Meet the Hunters…Jonathan, Maggie and Patrick. This young family knows what it’s like to be a third-culture kid. Jonathan grew up in Ecuador and both have a heart for these kids….our kids. Watch this video to see why they are called to serve with us in Costa Rica. What a wonderful way to serve in missions by complementing the teaching that we do for our own kids.
Learn more at http://jonandmaggie.blogspot.com/
An update from our eldest who is in Haiti for the summer following his first year of medical school
Memorial Day is not celebrated in Costa Rica. That is to be expected. But the fact that we can live here is a direct result of the sacrifice so many made and continue to make. Although we are careful not to put our nationality ahead of God’s kingdom, we are in fact part of the country and culture where we were raised, educated, and given the opportunity to pursue whatever we choose.
Because of their sacrifice we:
I’m not a fan of travelogue blogs as a general rule. I prefer to blog on just one thing and keep it short. But I am privileged to be able to visit so many cultures and churches throughout this hemisphere and don’t often share more of the details behind the travel. So this time I’m bending a bit to give readers a little more in-depth glimpse at some of my experiences as well as a little known part of Costa Rica.
The Cabécar are one of the six distinct indigenous groups native to Costa Rica. They live scattered in very remote mountainous regions that are protected reservations. There have been several missions groups that have reached out to the Cabécar but probably the most effective have been those of Costa Rican origin. Starting yesterday morning I traveled with some of our local partners who have a regular ministry with the Cabécar. After almost 24 uninterrupted hours in travel and ministry I came away with a much greater idea of what it means when these brothers faithfully serve, as well as some very sore muscles.
After two hours on paved roads heading out into the bush and two or so on gravel we arrived at our next transportation mode:
We were on the side of a steep slope with the rain picking up. Our destination was an hour away down a muddy track, through two small rivers and up another steep and muddy climb. My horse definitely earned his keep as he had to carry my weight plus bags of food I was carrying for the evening’s events.
The Cabécar live simple lives growing bananas, creating baskets and hammocks, or doing day labor outside the reserve. This is a church they built for their monthly meetings. They live so scattered that it may take a day’s hike to visit their neighbors. So church is not a weekly event. Instead, it is an all-night vigil where they sing, pray, preach, dance and eat, then hike back to their homes the next morning.
I have been blessed with a face that simply makes kids laugh, no matter what their culture. The Cabécar children are happy, well fed, and for the most part seemed healthy. Dental issues and worms are evident problems but the the riches of the land ensure that they have enough to eat though perhaps not nutritionally balanced.
The land is also ideal for coffee and I enjoyed several cups of the rich brew. It is boiled in a large pot on a wood fire inside the building. Then it is poured through a filter nailed to the wall and sugar (not too much) is added. Though they are poor in economic terms, I can guarantee there is not a Starbucks drink that can touch the coffee the Cabécar enjoy every day.
Singing and dancing for hours is part of the culture of the Cabécar. When they follow Christ they don’t reject their culture but instead create their own worship songs in their native tongue. They are quiet in conversation but incredibly loud in prayer and singing. Their expression of passion and praise involves whole families taking turns leading. It’s not always clear whether they are singing or praying which seems to me to be a very honest way of worship.
I am usually asked to speak or preach when I visit churches. In this case I kept it short and targeted. The Cabécar often feel culturally inferior to other Costa Ricans. They have little in the way of education or economic potential. Their church is a small building with dirt floors and planks for pews. Even in the way they relate to outsiders with downcast eyes is an indicator of how they perceive themselves. Because I have been in so many churches of all kinds throughout Latin America and the Caribbean I can encourage them with a simple truth….we are all one family and equal before the cross. I bring them greetings from sister churches who are similar in many ways. Though geographically distant, with different languages and cultures, the understanding that they have brothers and sisters in Christ who are worshipping along with them is a great source of encouragement.
This vigil was shorter than normal and ended around two in the morning. We hiked two hours to get to our car since the horses could not negotiate the track in the dark. For that matter, I didn’t do a great job myself. Cathi is still working on getting the mud out of my clothes.
Just before collapsing in my own bed early this morning for a few hours sleep before my own church’s service I remembered this last picture and thought about the Cabécar believers. They have learned to live the Gospel in the context of their own culture. It is not an imported worship but a heartfelt and natural expression of the grace we have received. Thanks to the provision of our supporters I have been honored to be able to visit, encourage, and share with churches all over this region of the world how they are God’s choice for the growth of his kingdom.
Ben is not exactly excited about being the center of attention. He’d much prefer to hang with friends and not draw attention to himself. But graduating high-school requires some type of acknowledgement. So we had a party for him this evening. A regular Duggan bilingual shindig with lots of friends from various cultures and countries.
Tres Leches, chocolate cake and cheesecake topped the list of special treats not often experienced here.
Some came from a distance, so the evening continues as Ben has two friends staying over and Anna has one. Someone recently told Cathi we have a regular bed and breakfast in our home. In reality, it’s more of a bed & breakfast & lunch & supper & cafecito. I love it when my bride gets to exercise her gift of hospitality. We all benefit!
I’ll never forget the Tuesday morning I met Maria. Yes, most Tuesdays and Fridays have at least one “Maria” on my schedule, but this Maria grabbed my heart, mind and soul. She was a petite, golden brown-eyed Latina, dressed modestly and intently interested in things we discussed during her visit. One month shy of her sixteenth birthday, already the mother of a toddler, she asked if I had time to listen to something she needed to talk about. I knew the women waiting to see me already filled the dust-covered plastic chairs and overflowed into the waiting room, but there was an urgency in her question. “Sure, what is it?” I asked in Spanish, knowing that this definite connection had been forged by God for some reason. “I want to finish high school and work in a clinic like this someday—is that too much to imagine, only a dream?” Having spent over three years in the environment this Maria lives in, I knew that many would think that was an unattainable, ridiculous dream. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and mine misted over. This girl was determined and wanted reassurance. “No, I don’t think that is too big of a dream, and I believe you can do it.” A big smile lit her face and she hugged me. And then I smiled and asked to share my dream with her. Another dream that some might think as ridiculous. A dream I have of not being the one providing care to indigent women, but working myself out of job because someone from an impoverished barrio rose above the poverty and violence, imagined more, and became a provider who remained in the community instilling hope for other Marias, in barrios here in San Jose, and throughout Latin America. 
This morning my bus stopped for several minutes beside an newspaper seller allowing my eyes to scan the front page of a newspaper and immediately focus on a subject I became familiar with first as a pediatric emergency nurse in the U.S., and encounter nearly every day I spend in clinic here in Latin America. Domestic Abuse. The article caught my attention because it stated that an average of 222 cases of domestic abuse occured daily in Costa Rica during the first three months of 2012.
I thought about this for the remainder of the bus ride, and prayed for those who suffer abuse in the home…spouses, children and the elderly. Men and women alike. The article discussed the number of policemen who were injured while attempting to mediate such cases. I inwardly questioned the validity of such statistics, and pondered this as I poured my morning coffee and greeted the clinic staff. Life in a fallen world is messy and tainted.
Several hours later I would come face to face with this dangerous enemy. A client who had removed herself from violence by crossing a border illegally stated that she most likely would be missing her next appointment because she was thinking of returning to her homeland, hoping no further abuse would occur. I pray that I will see her cheerful face next month and that she’ll reconsider for not only herself, but for the sake of her unborn child.
TeamDuggan 
Recent Comments