Skill and time are ours for pressing

Skill and time are ours for pressing
Toward the goals of Christ, your Son:
All at peace in health and freedom,
Races joined, the Church made one,
Now direct our daily labor,
Lest we strive for self alone:
Born with talents, make us servants
Fit to answer at your throne.

--Robert L. Edwards, 1961

The city of Limon is an exciting place, perhaps even a little frightening with its stream of tourists that beg thieves and pick-pockets who willingly slink out of the woodwork on a regular basis. It is not a safe city, at least not in the eyes of the locals who fence themselves into their small ramshackle homes crowning the coastline. Like San Jose, its big sister to the west, Limon is guarded by wrought iron fences and gates, but unlike San Jose they have high cement walls crowned with jagged glass to prevent would-be intruders from breaking in and stealing things that they don’t even have. It’s a city inside of a shell, much like the famed turtles that nest there annually.

Limon’s crunchy outer-shell is a good symbol of its people- very private men and women who have suffered their whole lives, whether fleeing from Nicaragua to the north (native Costa Ricans, by the way, don’t care for the Nicaraguans, although almost all of the Limonese people I have met at this point are natives of that country), suffering in abusive relationships, or eking out their livings amongst total poverty. There is no wealthy upper crust here- the wealthy wouldn’t dare live in the uncomfortable conditions here, or expose themselves to such a disparity in living conditions. There are only the lower middle class- teachers and Doctors (who are paid through the Government’s free health care system), the poor, the truly destitute, and the dead.

One tour through the various barrios is a convincing reminder of Limon’s crippled economy. There are Corrales 1, 2, and 3, Baja Collegio, and Collinas, which could be classified as the middle class here- they have a few feet of yard space, and the houses are fairly well maintained. The streets are fairly clean, and they are sometimes lucky enough to have neighborhood watch. Then there is Sube Collegio- the equivalent of the rich neighborhood, with homes overlooking the Caribbean, expensive cars in the driveway, maids and lawn maintenance, but housed in homes that would be unnoticed in the US. Just two story homes with nice perks. Then there are the real barrios- Pacuare Viejo, Pacuare Nuevo, and Ebais. I live in Pacuare Viejo, which is the best of the three, but definitely not somewhere you’d want to be out after dark.

Pacuare Viejo has many advantages over Pacuare Nuevo and Ebais- firstly, we have paved roads and close bus stops, and even a church in the neighborhood. People in my barrio know one another- there are lots of families from varied backgrounds and they sit in fine cane rocking chairs on their fenced porches and yell at one another from home to home. The children play in the streets, and a few residents have nice cars. We don’t have yards, although one or two homes have made small patches of orchids and papaya trees around their doors. We share one common wall with each of the houses beside us, which creates some privacy issues if you’re not used to the noise of large families, but the homes are small and clean.

My house is very neat and tidy, which is to be expected since I live with a former house servant. Sara takes great pains to make sure that the house is neat and thoroughly cleaned weekly. The walls are raw concrete, which would be bleak if it weren’t for the plastic floral arrangements in each room (this is a big business in Limon- many people prefer to decorate their homes and offices with artificial flowers here). Her many furnishings show age and are from mixed sets- another hallmark of Limonese living standards- but they are lovingly displayed in careful arrangement inside our small home. Despite her best efforts, we still have the occasional cockroach, and we caught two mice just this morning. This is to be expected, as the wooden structures here rot with the continual dampness, leaving holes in hidden places for these animals to seek shelter.

Sara is herself a survivor. She is approximately 60 years old- probably a little older, and suffers from Neurofibromitosis- a condition that riddles her body with large skin tags resembling warts and disfiguring her face. She fled Nicaragua 36 years ago, leaving behind a loving husband in hopes of finding a better life in Costa Rica. What she found was an abusive man and indentured servitude in the home of a Banana baron, where she cooked, cleaned, and raised children 6 days a week. In her own home her three children observed the violent fights and grew up to emulate it, resulting in the absence of her sons and grandchildren from her life, and a daughter who has no desire to marry or raise a family of her own. Now retired from necessity, my rent payment is her only income and is welcome- if you can imagine this, my $300 rent each month is still more money annually than she received while working.

Sara is a strong believer, and this is an encouragement to me. If someone who has endured so much in her life can be such a model of Christ, then certainly I have no excuse. She begins every day by praying and worshipping. We listen to the local Christian radio station (Christian SALSA MUSIC!) and then share small talk over breakfast before heading out into the world, which up to this point has included my work with the Limon Music Institute in conjunction with BuildaBridge International, held at First Baptist Church in downtown. She has spent every evening over the last week watching me teach the children in the chorus classes before coming home to share hot ginger tea that she makes herself with the butter cookies and Nutella I bought at the supermercado when I arrived. She tells me stories, teaches me Spanish, listens to me talk about my fears for the opening of the Music School, and has even taught me the trick to cooking plantain- both fried sweet and made into cakes to replace bread at meals. She is a wealth within herself, even if her home and surroundings say otherwise.

In the months to come I look forward to growing closer to Sara. I have hopes that having Roman (my fellow missionary- due to arrive in August) and myself available to her as companions will encourage her to try new things, to be comforted in her times of need, and to know that the Lord has seen her devotion and loves her dearly. I for one, think that my little place in the back bedroom of her home is no coincidence, but rather the greatest blessing little Limon can provide.