A Final Salute to the Colonel

My grandfather, Colonel Lonnie Raymond Spivey, lived one hell of a journey. 

Leave it to a damn movie trailer to bring me to the edge of tears. I just watched the new one for the upcoming Marvel flick "Endgame," and a specific line really got to me. As one of the main characters is recording his supposed farewell, he says to his loved ones, "Don't feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end."

The message I'd been dreading yet hoping for finally arrived

I agree with Mr. Tony Stark. Part of the journey is undoubtedly the end. Although it is surely a great sadness to know that my grandpa is gone, I also find solace in knowing that his pain and suffering here on Earth are finally over, once and for all. There is joy in knowing that he is, at last, free of that burden. 

Our final photo together, from back in July as I visited
with Papa and Gram one last time before returning to CR

As one does, I begin to think about Papa. If there is one thing that will always plaster a smile on my face, it is the way Papa greeted everyone. He was always just so happy to see you - whoever you are. He was always so glad to have people in his home. One of the best storytellers I have ever had the joy of listening to, I like to think I got a little bit of that in my genes. Hearing Papa recount stories of his youth, as he and Gram traveled across the world, I was speechless at the mammoth tales that he'd share with us as kids.

Papa was always willing to listen to anything you had to share

Another fantastic attribute that will resonate with me is his extraordinarily sage wisdom. It never failed - Relationship trouble? Talk to Papa. Big financial decision looming? Talk to Papa. Questioning your life trajectory? Talk to Papa. Doubting yourself and need some uplifting words? ABSOLUTELY talk to Papa. He was such a great listener and always to patient and understanding. I can recall so many times when I came to him with the latest mess I'd made in my own life, and he would sit with me, listen, and then offer the most delicately detailed and perfectly planned out explanation of not only where I may have gone wrong, but also what I could do to get back on track.

Papa sure did love his family, and we love him still

As I think about who my grandfather was and what kind of legacy he leaves, it starts and ends with family. He meant and still means everything to our family. He is truly one of those people who stands as a pillar, holding up the rest of us, often in faithful silence. Papa was never a flashy individual. He never sought the limelight. His pleasure was found in the company that surrounded him. He genuinely loved being among his family and friends.

Colonel Lonnie R Spivey

Over Papa's shoulder is a very special photo of him and
my grandmother welcoming President Ronald Reagan
to an Air Force base during his service in Germany

As much as Papa loved his family, he also loved his country, having served for decades in the United States Air Force, eventually arriving at the rank of Colonel. During his decorated career, he hosted presidents, facilitated some of the greatest operations of his time, and always conducted himself with a warm yet rigid professionalism that exuded confidence in himself and his countrymen as well as the faith to keep fighting in support of his values. He was an exemplary individual.

Simply the kindest man I have ever known

I remember being asked in the interview for Peace Corps, "What is the one thing that would hold you back from going and serving with the Peace Corps?" My answer was always the same thing - that I would miss spending time with my grandpa. In the months leading up to my departure, I remember when I first had a chance to speak with Papa about the notion of moving to CR and serving with the Peace Corps. Despite his broken speech and surely weary soul, he looked me right in the eyes and in one of the most vivid moments I carry with me in my memories, he said to me, "Go help them."

Rest in peace, Colonel. You will be missed. 

Being far from my family at such a tough time is difficult, and I've already shed my fair share of tears alone here in my apartment as I type out this tribute to my larger-than-life grandpa. I find myself inundated with a deluge of memories as I think back on all the moments, events, and reminders of what made my grandpa who he was and is to all of us. I ponder the example he leaves behind, the legacy that begs us to love one another no matter what. I cling to those three words that he so softly whispered to me, and I smile as I consider that the Colonel is up there, somewhere, looking down on us with his own big smile.

I love you, Papa.  I hope to see you again one day.

Democracy from a Distance

I wake up this morning to a cool breeze coming in through my back window. My neighbor's dogs are barking at something or someone down on the street, and I hear a few birds beginning to stir and sing as the sun rises over the mountains to the east, just over the palm trees that line the main boulevard here in Turrialba. I roll over in my bed and reach for my phone. A few messages from volunteers along with a meme or two, a link to a website about a new waterfall in a message from one of my Tico friends, and an email about the latest solar power tech greet me as I sit up and rub my eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary, by any stretch of the imagination.

By all appearances, it's just another Tuesday here in Costa Rica. You wouldn't know it, but a few countries to the north, big things are happening. Today we have the Midterm Elections to decide a number of key Senate, House of Representative, and gubernatorial races, along with who knows how many amendments and referendums. It is a day that has been coming for some time, and it's finally here. But the cool breeze still blows as soft as always, and my water boiler clicks off to let me know it's time to pour into my tiny, single-serving French press. The same sensation and sounds I experience every morning.

Stirring a packet of Costa-Rican off-brand Splenda into my coffee, I boot up my laptop and log on to see what's already unfolding in the United States. Facebook reminds me, yet again, of the growing divide in our bipartisan political system. Twitter reminds me of the sublime truth that humor can be found in the direst circumstances. My hometown news outlet, Pensacola News Journal, offers a fair and balanced (a bit surprising for having been written in Escambia County, Florida) write-up on the biggest issues facing our great nation, down to the county level back where I was born in Pensacola.

It's a sobering moment of separated inspiration in which I realize that I am part of what is happening, having cast my overseas ballot by fax this past week with the help of our main office in San José. I think about all of the conversations happening over breakfast, some amicable and others perhaps not so much. Political lines have long since been drawn, crossing states, counties, districts, neighborhoods, streets, and, in some cases, living rooms and kitchens. It is an exciting time, to be sure, as the entire voting populace readies itself to go to the polls, stands in line, casts its vote, and sits back waiting with bated breath for the results that will (hopefully) come out later this evening.

"To confirm that your ballot was successfully
sent to the indicated fax number." thanks to Olga!

I take another bite of oatmeal and scroll through my Instagram feed and notice a post from the main Peace Corps account, highlighting volunteers serving in countries like China, Botswana, and Kosovo who have taking the initiative just like I and many of my fellow Peace Corps Costa Rica volunteers have done. I smile as I double-tap the image, content knowing that I am from a place where we are afforded such rights.

Today is a good day. Today I know my voice will be heard and will help to shape the future of my district, my county, my state, and my country. If you are, by chance, reading this and you haven't yet gone to vote, please go. Exercise your right as a citizen of the United States, and go vote!

Un Año, Pero Lleno

Even the locally-grown, gourmet coffee I purchased
the day before was stolen that night, so you know
I'm not joking when I tell you it was rough. 

One year ago tonight, things changed quite a bit for me in my journey in Costa Rica with the Peace Corps. 
Waking up to an empty apartment and the sobering discovery that virtually all of my personal possessions had been stolen while I slept in my bed will always be one of my most difficult memories. The flood of emotions that swept through me - fear for my personal security, despair for the loss of material items, anger toward the guilty person(s), and failure in my role as a volunteer in my community - tossed and turned inside me for what seemed like an eternity. 
In the hours and days that followed, however, I began to realize the stellar quality of the people I had around me. My neighboring volunteers, numerous office staff members, and a few wonderful host country nationals rallied around me and offered some pretty outstanding support in my process of starting over. 
It would be a sisyphean task to try and depict the twists and turns of the following twelve months. So many changes unfolded as I worked to reset my trajectory: A new site, a new community, a new region, a new host family, a new local development association, new documentation, and many other intricate adjustments were required in the new undertaking. It would be some time before I felt even a shred of what we call normalcy.

My site change landed me
back in San José's backyard

Despite all the tumult of those days, I still say - with no hesitation whatsoever - that I look back on the overall outcome with a broad smile across my face. One of those ear-to-ear jobs. I landed in a very special place in El Llano, working with motivated individuals and groups, living with a tender and caring host family, and I ended my two years of service on what I think was the highest note possible. 

Sonia Mora Bermudez, my host mom in my
second site. She's one of the best people I've met. 

The experience absolutely led me to consider extending my time here in Costa Rica with the Peace Corps, and it surely influenced my decision to apply for the Regional Leader position - a role I'm very much so enjoying these days. 

My newest family: PCCR's Regional Leaders along
with our wonderful coordinator, Mónica Salas

Bottom line: I'm not here to deny that life comes with enormous challenges; no one could ever claim such nonsense. Life is hard, and then you become an adult. Rather, I'd simply like to reach into my own tattered bag of life experience and pull out a glimmer of hope for you. If you find yourself in the midst of some considerably trying times, press forward. Press forward with as much positivity as you and your support network can muster, and I promise you it will end up for the better. 
Learn from everything, and you'll always come out on top. 

Love y'all.