Imagine waking up in a tent that you set up in the yard of a one room church building that is right next to the main dirt road of a little village. The past four mornings have looked a lot like that for me. Thursday, half my squad and I packed up a few small bags and left to a small town called Tsuiri (pronounced more like sweetie). We bused 45 minutes to the edge of a river, then grabbed all of our things and loaded onto a boat being ran by a local. On the other side of the river, we waited for a pastor to come put us all in the back of his pick up truck and take us to the little church we were staying at. 

This opportunity was given to us to be able to be apart of and serve at a community one of our YWAM base staff grew up in. 

Each morning we would wake up to hot-off-the-stove gallo pinto and sweet plantains. The women in the kitchen cooked three meals a day for us, while also making coffee for the late afternoons and cutting up fresh fruit during break in the late mornings when we had manual labor days. They spent hours of each day in the kitchen over a fire cooking fresh and authentic Costa Rican dishes for our teams.  

The pastor of the church we partnered with gave us both the Saturday and Sunday service to plan and run. It's crazy to me how he casually handed us his entire congregation and essentially said, "Can't wait to see what you have for us this weekend." In each service there was probably around 30 people, including all of us and the children, and although it was small it felt like family. The pastor would join worship with his tambourine, locals would come up and share testimonies, and everyone would be responding with "amens" during the message. I got to preach Sunday morning and I spoke on the fact that we all have an invitation to a seat in the Kingdom of Heaven.   

We even did a women's event. That day we gathered everyone up, loaded the back of a truck with coffee and fruit and some cookies, and drove roller coaster like hills to a riverside. There we hiked down to the part where the rocks met the water, and got to know the women who had been serving us in the kitchen along with a few others from the community. We shared stories of God meeting them in their day to day lives and laughed a lot through messy translations and language barriers. Then we drank the coffee and snacks we packed while watching some of the guys that tagged along for the day jump into the freezing river.     

Looking back, the people in Tsuiri served us more than we could have ever have served them. 

Their heart for us was even evident in the little details, like the pastor opening up the tiny shop that is apart of his home for a few minutes so we could buy ice cream. 

This place was a place where rest was easily found even in the midst of work. A place where I felt like we were not only doing mission work, but living on mission. A place where we were welcomed with more than words. A place where I saw people sacrificially taking their time to love us well. A place where people of God worshipped boldly and authentically together.

A place I get to say felt like a home.