A Gift on Valentine's Day

Last evening I was given the best gift for Valentine's Day. A dear couple who has been married for 24 some years invited me over for a decadent and delightful dinner of champagne, lobster, wine, salads, breads, more wine, tater tots, a little more wine, and a succulent dessert followed by aperitifs. The mouthwatering meal danced well with the drinks that encouraged authenticity and brought a blush to our cheeks. Their home was warm and festive, their smiles quick, their stories fascinating. But better than the food, and the wine, and the chatter was the moment he sat back and paused, looking at her from across the table in all of her loveliness that an attractive, successful, feminine woman in her sixties possesses, and said simply, "I love how you look right now." Maybe it was the jazz music or the soft flickering candlelight or the kick in the apple brandy, but in the precious pause that followed every doubt and discouragement I've had about finding a love worth spending forever slipped out the back door and away into the cool night air.

Paradise Found: Tobago 2008

Paradise Lost--and Found
March 2008

"You weel feel vary seef on dees beach...you under-stawned wad I mean?" our taxi driver, recently-appointed tour guide and new best (and only) friend on Tobago assured us as he drove us deeper into the island's interior. The trees lining the single-lane, pot-holed road grew thicker and greener and Jay and I looked at each other and shrugged. We had no other options--we'd just been told the two beaches we'd hoped to set up our tent on were not safe for camping.

Thus began our tropical adventure on the beautiful and romote island of Tobago. Set in the southernmost part of the Caribbean, Tobago is merely 26 miles long by 6 miles across, densely forested in its rain forests and encompassed by sun-kissed beaches, palm-fringed shorelines and hidden coves and bays.

This is the first trip I've taken where no advance planning was made--as in, no pre-purchased ferry tickets, no hotel reservations, no rental car bookings. Jay and I arrived off the ferry with nothing but heavy backpacks and a wide-eyed anticipation of the unknown. Our objective was simple: find a place on the beach to camp and relax for eight days. However, as the day of our departure approached, I found my apprehension and worry growing to greater and greater heights. A well-meaning friend copied pages of websites warning of the dangers and lack of safety on the islands. What if camping was not allowed? (though I’d called the National Park Service and was assured it was). What if we get attacked at night? What if our passports are stolen? What if? What if? There is a fear that lies in the land of unknown that can be haunting if let run wild. When I voiced my concerns to Jay, his calming answer was always the same: “I’m not worried about it”.

Our driver barreled around the narrow windy roads at death-defying speeds, heading toward our destination: Castara Bay, his ‘hometown’, and his choice for us of where we should camp, on the northwest coast of the island. He spoke to us of the economics of Tobago as we struggled to wrap our ears around the strong Caribbean accent. We gazed out the windows, passing numerous houses clustered together in small villages, most made of bamboo supports and 2x4’s, unpainted with windows covered with breezy curtains of colorful cloth. Laundry was strung anywhere it could dry and dogs, chickens, goats and cows frequented the yards and streets, alongside barefoot children playing with sticks and adults sitting in the shade of the hot sun. We were sweaty from the heat and I felt nervous. Do you ever have those moments when you find yourself in an ‘interesting’ situation, and think to yourself, “How did I ever get here?” I sat there thinking, “What am I, Amy Sargent, doing in this car on this tiny island in the Caribbean following the advice of a total stranger with nothing but a tent and backpack and my dear friend Jay on our way to who knows where?”

The bumpy road began to decend from the hilly interior and an expanse of the sea opened up to our left that made me give Jay a sideways glance and grin of anticipation. Oh my, it was beautiful.

“Welcome to Castara Bay” the broken green sign read as we turned the last corner, emerging from the dense forest to a small beachside village. The driver pulled up to the first house and said it was his mother’s house. He introduced us to his brother, Chino, who walked us down to the lovely beach and showed us where we could set up our tent. And just like that, our trip to Paradise began. 

We were on the south side of a small golden-sand beach, lined with palm trees and enclosed on both sides by tall hills of bamboo. It was a quiet little bay with a village to match. Each morning we awoke to the crowing of roosters--many of them--that somehow could be heard over the roar of the crashing surf just twenty-five yards away from our tent. Sleepy-eyed, we’d awake, slip into swimsuits, and either take a swim in the waves or walk down to the bathhouse where we could shower and use the facilities for a mere sixteen cents. We had a sort of breakfast at the Naturalist, a run-down guesthouse at the other end of the beach where we were served delicious coffee by a cranky lady who got frustrated with us asking her to repeat herself because we couldn’t understand her. Up the hill was a lady from Guyana who made fresh cadava bread each morning---a five-minute stroll thru the village to her place awarded us with warm, crusty bread on which we spread pineapple jam. We enjoyed this sumptuous feast with our warm coffees as we watched the morning waves roll in on our quiet little beach.

During the daytime hours we played on the island’s endless playground equipment--clear waters for snorkeling (where we saw a 5-foot manta ray and a sea turtle!), waterfalls for climbing and swimming, and white-sand beaches for strolling. Our $20-a-day scooter, though it barely made it up hills, provided us with a means to explore most of the island by sitting on it’s little seats and motoring thru the streets of small villages, across rain-forested jungles, and to the endless gorgeous beaches along the coast. We had only two wipeouts and luckily we were going slow at the time….those darn pot holes! Jay was offered ganja weed almost everywhere we went--he'd just smile his great smile and say "no thanks, man" and the offerer would wander off. 

Around 5 p.m. each afternoon the fisherman from our beach would bring in the day’s catch…a boatful of yellowfin and albacore tuna. After the fish were gutted, we could buy one for our dinner--which we did, head and tail still attached. At the vegetable stand (a shack about 5 feet x 5 feet painted yellow) I purchased fresh veggies--potatoes, onions, plantain, peppers, and from the lady who ran the little store (same dimensions) in the blue shack, some local spices in small plastic bag. We wrapped all of these culinary treasures in some tinfoil and roasted our delightful island cuisine over and open fire we built in the sand by our tent. As the sun set and the stars came up, we feasted on our meal together, sitting in the sand and watching the fire die down as the waves rolled along the shore. 

We were blessed to partake of an Easter Sunday service at the little white clapboard church up the hill in our village. With a well-maintained lawn and flowers, the open-air church slowly filled with dark faces in their Sunday best--the men in slacks and light-colored shirts, the women in beautiful dresses and heels, as Jay and I slipped in the back where we could see out the open windows to the sea. The animated pastor told the story of Christ’s life, death and resurrection, and we sung hymns of praise and took communion, drinking from the same goblet as the rest of the congregation. A special treat awaited us: the baptism of a tiny one, black curly head, wide dark eyes and tiny arms and legs protruding of a tiny white suit, who of course cried out when the water was sprinkled on his forehead, which prompted laughter from the onlookers. It was a special moment and a wonderful thing to be a part of.

Due to our frugality, we almost missed a most amazing sight: Argyle Falls, the most spectacular series of waterfalls I’ve ever seen. It is one of the very few 'tourist spots' on the island and the locals now charge a small fee of about $6 USD to enter the area. "Hmm, could it really be that good?" we asked ourselves, but finally made the decision to turn our moped on the bumpy dirt road leading to a parking area where a small hut had been set up to sell cold drinks and t-shirts of the attraction. Though offered a 'tour guide', Jay and I decided to hike the 15 minute trail alone, strolling thru towering clumps of bamboo and other tropical vegetation. After decending some stone steps, we came upon a stream with a few rapids--could this be it? we wondered...only to discover just upstream a breathtaking 150- meter- high waterfall, the white spray cascading off the shiny, black rocks in fifteen to twenty smaller waterfalls, greenery growing out of the rock outcroppings, sun sparkling on every drop of water, gathering below in a clear pool deep enough to swim in…all enclosed in the protection of the jungle’s towering dark trees of green… Oh my. I felt like we’d rediscovered the original Garden of Eden. The musical chorus of splashing water, the warm sun on our faces and the light breeze from the fragrant tropical vegetation, Jay’s smiling face as he sat under the waterfall as it caressed his strong shoulders….the beauty was unspeakable and is imprinted on my mind and heart as one of the most perfect places that could possibly exist on this earth.

As with all vacations, the week ended all too quickly and before we knew it we’d packed up our backpacks and tent and were on the plane flying home….back to reality: watching silly sit-coms on the overhead screens, eating peanuts, working crosswords and browsing the flight magazine. Now back in the snowy, ever-continuing winter of Colorado, one could easily forget the warmth and beauty and peace we found in Tobago--if not for our peeling, itchy sunburned skin, and a few pictures from our yellow disposable cameras--and of course the vivid memories in our minds and hearts of our recent trip to paradise. 

Beautiful Rwanda: A Mission Trip in 2009

My take-aways from our mission trip to Rwanda in June 2009 with Food for the Hungry and Pathways Church.

High Points: Holding hands non-stop with little children, making babies cry because they've never seen a white person before, hearing "What Is Your Name?" about 50 times a day, carrying water on our heads, hugging and kissing little dirty wonderful children all day long, communicating without words, hearing the rat trap go off and knowing one more rat has been killed, watching roosters and chickens brought in for the offering at church, seeing giraffe and zebras, hanging with 11 other awesome people from Colorado, learning how to lead people effectively by experiencing our team leader’s leadership, pouring guava nectar concentrate in my bottle of water and drinking it for lunch, brushing our teeth under the starry sky, seeing the humility and thankfulness in parent’s eyes on home visits, walking on dirt paths single file (with a few kids holding our hands in front and back) in a skirt, carrying mud bricks to help build someone a house, experiencing church without media, chasing a cow with a stick, sipping soda from glass bottles, staring at children while they stared at me, being kissed by a little dirty girl with a torn shirt, brown face, big eyes, and warm smile, learning that people with much less are really quite rich...

Low Points: Watching rats run across our bedroom floor, having a mouse on my arm in the middle of the night, hearing rats at night up in the rafters.

Entertaining Points: Getting the giggles at dinner over nothing, hearing kids ask "What is my name?" instead of "What is your name?", playing clapping games, jumprope and volleyball and tug-o-war with happy little children, singing songs as we walked along the dirt paths, watching children crawl under a web of yarn with big smiles, sitting in a Rwandan 6th grade classroom, being mobbed by children every day, seeing double-handed waves with huge grins, riding a cruiser bicycle with bad brakes down a singletrack trail, playing euchre late at night, laughing with friends at dinner, packing 18 people into a 12 passenger van.

Sobering Points: Life is not always fair. Why is it that we have clean water, clean clothes, nice houses, and they have none of the above? Why can we get loans to finish our education and they have to wait until they get enough money, with no jobs available? Why do our children have medical treatment readily available and theirs do not? 

Spiritual Points: The God we know is all the way over in Africa!! People with nothing still have an amazing faith in God. When you have very little, you are totally reliant on God to provide your needs. In a way, they are better off than most of us because they don't have to go thru the whole "letting go of my stuff" phases like we do to find God again. They have nothing to let go of so many have God very near in their hearts. And boy, do these people know how to do church! Words can't describe the emotion they pour out into their songs, dancing, and offerings.

Who Says Teens are a Pain?

How to Have a Fantastic Friday Night: let your teenagers bring over their friends to your tiny apartment and bake brownies and spend the evening awkwardly hanging with them (since there's no where else in the apt to go) as they sing worship songs and pop songs and songs they wrote and attempt harmonies and play guitar and laugh and talk about their love lives and lack of all while they're on snapchat and instagram before they fly home to make curfew. Teenagers are the best.

The Apple of Daddy's Eye

daddy used to sing Charlie on the M.T.A. to me way back when, and i'd try to harmonize with him. i asked him to send it as i think of it often while riding on the bus and train each day...so he did. though he lives miles and miles away, thanks to amateur recording skills and modern technology, i can still try to harmonize with him. he has always and still does make me feel like the apple of his eye.

How to have a Happy New Year's Eve

On December 31, 2014, at 9pm, I emptied myThankful Jar and read of all the things that made my heart sing in 2014. This practice of writing them down all year long has changed my heart from the inside out and my perspective on life is completely refreshed. If you want to be rich, thankfulness is the key.

From My Tiny Little Bed By The Window

I sleep in a tiny little bed by the window in the back of our apartment living room. Though I know that might not sound ideal to most, it is one of my favorite sleeping spots I've had (barring a few treehouse, beach and camping adventures). Being cursed (or maybe blessed?) with early riser syndrome, I awake when the sky is still dark and a sliver of moon is shining overhead. All is silent except for the rustle of leaves on the trees below from the soft breeze that gently caresses my sleepy face as it dances in through my open window, and the occasional howls of a distant pack of coyotes . As the hidden sun slowly makes its way to the horizon, the midnight blue is replaced with pinks then oranges then soft yellows as the light stretches its arms long and wide to embrace the day. Inevitably warbled cries alert me to notice a flock of geese showing off their perfect V formation flying high above. The peace is so present it's as if time has stopped and the worries and struggles of life had never been born. And then in an instant the serenity is gone as the rest of the city comes to life, car engines revving, doors slamming, scrapers fighting ice on windshields. Though fleeting, I cherish these early morning magical moments from my tiny little bed by the window.

I'm Bringin' Booty Back

Those of you who have hung out with me lately know that my size is not exactly as tiny as one's size could be, and that I don't really care. smile emoticon I want to be healthy, and fit, and if skinny comes along with that, great, and if not, great. All that to say I am wearing my favorite skirt today that is a little on the tight side, but I feel great in it, and it makes me giggle that all day whenever I wear it I have the line " I'm bringin' booty baaaaaack" from the song All About That Bass running through my head . Love what you got, girls, and own it today!

• https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyTTX6Wlf1Y

Wisdom from the Popsicle Man

I just sat by a man on the bus who makes popsicles at night at a popsicle factory so he can go to school during the day for international business. He told me about his dream of owning his own personal finance company with offices overseas and of his plan to get there, then asked me mine. When I told him, adding "it's just a fun dream", he looked at me intently and asked me why I wasn't pursuing it? And I had no answer for this man who makes popsicles.

When I Felt Special: Valentine's Day 1974

it's funny how getting flowers, a note/text, attention or a gift from a boy can affect how we feel about ourselves, even though we all know we should feel that way about ourselves anyway. what's your first memory of someone (other than mom or dad) making you feel pretty, special or loved? in 2nd grade i wasn't allowed to do valentine's day but a lot of the kids got me the paper valentine's anyway even though i didn't bring a box to put them in. i loved reading their scrawling, handwritten names on the backs and eating the candy taped onto the little envelopes that in my 7 year old perspective came from the 'richer kids'. i left the classroom to get a drink of water then when i came back i found a large red plastic heart container adorned with a red velvety bow and filled with chocolate m&ms on my desk from timmy houseman. i remember carrying it out to the bus feeling like everyone noticed that i was holding this huge big special valentine and for the moment felt like the prettiest little girl in the world.