A Week Washed in Rain and Sunlight

Oh my goodness — when I tell you this week was spectacular, I mean it. It started a little weird, but somehow ended up being one of those weeks that fills your heart to the brim.

After a peaceful, soul-refreshing weekend at the symphony, I came back to school feeling calm and content, ready to ease into another week. However, life had other plans.

Somewhere throughout the weekend, a strange wave of tension seemed to appear out of nowhere throughout the program. I still don’t really know what started it, but suddenly, everyone and the energy just felt off. Honestly, the last thing I wanted to do was get pulled into any of it. I’ve been in such a good, easygoing rhythm lately, and nothing kills that faster than unnecessary drama. So, on Tuesday, I decided to reset — a full refresh.

I went for a long walk to run a few errands before a special visitor arrived later in the week, and somewhere along the way, I got caught in an absolute downpour. Not a light sprinkle, but a full-on tropical rainstorm — the kind where you can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you. But instead of rushing for cover, I just laughed. I was soaked from head to toe, my hair plastered across my face, talking to my mom through my headphones and cracking up at how ridiculous I must’ve looked. There was something freeing about it — being drenched, walking through puddles, and not caring at all.

Eventually, I stumbled into what might just be the dreamiest store I’ve ever seen. Warm lights, shelves stacked high with yarn in every imaginable color and texture — soft pink alpaca, deep indigo wool, silky bamboo threads that glowed like jewels. In recent months, I’ve become a bit of a crochet queen thanks to my best friend Rachel, so naturally, I couldn’t resist. The woman working there even gave me a little lesson about how yarn is harvested and marked differently across countries. I left with two skeins of 100% bamboo yarn from Spain — luxurious, smooth, and the richest golden yellow shade. It’s funny how something as simple as yarn can reset your spirit.

Still, as the beginning of the week progressed, I began to feel that quiet tug of homesickness. Not in a heavy way, but enough to make me miss my people — the ones who really know me. I missed that feeling of being understood, especially in the midst of all the unusual social stuff at school. And then, as if the timing couldn’t have been better, Matt flew to Costa Rica.

My wonderful Matt! He arrived on a Wednesday morning, and it was surreal seeing someone from home physically in San Jose. We spent that first day exploring the city. Then on Thursday, we caught a bus to Herradura, a quiet coastal town on the Pacific, to spend the weekend.

Saturday was our big adventure day. We booked an eight-hour offshore fishing charter — something Matt has been really wanting to do, and how could I possibly disagree— in hopes of catching a roosterfish. The morning air was salty and warm, and the ocean was like liquid glass beneath us. At one point, he almost brought one to the boat before it broke off right at the surface. We both just stood there, mouths open, in disbelief. Even without that catch, it was a perfect day on the water. We reeled in Pacific yellowtail snappers, striped bonitas, and an impressive jack (all Matt). Between the fishing and the green cliffs rising out of turquoise water, it was one of those moments that made me stop and think, “God is good, and I could sit here forever.”

The next day, we decided to hike up to El Miro, a viewpoint overlooking the bay. At the top stands an abandoned, half-built mansion, whose crumbling walls are covered in layers of graffiti. It is colorful, chaotic, and full of life. Each room had its own view of the ocean, framed by lush plants and vibrant colors. It felt like walking through an open-air art gallery hidden in the jungle. And somehow, after wandering back down the mountain, we ended up in a tattoo shop — something that had been on my “maybe” list for weeks.

I always said I’d get a tattoo while here, something small and meaningful. Luckily for me, I knew exactly what I wanted: a tiny, delicate hummingbird tucked behind my ear. The artist worked quietly, the buzz of the machine soft and steady, and when it was done, I just couldn’t stop smiling. This little hummingbird means a lot to me — not just for what it symbolizes in Christianity (resilience, grace, and strength), but because of my grandmother, Aba. She loves them, and she once told me they were her favorite bird. Also, some of my favorite memories are of helping my mom hang the hummingbird feeder outside our kitchen window and watching the birds flutter and hover in the sun. Now, I have one with me always — a small reminder of home and the kind of quiet joy they have always shown me.

That night, we ended our weekend at a cozy little Costa Rican brewery called Puddle Fish. Fairy lights hung overhead, the air smelled faintly of the ocean, and we played cards while sipping cold drinks. It was the kind of easy, comfortable night that doesn’t need much to feel good. It is also, I would say, the most typical Lela/Matt date, and it just made my heart happy. Later, back in San José, we grabbed some food and soaked in the hot tub, tired, full, and happy.

Monday came fast — way too fast. We said our goodbyes at the hotel that morning before heading in opposite directions: Matt toward the airport, and me back to Zapote. Saying goodbye is never easy, but it also reminds me how lucky I am to have people like him, who are worth missing.

The ride back to Zapote felt calm but heavy — the kind of calm where your mind keeps replaying snapshots of the weekend. The ocean view from the boat. The hike up El Miro.

The hummingbird tattoo. I looked out the window at the green hills rolling past and realized how quickly Costa Rica has started to feel like a second home. When I finally walked through the door, Mamatica was waiting with her warm smile and a hug, as if she somehow knew that’s exactly what I needed. Anna and I are rushing to catch up, because five days apart is too long after only living together for two weeks. It was one of those moments that felt grounding — like stepping right back into rhythm.

Still, the quiet of my room felt different. I missed home — my family, my friends, the sound of my dogs playing— but I also felt a deep sense of peace. It’s funny how you can miss one place while belonging to another. Having someone from home see this part of my life made it all feel more tangible. It’s one thing to describe Costa Rica through photos and FaceTimes, but another thing entirely to have someone actually be here — to walk the same streets, hear the same language, and see the life I’ve been building. It made this experience feel more real, more shared.

It reminded me that even though I’m an ocean away, the people I love aren’t far. They find ways to reach me, like through visits, through calls, or through tiny reminders like a hummingbird behind my ear. This week — from rainstorms to fishing charters— gave me exactly what I didn’t know I needed. A reset. A reminder. And a little piece of home right here in Costa Rica.

Pray for me and wish me luck!