“Pura Vida.”  A simple Costa Rican phrase, yet it signifies much more, so much more.  The English interpretation is “hello,” “goodbye,” or even “take it easy”; however, to Costa Ricans, “Pura Vida” means that no matter the current situation, life for someone else can always be less fortunate.  Once I arrived home, I took this simple phrase to heart.

For weeks, my church youth group planned, fundraised, and discussed the mission trip that led us to the misty, charcoal sky that hindered the view of the lush, exotic scenery.  As the group inched through customs, we silently buzzed with delight and anticipation to begin a weeklong journey in Costa Rica.  Crammed in a large, stinky bus, I peered out the muggy window and saw shadowy, cobalt mountains lurking in the distance, glossy palm trees swaying outside the concrete amber houses, and lights off in the distant towns appearing as glittering fireflies.
Startled and speechless at the overwhelming beauty in the morning, I captured pictures of the rugged mountains covered with creamy fog.  At the rust red mission, we ate eggs, steaming beans, rice, and tangy mango for breakfast and then spent time doing morning devotions and getting ready for the day.  Once again, we scrunched in the bus, not knowing where or who would be at the first site of the day.  Ecstatic to spot two children waiting for us, we galloped off the stuffy bus.  An overgrown, community soccer field was the site of our first Vacation Bible School each day.  After a couple days, the audience of two children became an electrified swarm of twenty friendly children, teenagers, and parents.  Our group played soccer, taught a Bible lesson, painted nails, attempted to speak Spanish, jumped rope, and constructed crafts. 

Damp, dreary, and drained from the Costa Rican humidity in the first half of the day, we rushed to eat a crisp lunch of beans, cooked rice, chicken, and ripe pineapple like a starving army.  Then, we darted to our second site and stumbled up a slick, muddy hill.  My heart dropped and shattered as we sauntered past the “casas,” or houses, assembled with different colors of sheet metal and splintery wood with unfinished walls.  Our second site was a cement slab and compact shack found close to jagged barbed wire and furious, ivory pit bulls and appeared as nothing.  To the children, however, they perceived a baseball field, jungle gym, and place to be shown attention and love by the “Gringos,” or North American people.

At the second site, a mini five-year-old girl with raven black hair skipped to my side.  “Hi, how are you?” I voiced.
Overjoyed, the child quietly chimed, “Hi.”

I questioned, “What is your name?”
She cheerfully gazed at me.  “My name,” she giggled, “is Titin.  Horsy, horsy!”
I grinned.  Then, I knelt down, picked her up, and replied, “My name is Amelia.”

For hours, I whirled around the slab of cracked cement like a whooshing tornado, sweaty but satisfied, with Titin, laughing and squealing with joy, on my back.  Her auburn eyes gleamed like radiant sparklers sizzling on the Forth of July.  In these moments with the kids, I caught a glimpse that many of them didn’t have much, but they seemed to have a happiness and a gratefulness for what they did have.  Having appreciation has become a lost concept in the United States because we always demand the latest and greatest gadget or fashion.  I will never fail to recall the meaning of “Pura Vida,” a simple Costa Rican phrase.  As I reflect on my humid Costa Rican adventure, it means much more to me.