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.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Confidence, not Competence
God is good. So good.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
Every time I get knocked down, every time my abilities, knowledge, or experience are insufficient, God meets me there, in that small place.
During my last year at Messiah, my roommates and I became exceedingly aware of the meaning and importance of the word, “competence.” We would praise and revere those individuals we deemed competent (individuals who reminded us that we had a lot of learning to do and who simply demanded respect), and complain about situations where there was an evident and strikingly obvious lack of competence. Anything or any event could spring on this discussion. A group project where people failed to uphold their end of the assignment lead to an uproar behind closed doors. Campus leaders who shirked responsibilities or acted in ways we confidently labeled “corrupt” made us cringe and scheme ways through which we could “better mankind” (aka: usurp their power). However, it was not until this week that I realized how incompetent I am personally. I am often reminded of my limitations- of my need to be better, learn more, and act differently. But this was different.
Living, breathing, and traveling in a foreign country allows one to realize how truly helpless they can be. Although language can be a barrier, I have found that a foreign culture, history, and tradition also have the ability to work against a person; even if they have the best intentions. I use words to communicate, to express my desires, dislikes, and needs. I have been shaped by western ideologies. My view on things such as family, food, and poverty have been influenced by years spent in New Hampshire and, more recently, in North Carolina. I spent 4 years at a Christian college where I formed opinions, beliefs, and attitudes that define me. However, so much of this worldview gets distorted and turned upside down when you live and work with individuals who started their journey from a different direction. One is not better than the other- the difficult thing is meeting in the middle, recognizing that we have more similarities than differences, and praising God for opening up yet another door into my stuffy mind and letting a different type of breeze blow in.
Having acknowledged and accepted my personal incompetence, God met me. Paul writes to the church in Corinth in 2 Corinthians:
“Such confidence as this is ours through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. He has made us competent as ministers of a new covenant—not of the letter but of the Spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”
It was like an “uh huh!” moment. Our competence comes from God. “Well of course it does!” I smirked arrogantly to myself. But then it hit me. Competence is NOT defined or made real by my ability to do great things, move mountains, or even learn a language. Competence is ALL God. My ability to accomplish things here is not set in stone. The crevice between failure and success could very possibly be the size of a mosquito. Dengue fever has been spreading like wildfire in the DR, and if get bit by one of these bloodthirsty (always female) “bibitts” (French-Canadian heritage poking through right there-eh?), I could be knocked off my horse and into a bed for weeks. I cringe at the idea of failure, but realize that failure lurks behind every corner. It is only God who has the ability, knowledge, and wisdom to accomplish His will. I am a player, but a small one. If anything, I have realized that this- whatever this is- is so much bigger than me. It does not matter if I am not perfectly comfortable- or if I am unable to fly home for important events- or if I am unable watch the finale of the Bachelorette on abc.com (I struggled dearly over this). No. What matters is that we continue. We continue on the path before us, resting on the confidence that God is an awesome God and will provide the skills- the competence- needed to get His work done.
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