Okay, drum roll please.....here it is, the long awaited, highly anticipated (ok, so I take some artistic liberty here) Dominican Republic Blog!
This whole mission trip has been the proverbial whirlwind. I made the decision to go because my best friend, over breakfast before we went Christmas shopping, said, "Hey, you should go to the Dominican with me in March." Most sane people, a group to which I make no claims of membership, would say something akin to, "Sure, maybe. Let me talk to my husband and think about it." My response? "Um, ok."
I think I gave such a cavalier response because I fully expected to come home, announce the idea to my husband and have him summarily shut it down. That way, I wouldn't be able to go but it would be because my husband said no, not because I wasn't willing. I'm pretty sure you still get points in Heaven if you want to do something, but your spouse won't let you. What did my husband say? "Well, if you think God is calling you to do this, who am I to say no?" What? Did you miss the chapter of your Husband Handbook entitled, "Saying No To Your Wife's Crazy Ideas, a.k.a., The Ricky Ricardo Chapter?" So, there it was - I was going to the Dominican Republic.
Well, I had permission to go to the Dominican Republic. There was still the small matter of paying for the trip. About $1500 small matters to be more precise. Blissfully, I do not need to spend much time on this portion of the story except to say we have some pretty amazing friends and family. When I went public with my Dominican agenda, numerous people made cash donations as well as donated items for a garage sale. By February I had raised the money and secured my spot on the 13 person mission team headed for Orphanage Outreach in Jaibon, Dominican Republic on March 12, 2011.
This is the point of the journey where it started to feel more real. Up to this point it really seemed like one of those far fetched dreams you feel safe dreaming because you are sure you will never really have to go through with the actual event. I wanted to go, don't get me wrong. But I had all these reasons I shouldn't: I would miss my anniversary on March 15, my kids would miss school, I wouldn't be able to speak to my family for a week, I had never traveled out of the country without my husband. I ran all of my concerns by my husband and, in true Erik style, he knocked them all down. He smiled at me and said, "We'll have more anniversaries, other kids get a spring break and I can teach them, it will be an exercise is stretching for you to travel without me and what a blessing for you to focus on your work and not worry about calling us to check in." He made me feel better with his words, but as is always the case, I felt calmer the minute he smiled at me.
As the weeks passed, we kicked into high gear to prepare me for this adventure. With each mission meeting, trip to the doctor for shots (ouch!!) and email with updated itinerary, I knew all of the pragmatic details had been seen to by our amazing trip leader (the best friend who asked me to go) and our missions team on staff at church. I began to focus I preparing mentally and spiritually for the trip. I read the handbook from Orphanage Outreach explaining that I would be teaching English to elementary school children and helping out at the orphanage. I must take a moment to say that I found it more than ironic that I would be traveling thousands of miles away from home where I care for my family and am privileged to home school my children, to help do laundry and dishes at an orphanage and teach children. I guess some skills translate effortlessly across foreign borders, namely those of a mother.
I tried to prepare myself for the poverty I would no doubt encounter, the faces of the motherless children I would be living with for a week, the malnourished, the sick, the least of these. I prayed that I would be able to move past my own shock and sorrow to minister to these people and become Jesus fleshed out. In order to be the hands and feet of Christ, I needed to give my heart over to Him and trust that He could heal the hurt I would feel at the desperation I would come fact to face with in this third world country. Little did I know then, my encounters in this beautiful island nation would actually heal the parts of my heart already broken and restore my faith in a way I thought unimaginable.
We arrived in the Dominican republic at 9 pm local time, after traveling about 12 hours. Although exhausted, I couldn't help but come awake as my senses were immediately assaulted by the sights and sounds of the bustling city of Santiago. Aboard the bus that would transport us to the orphanage, about an hour away, the full impact of what I was doing hit me in the face in the form of the wind carrying the smells, first of city nightlife and then of rural farmland; in the form of reggae tone music issuing from the many disco techs and then the sound of motorbikes, piled with 5 or 6 people making their way home along deserted highways flanked by rice fields and plantain trees. This may sound trite or cliche, but there is no other way to say it: I felt alive in a way I had not for a long time.
It was late when we finally arrived at the orphanage in Jaibon so we simply grabbed our bags and made our way into our bunk house. Bunk beds covered in various shades of pastel mosquito netting greeted us. I assumed I would not sleep well on a top bunk, next to an open window in through which rain could come and the sound of the farm animals so nearby. This city girl could not have been more wrong. The mooing and braying lulled me to sleep and the drops of rain upon my head felt refreshing and comforting. I fell asleep effortlessly and was surprisingly happy to wake to the crow of the roosters.
The first morning I dressed in what would be my uniform for the week: an ankle length skirt and an Orphanage Outreach t-shirt. It was a blessing to not have to think about what I was going to where each day. No ironing, no decisions, no "does this make me look fat?" I left my make-up at home and brought a large supplies of elastics for the pony tails I would be sporting each day. I noted this glorious feeling of freedom and decided this would be a change I'd like to make at home.
After a breakfast of hard boiled eggs, fresh pineapple and watermelon and pancakes we were treated to a church service in the small, one-room church on the grounds of the orphanage. We were informed that the pastor was unable to attend so the 20 or so boys that lived at the orphanage would be facilitating the church service. I walked down a dirt road, past farmlands and animals to the pastel green building with a white cross on the front. It was a picture straight out of a novel I hope to write someday. After finding a spot in the crowded room, the service opened with the groundskeeper sharing a bible story. Then the boys played their drums and sang and cheered. I began to cry. I began to cry not the tears of sorrow and pain I had prepared myself for, but tears of joy and gratitude and a new sense of wonder. This room was full to the measure of love and hope. I reflected on the youth services at my church at home. What would our youth do, I wondered, if they were informed there was no pastor to perform a church service? Would they, as these children had done, stay and worship and praise the Lord? If I'm honest, I think they'd leave and go home because, like so many of us, they have become content to let someone else be the directors of their faith and the managers of their relationship with God. Not these boys - they owned it and nothing would hinder their proclamation of love for God.
The remainder of the first day was filled with a tour of the orphanage - a happy place full of bright colors, gardens, stables and an abundance of smiles. It certainly was not the dismal Little Orphan Annie orphanage I had imagined. These boys were loved, well cared for and most of all, happy. We also did some lesson planning as the following day we would be leaving the orphanage grounds to go into the local schools to teach English. I was excited and scared.
After another breakfast of hard boiled eggs and fruit, we boarded a bus and headed to an elementary school with mostly Haitian refugees. As the bus pulled up outside the gates the cries of the children on the other side shouting "Americanos! Americanos!" welcomed us as warmly as hugs and kisses. They were so excited we were there and even more excited to see that we brought basketballs and books - luxuries to which they don't normally have access. We split into teams of 4 and taught kindergarten through 8th grade. My team began with a small 8th grade class that would win my heart and become my favorite of the week. So sweet, so smart and so full of potential. They are not lacking ambition, simply opportunity. We taught the parts of the body in English with rousing renditions of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" and of course, "The Hokey Pokey." Following lunch and an afternoon siesta back at the orphanage, a custom I adapted to quite easily, we returned to the school to teach second grade. Crazy town. There is no other way to describe our first encounter with these younger students. They too were sweet and eager, but full of oh so much more energy and, uh, sass. By the end of the week we had won them over with crayons and coloring pictures, but they made us work for every moment of quiet and attention they gave us.
The first day, and again on our subsequent visits to the school, we also had the chance to go into a local neighborhood and interact with members of the community. It is a shock to see the living conditions, mere shacks with sheets for doors, and the abject poverty - babies in wash tubs on a dirt road, small children with enlarged bellies from malnutrition and many family members living in small one room quarters. But other aspects of this life were hard to miss too: the joy of the children at having their picture taken, shouting "photo, photo" and changing into their best clothes; men gathered in the middle of the make-shift village under the shade of a tree to play dominoes; every face I made contact with offered me an "Hola!" and a genuine smile; sharing a Cola Real (similar to bottled Coke) with locals in the small general store. In America, we are so secluded and private. We come home from work, shut our garage, stay in our walled backyard and seek to escape the outside world. Here, in this vibrant landscape, evenings are for community, for gathering, for doing life together and sharing whatever you have whether a coke, a story, a laugh or I would venture, even a cry.
One of my favorite memories of the Dominican was the day school was canceled because the teachers went on strike to protest the loss of health care coverage. Occurrences like this are common in the Dominican, we also experienced a bus strike while we were there. We felt disappointed and let down that we would not be permitted to teach on what we knew would be our final day in the schools. "Don't worry," Tom, the director of Orphanage Outreach, assured us, "Tomorrow I have something great planned." Great? What could be greater than being with the children in the school and saying goodbye to our new friends in the community? They have a saying in the Dominican Republic: Entonces. It's used to convey a whatever mentality. So, "Entonces" we said. But, "Not fair," we felt. Again, I was wrong. Common theme for me, eh? Entonces...
We discovered that we would get to take the 20 boys from the Jaibon orphanage to the beach. Pretty cool, right? It gets better. These boys had not been off the orphanage property in nearly 10 months. Wow, right? It gets better. My 13 person mission team got to ride with the boys and their caretaker, La Tia, to the beach. I got to witness little boys riding a bus, seeing the sights of a life outside their gates, singing, laughing, stopping at roadside stands for fruit for the first time in ten months. I began to see life different because I got to see it for what felt like the first time through the lenses of these awe struck boys. It was an honor. As Manuel, my eight-year-old buddy, slept on my lap on the way too and from the beach, I was overcome with gratitude. I was thankful not just for what I was experiencing here, but for the life I had been blessed with at home. I wanted to see my own life new, I wanted to experience things for the first time, I wanted to be filled with wonder.
Our time in the Dominican was coming to a close, but the impact this trip would have on my life was just beginning. I experienced so much more than I can share in this already too long account of my adventure. I haven't even mentioned the puppies that were born while I was there, the amazing missionaries I met and served with, the nightly herding of the animals, the multiple cans of bug spray or how every meal consisted of rice, beans and hard boiled eggs. I neglected to mention Aliyah, the young Haitian girl that I think still has a piece of my heart or the nightly flashlight lit worship sessions with a Younglife group in that small church that brought me to tears.
I could probably right a book about my experiences in the Dominican Republic; maybe I will someday. But, my hope is, for now you have some small idea of how amazing this very big trip I made was. I am forever changed. I cannot wait to go back, but until I do, I pray the impact of the Dominican on my life is evident in me, my actions and my relationship with Christ.
Entonces...
Coming Soon: Dominican Republic Part II: The Pictures
