Members Only

When we moved to Lubbock we agreed we were going to join a gym. I had been working out fairly regularly in Arizona whether hiking, yoga, running or even just an exercise video off Netflix. I would, of course, lament the fact that I didn't have a "regular" schedule and always feel like I should be doing more. In fact for a few crazy weeks I was working out twice a day. An unhealthy practice for me on many different levels.

Anyway, we heard about a gym in Lubbock that had two pools for the kiddos, a rock wall, kids' gym, etc. It sounded perfect and we made the appointment to sign on the dotted line and become members. It was going to cost us $110 per month. That may not seem like a huge amount, but in our financial world it is 25% of our grocery budget. Ouch. I wasn't even at the gym yet and I was already in pain. Although we didn't say anything to each other initially, in the week leading up to our signing appointment Erik and I each had reservations about the time and financial commitment we were preparing to make. He was already working long days, sometimes not getting home until 8:30. I was balancing school for the girls, unpacking a home, adjusting to a new city and trying to squeeze in a few meetings and lunches with my new church family. We knew this was what it was going to be like in the first few weeks, maybe months, of our life in Lubbock. We were not only prepared for the demands on our schedule, we were excited and looking forward to the same. What a joy to see my husband wake excited for work each day and loving the work he was doing. It was fun to discover a new city and new routines with my girls as we navigated this interstate move together. However, I feared adding another time commitment to our life right now could cost us more than the membership fee each month. 

Ultimately we discussed joining a gym and realized that, for us, in doing so we would be poor stewards of our resources, namely our time and money.  Although I knew we were making the right decision, I was disappointed. An hour all to myself to workout uninterrupted has it's appeal, you know? But, my bigger disappointment, if I am brutally honest, was that I would not have the facilities necessary to finally achieve the flat abs and thin thighs I so desired to take on our vacation this summer. I would like to tell you that my desire to join a gym stemmed from my lofty goals of caring for the body that God gave me and to set a healthy example for my daughters. If I told you that though, I would not only be prideful, I'd be a liar too. No, it was not caring for the temple that houses the Holy Spirit that drove me to want to me a member of a gym, it was the temptation to be a member of the world wherein you are not valuable if you are not a perfect physical specimen. In His great mercy and infinite wisdom, God taught me a lesson and provided a way for me to resist temptation with an answer I rarely like to receive to prayer: No. 

So, now what? Do I start an extreme exercise regimen at home? Cut out all my carbs to offset my lack of treadmill availability?  Or do I simply give up, eat junk and resign to the fact that health will come later when I have more money? Um yeah, pretty sweet example for my girls, I know. Or, is this a prime opportunity to show them that health happens in their everyday life? Could it be that caring for our bodies is a daily act of worship that comes through our normal food and activity choices? On the day we were supposed to join a gym we actually spent three hours doing some pretty grueling yard work. We vacuumed and mopped the floors and folded a few buckets of laundry. We even found time to share a meal at the table of fresh sandwiches and awesome conversation. The girls and I walk Bella up to a pond near our home and play at the park. Erik is going to start playing basketball with men from our church each week and hopefully find time to golf. Today we had sandwiches and salads for lunch. And guess what? We aren't panicking about trying to find time to go to a gym to workout. We aren't even counting calories or cutting carbs (yay!!). We are simply making better choices, each day, each moment, in an act of worship and gratitude for this life we are privileged to live. 

I'm not saying that gym memberships are evil and that I will never join one. I may even still do an exercise video now and then. I guess what I am saying is that for me, for now, my "workouts" are happening in my daily routine. "Health" is happening when my daughters pick a new fruit to try or offer to make me a gourmet lunch of salad and fresh baked bread (yes, they really did this.) I want them to know that just as church isn't something that happens once a week on Sundays, health isn't something that happens once a day in a gym. I want physical activity to be their norm, and not some manufactured routine they couldn't fit into their day.  

So, alas, we are not members of a gym. But, I have discovered simply being a  member of God's family and taking care of my own family provides infinite opportunity for strength, growth and a steady diet of daily bread.

In His Service,

Back Home

We are finally getting settled in our new home in Lubbock, Texas. We are quickly getting acquainted with all things Lubbock and have received definitive answers to the following questions:

Are people in West Texas really as nice as everyone claims?
No. They are nicer, by a long shot. (See how I'm already using some western lingo - nice, right?)

Can it really be that windy?
No. It is windier. (Is windier a word or should I say more windy? Somehow when I right 'windier' I feel like I'm describing a country road that curves a lot.)

How will the kiddos adjust?
Considering we've already had a sleepover and are making dinner plans with their new friends, I'd say they're transitioning well. Perhaps I can shave a couple years off the therapy sessions for which we save...

All in all, the move has gone well and it is starting to feel like home rather than an extended vacation. Not to the dog, though. I'm pretty sure she's waiting for us to go back home. I'm trying to resist using the phrase "back home."  When I say that it makes Texas sound temporary and somehow not worthy of being called home. So, while Arizona was home (and a great one), this is home.

It's home because we're here. Wherever we are, when the four of us (five, sorry Bella) are all together, we're home. So when we arrived at our new house on that first day in Lubbock, we were "back home." Okay, I'm tired of the word home. Let's move on.

Random Thought Time (RTT):

We don't have cable here. I used to say we didn't have cable in Arizona but that wasn't exactly true. We had 23 channels, mostly so I would have access to Fox, CBS, and NBC during football season and PBS for my Doc Martin addiction.    But here, when I say we don't have cable, I am being truthful. We did by an antenna (I'll wait until you get back in your chair from laughing so hard) for sixty bucks and we got...drum roll please: one channel. At least it is NBC so we get some news in the morning. I was missing Matt Lauer.
Matt + coffee = tolerable mornings.

We do have Netflix and through this happy medium I have discovered two new favorite shows. My first is Take Home Chef with Curtis Stone. Have you seen this? You must. Curtis, an Aussie chef, approaches people in the supermarket and offers to buy their groceries and help them cook dinner to surprise a special someone in their life. I like it because I like listening to him talk. I like it because the episodes are only 20 minutes - easy to squeeze one in while I fold laundry. I like it because he makes stuff I will never in a million years cook for my family.  But, during one brief episode I imagine that I will in fact start buying fresh groceries everyday and make seared swordfish over sauteed fennel with layered chocolate mousse and creme brulee for dessert. Because, how hard could it be? Then the episode ends and I remember to put my hotdish into the oven.

My other favorite show is The Last American Cowboy. If you think you have a really hard job or your day with the kiddos has been extremely exhausting, watch this show. If, at the end, you don't feel like you have it pretty darn easy,  you must have the worst job ever. Because unless you are birthing 20 calves and shoveling poop in a blizzard, you, like me, live close to luxury my friend. This show chronicles three ranchers in Montana and brilliantly displays both the brutality and attractiveness of a simple life lived off the land. Note I said simple - not easy. While this show makes me appreciate my life, it also inspires me to work harder and do more with my day. I feel silly when I say I ran out of time to do yard work or squeeze in a workout when there are families who work sunup to sundown to put food on the table. 

Well, that's all for now. My new couches will arrive on Friday at which time I will finally post pictures of our new Texas digs. BTW - I am writing today in my new studio. Okay, from 10-3 it's a school house, but after they leave I am happy to call it a studio where I can write, sew, scrapbook, etc. OMGosh, I kind of feel like a real crafter/artist. HeeHee

Until next time y'all! (I did it again, did you catch it?)

In His Service,  

Hello Goodbye

This is the current state of my living room. More importantly, and I am slightly embarrassed to admit as much: this is the cleanest and most organized my home has been in a long time.
























Ok, I digress. Anyway, I have redecorated in cardboard not in a misguided attempt at minimalist, modern home decor, but because we are moving. To Texas.  In a week. Cue hyperventilation. End scene.

We are actually quite excited to move to Lubbock, Texas so my husband can begin his new hob as an associate pastor at Raintree Christian Church.  Even the girlies are counting down the days. Their excitement was of course subsequent to the required crying and requisite guilt trip for ruining their entire life by ripping them away from all of their friends. Five minutes later they were asking how big their rooms would be and could we go any sooner.  But, it's often that way for kids, isn't it?  The pain of goodbye gets so quickly and easily eclipsed by the excitement of hello.  The girls have completely embraced the idea of moving. It's a joy to see  all of the fears which normally accompany a huge change like this have not overshadowed their exuberance and gleeful anticipation.

I had a glimpse of my nine-year-old's outlook and wisdom the other night at dinner when we had the following conversation:

Erik: So they (friends of ours) wanted to know if we were going to put you in school to help you make friends.

Jilly: Why?

Erik: I guess because it's a new place and you won't know anybody right away.

Jilly: Ok, but school can't make friends for you. You have to do that yourself.

The proper response in our house to such a wise beyond her years remark is as follows: Place right hand on right side of your head. Make the blowing up sound and accompanying hand jester. Because, yeah, she blows our minds.

But, Jilly is spot on the mark. Fear is not trusting God to provide wonderful opportunities and not trusting yourself to have the courage to seize those opportunities. Jilly knows God will bring friends into her life. She also knows, she's going to have to put forth some effort to make friends.

Erik's grandfather, who became a very dear and precious man in my life, told me the first night I met him to never say goodbye. Goodbye was too final, he said. Instead, it was, "See you later."  In fact,  the last time I saw him, just before he passed away, the last thing I said to him was, "See you later." So it is with the goodbyes I must say in a week. They are not forever goodbyes. They are simply a see you later in which the later is just a little further off.

And the hellos? Well, often those can be even scarier can't they? But for me, it is hello to a whole new set of friends, opportunities and possibilities. And maybe, just maybe, hello more regular blogs posts. Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

So, Hello, Lubbock. And to all of our friends and family we leave behind...

See you later.

 

Oh, Hey, I Didn't Even See You There

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

You know what we had to do today? We had to have a picnic, by our pool, sipping on freshly brewed sun tea and chowing on homemade egg salad sandwiches. We had to do our daily lessons outside, by the water. We had to do this. Why? Because when God provides you with an 80 degree day on January 2, you don't tell Him no. You don't say, "Nicely done, God. Good on ya! But, unfortunately I must sit inside and stare at my computer, tv, walls (if that's your thing) and I will have to catch up on your abundant blessings another day." That's ludicrous, right? The correct answer is yes. It is ludicrous because our only have to, ever, should be saying yes to God.  But, how do we say yes to someone we don't recognize and can't hear?

Jilly -- working hard by the pool

Our classroom

Emma--doing her "home" work

There's a line from one of my favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle, where the father, having just said something inappropriate notices his son standing at the door, listening. He asks his son, "How long have you been standing there?"  His son replies, "Forever."  I do this with Jesus.Whether it's a glorious feeling that washes over me and I finally take notice of the presence of God and dare to ask, "How long have you been there?"  Forever. Or perhaps it's in my darkest moments of shame when, through tears, I whisper, "How long have you been there?" Forever. In the business of my everyday life, as I choose me over Him, my ability to recognize Him diminishes and ultimately fails. I don't see that He is in the sunshine that beckons us to come outside. I don't hear Him in the laughter of my children as they beg me to read one more chapter or play one more game. I don't feel Him in the gentleness of my husband's kiss as he tries desperately to distract me from making dinner. Each moment I choose important instead of more important is a moment when I haven't noticed that it is Jesus calling, madly in love with me, trying to get me to notice Him. I've missed out on the fullness of life He promised and, indeed, on the very fullness of Christ himself.

This year, my only resolution is to look and listen for Jesus, everywhere, that I might say yes to His promptings, yes to Him. Life is full, to the measure, with rich and abundant blessings that I miss all too often. As I recently looked at pictures of our Christmas festivities, guess what I found? He was there in every picture, and to think I almost didn't notice. Just take a look where I found Him.

He was . . .

under the mistletoe.

in her smile.

in her courage.

in their love for one another.

in the warmth of a hug from your sister on a chilly Zoolights trip.

in our blessings.

in my home.

May you have a blessed new year and may you recognize and enjoy the fullness of Christ in the simple pleasures of everyday that He provides.

In His Service,

Homemade Happiness

To say in a raspy, somewhat muffled voice: The pit of despair...

If you're not a fan of The Princess Bride the aforementioned reference means nothing to you (and there is something seriously wrong with you.) However, it was the above quote I would hear in my head every time I dared to venture into my closet. It was this dark, depressing cave of clothes I never wore, shoes stacked in corners, sweatshirts spilling off the top shelves and poor hubby's ties buried beneath my mountain of belts and scarves. It reminded me of the dark, clearance corner of a department store. Seriously, that place creeps me out and makes me sad. All of these clothes, forgotten, and destined to end up on a sad 75% off rack near the elevator in a Dillard's never to be worn and appreciated. I digress. Anyway, my closet had become such a place and I began to wear only 10% of what I owned because it was just too taxing to try and find anything. Or worse, find it and realize it doesn't fit anymore. Crikey. Something needed to be done, like yesterday.

Thankfully, hubby agreed that drastic measures had to be taken. Unfortunately, his first drastic measure was for me to go through everything and purge. Disgruntled but agreeable, I did so and 5 trash bags later we were left with what actually needed to go back in the closet. After the clean out, here was our starting point:

Here's what I envisioned: bright white, a mini chandelier, shelves to the ceiling lined with beautiful boxes to house all of my folded items. I also wanted an ottoman in the middle with an island for my jewelry. What? A girl can dream. So, why do I have the best husband? Ever? Because he didn't tell me no, he didn't tell me it couldn't be done, he didn't laugh at me. He told me it could be done but we would have to all of the work ourselves and be creative. I love this man. Budget - his department. Creative - just turn me loose, brother.

We started by painting bright white:

 We added a row of shelves (and by we I of course mean he):

And then it was my turn to make my boxes and here's what I did:

Start with a cardboard file box - I bought a 10 pack at Staples.

Choose your material - I bought mine on clearance at Hobby Lobby. Get yourself some mod-podge and a brush.

Measure enough material to completely wrap around your box with a couple inches over hang on the top and bottom.

Remove the handle tabs.

Start on a long side of the box and pull the material to the mid-point.

Wipe on liberal amounts of mod-podge. Work quickly and in small areas as it does dry quickly.

Continue to work around the box, smoothing the material and pulling tight as you go.

Always put mod-podge on top of the seams to keep them from fraying.

Mod-podge the bottom by wrapping like you would a present.

Snip the corners at the opening, mod-podge and fold in to the box..

Finished product: a decorative box to hide all of your closet clutter.

I ended up making ten boxes. Each one only took about half an hour 

and I spent less than $30 for all ten.

Our finished closet:

The homemade decor also continued with a small project in the living room. Needing something for a big bare wall, and having seen this in a MaryJane's Farm Magazine, and loving books as I do, here is what I made:

It's simply old book pages, folded into cones and secured to a wire floral wreath.

 

 It feels good to finish projects and I do believe I love my closet even more because I had a hand in creating it. I think I'll tackle some more of these projects. Goodness knows I've enough ideas on my Pinterest boards to keep me busy at least until the new season of Doc Martin hits Netflix.


In His Service,

The Gift of Loneliness

So, as you may have read, my last blog was all about my life changing trip to the Dominican Republic. It was simply amazing, and I mean beautifully simple in every sense. A couple of weeks ago it was Erik's turn. He would be leaving on a two week mission trip to the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. This was a trip we weren't even sure he would be able to make. He had committed to going in January and we began fund raising immediately. However, shortly thereafter we were blessed with his internship at church. This, however, also meant fund raising our income. As such, we mutually agreed to put Africa on hold and focus our efforts on monthly income in order to support those inconvenient habits of meals and electricity to which we had grown accustom. We were blessed yet again when friends of ours informed Erik they would be funding almost his entire trip as they did not want this to be one more thing for him to worry about in our time of transition. Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and humility we accepted their generous gift and began to prepare, with excitement, for his adventure.

Prior to departure, I must say I was his biggest champion. I encouraged him to go, convinced him his work would be fine without him for 3 weeks, convinced him we would be fine without him for 2 weeks, and I was excited to share with family and friends about his upcoming trip. And then Tuesday, July 5 arrived and suddenly it was time to drop him off at the airport. I knew I would miss him and I think I even knew it would be the hardest separation we had ever endured, but I was doing okay. I didn't cry at the airport despite comforting my daughters through a very tearful goodbye. He hugged me, kissed me and said he would call me from the plane via Skype at 8:30 that night. I held it together until the drive home and then I let it out, crying quietly so my girls wouldn't notice. "Just make it until 8:30," I told myself, then I would hear his voice again.

July 5, as some of you may recall, was the night of the big haboob. No - for those of you non-Arizonans, haboob is not a mistype. A haboob is a huge dust storm that produces a fast moving wall of dust hundreds of feet high. I read on the British Airways website that Erik's flight was actually the very last flight to leave Sky Harbor airport before they grounded all air traffic in and out of Phoenix. Okay, that's enough to make a wife become a little concerned. But, I knew he was most likely fine and after all, he was going to call and say goodnight at 8:30. 8:30 came and went, 9, 9:30, 10...he wasn't going to call. That's okay, I thought. I knew he landed at 5 am our time, would find some WiFi in London, their first stop, and give us a call. 5 am came and went, 6, 7, 8...I held out until 11:30 my time, 7:30 London time before I actually tried calling him, even knowing how expensive it would be if he could answer. I shouldn't have worried about the cost, he never answered. Agony. It may sound dramatic to you, but that is the best word I can think of to describe what I was feeling. Finally, at 12:30 my time, 7 hours after he landed, he called with a friend's phone. He was happy and fine, on his way to Buckingham Palace as a matter of fact. WHAT? I'm worried you're lying in a London ditch unable to reach me and you're on your way to tea with the Queen? I hung up relieved he was okay, angry he had put me through that. This was the beginning of the uglies. What are the uglies? The emotions I didn't want to admit to everyone else I was having while my husband was selflessly serving in the largest slums in the world: anger, jealousy, hurt, depression,loneliness. Shameful? Yes. Was I really feeling these things, really? Truth? Yes.

Thankfully, rather than being able to suppress or ignore them, God made me deal with these emotions. It ended up being a very healing process, albeit very painful. Without being alone, these emotions might not have surfaced and I could have avoided some necessary, serious self examination. In short, without Erik leaving, I would never have had to lean further into God than I ever had before and would never have known the joy of falling further into the Savior's mighty grasp. Loneliness became the blessing that allowed me to have my own life changing experience right here at home.

After a few nights of crying myself to sleep, staring at the computer waiting to hear anything from him and snapping at my beautiful girls, I realized I was letting satan win. I would look at pictures of Erik posted on Facebook and feel relieved to see his smiling face and feel a pain so deep it would take my breath away. Weren’t we supposed to be doing this life together? How could the man I love and gave my heart to, my life to, have this life changing experience, in Africa no less, without me by his side? We were supposed to do this together. It’s an experience we would never share: a first trip to Africa. I was overwhelmed with sadness, and if I’m honest, jealousy.

But, then I understood. Yes, I am supposed to love my husband, and I do. Yes, I am supposed to respect him, and I do, immensely. And yes, I pledged to spend this life on earth with him, and I want to do just that. But, give my life to him? Give my soul to him? Put him in charge of my joy? Nope,I’m sorry, I need to ask for those back. They belong to another man. You see, Erik can’t bring me complete joy and peace no matter the circumstances, but He can. Further, it is so unfair of me to expect my husband to do any of those things. I have loved my husband more than Him, and that’s not fair to either of us. So I'm taking the burden off my amazing husband and giving control of my joy, my life, back to the one person to whom they belong, Jesus Christ.

God gave Erik this time in Africa, and not me. And for awhile that made me mad. But then I realized, He gave me two weeks with my girls. He gave me moments that are only mine. Memories that I won’t have in common with my husband, but will forever change me and be imprinted on my heart. God didn't need to send me to Africa, or the Dominican for that matter, to have a life changing experience. Erik will never look at life the same after being in Kenya for two weeks. But, here’s the thing: I will never look at life the same after being here for two weeks. The life change I needed was right here all along, in my home, in my heart.

So, in the end, I could not be more proud of my husband or more thankful that he made this trip. I also could not be more thankful for my time here, and the lessons I learned. Someday, Erik and I may got to Africa together, but for now, I'm okay with my mission field being right outside my office door. In fact, I need to go as they're calling me to come play.

The Dominican Republic

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