Fresh roasted coffee beans wafted outside the small, corner cafe. My steps hit the litter-speckled pavement underneath a blue, cloudless sky. Oaxaca, Mexico.

It had been awhile since I made any sort of trip without Jeremy and the dust on my shoes made me miss my traveling companion and most kindred spirit. Before I met Jeremy at the New Tribes Missions training center in Wisconsin, I had pictured my husband-to-be much differently. People said he would be athletic (a wrestler, maybe) and accomplished (several doctoral degrees, perhaps?).

I couldn’t suppress the girlish giggle that found its way through the familiar feelings and escaped through my parched lips. Jeremy was a lot of things – accomplished in his own right (but without the degrees) and athletic only when necessary for adventuring (never really for sport) – but he certainly looked nothing like what people (or I) expected. I suppose that’s why I fell so quickly and decidedly. Now, waiting for my childhood friend at the Cafe Sueno in Oaxaca, I half-hoped he would have made the trip with me.

I pushed the thought down with a few thick, flavorful sips of fresh coffee. This little eatery was quietly crammed between a panaderia and a friendly fabric store. It would only be a few cups of this good strong coffee before Elizabeth met me … I smiled as I realized I no longer measured time by minutes. Two years had taught me time (and certainly punctuality) was a very fluid thing in Central American culture. I can’t say I minded measuring things in cups of coffee or rainstorms or daylight or loaves of bread.

Sure enough, I was enjoying my third cup of coffee with a delicous postre when Elizabeth walked in. It had to be at least three years since we had connected in our token small-town, Midwestern Amish restaurant. In the moments before she saw me, I knew we would start as though no time had passed at all.

James Elrod, one of the new teachers here at Pinares, graced us with this poem at the Christmas party this past Saturday. I thought it was worth sharing! It gives a great picture of some of the comical, frustrating, and endearing things about life here.

————

‘Twas the month before Christmas and all through the fog

Not a creature was stirring, not even a dog.

The bookbags were hung in the lockers with care

In hopes that the homework would do itself there.

The Meesters and Meeses were starting to wane,

So ready to trade knee-deep snow for the rain,

And up on the mountain Pinares stood still.

Who, in God’s name, builds a school on a hill

Where it sits in a cloud for days upon days

Until it feels like the sun was only a phase?

The lights all a-flicker; we smell like King Kong.

“The power is on! Oh wait, we were wrong.”

Mittens and scarves and jackets galore,

I sleep with four blankets but I’m looking for more.

Some teachers are saying this season won’t last,

That this is way worse than it’s been in the past.

Pretty soon we’ll be praying for coolness and breeze,

But I’m already checking the prices of skis.

I’d fly down the mountain to kilometer nine,

Past Rapiditos to the house that is mine,

Look out for the dog who is preggers again;

It’s about time that they build her that pen.

But I have digressed from the topic at hand;

We were waiting for Santa, but he has been banned.

Then who has been eating the cookies and cream?

I turn on the light, and I let out a scream!

The roaches all scurry; there’s crumbs on the plate;

The power goes off; I start cursing my fate.

I hike up the mountain, grab the library key,

Fill bottles with water, drink up, and then pee.

I can’t make my tea on an electric range.

I try using candles; I must be deranged.

I feel moments away from a panic attack.

“Don’t be so dramatic; this isn’t Iraq.”

At least break is coming: a beacon of light.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

—————

What would you write in Christmas poem?

Read part I and part II before you read on.
This little series is entirely fictional and based on my heart’s desire at the time I’m writing. We all know if we truly had our way, things wouldn’t be so great, but I think there are desires God has given us that are okay (even good) to dream about.
——

As I hiked up the steep incline, with my cumbersome camping pack snug at my hips, I remembered why retreats are important. Some of the best advice I ever received came from a seasoned missionary, who said, “Take prayer retreats. Oh, once a month at least! at least!”

I’ll admit, I thought once a month would be a bit extraneous (wasn’t I supposed to be reaching out to people instead of hiking up and away from them?) … But, as the air grew thinner, my head started to clear. The stress of the village and the weight of decisions fell like the sprinkles starting around me. Grasping a sturdy limb, I tilted my head back to drink in the delight of the early morning.

The winding trail I followed had been blazed by the steady footsteps of women and children with water the destination at the base of the mountain. It was no more than 10 inches wide, but the path furrowed deep into the mountain rock. I prayed as I hiked… and the Lord pressed further on my heart a passion for this place. The people, whitewashed by tradition and necessity, appeared as snapshots across my mind: Natalia, Jesus, Mario, Gabriela, Maria, Carolina, and Juan Pablo.

I thought back to the previous evening I had spent with a family at the base of the mountain. They had attended our church for almost a year and each member seemed like my own relation. I remembered sitting down at Carlos and Andrea’s table for arroz con pollo y vegetales, and I praised God for His presence and faithfulness in our village.

My breathing was a little more strained when I realized I was reaching my destination, signified by a painted rock on the path. I stopped to breathe deep before I turned around to take in the glorious sight from my bird’s perch. No matter how many times I looked out onto the mountain valley, I always always am amazed. Prayer retreats at this post are more like songs … and come with little effort.

But, this morning, I knew I would be doing little talking. This morning God wanted me to listen.

Here’s the next tidbit.

If you missed the first little blurb in this series, check out part 1. I’ll just say again that this is a joyful exploration into my life as it would be if wishes came true. It’s not meant to be realistic or prophetic, but just my hearts desires at this point in time.

This afternoon unfolds as beautiful and tragical as a flowering lily, whose beginning and end span a few short hours…

I shook the poetic nonsense from my mind to focus on the task at hand, or packs at hand rather. I somehow managed to recruit seven 14 and 15-year-olds for this maiden voyage into the mountains of Celaque National Park for a week of adventuring and soul-searching. Just then I had nine packs and contents covering the floor of our small home. I had another hour or so to get everything done and cleared so I could replace the table and chairs for dinner.

My former employers would be in complete shock at the lack of risk management paperwork I went through for students to jump on my little plane and fly out of their village with myself and Jeremy the only chaperones. I suppose Jeremy’s medical background provided a certain level of confidence, but our backpacking experience was limited to the trips we’d taken together.

We managed to scramble and borrow amongst missionary friends to come up with all our supplies. We ended up buying a few necessary things, but as I attached the last Nalgene I couldn’t help but think of this trip in terms of that silly Mastercard ad: priceless.

I had presented the idea after a conversation with dear Flora prompted some intense prayer time. After Jeremy and I talked and prayed, we knew the Lord was leading us to offer an experience outside the village and away from routines. Flora was one of our favorite and most avid pupils. Though her family wasn’t much interested in church, they were glad to see her being useful, so she spent most of her free time at the meeting house and on our open front porch. She was so hungry for Truth – her questions seemed to have no end! Jeremy and I spent hours with her in Scripture, but her questions were finally exhausted. She looked at us, both vulnerable and scared, “I know this is right.”

Our swell of joy and gladness was quickly tempered by Flora’s resistance to any kind of decision. Her fear for her family overwhelmed her understanding of “right.” She remained our most regular visitor, but our discussion (especially regarding spiritual things) stayed safely philosophical.

So, with the summer months coming and school ending, we knew the parents might agree to a week away. After four years in Yamaranguila, we had all but been adopted by several gracious families. Though some were still skeptical, seven families agreed.

I placed each pack neatly up against the North wall and went over the list once again. Jeremy would be home in about 15 minutes and we were meeting the kids and their families that night in the meeting house for a final farewell before heading out bright and early the next morning.

Here’s part III.

These adventures are purely fictional and are meant to represent what my life would look like if wishes did come true. I make no attempt at ‘realistic,’ but I do hope you enjoy my dreaming!

I woke up this morning in a familiar bed, reminded of my previous day’s adventures by the soreness in my calves. What was it I did? Oh, yes! I met family in Michigan for a bit of dune-hiking and para-sailing.

I shook off the blurried haze of morning from my well-slept eyes and tried to focus on today. Sometimes it’s hard jumping time-zones and cultures overnight, but I’m used to it by now. After three years of nearly straight travel, I appreciate two things: my willing, adventurous travel partner Jeremy and my pilot’s license. I knew the moment I met Jeremy he’d be pretty handy, but the pilot’s license was more of a whim than anything else. And boy! has that made our travels easier!

After a brief nostalgic escape, I realize that it’s almost 6 am and the children will be rousing soon. I grab my granolas (the endearing, earthy ensembles I wear ‘in the field’) and rush out to meet the first rays of sun on the Honduran horizon. I almost danced with the light glinting off the windows of our house, but remembered my morning task to prepare the meeting house for teaching. I jumped back inside for a quick scrub down, whisked a toothbrush across the pearly whites, and set off in the direction of the meeting house.

On my way, I spotted the early risers tending the chickens and gathering fresh fruits for the mid-day meal. I saw Jeremy and lingered a few moments to silently praise his tender efforts with widows in our village. He woke long before the sun to fix the stubborn community water spout that had been unresponsive to our most insistent coaxing.

I finally reached the meeting house and my hands began the methodical scurry around the room: tidying, arranging, and re-stocking. I made a mental note to order more pencils and to request more current maps for the walls. Just yesterday we loaded the plane with another round of supplies, but the needs always seemed to exceed the supply.

After the meeting room was in order, I went a few doors down to ask Esmy for a fresh bouquet of flowers. She was expecting me, and had already arranged a gorgeous spread on her table. I replaced the bouquet in the meeting house and went to meet Jeremy.

We always had breakfast at 7:15 a.m. and thank goodness for simplicity – for we had little time to prepare. After our rice and beans, we prayed over the village, our teaching ministry, and all of Jeremy’s patients. The day had officially begun!

Here’s part II.