Every once in a while, an idea catches my attention. Well, this idea is not a “once in a while” idea, but rather a “once every four years” idea. HOPE International has developed a unique approach to challenge people to recognize the gift of the extra day in our Leap Year. The campaign encourages people not to spend this day on themselves, but rather spend it on behalf of the poor. The video weaves a simple, compelling message through origami shapes representing how we might spend the day on ourselves, or, in contrast, how we might pay the day forward to benefit others. HOPE provides a very basic calculator on the Leap Forward website (http://leapfwd.us/)to determine the value of Leap Day based on annual salary or hourly wages. HOPE’s end goal is to raise funds to support their microfinance operations in Congo, placing people on the pathway out of poverty. With Leap Day fast approaching on February 29th, now is the time to take a personal leap and participate.
Watch Video: http://youtu.be/6Jg_h1gPmpM
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Confidence, not Competence (Take 2)
It has been over a year since I originally wrote the post below, and yet, I find myself in a similar place; needing a good (and direct) reminder that God is in control and nothing I do will ever gain me the love and acceptance of my Father. My weak, small and sad self already has His love. I am His daughter and He loves me dearly. Excited to enter into this Christmas season remembering God's faithfulness through the past year and looking forward to His blessings and grace in the new year to come.
Merry Christmas!
-Liz
------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 3, 2010
God is good. So good.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
Merry Christmas!
-Liz
------------------------------------------------------------------------
August 3, 2010
God is good. So good.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Development Work: A Love/ Hate Relationship
In the past few months I have realized that the only way to survive within a new country, culture, and- at times- world, is to embrace the differences, try (almost) everything at least once, and admittedly and openly acknowledge the smallness and insignificance of one's self.
While I continuously struggle to "fit in," to trust in God, and to find solutions to the almost daily slew of annoyances or mini-crises, I have found that, strangely, one of the greatest comforts in times of frustration and despair is to come across an individual in exactly the same or similar situation as myself. How refreshing it is to learn about one's personal reaction to a problem I had once deemed "insurmountable."
Thanks to co-workers, friends, and family members, I have fallen upon blogs and articles from development workers in placements around the world that shed enlightening and uncannily real insights to life abroad. Enjoy.
http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/features/mad-for-mumbai/story-e6frg8h6-1225934717682
http://lessonsilearned.org/
http://stayingfortea.org/2010/08/17/poverty-tourism-a-debate-in-need-of-typological-nuance/
While I continuously struggle to "fit in," to trust in God, and to find solutions to the almost daily slew of annoyances or mini-crises, I have found that, strangely, one of the greatest comforts in times of frustration and despair is to come across an individual in exactly the same or similar situation as myself. How refreshing it is to learn about one's personal reaction to a problem I had once deemed "insurmountable."
Thanks to co-workers, friends, and family members, I have fallen upon blogs and articles from development workers in placements around the world that shed enlightening and uncannily real insights to life abroad. Enjoy.
http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/features/mad-for-mumbai/story-e6frg8h6-1225934717682
http://lessonsilearned.org/
http://stayingfortea.org/2010/08/17/poverty-tourism-a-debate-in-need-of-typological-nuance/
Friday, October 15, 2010
An Unexpected Viaje
There are a few things that I truly miss from the good ole’ U.S. of A. As it is autumn back home (and also here I s’pose however the 90 degree weather rather kills that statement), currently at the top of my list is a Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spiced Latte. Mmmm. This drink, while overly-priced and lacking the health benefits of say, a big glass of fresh squeezed orange (“china”) juice, signifies comfort and home for me. Also, I miss that feeling right before the first frost. The air is so fresh and so crisp- one just needs to close their eyes and breathe to realize the beauty surrounding them.
On a different note, I miss rules and regulations. The tidy, orderly business of waiting in-turn to order, stopping at red lights, and lowering one’s music after 10:00 at night. I miss the social impropriety that would be attached to an individual if they yelled out to a woman, “Hey pretty baby! Come over here and give me a kiss!” I miss the feeling that would fill me when seeing an abandoned animal- and the urge that would swell up inside to “save it Liz!” More abstractly, I also miss the freedom of being on my own time schedule. Of driving my own vehicle- even getting lost in it. Knowing that, as I am able to drive myself to this or that location, it will take (more or less) 15 minutes.
However, when it really comes down to it, above all else I miss those individuals who have so shaped me and my life. Unsurprisingly, God was aware of this. About three weeks ago, I was having a “skype date” with Pat when he realized that he had a free weekend at the end of September where he hoped to visit the DR. However, as his Friday professor docked students 5% of the final grade for ever missed class, we realized that the only feasible option was for me to fly to him. Several e-mails, phone calls, and one American Airline purchase later, I was heading to NH for 4 days.
The trip was quite the whirlwind as my 11:00 am American Airlines Flight (and I had thought Jetblue was bad!)to Puerto Rico was delayed giving me only 25 minutes to get through customs in San Juan (a feat I was told would be impossible)and if I missed my flight, I would need to sleep over in the PR airport- no thanks! Therefore, I re-routed through Miami and after 6 more hours of delays(half of those hours being spent on board a plane that was not given permission to exit the runway), I arrived in Logan Airport at 12:00am (only 6.5 hours after my original flight should have landed).
However (*and now is the time where all of you folks who can't stand mushyness of any sort should stop reading*) it was all seriously worth it when I saw Pat waiting at the gate. Absolutely one of those things that just can't be beat.
I spent my time in beautiful NH meeting up with old friends, eating lunch with my wonderful Aunt Kiki, grabbing pumpkin spiced lattes with Heidi, staying up "wicked" late with my big cousin John, exploring the Deerfield Fair (aka: eating every fried thing in sight) and spending some much needed time with Patch.
I certainly encountered my fair share of "mini reverse culture shocks" including witnessing the Mall of New Hampshire lose power- which, actually made me feel right at home as most areas in the DR rarely have electricity 24/7- but what was shocking was the reaction of the woman next to me who literally jumped, screamed, and grabbed the person next to her when the lights went out. My face froze, mouth dropped, and after muttering something like "se fue la luz!" (their goes the light!) I am pretty sure I stared her down as if she was completely and utterly ridiculous. It was just the power and it was in the middle of the day!
I found myself getting very frustrated by people around me and also with myself. Shopping for a few things at the mall was very overwhelming. Their was new and exciting stuff everywhere- I kept having to fight this urge to buy- this voice that told me, "'Liz, you need this. You can't find this in the DR." Many of the ex-pats who once lived in the DR have recounted their tales of reverse culture shock. They explain how, upon re-entering the states, they found themselves overwhelmed by what was once a simple task.
For example, driving. Pat lent me his cell phone and car while I was in NH and I was so thankful for this freedom. However, as soon as I was by myself, driving along the road- I had to keep fighting the idea that this was fake. I remember looking over my shoulder for the normal crowd of people packed in the carro publicos that I ride in so often.
While my time away was incredible-I am now back in the beautiful DR- so content with where God has me and finding myself falling deeper and deeper in love with the people, culture, and beauty that surrounds me. Never would I have believed that such a peace exists. And now, as a Dominican friend just surprised us with Barra Payan "mangola" juice- (Chinola + Mango), I am thoroughly content and ready to start the weekend.
On a different note, I miss rules and regulations. The tidy, orderly business of waiting in-turn to order, stopping at red lights, and lowering one’s music after 10:00 at night. I miss the social impropriety that would be attached to an individual if they yelled out to a woman, “Hey pretty baby! Come over here and give me a kiss!” I miss the feeling that would fill me when seeing an abandoned animal- and the urge that would swell up inside to “save it Liz!” More abstractly, I also miss the freedom of being on my own time schedule. Of driving my own vehicle- even getting lost in it. Knowing that, as I am able to drive myself to this or that location, it will take (more or less) 15 minutes.
However, when it really comes down to it, above all else I miss those individuals who have so shaped me and my life. Unsurprisingly, God was aware of this. About three weeks ago, I was having a “skype date” with Pat when he realized that he had a free weekend at the end of September where he hoped to visit the DR. However, as his Friday professor docked students 5% of the final grade for ever missed class, we realized that the only feasible option was for me to fly to him. Several e-mails, phone calls, and one American Airline purchase later, I was heading to NH for 4 days.
The trip was quite the whirlwind as my 11:00 am American Airlines Flight (and I had thought Jetblue was bad!)to Puerto Rico was delayed giving me only 25 minutes to get through customs in San Juan (a feat I was told would be impossible)and if I missed my flight, I would need to sleep over in the PR airport- no thanks! Therefore, I re-routed through Miami and after 6 more hours of delays(half of those hours being spent on board a plane that was not given permission to exit the runway), I arrived in Logan Airport at 12:00am (only 6.5 hours after my original flight should have landed).
However (*and now is the time where all of you folks who can't stand mushyness of any sort should stop reading*) it was all seriously worth it when I saw Pat waiting at the gate. Absolutely one of those things that just can't be beat.
I spent my time in beautiful NH meeting up with old friends, eating lunch with my wonderful Aunt Kiki, grabbing pumpkin spiced lattes with Heidi, staying up "wicked" late with my big cousin John, exploring the Deerfield Fair (aka: eating every fried thing in sight) and spending some much needed time with Patch.
I certainly encountered my fair share of "mini reverse culture shocks" including witnessing the Mall of New Hampshire lose power- which, actually made me feel right at home as most areas in the DR rarely have electricity 24/7- but what was shocking was the reaction of the woman next to me who literally jumped, screamed, and grabbed the person next to her when the lights went out. My face froze, mouth dropped, and after muttering something like "se fue la luz!" (their goes the light!) I am pretty sure I stared her down as if she was completely and utterly ridiculous. It was just the power and it was in the middle of the day!
I found myself getting very frustrated by people around me and also with myself. Shopping for a few things at the mall was very overwhelming. Their was new and exciting stuff everywhere- I kept having to fight this urge to buy- this voice that told me, "'Liz, you need this. You can't find this in the DR." Many of the ex-pats who once lived in the DR have recounted their tales of reverse culture shock. They explain how, upon re-entering the states, they found themselves overwhelmed by what was once a simple task.
For example, driving. Pat lent me his cell phone and car while I was in NH and I was so thankful for this freedom. However, as soon as I was by myself, driving along the road- I had to keep fighting the idea that this was fake. I remember looking over my shoulder for the normal crowd of people packed in the carro publicos that I ride in so often.
While my time away was incredible-I am now back in the beautiful DR- so content with where God has me and finding myself falling deeper and deeper in love with the people, culture, and beauty that surrounds me. Never would I have believed that such a peace exists. And now, as a Dominican friend just surprised us with Barra Payan "mangola" juice- (Chinola + Mango), I am thoroughly content and ready to start the weekend.
Wait Upon the Lord
As it has been nearly 1 ½ months since I’ve written last, several updates are in order!
First, I had the incredible opportunity (as briefly noted in my last entry) to spend a month in the city of San Pedro de Macoris (SPM), a city famous for their poets, crabs, and, above all else, baseball. Having spent a solid month getting grounded in Dominican culture and introduced to Esperanza Internacional as an organization, it was decided that the best teaching instrument was a full-fledged experience working in an Esperanza Branch Office. By traveling to bi-weekly Bank of Hope meetings and shadowing Loan Officers in their daily activities involving associates and their communities, I had the opportunity to see the ins-and-outs of microfinance. Alongside working in the SPM branch office, I was also given the chance to live with a Dominican family, eat Dominican food, and experience Dominican culture in a real and “un-sugar-coated” fashion.
I left for SPM late one afternoon with the wonderful Claire leading the way. The route by guagua took only an hour and Angela (“Angelita”-meaning little angel- as everyone calls her), greeted me with open arms and brought me to my room on the second floor of a house adjacent to her own. For the first time in over a month, I was able to unpack my suitcase (semi-permanently), hang a few photos on the wall, and get situated in my temporary abode. My time in San Pedro was certainly memorable. I ate incredibly! Angela and her sister Miriam were incredible cooks and I was often blown away by the incredible meals they prepared for me. I ate a variety of locally grown products such as eggs, yucca, salchicas (sausages), freshly squeezed juices, salad (with a great oil based dressing mixed with salt and garlic), tostones, beets, chicken, beef, fish- you name, I most likely had it.
Beyond the incredible food (I really love food- hence its prominent placement in my entry), I became more comfortable with walking through the town, more acquainted to the “cat calls” (llamadas de los gatos) from curious Dominican men, and more adventurous as to how far I would walk from Angelita’s home. Beside myself, Angelita housed several ex-pat’s, took care of her elderly mother (an incredible woman nearing the age of 96!), and helped her sister care for her son and grandchildren. Life in the branch office allowed me to be introduced to several incredible individuals. Alejandro was a constant encouragement, teaching me that a successful work day meant that I spent a large amount of time building relationships with the people around me and did not stay in my corner “typing feverishly away at my computer.” (A hard but necessary lesson to learn). Carlos introduced me to the beauty (and risks) of driving a moto-concho, Esmeida to the kindness and faithfulness of a friend who will forever look out for you, Isidro to the importance of praising God-no matter the time of day, Damaris to the joy that comes from welcoming a challenge and charging it head on, Don Eurelio to the intense and powerful impact of showing a stranger-exhausted from a day at the Cemex factory- love, Noberto to the importance of finding friends who can help you when your abilities fall short, Mariam to the joy that comes from simple things like a clean work environment, Romana to the strength God provides to all of His children- even if they are handed major obstacles, and Celida for displaying a faith like no other. To these people I will be forever grateful.
I was also taught (by my old man) that I am the only person that can determine what is healthy and right for me during this time. Being so far removed from family and friends, the ones I love are able to offer spiritual and emotional support- but solely through encouraging messages or phone conversations. The real catalyst to any progress- the role of change agent- falls to myself. I remember this taking me by surprise. I feel that for so long, I have lived under a hierarchy of leadership. While this remains true in many fashions, I am no longer a Messiah College student or a dependent of Gerald and Lucie Poulin (don’t get me wrong, I am still VERY dependent on my wonderful parents- just in a different sense). The month I spent in SPM was in many ways one of the most challenging months of my life- and yet, equally rewarding.
In addition, I also faced the realization that I have very rarely, due to my life’s circumstances, had to rely fully and completely on God. For the majority of my life, I have acknowledged God’s presence in my life and been thankful for the continuous blessings surrounding me. But, now- sick with a bad case of gripe, stressed with the departure of my co-worker and good friend, and overwhelmed by an influx of cockroaches inside my small apartment, I felt discouraged, exhausted, and very much alone. I remember feeling totally and completely broken, explaining to a good friend that I did not know how much I could handle. However, when I needed it most, she reminded me that I would never be alone and that to think these things only fed a lie. She encouraged me to “starve the sentiment” and remember that I have a God that loves me, knows me, and will never abandon me. Amen.
All I can say is, God is so good. So faithful. A source of comfort and peace. Jesus, I praise your name and thank you for walking with me through the valleys and times of drought. Your patience with my slow understanding encourages me. But overall, your faithfulness provides me with the strength to press on. Surely, I will wait upon the Lord.
First, I had the incredible opportunity (as briefly noted in my last entry) to spend a month in the city of San Pedro de Macoris (SPM), a city famous for their poets, crabs, and, above all else, baseball. Having spent a solid month getting grounded in Dominican culture and introduced to Esperanza Internacional as an organization, it was decided that the best teaching instrument was a full-fledged experience working in an Esperanza Branch Office. By traveling to bi-weekly Bank of Hope meetings and shadowing Loan Officers in their daily activities involving associates and their communities, I had the opportunity to see the ins-and-outs of microfinance. Alongside working in the SPM branch office, I was also given the chance to live with a Dominican family, eat Dominican food, and experience Dominican culture in a real and “un-sugar-coated” fashion.
I left for SPM late one afternoon with the wonderful Claire leading the way. The route by guagua took only an hour and Angela (“Angelita”-meaning little angel- as everyone calls her), greeted me with open arms and brought me to my room on the second floor of a house adjacent to her own. For the first time in over a month, I was able to unpack my suitcase (semi-permanently), hang a few photos on the wall, and get situated in my temporary abode. My time in San Pedro was certainly memorable. I ate incredibly! Angela and her sister Miriam were incredible cooks and I was often blown away by the incredible meals they prepared for me. I ate a variety of locally grown products such as eggs, yucca, salchicas (sausages), freshly squeezed juices, salad (with a great oil based dressing mixed with salt and garlic), tostones, beets, chicken, beef, fish- you name, I most likely had it.
Beyond the incredible food (I really love food- hence its prominent placement in my entry), I became more comfortable with walking through the town, more acquainted to the “cat calls” (llamadas de los gatos) from curious Dominican men, and more adventurous as to how far I would walk from Angelita’s home. Beside myself, Angelita housed several ex-pat’s, took care of her elderly mother (an incredible woman nearing the age of 96!), and helped her sister care for her son and grandchildren. Life in the branch office allowed me to be introduced to several incredible individuals. Alejandro was a constant encouragement, teaching me that a successful work day meant that I spent a large amount of time building relationships with the people around me and did not stay in my corner “typing feverishly away at my computer.” (A hard but necessary lesson to learn). Carlos introduced me to the beauty (and risks) of driving a moto-concho, Esmeida to the kindness and faithfulness of a friend who will forever look out for you, Isidro to the importance of praising God-no matter the time of day, Damaris to the joy that comes from welcoming a challenge and charging it head on, Don Eurelio to the intense and powerful impact of showing a stranger-exhausted from a day at the Cemex factory- love, Noberto to the importance of finding friends who can help you when your abilities fall short, Mariam to the joy that comes from simple things like a clean work environment, Romana to the strength God provides to all of His children- even if they are handed major obstacles, and Celida for displaying a faith like no other. To these people I will be forever grateful.
I was also taught (by my old man) that I am the only person that can determine what is healthy and right for me during this time. Being so far removed from family and friends, the ones I love are able to offer spiritual and emotional support- but solely through encouraging messages or phone conversations. The real catalyst to any progress- the role of change agent- falls to myself. I remember this taking me by surprise. I feel that for so long, I have lived under a hierarchy of leadership. While this remains true in many fashions, I am no longer a Messiah College student or a dependent of Gerald and Lucie Poulin (don’t get me wrong, I am still VERY dependent on my wonderful parents- just in a different sense). The month I spent in SPM was in many ways one of the most challenging months of my life- and yet, equally rewarding.
In addition, I also faced the realization that I have very rarely, due to my life’s circumstances, had to rely fully and completely on God. For the majority of my life, I have acknowledged God’s presence in my life and been thankful for the continuous blessings surrounding me. But, now- sick with a bad case of gripe, stressed with the departure of my co-worker and good friend, and overwhelmed by an influx of cockroaches inside my small apartment, I felt discouraged, exhausted, and very much alone. I remember feeling totally and completely broken, explaining to a good friend that I did not know how much I could handle. However, when I needed it most, she reminded me that I would never be alone and that to think these things only fed a lie. She encouraged me to “starve the sentiment” and remember that I have a God that loves me, knows me, and will never abandon me. Amen.
All I can say is, God is so good. So faithful. A source of comfort and peace. Jesus, I praise your name and thank you for walking with me through the valleys and times of drought. Your patience with my slow understanding encourages me. But overall, your faithfulness provides me with the strength to press on. Surely, I will wait upon the Lord.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Fuerte y Valiente!
It has been awhile... and I have become somewhat lazy in my journaling escapades. I have yet to decide on the culprit, however my sixth sense tells me that a lack of time (but more so) energy may be the number one source.
I am continuously humbled. And I am not talking about a graceful humbling that I so often picture when I read scriptures like: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” or “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.” Humbling one’s self does not mean simply recognizing that you were wrong, or that you have a lot of learning to do, or that you are still young in your thought-processes. No. Sometimes, humbling one’s self is the consciousness that results after getting knocked across the head, and only after the stinging wears off, recognizing that “oh, hey, I think I might have been wrong there…”
My journey as an ex-pat living in the Dominican Republic has been quite the adventure thus far. I celebrated my one-month marker a few days ago and have noticed that my body is starting to adjust to the weather and food (aka: I haven’t had sudden urges to find a bathroom every hour and my skin has stopped breaking out in random patches of, what I presume to be, heat rash). I have grown fond of merengue, bachata, and salsa music and have even become more comfortable with the idea of letting a stranger politely grab my hand and lead me in a traditional Dominican two–step. The oh-so-frequent shouts of “Hey Americana! Pa’ manger mi visa!” from the mouths of Dominican men (and school-aged, you-are-young-enough-to-be-my-child boys) has even started to phase me less. (I actually get a kick out of the song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_pVo1w9PlA) and chuckle to myself when I see kids mimicking the dance.
But each and every day I am reminded that this is not Kansas. I do not own cool enough red shoes (but I am pretty sure Pat does) that will transport me back home at the click of a heel. And if I were to find a Toto-esque dog on the streets of Santo Domingo there is a large chance that one of my neighbors would poison him for being a nuisance before we could ever reach the wizard.
Needless to say, I prepared myself for heavy-duty culture shock. The kind equivalent to the voltage dispensed by one of those mini defibrillators one finds hidden in the dark corners of malls and other heavily-trafficked places. But instead, I have experienced little shocks, mini shocks if you would. Little reminders throughout daily life that, regardless of how many books I read or advice I receive from past ex-pats, the only way to fully understand Dominican society is to observe and maintain an open-mind.
I just finished reading a fantastic book “The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University.” While none of the content was DR-related, I found nuggets of truth within the work that could be applied to my situation here. The original purpose of the book was for Kevin Roose, a sophomore at Brown University, to “study abroad” for a semester at Liberty University (commonly referred to as Jerry Falwell's “Bible Boot Camp” for young evangelicals) to uncover the truth about how life is run from the other side. However, in the end, Roose realizes that while some of his original perceptions of fundamentalist Christians could be applied to a small numbering of individuals, as a whole, his views had been wrong- or, in the least, malformed. This struck me. In the sense that for the past 4 or 5 years, I have seriously struggled with my “Christian identity.”
I do not mean that I questioned my faith or God’s omnipotence, no. I mean that throughout my life, I have been fed (from various sources) ultra conservative Christian ideologies. I was one of those kids who worried about side-hugs, eye babies, and contemplated saving my first kiss for my wedding day. I was someone who placed more value on an individual’s “purity status,” than on their emotional or even physical health. Although these things, in themselves, are not horrible or even mildly awful, when administered in the wrong way, they can become the very catalysts initiating the construction of divisive walls between sectors of humanity.
When I started college, I remember harboring a lot of bitterness and resentment. I loved my roots, but hated the idea that I had never been taught the good arguments of the “other” side. I had this gut-wrenching feeling that, wow, maybe I only feel so strongly about these convictions because I had been unaware that any other educated belief on the subject exists. Now, while saying this may be selling my young self short- I must admit- the thoughts still crossed my mind.
Fast forward 5 years and I am just beginning to understand the source of my frustrations. In one passage Roose mentions a fellow Liberty student who loves what Liberty stands for and yet who hates that he feels as though he has to be so “anti-establishment.” He says, “I mean, it’s natural to want to go against the grain. But I think I’m going against a grain that I support just because this place indoctrinates people so heavily.” Amen. Seriously, if asked my stance on the “top 3 conservative issues” (gay marriage, abortion, and prayer in school), it would most likely be obvious to everyone (well, American onlookers at least) that I stand on the more conservative end of the political spectrum. However, I have found myself throughout the last few years looking at ultra conservative individuals with judgment and distaste. I loathe legalism and anything that resembles it. I despise judgmental statements and individuals who freely label or identify a person based on their life choices. And yet, surprisingly (not really actually), I am no better. I judge, I create rules that “should never be broken,” and God knows that I group individuals on characteristic traits that I find to be unappealing.
Claire and I had a discussion on this topic the other day, and what she said I will never forget. She confidently stated that there are two different types of people in the world. Those individuals who hate people who are different than them, and those individuals who hate the people most like themselves. I, for one, fall within the latter category. For example, just two nights ago, the ex-pat community had ventured out to spend an evening dancing merengue with a group of Dominican friends when a group of 5 American Peace Corp volunteers walked by. Instead of greeting them, however, the Americans within the group muttered something that sounded like “gringos…” and kept to themselves. A Dominican friend of ours chiped up and said, Wow! If I was in a foreign place and a Dominican had walked by, I would have run up to them and made friends!
While my time here on the island of Hispaniola has abruptly made me aware of the devastating nature of poverty, it has also started to slowly open my eyes to my own poverty. My lack of sound judgment, my lack of patience, my lack of understanding. Truly, I am realizing that until I allow myself to love those individuals so like myself, I will be unable to fully harvest a love towards my Dominican brothers and sisters. This is what I am praying for. For God to remove the scales that cover my eyelids and to continue reminding me of where and when I fall short. As the days pass, and life in Santo Domingo (and now San Pedro- I recently moved in for my month-long homestay- more to come) becomes my reality, I find myself worrying about the months ahead. Will I be able to successfully take over this position once my predecessor departs for sunny California? Will I ever understand the rapid dialect of my Dominican co-workers? Will my New-Hampshire grown body ever adjust to the Dominican heat-waves/ lack of air-conditioned buildings? However, in times like these, I become abruptly (not softly)humbled by the words in Joshua ringing tried and true. “Have I not commanded you? Be Strong (fuerte) and Courageous (valiente). Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Amen.
I am continuously humbled. And I am not talking about a graceful humbling that I so often picture when I read scriptures like: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” or “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.” Humbling one’s self does not mean simply recognizing that you were wrong, or that you have a lot of learning to do, or that you are still young in your thought-processes. No. Sometimes, humbling one’s self is the consciousness that results after getting knocked across the head, and only after the stinging wears off, recognizing that “oh, hey, I think I might have been wrong there…”
My journey as an ex-pat living in the Dominican Republic has been quite the adventure thus far. I celebrated my one-month marker a few days ago and have noticed that my body is starting to adjust to the weather and food (aka: I haven’t had sudden urges to find a bathroom every hour and my skin has stopped breaking out in random patches of, what I presume to be, heat rash). I have grown fond of merengue, bachata, and salsa music and have even become more comfortable with the idea of letting a stranger politely grab my hand and lead me in a traditional Dominican two–step. The oh-so-frequent shouts of “Hey Americana! Pa’ manger mi visa!” from the mouths of Dominican men (and school-aged, you-are-young-enough-to-be-my-child boys) has even started to phase me less. (I actually get a kick out of the song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_pVo1w9PlA) and chuckle to myself when I see kids mimicking the dance.
But each and every day I am reminded that this is not Kansas. I do not own cool enough red shoes (but I am pretty sure Pat does) that will transport me back home at the click of a heel. And if I were to find a Toto-esque dog on the streets of Santo Domingo there is a large chance that one of my neighbors would poison him for being a nuisance before we could ever reach the wizard.
Needless to say, I prepared myself for heavy-duty culture shock. The kind equivalent to the voltage dispensed by one of those mini defibrillators one finds hidden in the dark corners of malls and other heavily-trafficked places. But instead, I have experienced little shocks, mini shocks if you would. Little reminders throughout daily life that, regardless of how many books I read or advice I receive from past ex-pats, the only way to fully understand Dominican society is to observe and maintain an open-mind.
I just finished reading a fantastic book “The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University.” While none of the content was DR-related, I found nuggets of truth within the work that could be applied to my situation here. The original purpose of the book was for Kevin Roose, a sophomore at Brown University, to “study abroad” for a semester at Liberty University (commonly referred to as Jerry Falwell's “Bible Boot Camp” for young evangelicals) to uncover the truth about how life is run from the other side. However, in the end, Roose realizes that while some of his original perceptions of fundamentalist Christians could be applied to a small numbering of individuals, as a whole, his views had been wrong- or, in the least, malformed. This struck me. In the sense that for the past 4 or 5 years, I have seriously struggled with my “Christian identity.”
I do not mean that I questioned my faith or God’s omnipotence, no. I mean that throughout my life, I have been fed (from various sources) ultra conservative Christian ideologies. I was one of those kids who worried about side-hugs, eye babies, and contemplated saving my first kiss for my wedding day. I was someone who placed more value on an individual’s “purity status,” than on their emotional or even physical health. Although these things, in themselves, are not horrible or even mildly awful, when administered in the wrong way, they can become the very catalysts initiating the construction of divisive walls between sectors of humanity.
When I started college, I remember harboring a lot of bitterness and resentment. I loved my roots, but hated the idea that I had never been taught the good arguments of the “other” side. I had this gut-wrenching feeling that, wow, maybe I only feel so strongly about these convictions because I had been unaware that any other educated belief on the subject exists. Now, while saying this may be selling my young self short- I must admit- the thoughts still crossed my mind.
Fast forward 5 years and I am just beginning to understand the source of my frustrations. In one passage Roose mentions a fellow Liberty student who loves what Liberty stands for and yet who hates that he feels as though he has to be so “anti-establishment.” He says, “I mean, it’s natural to want to go against the grain. But I think I’m going against a grain that I support just because this place indoctrinates people so heavily.” Amen. Seriously, if asked my stance on the “top 3 conservative issues” (gay marriage, abortion, and prayer in school), it would most likely be obvious to everyone (well, American onlookers at least) that I stand on the more conservative end of the political spectrum. However, I have found myself throughout the last few years looking at ultra conservative individuals with judgment and distaste. I loathe legalism and anything that resembles it. I despise judgmental statements and individuals who freely label or identify a person based on their life choices. And yet, surprisingly (not really actually), I am no better. I judge, I create rules that “should never be broken,” and God knows that I group individuals on characteristic traits that I find to be unappealing.
Claire and I had a discussion on this topic the other day, and what she said I will never forget. She confidently stated that there are two different types of people in the world. Those individuals who hate people who are different than them, and those individuals who hate the people most like themselves. I, for one, fall within the latter category. For example, just two nights ago, the ex-pat community had ventured out to spend an evening dancing merengue with a group of Dominican friends when a group of 5 American Peace Corp volunteers walked by. Instead of greeting them, however, the Americans within the group muttered something that sounded like “gringos…” and kept to themselves. A Dominican friend of ours chiped up and said, Wow! If I was in a foreign place and a Dominican had walked by, I would have run up to them and made friends!
While my time here on the island of Hispaniola has abruptly made me aware of the devastating nature of poverty, it has also started to slowly open my eyes to my own poverty. My lack of sound judgment, my lack of patience, my lack of understanding. Truly, I am realizing that until I allow myself to love those individuals so like myself, I will be unable to fully harvest a love towards my Dominican brothers and sisters. This is what I am praying for. For God to remove the scales that cover my eyelids and to continue reminding me of where and when I fall short. As the days pass, and life in Santo Domingo (and now San Pedro- I recently moved in for my month-long homestay- more to come) becomes my reality, I find myself worrying about the months ahead. Will I be able to successfully take over this position once my predecessor departs for sunny California? Will I ever understand the rapid dialect of my Dominican co-workers? Will my New-Hampshire grown body ever adjust to the Dominican heat-waves/ lack of air-conditioned buildings? However, in times like these, I become abruptly (not softly)humbled by the words in Joshua ringing tried and true. “Have I not commanded you? Be Strong (fuerte) and Courageous (valiente). Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Amen.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Confidence, not Competence
God is good. So good.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
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