Where Wonder Meets Wander

Rocks from the sea, balanced on each other at sometimes inconceivable angles. We have seen them before, in remote places where travelers and seekers have left offerings to the coast or to the gods of wanderlust.  And here we find totems, scattered along the shore.  But there is a difference. Here the spirit is not the same.  While others I have seen hold a sacred quality, built under sacred circumstances, as amazing as these may look, they hold sadness and a feeling of desperation for me.  You see, they were not built by pilgrims. They were built by a man and his wife who live here. Not because of any holy endeavor, but in a desperate bid to make a living.  I stood and watched as this old Mexican cabellero demonstrated his ability to balance one stone on another. He did it with the pomp of an entertainer and somehow it lost all its magical charm.  He had been balancing rocks for twenty years he said. In truth, it wasn...

This is St. Jude Thaddeus. He is the patron saint of hopeless cases. Here he is in a tiny outdoor church in the mountains of rural Mexico. The beads you see around his neck and on his staff are thank offerings for miracles the local people believe he has done.  I spoke to an old man who was sitting in the church waiting for mass to begin. He said not many people come to that church. It was so remote, I can understand why. There is something wonderful about connecting with the locals  It gives me the chance to hear their stories and their hearts. These are simple people, working hard and struggling. They come to this rural church several days a week to share a faith that is obviously very deep. It blessed me to see the whole family together. In order to know how best to reach out to people, I believe it is important to get to know them. And trips like this one to the mountains of Mexico are heartwarming and eye opening. Setting my feet in remote places....

Wanna listen to a story? There is a street bum in Bocas Del Toro, Panama named jack Sparrow. Well, that's what he calls himself anyway. I don't know his real name.  Relax and enjoy this recording of a little story about Jack.  Interested in more? You can get all the short stories put together in one book called  I RAN AWAY TO MEXICO: An Unexpected Spiritual Journey.  Its on Amazon now on KINDLE and in PAPERBACK you can order it here Enjoy! Laura Please check out our FULL WEBSITE at www.PovertyProjectInternational.com Connect with us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/povertyprojectinternational/ If you want to chat, you can email us at povertyprojectinternational@gmail.com Or if you want to help us out and DONATE, you can go to PAYPAL and send your donation to   povertyprojectinternational@gmail.com All donations are tax deductible. Live is an adventure, Live it!

Some stories need no pictures but the ones we create in our minds... Puerto Vallerta. There is a thing. A thing called a Nagual . It is an Indian tribe, but it is also a witch doctor. A brujo. I met a man named Eduardo. He grew up in the mountains around Puerto Vallerta and was the oldest boy in a family with a father who was frequently absent. The Nagual can shapeshift. It has been seen on the roadside as an animal half-horse/half-dog, huge and terrifying. I sat in my kitchen a day before my scheduled flight to Mexico after receiving a message from my Aztec son-in-law. I told him I was going to Puerto Vallerta. He told me I should learn more about the Nagual. My daughter sent me a google document to read over. She needed help with her school work. Google signed me in as anonymous because I did not sign myself in. It signed me in as Anonymous Narwhal. Nagual is pronounced na-wal. Narwhal is a unicorn-ed whale and the word is pronounced almost the sa...

We crossed a swinging bridge in the mountains of Costa Rica and climbed the hill to where the Watsi village spread out among the trees. Thatched roofed homes greeted us, and simple people opened their hearts wide and took us in. The Watsi are delightful. They live close to the earth and in connection with a sacred chocolate forest.   ​ “Cacao is the Mother of us all,” the daughter of the village medicine man explained as she led us past stone statutes of warriors and crocodiles guarding the entrance to the ancient cacao grove. We entered a dark hut where a tiny wrinkled woman was roasting dried beans over an open fire. She scooped up the hot beans and spread then out on a well-worn stone. She rocked another stone back and forth over the beans until they were crushed into a warm paste which she formed into a ball. ​ “This is the cacao,” she explained in heavily accented Spanish. She let me taste it. It was bitter. ​ Theobroma—Greek for God Food—is the nam...