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/
Sunday, October 17, 2010
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.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Mi Dios es poderoso para salvar!
I can’t believe how fast time seems to go in the Caribbean.
This weekend has absolutely flown- however it has been fantastic. On Saturday, after saying goodbye to the HOPE team, I had the opportunity to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. While this might seem like a misallocation of my time in the Caribbean, I am beginning to understand the need for a balanced life. Things here have been non-stop and a day spent cleaning, organizing (and thanks to Becca and Claire’s helpful tip) 2 ½ episodes of Glee! (They kick you off after a certain amount of stream time). After a relaxing day, I accompanied the roomies and some of their Dominican friends to a local joint to learn how to dance the bachata, meringue, and salsa. We had a BLAST!
Today, we left for church at 10:15 a.m. only to return to our humble abode in Gazcue at around 6:00 p.m. It was a LONG but fantastic afternoon. One thing that I should mention is that today, it hit me. It really really hit me. 9 months- 1 year is a LONG time. My closest friends from Messiah will be reuniting in Philly in 3 weeks and I have already found myself wishing that I could be THERE. But my heart (and I am pretty sure a few laws of physics) tells me that I cannot be here and there. I need to choose one. And, right now, I choose to be here. I was so blessed yesterday to stumble across a friend’s FB status that quotes Jim Elliot- “Wherever you are, be all there.” It’s harder than it sounds.
Church in el barrio was incredible. A large group of people sitting in an open-to-the-elements second-story porch with a lead singer and a few musicians. I immediately started to sweat (which could have been a result of the heat and immobile fans) when I noticed that the outdoor church was not equipped with display screens to help me feel less like a foreigner. I have always disliked not knowing the words to songs and add on top of that the different language/ dialect component and things get worse. But, to my surprise, the worship leader opened up with Hillsong’s Mighty to Save- “Mi Dios es poderoso para salvar.” Wow. I was immediately back in London at the Dominion theatre, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sense that God is present. Everywhere.
Last spring, after a few days in London, Vanessa and I felt burdened, broken, and somewhat lost. We saw physical and spiritual poverty all around us and we were told multiple times that only 10% of the people in Great Britain considered themselves Christians. “This is a lost place,” muttered our cultural instructor. However, to our surprise, this statement was far from true. Within seconds of stepping into Hillsong church, we both broke into tears, recognizing that God was in control, even across the pond. Again, I identify this truth.
I fought to hold back tears this morning. One, because I knew that each and every one of my Dominican friends would be concerned, but also because I have convinced myself that maintain one’s state of mind is half the battle. Needless to say I ended up turning through my journal before service began and reading over several entries leading up to my decision to come here in the first place. Some marked times of sorrow, others, times of complete joy. But more than anything I saw how God has been preparing me. How I committed over and over to go wherever He would lead, to speak the words He gave me, and to seek His will for my life. Ack! If only I had known how difficult keeping that promise would be!
I spent the afternoon with Becca and Claire at Becca’s former host family’s house. Claire decided to teach everyone to make Sushi (Dominican sushi that is!) and we had a great day in fellowship. I want to be present. I want to have energy to learn and to form lasting relationships. Right now, I am spent. I am exhausted and concerned for the weeks ahead. But I know God is so good. He is faithful and just. And above all else, Él puede mover las montañas . Mi Dios es poderoso para salvar!
This weekend has absolutely flown- however it has been fantastic. On Saturday, after saying goodbye to the HOPE team, I had the opportunity to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. While this might seem like a misallocation of my time in the Caribbean, I am beginning to understand the need for a balanced life. Things here have been non-stop and a day spent cleaning, organizing (and thanks to Becca and Claire’s helpful tip) 2 ½ episodes of Glee! (They kick you off after a certain amount of stream time). After a relaxing day, I accompanied the roomies and some of their Dominican friends to a local joint to learn how to dance the bachata, meringue, and salsa. We had a BLAST!
Today, we left for church at 10:15 a.m. only to return to our humble abode in Gazcue at around 6:00 p.m. It was a LONG but fantastic afternoon. One thing that I should mention is that today, it hit me. It really really hit me. 9 months- 1 year is a LONG time. My closest friends from Messiah will be reuniting in Philly in 3 weeks and I have already found myself wishing that I could be THERE. But my heart (and I am pretty sure a few laws of physics) tells me that I cannot be here and there. I need to choose one. And, right now, I choose to be here. I was so blessed yesterday to stumble across a friend’s FB status that quotes Jim Elliot- “Wherever you are, be all there.” It’s harder than it sounds.
Church in el barrio was incredible. A large group of people sitting in an open-to-the-elements second-story porch with a lead singer and a few musicians. I immediately started to sweat (which could have been a result of the heat and immobile fans) when I noticed that the outdoor church was not equipped with display screens to help me feel less like a foreigner. I have always disliked not knowing the words to songs and add on top of that the different language/ dialect component and things get worse. But, to my surprise, the worship leader opened up with Hillsong’s Mighty to Save- “Mi Dios es poderoso para salvar.” Wow. I was immediately back in London at the Dominion theatre, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sense that God is present. Everywhere.
Last spring, after a few days in London, Vanessa and I felt burdened, broken, and somewhat lost. We saw physical and spiritual poverty all around us and we were told multiple times that only 10% of the people in Great Britain considered themselves Christians. “This is a lost place,” muttered our cultural instructor. However, to our surprise, this statement was far from true. Within seconds of stepping into Hillsong church, we both broke into tears, recognizing that God was in control, even across the pond. Again, I identify this truth.
I fought to hold back tears this morning. One, because I knew that each and every one of my Dominican friends would be concerned, but also because I have convinced myself that maintain one’s state of mind is half the battle. Needless to say I ended up turning through my journal before service began and reading over several entries leading up to my decision to come here in the first place. Some marked times of sorrow, others, times of complete joy. But more than anything I saw how God has been preparing me. How I committed over and over to go wherever He would lead, to speak the words He gave me, and to seek His will for my life. Ack! If only I had known how difficult keeping that promise would be!
I spent the afternoon with Becca and Claire at Becca’s former host family’s house. Claire decided to teach everyone to make Sushi (Dominican sushi that is!) and we had a great day in fellowship. I want to be present. I want to have energy to learn and to form lasting relationships. Right now, I am spent. I am exhausted and concerned for the weeks ahead. But I know God is so good. He is faithful and just. And above all else, Él puede mover las montañas . Mi Dios es poderoso para salvar!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
El fin de la semana
Day 3 (en la oficina). So, it is becoming more and more obvious to me that this whole language learning thing is going to be DIFICIL. Seriously. I have met so many incredibly diverse and fantastic individuals in the main office in Santo Domingo. In fact several of them speak great English! The only problem with this is that it makes me lazy. I can go to the IT guys and ask for an internet connection in Spanish, but if I forget a word or two, they quickly see my struggle, want to help, and switch gears to English mode. I am praying that I can be persistent in learning and that I can be more outgoing and willing to speak to my friends in Spanish.
I had my first skype date two nights ago with Patrick! That was pretty exciting and it was good to see a familiar face. It has certainly been difficult not having the freedom to just grab my cellphone and send a quick “hey! how are you?” text. If you see him (all you New hampshirites), give him a hug for me!
Other BIG news- ! I spoke with Grant on Thursday and learned that he and the team of interns would be traveling into Santo Domingo for the weekend! Although talking with a fellow gringo who knows me (pretty) well was refreshing, last night we made the dream a reality and reunited at a co-workers house to hang out, dance some merengue, and relax after a very busy couple of days. After 2 long months of not bothering each other with our playful banter, it was sooo good to see him! I am pretty sure he picked me up, swung me around, and (as a result) was doused with whatever liquid I was holding in my hands. Good times. I also met a handful of other HOPE interns- all fantastic individuals. Spending time with Grant and hearing about his experiences thus far was truly encouraging. I had some opportunity to practice my spanish and gained confidence that, hey- I actually DO know how to speak la idioma!
This morning we said goodbye to a great group of accountants after strolling through the local market for some last minute souvenir shopping. I bought a small mirror for the room (a success!) and (thanks to Claire)met several great shop owners who have promised to sell me items at low prices if I bring groups through their section of the market. I am so thankful to the encouraging spirits of the accounting team and I will miss their insight and presence in Santo Domingo.
On a separate note- Claire made Becca and myself AMAZING banana pancakes (Jack Johnson would be proud) and LATTES. An incredible way to start any Saturday. I contemplated doing laundry but with the sky looking as ominous as it often does, I have decided to hold off. Two nights ago I experienced my first big island storm- I was woken up at 3:30 a.m. to the moist reality of leaky roofs. Being on the third (top) floor of our building has MANY benefits- but the proximity to the roof is not one of them. The window slats were going crazy and I could feel mist from the strong winds. I decided to get up and assess the situation only to recognize that rain was pounding down and the palm trees outside our window were bending over in the strong gusts of wind. Somewhat terrifying, but I just adjusted the mattress away from the bigger roof leaks, crawled back into bed, and put my head under the covers. haha. I felt like I was 6 again and recovering after watching a movie my parents had forbidden me from watching (freddie krouger). Fortunately we weren't hit by a hurricane!
My time thus far in SD (one week today!) has taught me that you need to take advantage of even the tiniest of moments. For example, after dropping off the team, Max drove Claire and myself home in the Esperanza van. However, this was one of the first times either of us had stopped for the past 7 days and within seconds we were both sleeping. Life here is so different. Their is little place for an "americanized- work ethic" and the sooner one realizes that the better off they will be. A "productive" day does not consist in how much I get DONE. Or how much I accomplish. It is far more collective. People rely on each other and work as a community, and as the girl who huffed and puffed when assigned a group project, this is certainly stretching me. I have realized that I love people- but that I like to write lists and cross things off the said "to-do" list. Here, to-do lists aren't always constructed. Things need to get done, but they are rarely communicated a few hours, let alone a few days, ahead of time.
I am learning to work in loud places, that the people with (what my culture would deem) the "smallest" jobs, often have the biggest hearts and greatest committment to their job. Our in-house saint, Dona Esperanza, told us on Friday that the rain from the previous night had closed all forms of public transportation from her home, and that she walked to the office!This is HUGE as Dominicans truly detest the rain and because a large majority of the roads were severely flooded.
Today I hope to relax, catch up on some much needed sleep, review some spanish verb conjugations, and call the boy and family. Love to you all.
I had my first skype date two nights ago with Patrick! That was pretty exciting and it was good to see a familiar face. It has certainly been difficult not having the freedom to just grab my cellphone and send a quick “hey! how are you?” text. If you see him (all you New hampshirites), give him a hug for me!
Other BIG news- ! I spoke with Grant on Thursday and learned that he and the team of interns would be traveling into Santo Domingo for the weekend! Although talking with a fellow gringo who knows me (pretty) well was refreshing, last night we made the dream a reality and reunited at a co-workers house to hang out, dance some merengue, and relax after a very busy couple of days. After 2 long months of not bothering each other with our playful banter, it was sooo good to see him! I am pretty sure he picked me up, swung me around, and (as a result) was doused with whatever liquid I was holding in my hands. Good times. I also met a handful of other HOPE interns- all fantastic individuals. Spending time with Grant and hearing about his experiences thus far was truly encouraging. I had some opportunity to practice my spanish and gained confidence that, hey- I actually DO know how to speak la idioma!
This morning we said goodbye to a great group of accountants after strolling through the local market for some last minute souvenir shopping. I bought a small mirror for the room (a success!) and (thanks to Claire)met several great shop owners who have promised to sell me items at low prices if I bring groups through their section of the market. I am so thankful to the encouraging spirits of the accounting team and I will miss their insight and presence in Santo Domingo.
On a separate note- Claire made Becca and myself AMAZING banana pancakes (Jack Johnson would be proud) and LATTES. An incredible way to start any Saturday. I contemplated doing laundry but with the sky looking as ominous as it often does, I have decided to hold off. Two nights ago I experienced my first big island storm- I was woken up at 3:30 a.m. to the moist reality of leaky roofs. Being on the third (top) floor of our building has MANY benefits- but the proximity to the roof is not one of them. The window slats were going crazy and I could feel mist from the strong winds. I decided to get up and assess the situation only to recognize that rain was pounding down and the palm trees outside our window were bending over in the strong gusts of wind. Somewhat terrifying, but I just adjusted the mattress away from the bigger roof leaks, crawled back into bed, and put my head under the covers. haha. I felt like I was 6 again and recovering after watching a movie my parents had forbidden me from watching (freddie krouger). Fortunately we weren't hit by a hurricane!
My time thus far in SD (one week today!) has taught me that you need to take advantage of even the tiniest of moments. For example, after dropping off the team, Max drove Claire and myself home in the Esperanza van. However, this was one of the first times either of us had stopped for the past 7 days and within seconds we were both sleeping. Life here is so different. Their is little place for an "americanized- work ethic" and the sooner one realizes that the better off they will be. A "productive" day does not consist in how much I get DONE. Or how much I accomplish. It is far more collective. People rely on each other and work as a community, and as the girl who huffed and puffed when assigned a group project, this is certainly stretching me. I have realized that I love people- but that I like to write lists and cross things off the said "to-do" list. Here, to-do lists aren't always constructed. Things need to get done, but they are rarely communicated a few hours, let alone a few days, ahead of time.
I am learning to work in loud places, that the people with (what my culture would deem) the "smallest" jobs, often have the biggest hearts and greatest committment to their job. Our in-house saint, Dona Esperanza, told us on Friday that the rain from the previous night had closed all forms of public transportation from her home, and that she walked to the office!This is HUGE as Dominicans truly detest the rain and because a large majority of the roads were severely flooded.
Today I hope to relax, catch up on some much needed sleep, review some spanish verb conjugations, and call the boy and family. Love to you all.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Si Dios conmigo, quien contra mi?
Wow! Talk about a whirlwind! These first few days in la Republica Dominicana have flown by with little to no spare time for documentation, reflection, or (at times) breathing!
Since I last wrote, I have spent two full days in the Esperanza office in Santo Domingo getting to know co-workers, details of the job, and most importantly, dominicanisms. Although challenging at times, I have been continuously blessed by the patience of my fellow Esperanza workers and the encouragement they have provided me with.
I also had the opportunity to travel to Hato Mayor, one of 10 offices that Esperanza has in the DR, yesterday for the purpose of accompanying an accounting team from HOPE (made up completely of Messiah grads- represent!) to meet loan officers and the local branch officer. The past few days have consisted of meeting several new faces, attempting to remember names, and trying my best at cramming my head full of new vocab, phrases, and MFI jargon. While life has been non-stop, it has also been extremely exciting and rewarding.
Today, I traveled with the fearless and incredible Claire to La Ramona to meet up with a team from Colorado who is partaking in a weeklong “vacation with a purpose.” The individuals stay at a villa in Casa de Campo in La Ramona while exploring their faith and learning about microfinance in action. The day started early with a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call (which turned in 5:00 a.m. as I carelessly turned off my alarm clock in my sleep) and then a taxi ride to the “bus station” in downtown Santo Domingo. On the way to the bus stop, I felt a large thud under the left wheel of our taxi car and Claire soon explained that the driver had just hit one of Santo Domingo’s unusually large rats (think Rodents of Unusual Size here people- we are talking the size of Stella. Sick.) We soon arrived at the bus stop to where we boarded an express bus full of individuals traveling to La Ramona for work and other reasons. The bus was comfortable and air-conditioned and fully equipped with a flat screen television displaying the ride’s “feature film.” Yup, Anaconda 3 was not exactly the movie I would have selected for a 2 hour trek at 5:45 a.m., but hey- to each their own. Never before have I witnessed a movie that wholly consists of blood, guts, decapitation, oh, and did I mention blood? Yes, the anacondas escaped the inescapable cage, yes, all the bad AND good guys die, and yes, the heroine managed to blow up the two large anacondas (and all the recently hatched young-ins) while escaping a dilapidated building, beating up a man 4 times her size, and spending a long 30 seconds glaring him down so as to gloat of her victory before the bomb goes off. Let’s hope the Anaconda series decides to end on an upbeat note and stick to a trilogy. *note: after writing this blog I conducted an unofficial research study and identified that the anaconda series has in fact released 4 movies. Unfortunate, but that’s life.
Anyways, moving on. Also during the bus ride Claire mentioned that when it rains in the Dr, it pours. And sure enough within a few minutes of a few drops on the windshield, streets were experiencing flash flooding and cars were fording through 6 inches of water. Que increible! The rest of the day was absolutely amazing. I met a fantastic taxi driver who I was able to communicate in Spanish with (woot woot!) and I witnessed first-hand the incredible income disparity that is often reported about the DR. In a few short hours of being in La Ramona I visited Casa de Campo, a resort where individuals such as Vin Diesel and Enrique Iglesias own villas. These villas are absolutely incredible- fitted with a moat around the premises, two-story indoor waterfalls, and private pools. Shortly after I recovered my jaw from the floor, we once again were on the road, except this time to a local batey and barrio. The stark difference between the casa de campo- a tourist resort- and el barrio was mind boggling. In one place, tourists could enjoy the amenities of a fully furnished villa, equipped with maid, cook, and butler, while 45 minutes down the road were shanty houses and dirt roads; home to the majority of Dominicans. Interestingly enough, when I think back on the day, I realize that I experienced more of a culture shock walking into the villa in Casa de Campo than in meeting the families that live in the barrio.
In the Batey we were able to attend a banco de esperanza meeting where we saw bank members drop off loan payments and meet with their solidarity groups for a devotion. They answered all the questions we threw at them including their reasons for joining their group, the success of their businesses since receiving a small loan from esperanza, and their dreams and hopes for their children. What an incredible group of women! In the Barrio, we shopped inside a client’s colmado (a local general store) that she had expanded due to a microloan and met her 6 children (ranging in age from 3-18 years old). Although it was a long day, the individuals we met and the visitors we had the opportunity to interact with were phenomenal.
Although I continue to have fears about this position and about my abilities, I am continuously reminded of God’s presence with these people and in this place. I find this job to be exhilarating and challenging- a job with a purpose and one that matches my passion for poverty alleviation through sustainable methods. Last night, I was feeling rather incompetent, when I pulled from my purse an old fortune cookie paper from P.F. Chang’s (where else?) that read: “He who never makes mistakes never did anything that’s worthy.” So I am making that my motto for the time being. Don’t be shy, don’t be fearful, be willing to make mistakes. “Si Dios conmigo, quien contra mi?"
Since I last wrote, I have spent two full days in the Esperanza office in Santo Domingo getting to know co-workers, details of the job, and most importantly, dominicanisms. Although challenging at times, I have been continuously blessed by the patience of my fellow Esperanza workers and the encouragement they have provided me with.
I also had the opportunity to travel to Hato Mayor, one of 10 offices that Esperanza has in the DR, yesterday for the purpose of accompanying an accounting team from HOPE (made up completely of Messiah grads- represent!) to meet loan officers and the local branch officer. The past few days have consisted of meeting several new faces, attempting to remember names, and trying my best at cramming my head full of new vocab, phrases, and MFI jargon. While life has been non-stop, it has also been extremely exciting and rewarding.
Today, I traveled with the fearless and incredible Claire to La Ramona to meet up with a team from Colorado who is partaking in a weeklong “vacation with a purpose.” The individuals stay at a villa in Casa de Campo in La Ramona while exploring their faith and learning about microfinance in action. The day started early with a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call (which turned in 5:00 a.m. as I carelessly turned off my alarm clock in my sleep) and then a taxi ride to the “bus station” in downtown Santo Domingo. On the way to the bus stop, I felt a large thud under the left wheel of our taxi car and Claire soon explained that the driver had just hit one of Santo Domingo’s unusually large rats (think Rodents of Unusual Size here people- we are talking the size of Stella. Sick.) We soon arrived at the bus stop to where we boarded an express bus full of individuals traveling to La Ramona for work and other reasons. The bus was comfortable and air-conditioned and fully equipped with a flat screen television displaying the ride’s “feature film.” Yup, Anaconda 3 was not exactly the movie I would have selected for a 2 hour trek at 5:45 a.m., but hey- to each their own. Never before have I witnessed a movie that wholly consists of blood, guts, decapitation, oh, and did I mention blood? Yes, the anacondas escaped the inescapable cage, yes, all the bad AND good guys die, and yes, the heroine managed to blow up the two large anacondas (and all the recently hatched young-ins) while escaping a dilapidated building, beating up a man 4 times her size, and spending a long 30 seconds glaring him down so as to gloat of her victory before the bomb goes off. Let’s hope the Anaconda series decides to end on an upbeat note and stick to a trilogy. *note: after writing this blog I conducted an unofficial research study and identified that the anaconda series has in fact released 4 movies. Unfortunate, but that’s life.
Anyways, moving on. Also during the bus ride Claire mentioned that when it rains in the Dr, it pours. And sure enough within a few minutes of a few drops on the windshield, streets were experiencing flash flooding and cars were fording through 6 inches of water. Que increible! The rest of the day was absolutely amazing. I met a fantastic taxi driver who I was able to communicate in Spanish with (woot woot!) and I witnessed first-hand the incredible income disparity that is often reported about the DR. In a few short hours of being in La Ramona I visited Casa de Campo, a resort where individuals such as Vin Diesel and Enrique Iglesias own villas. These villas are absolutely incredible- fitted with a moat around the premises, two-story indoor waterfalls, and private pools. Shortly after I recovered my jaw from the floor, we once again were on the road, except this time to a local batey and barrio. The stark difference between the casa de campo- a tourist resort- and el barrio was mind boggling. In one place, tourists could enjoy the amenities of a fully furnished villa, equipped with maid, cook, and butler, while 45 minutes down the road were shanty houses and dirt roads; home to the majority of Dominicans. Interestingly enough, when I think back on the day, I realize that I experienced more of a culture shock walking into the villa in Casa de Campo than in meeting the families that live in the barrio.
In the Batey we were able to attend a banco de esperanza meeting where we saw bank members drop off loan payments and meet with their solidarity groups for a devotion. They answered all the questions we threw at them including their reasons for joining their group, the success of their businesses since receiving a small loan from esperanza, and their dreams and hopes for their children. What an incredible group of women! In the Barrio, we shopped inside a client’s colmado (a local general store) that she had expanded due to a microloan and met her 6 children (ranging in age from 3-18 years old). Although it was a long day, the individuals we met and the visitors we had the opportunity to interact with were phenomenal.
Although I continue to have fears about this position and about my abilities, I am continuously reminded of God’s presence with these people and in this place. I find this job to be exhilarating and challenging- a job with a purpose and one that matches my passion for poverty alleviation through sustainable methods. Last night, I was feeling rather incompetent, when I pulled from my purse an old fortune cookie paper from P.F. Chang’s (where else?) that read: “He who never makes mistakes never did anything that’s worthy.” So I am making that my motto for the time being. Don’t be shy, don’t be fearful, be willing to make mistakes. “Si Dios conmigo, quien contra mi?"
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Todos son crean en el imagen de Dios
I can’t believe that it has only been three days since my departure from the “known.”
Time here seems to pass very differently- everything is so new and far from what I am used to that I feel as though my time spent thus far has passed by in a blur. I have already learned so much and surprisingly feel strangely connected. Thanks to dad’s ingenuity, I have managed to establish a landline in my apartment through a wifi phone connection which has allowed me to make phone calls without a disastrous charge to my bank account. However, I have been so busy meeting new people, learning the words for streets, markets, individuals, and DR slang that I have little (if any) time to do what I had originally intended to do (ie: read books on development, on the historical connections between the DR and Haiti, and refresh my memory of Spanish verb conjugations). I have determined to be committed to journaling whether that be via blogger or in a personal journal that I carry with me to jot down the (many) Spanish words that have escaped my memory bank in hopes of researching them later and committing them to memory.
My trip to Santo Domingo was an experience in itself. The morning started with a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call. A rush to wake myself up, say goodbye to a sleeping Bekkah, wake-up a groggy Rachel who insisted on accompanying me to the airport, weighing my over-packed bags one last time to ensure they were under the 99 pound limit which the nice Jet Blue assistant informed me of via the telephone a few days earlier, and then listening to dad recite his rather interesting list of Spanish vocab words which consisted of several “Goooooooool Gol Gol Gol’s” (yeah, I knew we shouldn’t have let him watch all that world cup tv).
Anyways, upon arrival at RDU, while waiting to weigh my bags (75 pounds and 85 pounds for anyone who cares to know), I was informed that due to strict import regulations, individuals traveling to the DR are only allowed 2 bags weighing (at most) 50 pounds each. Uh oh. I put on my sappiest act and even used the “missionary card,” but the nice and (very) patient lady assured me that if I didn’t remove the additional 55 pounds from my bag, the DR security team would and there was no way to retrieve or determine the said overweight articles. Lovely. So, needless to say, the next 15 minutes went as follows, frustration, desperation, and eventually (thank God!) determination. I cut out nearly 60 pounds of luggage in less than ten minutes (with the help of mom, dad, Rachel and several small garbage bags supplied by the lady who felt truly bad for making me ditch so many belongings), said a tearful goodbye to the family, got through security, purchased a bottled water at starbucks (which I later had to throw out at the gate), and then arrived at my gate with 5 minutes to spare. Talk about starting the trip off well!
Traveling from RDU to Boston, I had a short layover at Logan before departing for the island of Hispaniola. But life altered drastically shortly after locating my departure gate. Immediately, one thing was made clear. I would be the only American passenger on this flight! At first, I was intimidated. I immediately felt insecure in my knowledge of Spanish greetings until a beautiful little girl reminded me that smiling is universal. I sat mesmerized as she convinced her brother in her thick Dominican accent to sing the background part to a Justin Bieber “cancion” while she sang the “oh baby baby baby” part. I guess a love for mr. Bieber is universal.
The community I found myself among was alive and boisterous. Everyone greeted each other through hugs and a kiss on the right cheek. The stewardesses and flight crew (all American) joked amongst themselves that they hoped to get the flight off the ground as close to on time as possible. I had no idea the reality in their sentiments until I experienced a 1+ hour wait on the tarmac as individuals bustled and hustled to greet one another before eventually settling into their seats. I sat next to two incredible women, one from the DR and another who was fluent in Spanish but who also spoke English very well. I think she was traveling to the DR on holiday. Anyways we shared laughs, ginger snaps, and a few hugs after surviving a serious bout of turbulence. Upon landing in Santo Domingo, the entire plane erupted in applause- what a difference from the usual reserved murmurs of passengers, the beeps of revived cellphones, and the premature clicks of seatbelts.
As we began to depart the airplane, the woman who spoke English left me with the following advice: be patient, always listen, and always carry a journal with you to write down words that are foreign to you (I guess I will be doing a lot of writing!). Also, one of the stewards and I had sparked conversation and he wished me luck on the journey ahead. Que increible! Since then, my time spent in Santo Domingo has been one of adjustment and exploration. I hope to post photos of the apartment where I will be living on FB as well as some historical sites I have had the opportunity to travel to. These next few months are sure to become increasingly hectic, however I am trusting that God will continue to provide and to fill in where I fall short!
Time here seems to pass very differently- everything is so new and far from what I am used to that I feel as though my time spent thus far has passed by in a blur. I have already learned so much and surprisingly feel strangely connected. Thanks to dad’s ingenuity, I have managed to establish a landline in my apartment through a wifi phone connection which has allowed me to make phone calls without a disastrous charge to my bank account. However, I have been so busy meeting new people, learning the words for streets, markets, individuals, and DR slang that I have little (if any) time to do what I had originally intended to do (ie: read books on development, on the historical connections between the DR and Haiti, and refresh my memory of Spanish verb conjugations). I have determined to be committed to journaling whether that be via blogger or in a personal journal that I carry with me to jot down the (many) Spanish words that have escaped my memory bank in hopes of researching them later and committing them to memory.
My trip to Santo Domingo was an experience in itself. The morning started with a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call. A rush to wake myself up, say goodbye to a sleeping Bekkah, wake-up a groggy Rachel who insisted on accompanying me to the airport, weighing my over-packed bags one last time to ensure they were under the 99 pound limit which the nice Jet Blue assistant informed me of via the telephone a few days earlier, and then listening to dad recite his rather interesting list of Spanish vocab words which consisted of several “Goooooooool Gol Gol Gol’s” (yeah, I knew we shouldn’t have let him watch all that world cup tv).
Anyways, upon arrival at RDU, while waiting to weigh my bags (75 pounds and 85 pounds for anyone who cares to know), I was informed that due to strict import regulations, individuals traveling to the DR are only allowed 2 bags weighing (at most) 50 pounds each. Uh oh. I put on my sappiest act and even used the “missionary card,” but the nice and (very) patient lady assured me that if I didn’t remove the additional 55 pounds from my bag, the DR security team would and there was no way to retrieve or determine the said overweight articles. Lovely. So, needless to say, the next 15 minutes went as follows, frustration, desperation, and eventually (thank God!) determination. I cut out nearly 60 pounds of luggage in less than ten minutes (with the help of mom, dad, Rachel and several small garbage bags supplied by the lady who felt truly bad for making me ditch so many belongings), said a tearful goodbye to the family, got through security, purchased a bottled water at starbucks (which I later had to throw out at the gate), and then arrived at my gate with 5 minutes to spare. Talk about starting the trip off well!
Traveling from RDU to Boston, I had a short layover at Logan before departing for the island of Hispaniola. But life altered drastically shortly after locating my departure gate. Immediately, one thing was made clear. I would be the only American passenger on this flight! At first, I was intimidated. I immediately felt insecure in my knowledge of Spanish greetings until a beautiful little girl reminded me that smiling is universal. I sat mesmerized as she convinced her brother in her thick Dominican accent to sing the background part to a Justin Bieber “cancion” while she sang the “oh baby baby baby” part. I guess a love for mr. Bieber is universal.
The community I found myself among was alive and boisterous. Everyone greeted each other through hugs and a kiss on the right cheek. The stewardesses and flight crew (all American) joked amongst themselves that they hoped to get the flight off the ground as close to on time as possible. I had no idea the reality in their sentiments until I experienced a 1+ hour wait on the tarmac as individuals bustled and hustled to greet one another before eventually settling into their seats. I sat next to two incredible women, one from the DR and another who was fluent in Spanish but who also spoke English very well. I think she was traveling to the DR on holiday. Anyways we shared laughs, ginger snaps, and a few hugs after surviving a serious bout of turbulence. Upon landing in Santo Domingo, the entire plane erupted in applause- what a difference from the usual reserved murmurs of passengers, the beeps of revived cellphones, and the premature clicks of seatbelts.
As we began to depart the airplane, the woman who spoke English left me with the following advice: be patient, always listen, and always carry a journal with you to write down words that are foreign to you (I guess I will be doing a lot of writing!). Also, one of the stewards and I had sparked conversation and he wished me luck on the journey ahead. Que increible! Since then, my time spent in Santo Domingo has been one of adjustment and exploration. I hope to post photos of the apartment where I will be living on FB as well as some historical sites I have had the opportunity to travel to. These next few months are sure to become increasingly hectic, however I am trusting that God will continue to provide and to fill in where I fall short!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Leaving on a Jet Plane
"Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."
-Matthew 5:42
-Matthew 5:42
Trust is a funny concept. A thing much harder done than said. Currently, I am trusting the bathroom scale which tells me that both of my bags are 15 pounds over weight (another 5 pounds and I will need to say adios to my luggage). I am trusting that the travel-sized shampoo, conditioner, and lotions that are stowed away nicely in my carry-on are actually 4 ounces and (therefore acceptable for flying) and will not be trashed upon going through security, and that tomorrow, my alarm will go off at 4:00 a.m. for an early-morning "get out of bed or miss your flight!" wake-up call. Obviously I can not be 100% certain of any of the above, and yet, I find it so much easier trusting in these trivial things than in God's ability to overcome all obstacles and conquer any concerns, doubts, and even fears in my life.
Last Spring, I received an email from my college academic adviser regarding the opportunity to take part in a year-long Honors Thesis project on a topic of my choice. Realizing that this experience could help me focus my studies and plan for the future (whether that be grad school or a career), I felt lead to accept the challenge. As September rolled around I was still amidst the struggle of determining a suitable topic. I wrestled with the idea of extending the research project I had started during my semester working as an intern for the British Parliament, "Women in Politics: Inequality Within the British Government," and compare it with the U.S. gender issues. However, while I felt passionate about this topic, something didn't seem "right." Time passed and with kind and gentle proddings from my adviser ("let it percolate and then go with your best sentiment") I decided to explore the impact of the United States on the Dominican Republic through the influence of Microfinance. Who knew that this one decision would change everything.
By the end of the semester, several things were underway. The first, I decided to apply to the GROW Internship with HOPE International as the Spring Programs Intern. I felt as though this opportunity to get better acquainted with HOPE's work and staff would aid me greatly in my understanding of the global impact of microfinance, as well as provide me with significant data to focus a large majority of my research on. Much to my delight, I was accepted into the program and while snow days, unexpected deaths in the family, and time demands of senior year prevented me from venturing to the Lancaster office more than once a week, I am incredibly grateful to the individuals who encouraged me and challenged me during this experience. A second thing that had occurred during this time, was the presentation of an opportunity to venture to Zambia with the Messiah College Collaboratory. Although I have been involved in the Microeconomic Development Group (MED for short) at Messiah for the past 2 years and had agreed to act as project leader for a marketing initiative for Forgotten Voices International, I had given very little though to accompanying a MED members on their quest to establish Savings and Credit Associations in a rural Zambian village. However, like the GROW internship, I felt a desire and push to look into this trip further, and after praying and crunching numbers, found that this trip could include me.
Fast forward 3 months and I found myself spending the majority of my time analyzing data, writing new sections in the thesis, attempting to finish a spanish minor I had decided (the semester beforehand) to add on, and trying to make MED meetings and Africa Site Team meetings work into a rather busy schedule. In the end, (and only by God's grace), I finished the beast of a thesis at 100 pages the Wednesday prior to graduation, having concluded that their may be a slight correlation between the Gini Index of the DR and the influence of microfinance. :)
Graduation came and went and it was difficult to get a good grasp of all of life's changes as the team would fly to Africa the following Tuesday. During this time, God started illustrating to me how, truly, everything that I had worked towards, studied, explored, read up on, stressed over- actually had a purpose! The experience in Africa was incredible. I learned about myself- about my weaknesses and about the importance of relying on one another. I learned that people living in third-world conditions are further advanced in unexpected areas than my Western brothers and sisters. I experienced a world where America wasn't the big power- where individuals live fulfilled and happy lives without the internet, electricity, or even a local McDonalds. I experienced microfinance firsthand and witnessed the empowerment that came when local people realized the significance of the resources in their possession and recognized the incredible giftings God has given each of them. As any (and every) member of my team could attest to, I encountered individuals who were treated significantly different as a result of their gender and I was challenged to understand life from a different perspective- an unequal perspective. Never before had I been asked such unique and serious questions about my physical appearance. "Why is your nose so small and straight? Why is your butt so flat? Is it because your mother made you sleep on your back when you were a small child? Never before had I felt ashamed of my ethnicity. I found each and every one of my Zambian brothers and sisters beautiful- but my host mother assured me that my hair was far better and that she wished hers curled like her white friends.
Also during this time, I recognized commonalities between us foreigners and our host families. My mother, Molar, would look at Stacey ("Stazia") and myself and tell us how incredibly blessed she felt to have daughters under her roof. Molar has 6 sons and she told us that having females around is quite nice. One evening during our long walk back from the Brethren in Christ Church, I said, "God is good." And Molar, replied, "All the time." This experience truly allowed me to understand that although barriers between cultures exist: traditions, history, beliefs, language... their is still something exceedingly strong that bonds us to one another.
Although I have experienced more than enough instances in just the past 6 months which have illustrated to me that God is good, God is faithful, and God is just, I have still been holding back. The morning of the team's departure to Zambia, I confirmed a job placement in the Dominican Republic with HOPE International starting in the middle of July. For weeks I had been praying about whether this opportunity was a good fit for me and whether I was qualified. At the time, I was in the process of enrolling at UNC Chapel Hill in NC for the accelerated nursing program. I felt that this was a secure and beneficial arena to go ahead in and the possibility of ditching my Plan A for an international job rocked my perfectly planned out little world. However, as I often need blunt and to the point guidance, God provided me with an answer and, even more important, with peace.
In Jeremiah 1, Jeremiah describes God's call in His life. He states,
4 The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew a]">[a] you,
before you were born I set you apart;
I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."
6 "Ah, Sovereign LORD," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child."
7 But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. 8 Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.
Yes, this is what I read only moments after pouting and "telling" God that I couldn't move to the DR, due to the reality that I am unable to speak Spanish fluently. Nope. Not good enough. Go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. It truly does not get any clearer than that. :)
Which brings me to present day (thank God right?). I leave for the DR in approximately 12 hours, and 30 minutes. I am seriously excited for this (very) unknown journey ahead of me and while I know that the next few weeks and months could be exceedingly difficult, I am hoping to trust. To stop what I am doing ever so often and thank God for his faithfulness. To thank God for the opportunities He has provided in my life and in the lives of the people around me; acknowledging that truly everything is His. We are simply individuals He has entrusted to encourage and empower one another. To give to the one who asks of us, and to not turn away from the one who wants to borrow.
Let the journey begin.
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