Waiting

Have you been waiting for the next post?

I almost never miss a post.  I write Monday-Friday pretty much without fail.  But we’re in Costa Rica, and internet access was not what I expected.  So I missed a couple of posts.

I’ll write tomorrow and Friday about how friggin’ incredible this country is.  For now, though, let me share a little riff on waiting.  Here are all of the things we have waited for in the last two days:

1. Our plane in Charlotte, our second plane actually, because the first one had a couple of seats that wouldn’t recline.
2. Our rental car in San Jose.  I forgot my license and we had to get a huge van instead of two cars.  Which meant a new agency and an extra hour.
3. My Dad.  Everywhere.  He doesn’t have legs below the knees and he uses two prosthetic legs and a walker at home.  And here he’s had to use a wheelchair once so far.
4. The car ride to Monteverde on our first night.  It was supposed to take 2-3 hours, but took 5.  Up a VERY bumpy dirt road in the dark.
5. Everyone to figure out what the plan for the day should be.  And then everyone to decide what time we should eat breakfast.  And then everyone to decide…
6. Jeff to finish his coffee.
7. Jeff to get back from the hotel when we figured out my dad couldn’t be wheeled through any part of the forest today.
8. The boys to stop whatever they are doing so we can move on to the next thing.
9. The driver to take us to the zip line.

I told my Mom that we were supposed to get picked up at 10:30 to head up to the zip line platforms.  Then I told her that Ticos (Costa Ricans) are known for incredible friendliness and not the incredible promptness.  Kathiana, our Tica au pair overheard me and replied, “Yes, but they know you are Americans and you hate to wait, so I think they will be on time.”

They were twenty minutes late, and she said, “See.  I told you they would be on time.”

I hate to wait.  If you know me at all, then you know that if I am in control of a schedule, it goes off on time.  The second I am done eating, I am ready to leave the restaurant.  I don’t like red lights, and I don’t like slow internet connections.

My poor kids.  They are always being rushed.  And I often hear myself saying, “Let’s go! We’re late,” even when we’re not actually late.  I’m just trying to rush them.

For what?

All of the waiting of the last three days has been a good reminder that I need to slow down.  It has been such a blessing to have my parents here.  And to slow down and wait for my dad to make it down the stairs.  It gives me time to marvel that he has given this trip a go at all, and that he is pushing himself to spend time with us on this crazy adventure.

I can slow down and let Jeff finish his coffee before we rush off to the next thing.  It gives me time to marvel at what a servant’s heart he has.  He has patiently pushed my father up very steep hills at the butterfly garden, and driven all of us around a country with less than ideal roads without once complaining.  He gets the kids ready to go, stops to take pictures of every flower we think is interesting, and does whatever he can think of to make things better for us.

I can slow down and let my mother look through the gift shops even though I HATE gift shops.  It gives me time to marvel at her generosity toward me and my kids.

I can slow down and let her look at flowers while we hike up the trail to the continental divide. It gives me time to marvel at how strong this 65 year old woman is.  (Don’t get me started on her and the zip lines yesterday.)

And I can slow down and let the boys be the boys.  It gives me time to marvel at how lucky I am to be their mom.

No more rushing.

At least until we touch down in America again.