Nicaragua. We made it to an island called Ometepe, a volcanic island located in Lake Nicaragua and the beauty of the place was completely overwhelming. We started the day by eating at a family's house for breakfast with a wild chicken pecking at our feet -- a health inspector's worst nightmare -- and we spent the rest of the day moving rocks at a church construction site there on the island. I cannot express what a blessing it was to be at the church and interacting with church-goers, the Father at the church, and the church construction workers. We only hope that the work we were able to do for them was as much of a blessing to them as they were to us.

On that note, I have to say, this trip has really afforded us the ability to be stretched physically, emotionally, and for me personally, spiritually beyond all get up. It just hasn't been your normal crazy two week vacation one would expect when visiting Costa Rica. God has shown up in mighty ways throughout our trip and has really given me the chance to reflect on how prevalent and active He is all across the board. The faith of the people here is so real, so evident, and so lived out ... and it looks completely different from much of the faith that we see and experience back in the States.

There is so much more to the story, but I think this internet place is closing and I have to go pick up some laundry that we are doing here in town. We are staying in a place called Cahuita which is in the southwest region of Costa Rica and it has a lot of creole, Jamaican, and Bob Marley flavor to it -- and to Abby's delight of course, lots of people with dark skin. We arrived here on a Private Shuttle that we took from Liberia to here, a six hour drive that would have probably taken us a decade to get here should we have opted for the public bus. So, as you can imagine, we are elated beyond elated to be here and soaking up all the sun we can before going back to Colorado. Guaranteed, we might be the most sun-kissed skiers on the mountain when we return!

My Blood Type is Salt

I have stumbled upon yet another gigantic subculture unbeknownst to me until now ... the world´s backpacking travelers. It is day five of our Central American unplanned extravaganza and the amount of random travelers that we have met doing the exact same thing as us is overwhelming.



We meet them at the bus, at hostels, in sodas (Central American diner equivalents), in the bathroom, on the street, on the beach ... they are everywhere. And I thought we were crazy. Out of everyone, we by far have the shortest trip here. Backpacking for months on end, these people take funemployment to a whole new level! It has become evident that I am clearly a rookie at the fine art of living out of a standard size bag. That being said, I am having the time of my life.



For the sake of my parents that I know are reading this, I will not detail the hostels in which we have stayed thus far. However, I will say we just got back from a weekend at one of Costa Rica´s most incredible beaches ... in my limited opinion ... called Santa Teresa. Located right off the Nicoya Peninisula, it is virtually untouched except by the locals and true to life surfer bums that came and never left. And truth be told, I had thoughts about never leaving. Seriously. That good. Getting there is a nightmare ... Costa Rican public travel you might as well take a camel ... but once there, it was surreal. I felt like Brad Pitt on some spy mission amongst locals on bikes in lush jungle like conditions. All we need is a rugged vehicle. This whole bus thing is really killing our look.



After Abby mistakenly thanked our cab driver in Italian, we found ourselves a hostel, made friends with a cute couple from British Columbia, found some coffee, and footed the long dirt road that spanned the whole coastline. Lined with crazy hostels, restaurants, surf shops, obnoxious roosters, and stray dogs, this place has gold written all over it. Someone really needs to notify John Milton because Paradise has definitely been found.



We rented boards for a day from uber hard core surfer gal from Norway and I gave everyone a quick makeshift lesson on surfing. Super scary considering my limited surfer skills. But despite the horrendous instructor, everyone did awesome. I took a head dive into the ocean floor but am alive to tell about it, Abby got a board to the face, also alive to tell about. Mikki almost drowned but is still alive to tell about it ... flu shot invoked swollen ankles and all ... and Amy is still alive! However, despite our injuries and our horrid sunburns, we can now say we surfed the world renowned waves of Costa Rica. Check off one of the things to do before I die! Meanwhile, Abby and I determined one of two things, we were either supposed to be birthed into the Pacific Ocean or our blood type is salt. We became one with the ocean.



I have to mention the hostel we stayed in called the Funky Monkey there in Santa Teresa. Imagine coastline bungalow with hammocks positioned above the beach hidden in the forest and that is where we stayed. Absolutley amazing. The people staying there were some of the most fascinating people we have ever met. From the hottie mom that owned the place to crazy brothers from the O.C. to old Steven from Canada to Nicolai from Norway who once hitchhiked across the U.S. with his mom... God´s dynamic creation just kept coming out of the woodwork.



However, meeting the worlds weirdest and best and falling asleep everynight to crazy animal noises and the best of American classic rock and Bob Marley ... literally heaven in a bungalow ... had to come to an end. We are now currently en route to try to kill ourselves again by taking a zipline over the canopies of some rainforest. We had to take a slight detour back to San Jose because someone decided it would be fun to steal Amy´s passport. Definitely a buzzkill. However, an epic story has been generated from the tragedy. I will save this story for later as this is getting far too long and some random keeps interurrpting me to chat about life.

However, as a teaser, let´s just say we had to traverse the streets of some random town looking for a police station to report the crime. And then let´s just say I ended up being quasi struggling translator between Amy and the chief of police of Puntarrenas. Then imagine us being transported by the police ... with the whole police force laughing at us ... to the court house to make our official complaint for the U.S. Embassy. Oh the sweet taste of adventure in a third world country!

Foot loose and Fancy Free

Three admissions counselors. One Accountant. Four women, age 24, on a reckless adventure in Central America. We have arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica.

I am currently sitting under a short surfboard with a painted turtle on it that says "Costa Rica" in a random hostel in San Jose. Thoughts running through my mind ... Where are we staying and where is the closest Marriott? Also, who is this clown outside smoking and talking about his surfing escapades? The adventure has begun.

Our Thanksgiving was spent in the airport and our usual turkey feast was transformed into colorful goldfish, peanut butter and chocolate chips, granola bars, and fruit snacks. Myself, being the shameless coffee addict of the group, had to stop at a coffee shop in DIA to get my last American latte. Pathetic, but totally necessary. Regardless, we had our meal and are now thankfully in one of our destination countries without any major issues. The first blunder of the trip: I spilled half of our chocolate snack on the airport floor and Abby forgot her shoes. Its going to be a good trip. Amy the Accountant seems incredibly organized and I think she will be instrumental in our success.

The cab ride over was the perfect start to the trip. Two good ole boys ... probably age 50 ... shared a cab ride over with us into San Jose from the airport. Sporting loud, obnoxious Florida jerseys, they were the epitome of American tourists. However, they were perfect for a few good laughs, some traveling tips, and a couple off-color jokes which I asked them not to tell, but Stu decided that we had to hear them. Classic. When they asked us what we were doing down here and we told him, he was shocked. "Wait none of you are married?" Nope! We tell him. "Well arent you guys just foot loose and fancy free!" Quote of the day. Done.

Thankfully, my Spanish is coming back quite easily and I was able to communicate with our cab driver about all sorts of things. When he pulled up to the hostel, I asked him if we were in the right place because I dont think I quite prepared myself for hostel travel again. I quickly looked for the nearest hotel, but realized that we are doing this on a budget. Budget means hostels and hostels mean ... sleep with one eye open. Flashbacks to college and my time in Argentina are upon me. What would an adventure be without crazy hostel patrons.

We are off to bed. Tomorrow we are going to try to figure out our next destination. My main goal ... coffee.

Disclaimer ... apologies if my grammar is off and punctuation marks are missing, the keyboard here is bizarre and this monitor is the size of my cell phone.

Vamos.

So, a few months ago in the midst of a sunny, workless afternoon, a couple co-workers and myself concocted an idea to buy a ticket to a random destination in the world and go on vacation. (Yes, welcome to the life of an admissions counselor or as a fine hip-hop artist would say a "Go-Gettah.") At first we were thinking South Africa, then upon the remembrance of the fact that Costa Rica has amazing surfing and of course acrobatic monkeys, we started toying with the idea of Costa Rica.

Over the next couple of weeks after the idea of Costa Rica was mentioned, I have never heard or seen so many things about Costa Rica in my life. The next day I ran into someone who just got back from there, I started seeing news articles about Costa Rica, I was dreaming about Costa Rica, and finally -- the last straw -- the brew of the day at Starbucks was from ... yep ... Costa Rica! I mean, seriously, it was written in the stars basically. But, all jokes aside, a few days later there was a bigger confirmation that we were definitely destined for the shores of Central America.

I was assigned to visit this random high school in Lakewood just down the street from my work. So I arrived at the high school (about 40 kids) thinking that this trip was going to be a complete waste of time. However, I went in sat down and started chatting with the guidance counselor on staff there. We talked substantially about her students, the high school, and college and I did what I do best: pretend to know what I'm talking about. Then, somehow we got on the subject of travel and she started telling me about a trip she had recently taken to ... Costa Rica. However, her story did not entail legends of jungles, wild parties, surfing, handsome Costa Rican men, or the narcotic-like coffee. Instead, her eyes lit up when she talked about working with Nicaraguan kids ("nicos"). She told me how poorly the Nicaraguans are treated in Costa Rica because they illegally migrate by the thousands to Costa Rica in search of a better life. Her and a group of her friends volunteered with some of the nico kids and she said it literally changed her life to spend time with these precious children and tell them -- to their utter shock -- that they were loved not only by them but a terrificly fantastic man named Jesus.

The minute I heard her story I knew ... We had to go. I got back to the office and told my co-workers, and surprisingly, they too had it placed on their heart that this "vacation" was an awesome opportunity to volunteer. Excited and totally exhuberhant, we purchased our tickets on a whim.

That was six months ago. Now, two days away from our trip, reality is setting in that we are actually going! We still don't know where exactly we are going to volunteer in Nicaragua, but I am confident that the Lord will lead us to where He wants us to be. So, if you are reading this, please pray that God uses us down there in anyway he pleases and that we are obedient to His call. We have no reservations, no plans, no itinerary, and are virtually open to any opportunity that arises. I just hope it is not a Nicaraguan prison because man, I hate prisons.

Also, I checked the surf report yesterday and let's just say ... like the thief on the cross next to Jesus ... soon, I too, will be in Paradise. And by Paradise I obviously mean ... Costa Rica.

I'll Take Two Dozen ... Years.

So, yesterday I reached the magical number of 24 years old. I typically kind of always dread my birthday for some reason. I am not particularly fond of a production being made out of me and would rather just somehow float under the radar specifically on November 13. For other people's birthdays I am the first to want to celebrate in epic proportions, but for myself, totally different story.

However, despite myself, I was bombarded with presents, messages, letters, phone calls, and in true 21st Century communication efforts: facebook wall postings, texts, e-mails, etc. It was mind boggling! Who knew being so socially connected via the internet could provide such an ego boost! Call me ridiculous, but I was seriously touched by the random birthday wishes and thoughts from so many people -- even if that creepy guy from High School wished me a happy birthday --I'll take it! (Kidding).

But the most valuable Birthday wish of all came in the middle of the night the night before my birthday. Now, I'm not Joseph. And I'm not a dream interpreter. And I don’t slay people in the spirit. But often times, I know that I hear from God. If this is too charismatic for you, then burn me at the stake and take me off the prayer chain.

Anyhow, I couldn't sleep for some reason and I laid in bed awake thinking of all the days tasks and feeling slightly anxious about the fact that it was my birthday. I'm 24 years old. I haven't written a book yet, I do not own property, I sometimes park on my front yard because I live with so many people, I still don't really fully grasp the concept of a 401k plan, what the heck am I doing with my life, I'm totally dreading the awkward phone call from the ex-boyfriend wishing me a happy birthday, am I going to get the same sweater I get every year, etc. You know, the typical birthday anxiety syndrome.

However, in the midst of all these fears, questions, and self-accusatory thoughts, God pressed on my mind this one simple thought: Tomorrow is my day to celebrate you Tracy. It doesn't matter if anyone else recognizes this day. The fact is, I do and I am the most excited and thrilled about you, your life, & my creation.

Never thinking about my birthday in that light before ... a time when God -- you know God of the Universe -- actually celebrates over His creation, and that creation being me ... ! I guess you could say that totally blows the sheet cake that says "Happy Birthday" at the office completely out of the water.

Needless to say, I awoke the next morning having an entire new outlook on the ‘ole November 13 and the fact that I am 24 years old (and still parking on my lawn). So while all the presents, wall shenanigans, e-mails, surprise deliveries etc. were absolutely fabulous and wonderful, I got the only Birthday greeting that really mattered this year on November 13 at 3 a.m.

No wonder I was ridiculously late to the office that day.

Suitcase Living.

Where is my toothbrush? Where is my black shirt? And, seriously? I didn't bring the right shoes. In fact, did I bring any shoes at all?


Traveling for my job has complicated my life. Not really, but it has made it exceedingly clear that efficient packing is definitely not within my strongest skill set. Forgetting one seemingly insignificant item can put a damper on a whole trip and it seems that somehow everywhere I go, I find a way to forget something just pertinent enough to inconvenience some aspect of the travel. I like to blame this on airport security and their crazy 3 oz. and ziploc baggy rule, but when I get real honest with myself I can't really blame them for forgetting such things as underwear or adequate form of identification.

Needless to say, the preparation for and the actuality of living out of a suitcase has sort of a glamorous and exciting sound to it, but in the thick of it, is rather taxing on all fronts: emotionally, physically, and organizationally.

Every morning while on the road, I awake and the schedule of the day immediatley looms over me like a heavy, daunting mist of chaos. But with each task accomplished throughout the day, it is a step closer to the end of the trip. A step closer to the goal -- accomplishing all the interactions and activities necessary to return home. Back to normalcy. Back to consistency. Back to familiarity. Knowing I am going home once I accomplish the goal of the trip makes the duties of the day that much more exceedingly easy to get through.

Thus, I have decided that living in such a transistory state -- suitcase living -- is largely metaphorical for the life we live here on earth.


We are told that this earth is not really our home in Scripture and we are basically just travelers and foreigners in this land. Each day and each task accomplished is a step closer to home. A step towards spending the rest of unchartered eternity of time with our Father.

When I'm on the road living out of my suitcase, the mentaility is one that is confident that this trip will come to an end. Never once when I was on the road did I ever find myself wondering if I was ever going home, it was an obvious given. Similarily, living as a traveler on this earth, I should never live my day to day life like I'm not sure whether or not I'm ever going to get to go home or place more precedence on the temporal location rather than the final. Signed, sealed, and delivered ... It's already a done deal where I'm headed. My tasks, my job, my friends, my relationships, and my day-to-day are not my final goal or destination. I'm just a traveler. Living out of a suitcase.

And seriously, I need a packing assistant.

Failure.To.Act.

If there is one thing I am guilty of through and through, it is procrastination. I often pawn it off as the “journalistic technique” within me: wait until the last minute and then work like crazy under pressure to make the deadline. But, when I’m honest with myself, there is something deeper that is creating this pattern of delay. I find myself putting off things only to never complete them. Then upon realization that I failed to act on something that I knew clearly I probably should have, I attempt to take on more in order to neutralize the negative effects of not doing the previous thing. However, at that point, I am overwhelmed and begin procrastinating the new tasks and the vicious cycle continues! Consequently, the things that I know I want to do often never get done and the guilt levels rise to astronomic levels.

I am reminded of the Apostle Paul’s timeless lament:

“For the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice!”

Essentially, Paul was describing the quandary that is my life and, unless you’re Jesus, probably yours too to an extent.

In our apple pie American culture, we are busy bodies. Every where we look – including our churches today – we are accosted by flashy … stuff! It seems like everything and everybody is trying to get our attention to transfer to their particular agenda. Buy this. Sell that. Say this. Don’t say that. Sign here. Try this. Eat that. Tap the Rockies, etc. Consequently, we take on the same mentality within ourselves in order to counteract what is going on in front of us. We create our own agendas and attempt to accomplish them often in our own strength. We may not even realize it, but we are constantly moving, constantly achieving, constantly looking for the next apple to bite. (Is that an expression? Whatever, it is now and probably worthy of an urbandictionary.com entry.) However, in the midst of all this fast-paced goal-attaining behavior, we often become desensitized to our Jesus-prescribed goal: Being the salt and light of the earth.

In a sermon I heard today at church, Michael (our pastor) reminded us that we do not have to somehow strive to become the “salt” and “light” of the world, we merely are. It is a state of being. A state of being the divine manifestation of God’s glory and splendor to the rest of the world. However, we can become useless (or unseasoned) salt by becoming tainted or defiled. For me, the primary mode in which I have been rendered “unseasoned” is this procrastination disorder I alluded to. I busy myself with activities that are in hindsight entirely inconsequential and neglect things and people that God has placed in my midst. I have been strongly confronted with the fact that while I can talk a great game of Christianity and faith, the implementation of said game has been weak at best in recent months.

In a more articulate fashion, Brennan Manning puts it this way:

“What we do about the lordship of Jesus is a better indication of our faith than what we think. This is what the world wants from our rhetoric, what the man of God longs for in a shepherd – someone daring enough to be different, humble enough to make mistakes, wild enough to be burned in the fire of love, real enough to make others see how phony we are.”

God’s glory and character is meant to be manifested to the world in a large part through His followers. So many of us – including myself – miss this because we are procrastinating doing what He has asked of us and instead remain preoccupied with our own manufactured so-called necessities of life. However, when it comes time to talk about our faith we can definitely project what we know is the right thing to articulate. But as we all know, we can all be well-rehearsed in the semantics of our faith and still fail to act.

Finding Home ...

A quick trip back to Los Angeles, a long overdue read of Brennan Manning’s "Ragamuffin Gospel," a long run on the beach, and a good glass of wine has caused me to tackle the feat of breaking a long pause in my writing. So, with the break in the silence, I thought I would start this site up so that I would maybe actually stick to writing consistently again.

There is something about writing that keeps one honest and in tune with oneself. So, as much as I hate the term "blogging," (it sort of reminds of those ridiculous "pogs" that were somehow popular once) I’m jumping on the 21st Century bandwagon and blabbing off to the universe on an obscure web site. But, hey, who knows, someone might read this one day and say to themselves "wow, what a masterpiece!" or better yet, "wow, what a colossal waste of my time!" Either way, someone will have read it, and the blogging world is a better place because of it.

I moved to Colorado from LA about 10 months ago and since then a whirlwind of God inspired changes has wreaked havoc and joy on my life. Career, education, relationships, location, hobbies, friends, and even dog preferences were turned completely on its head from my short time that I have lived in this beautiful state. But, no matter how stretching, draining, confusing, and frustrating any of the changes that have taken place have been, my trip back to LA clearly confirmed that my move to Colorado was completely Divine. I really have known that all along, but visiting the smog-ridden, cluttered, suffocating city and coming face to face (literally) with some of my old so-felt "demons" confirmed it a hundred times over.

In a way, I kind of felt like getting on a plane to come home to a place that I loved was like giving the middle finger to a city that was emblematic of one of the most trying times in my life. I really have nothing against the city itself, but the memories and habits it evokes deserves "the bird." And by the way, sometimes I truly believe the only expression that is appropriate is the bird. But, for the sake of the airport ground workers, I did not flip off the city from the window of the plane. It was really more just of a mental gesture.

So, here I am in Colorado having the time of my life and I feel home. God has sincerely provided in all aspects of life here for me. Lately, however, I have been challenged to look inwardly for that feeling of "home" instead of mere physical location. I may be happy about where I live, but He has forced me to ask myself where am I really living in my heart, soul, and mind. Brennan Manning gives a beautiful perspective of this idea in his book I’m reading:

"In our society we have many homeless people sleeping not only on the streets, in shelters or in welfare hotels, but vagabonds who are in flight, who never come home to themselves … They have become strangers to themselves, people who have an address but are never at home, who never hear the voice of love or experience the freedom of God’s children."

I think Manning nails it here. There are so many of us that are such vagabonds in our hearts, souls, and minds never allowing love and grace to truly grant us freedom from ourselves. It’s so easy to enslave ourselves without realizing it with fears, insecurities, overly-analytical processing, and lofty stipulations, but what God offers us as His children is a HOME void of all those things. (I realize that all this sounds very Christian jargon-y, but it all just came out suddenly. Apologies.)

Regardless, I have a lot to learn on this particular subject and I’m looking forward to finishing Manning’s book. It feels good to be writing again. I just hope it doesn’t take another trip to LA, a book, a run, and wine to do the trick. I’m going to be broke if that is the case.

Also, I had written a title before I wrote this blurb and now I realize that I have gotten off on such a tangent that the title no longer makes sense. Changing it now.

Note to self: write title post writing the blog.