Bastida2 (Amargo y dulce)

So I’ve been feeling rather sorry for myself of late.   Just pretty lame actually.  

I read over the blogs that I wrote 2-3 years ago and I wonder where all that wonder and awe went.  I wonder where the passion is.  I wonder where my faith is.    I wonder why I ever thought that this culture was the greatest thing around.    I laugh bitterly at my innocence, at the fumbles, the naiveté, and the language gaffs.   I think about the friendships that I haven’t kept up, the family that I miss desperately, the nephews that are growing up without me,  the house in C-Vegas with the amazing perennials,  my parents passing their years with me so far away, the job that I was so good at, the miracle of birth every time.   I wind myself up into a pool of pity and wallowing.   Ugh.  Disgusting.    I wait up for my husband to get home and become infuriated that I’m not independent anymore, that I am not the one that folks are waiting on- I’m the “waitee”, so needy.    I remember being part of a church, MY church.  Valued there.  Carried in the arms of my people who knew me (from birth on up) and would be walking with me for the rest of my life.  

It’s been a rough couple weeks.    

My husband kinda saw this coming and reminded me as I was wailing the other night that I cried like this 2 Christmases ago.   He tried to tell me that lots of people here love me too, that I’m cherished.   It just didn’t feel the same.    It felt like I’d be the only one really celebrating Jesus’ birthday, all by my lonesome.    It felt like the wonder of the manger was lost.   (I may have mentioned that I’m dramatic once or twice?)

Then today.   

I went to Bastida.  Baby Nicole’s mom wanted to see me.   She had some peanuts saved for me.   I packed up a little suitcase of socks and some cheap toys and vitamins and headed out by myself.    30 minute drive.   Amidst these stunning mountains with the palm trees cresting over my head, the valley full of fields of yucca and plantains and rice and everything spreading out before me.   I’ve seen it a million times.   The sun was crashing through the clouds.   There were a bunch of motorcycles speeding alongside me and Dominicans walking alongside the road, coming home from the fields and work.   Kids with bags of pigeon peas, cilantro for sale along every speed bump.    The drive felt really fast.   I was pulling up to the exit before I knew it and there they were.   4 little guys.  Waiting for me by the highway.   God only knows how long they were waiting for me to arrive.  They just knew that I was coming.  It was Baby Nicole’s brothers.  They ran as fast as they could to leap into the back of the pickup and tell me everything at once “We’ve been waiting, Mom’s got peanuts for you…and I saved you a mango and I hope it’s still there….Mom came home from work early to see you… Nicolita is waiting for you….we KNEW you were coming…we’ve been saving onions for you too…we HOPED it was you….everyone wants to see you…can you stop and pick up you know who….” and it went on and on.   

And I started to feel it.  A teeny tiny bit of something… maybe belonging, maybe just the feeling of being where I should be.    As we drove the mile or so inside the tiny town, other kids started piling into the truck and the little guys excitedly pointed out everyone in their houses and by the side of the road.   Then I could see ahead of me little Nicole running excitedly down the little road to see me, jumping in excitement.    The whole family was waiting when I got there and sent folks immediately to make some juice.   We all burst out of the truck and hauled the suitcase out and it disappeared inside the house and was never seen again.   

And Martina (Baby Nicole’s mom) and I sat and talked.  And then we walked to see where she is building her new house.  She’s the hardest worker that I know, working in the fields every day to support her kids alone.    She’s just missing a bit of cement and the doors and roof and windows but she’s getting there.    She had a big bag saved for me of the fruit of her labor, pigeon peas and peanuts and onions and peppers.    Her wide smile was the perfect gift and I remembered the day of Nicole’s birth, how quiet and stoic she was.   How she hugged me a few hours later, how I was shaking for most of the day, the adrenaline still coursing through my body.    Today she wanted me to visit some folks with her and so we were off.   We checked on a woman who had had a stroke first.   She still can’t walk but was so gentle and sweet “Nicole, when can you come back?   Is your mother doing well?  I’ve never met her but please send her my regards… And your husband?”.    Humbling.    

And then the chaos that is Bastida rained down…but in a GOOD way.   

The boy that we did surgery on a couple weeks ago that barely speaks-  “Let me see your hand…Wow- it looks great!”.    It really did heal about ten billion times better than I thought it would.  

The man who had surgery 6 months before reported in- “I feel pretty good on the inside…don’t know how it looks from the outside though- what do you think?” 

The pregnant 14 year old -“Can you check pregnant ladies at your clinic?  I don’t know how far along I am….”

Ricardo, the tiny little 18 month old with a huge umbilical hernia- “Hang in there buddy….grow a little bit and we’ll be happy to take care of that hernia”.  

The poor kid with a huge mouth absess- “Call me tomorrow on your way to the clinic and we will take care of this right away…”

The pregnant mama holding the one year old - “When can I see a dentist?”  “Call me tomorrow and we’ll set you up”

And then Martina says “Oh look- there’s Julio” (They call Julian “Julio” in Bastida).   And I see him, hiding behind a tree sitting with some friends, that crazy shy grin- the same one I knew 8 years ago.    And I remember crying when we couldn’t find him in San Juan and they said he had gone to the capital.  And then I remember finding him in Bastida when Baby Nicole was born and knowing God had sent me there.   I remember when his Grandma died, sitting there praying SO awkwardly with his family.    I remember bringing him to the clinic to see Caceres with his spider bite.   I remember his failures, his fighting, his anger, his hope, all that Julian is to me.    And here he is again,  the battler, the wounded, the warrior.   He’s covered in cement because he’s working.  

And I’m taking deep breaths because it’s coming back to me.   It’s Christmas.  There was a baby.   In a manger.  Just like Baby Nicole…sliding out into my hands those 4+ years ago.  And there IS wonder…just like the miracle of finding Julian.   There is excitement…just like 4 little boys waiting and waiting and waiting and chattering in the pickup.   There is joy- in seeing friends who used to be patients but now are part of my story here.   There is belonging and embraces and gifts of yucca and guandules and frankincense and myrrh.   

So I cry the whole way back to San Juan.   Not because I’m sad but because I’m happy.   Yup, I’m way overdue to see my family and friends in the States.   And I’ll get there.   I will.  But for right now, I’m going home to my husband, who is waiting for me.    Waiting.  For me.  I’m going back to my little apartment where we have Christmas lights and a teeny tiny tree to remind us of the glitter of the season, of the Bright Shining Son.   I’m going to think about a fire and hot chocolate with bread to dip into it tomorrow night…because that’s part of the Dominican culture that I love.    I will watch movies with Dan and Kari and Laura and Welly and Monch and ya know what-  they are my church here.   They value me and will carry me in their arms and walk with me in my life here.    I will listen to Handel’s Messiah and sing  “Unto us a Child is Born” remembering just how my Dad sings it.    And I will read the glorious glorious words in Isaiah that prophesy the same:

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isa 9:6  

Merry Christmas…to us a Savior has been Born.  And He is Christ the King.  Happy birthday Jesus.  

5th Christmas in the DR

As I am sitting down to write I’m realizing that this is the 5th year that I will celebrate Christmas in the Dominican Republic. 5th year! So it’s been 5 years since I went caroling with my small group, 5 years since I opened up presents under a tree on Christmas morning with Bud and Sue Eby, Brett and Jen and my nephews, 5 years since I have been at a Christmas family reunion, 5 years since I’ve walked around Longwood Gardens to check out the lights and smell the divine pine scent. Incredible. How can that be? 5 years! My longing for a white Christmas must be a little bit stronger this year.  

Here in the DR our Christmas lights are up (and have been since early October) and we’ve had our translator Christmas party. Fabulousness. There are apples and grapes for sale on every corner and yesterday in the capital the airport had at least 10 billion people in it. Yup, December in the DR. Everyone comes home for Christmas. The roads are full and the music is cranking. Navidad. Navidad.

It has been an interesting build-up to December though. October and November were BUSY BUSY with teams. I enjoyed the craziness of ENT surgery (nearly 40 surgeries in one week!) and heading out to the barrios with Ivy Tech, Brookside, and ONU. We had a blast with Crossroads in General Surgery at the clinic and are looking forward to working with SUU in the barrios this week. I was thrilled to attend Neonatal Resuscitation classes with Sam and Terry Wellman again. Fall has been GOOD. We are also prepping for a crazy winter with teams pretty much straight from January 2 through March 20th (one week break in there!). There are some short-term changes at the Guesthouse, with Dan and Kari on a 6 month sabbatical and Jeff and Kamanda moving in to take over Guesthouse roles through July. So it feels a bit crazy…although in the back of my mind I feel a real peace about this winter. I have been really psyched to see our translators stepping up and taking on bigger and more serious roles in both providing care and providing leadership at SRI and in our barrio/surgical/construction/VBS sites. I’m excited to continue to watch where God is leading all of us in our various roles and professional lives. 

On some personal levels, it was fabulous to have my home pastor, Steve Crane, come down to spend a few days this fall with Laura, myself, and our husbands. I CRAVE pastoral care…and the love and encouragement that was shared with us was vital and life-giving and so very needed and appreciated. It was a sweet gift from home! 

Monchy and I were also able to participate in the Global Leadership Summit during a weekend in November. The speakers are always dynamic and we left inspired and filled! 

We have also enjoyed a sweet gift from Jesus, a baby brother! Yup- it’s surprising but a delight to have a 5 month old brother in law. Monch and I are both crazy about baby Michael and he just had his first sleepover at our apartment about a week ago. There was very little sleeping but lots of giggling and cuddling. We still fight over who gets to hold him so obviously the novelty has not worn off! 

The new clinic construction continues advancing faster and further! They recently had “The Big Pour” which was essentially a 36-48 hour (straight!) of pouring a concrete floor/base. I’ll leave the details to Ken Potter and Jeff but it was a huge undertaking and another big success on our way to completing the new clinic. Check out Ken’s blog for updates at www.sriclinic.blogspot.com!

Monchy and I celebrated our first anniversary last week with a few days cruising around the country, returning to our favorite hostel in Jarabacoa, checking out a baseball game, and visiting friends in the capital. It was a great trip but we find ourselves always ready to come home to our sweet apartment and funny chickens after a few days away. 

Our biggest prayer request at this time would be for paperwork. Monch and I are hoping to head home this summer for an extended visit and are waiting on Immigration paperwork to be cleared in order for him to come with me. We haven’t had great experiences with visas or embassy visits up to this point and I’m nervous and worried. It will be two years (in June) since I’ve been home in the States and I’m craving some time with my peoples! Please join us in prayer that all of our paperwork will get to the correct channels and be approved. I’m excited for my stateside family and friends to meet my husband! 

My beautiful baby brother-in-law! Michael- gift from God!

Watching Sam and Terry Wellman teach NRC!

Motos and Me and Monch (October Blog #2)

Some of you may have known that my husband recently had a motorcycle accident. Those are pretty common here…and we hear about it from lots of Americans. “Wow- so dangerous!” “Scary- those motorcycles!” “Make sure you wear your helmets!”, etc etc.

I can assure you that most Dominicans are in agreement about the motorcycles. They all think they are dangerous, They all know there are crazy people on the road, and Monch and I know that we should be wearing our helmet. The thing is…motorcycles, and accidents…have a lot to do with economics. There isn’t one San Juanero out there that wouldn’t rather have a car than a moto. But we live on an island and cars here pretty much all need to be imported, and that makes them about TWICE as expensive as in the States. Also, gas is about 5-6 bucks a gallon, which makes filling your car unattainable for many folks. Catching a moto anywhere in them city costs you less than a dollar…and most people have a moto taxi guy that they are accustomed to using. Helmets are great (we even have one of the best kinds!) but we can’t take it anywhere where we can’t carry it- it would be stolen immediately! Many people don’t have enough money to even buy a helmet. Economics. Monch and I are blessed to have some access to the Solid Rock trucks but the majority of people don’t have that option. They have to haul their kids, their groceries, their furniture, their animals…. on motorcycles. I’ve seen dryers, televisions, pigs, rebar, concrete bags, huge sacks of rice or potatoes, 4 children, large mirrors, and more loaded up on motorcycles.

I have visited the mens’ ward in the local hospital and noted that 80-90% of the male patients are there because of motorcycle accidents. I hate it. And yet, I live in part of it. We don’t have our own car and we probably won’t have our own car for years on end. We have a scooter and a motorcycle and I ask for safety prayers more than anything else on my prayer requests. This is part of the deal of living here, being married here, and being part of the community here. But please don’t think that the phone call from the hospital about Monchy ’s accident didn’t wreck my world and make me question everything about living here. I want my husband and I to live safe comfortable lives. I get tired of taking baths in a bucket and fearing the fact that there are no ventilators that work in the main hospital. I’m afraid for both of us getting dengue and I hate sweating over stupid mosquito bites. I hate riding the public buses with 5-6 people squished in a row… knowing that if we wreck…. I’ll just be in a pile of bodies by the side of the road and people will take videos before they try to save me. This is part of the reason that I am and was such a fan of the Paramedic Program. ONE life saved because someone knows what to do in an accident or a trauma could be one life that I know personally… my husband, myself, any of us here. In his time since taking the Paramedic Course, my husband has been called on several times to step in and help. Two days before his accident, he cared for a collapsed diabetic patient at the track. While many many folks gathered around the patient to watch and take videos, Monch checked his vital signs, called for help, and assisted in his transport to safety. He and I happened to have a BP cuff, stethoscope, and glucometer with us in order to assess the patient more thoroughly. This very basic equipment was apparently more than the entire “medical team” had available at the sports event.

After Monchy’s accident (when he was conscious and could call me), Laura and I went to find him at the main hospital. He had not been seen by anyone in his time there (we don’t know how long because he doesn’t remember anything) and was sitting on a stretcher feeling lots of chest pain. His knees were both bleeding and he was short of breath. I didn’t see any of the doctors that I know in the ER and I didn’t want to waste any more time waiting. Laura and I got him into the pickup and drove him to a private clinic where we knew one of the doctors. We walked in and let the ER doctor know of his chest pain. He wrote a prescription for a chest xray and sent us to the waiting room. During Monch’s chest X-ray our doctor friend showed up and took over and then I felt like I could relax a little bit. From that point on, we were in the hands of Doctor Francis and I knew that Monchy would be taken care of. I also knew that the clinic took credit cards and that we could pay. Imagine all of the people who don’t have doctor friends, who don’t have credit cards, who can’t pay private clinics. Imagine all the folks who have to keep waiting and waiting at the full public hospital with chest pain and bleeding who don’t have irate wives that can pull them out of the public ER and have access to a truck to take them to a private clinic. Imagine folks who don’t have Vicodin, pulse oximeters, and antibiotics available.

This is another reality of living here. We have been doted on and visited by no fewer than 70-80 people in his “recovery” weeks. All of these visitors know how quickly accidents happen and how easily people die here. Many many others are familiar with how “achy” and bruised Monchy is feeling because they have experienced it as well. They love on my husband and I and some of them are teary because they know what a close call it was.

One of the other comments that I hear at least every week from group members is “how happy and content” the Dominicans are. YES. This culture is fun-loving. They are emotional. Whenever there are 2 Dominicans together..there is a party. It’s true. They love each other and family and dancing and noise and music and baseball and dominos. All true. They live life to the fullest because they KNOW more than we do how quickly life can be taken away. They are overall a “happy” culture but they also cry loudly and with each other. They just hide their depression and sadness from you. They dream of a better life just like you and I do. They sweat over mosquito bites and fear bus and motorcycle accidents. They want Iphones and video games and cool clothes and basic good healthcare. They want their kids to be educated, even if it takes 10 years at the local public University. Oh and they trust God. They trust God more than I do. They trust Him because there is so much less hope in their own ability to save themselves. They thank God for saving Monchy. And so do I. I walked around our block the night of his accident and tried to breathe deeply and sob quietly away from the craziness of our apartment full of people caring for us. I thanked God for His care and protection. I thanked Him for my husband and his bruised and battered body that was spared and is still here with me.

But now I also pray more for those who are here and those who are coming. I am here with Solid Rock, brought here by God to serve. I am not trying to make this blog an advertisement for everything that we do. But I can tell you that I see a day in which there are ventilators that work in San Juan, that there is care for the POOR that is every bit as good as the care that my husband got from Doctor Francis. I can tell you that I am sick to death of the c/s rate here and I want to do something about it and I hope that in our new clinic there is a changing of the guard and women can labor in peace and not be alone and feel empowered and safe. I can tell you that I can see Nef and Amaury and my husband and every other paramedic in our program racing through this city on an ambulance with an 9 year old that WILL LIVE after being hit by a car because they know what to do and how to treat him and get him to an emergency room where he will be SEEN and taken to emergency surgery. I can tell you that more babies are ALIVE and WILL be alive because the doctors and nurses know how to resuscitate them after delivery because they have taken the Neonatal Resus class with Sam and Terry Wellman. Everything takes a billion years here and I can’t tell you when our new clinic will be finished or when we will open the doors or even that everything will run smoothly or how I would like for the first couple years. I’m expecting chaos, disappointment ,and frustration for a great percentage of the time because that’s just how it is here and guess what- that’s what I’ve learned about ministry too. So here’s the main thing… My hope is in Jesus. He saved my husband. He brought me here. Hear me on this- there is NO PEACE WITHOUT HIM. In the chaos of accidents, in the loudness of 30 people in my house, in the blood rushing to my ears upon receiving bad phone calls, in the silence of Laura and I driving to the hospital, in the pain of stitches and potential broken ribs, Jesus is there. He is my Hope. Please please please look to Him today. And thank you for your continued prayers for us. They are so needed and appreciated.

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A Shout-Out to my crew... (October blog)

I’ve said a million times that we could never ever work without our translators and Pastor Enol.   For the July/August last 2 barrio teams, we’ve sent out “home visitors”.   Our translators or Pastor Enol head out armed with their backpacks and some Bibles and maybe toothbrushes or shoes.      One or two of them sets sail while the rest of us are working in the barrio clinic and they go house to house.   Praying for folks.  Talking about Jesus.   Teaching little kids how to brush their teeth correctly or wash their hands correctly or avoid parasites.     One on one with families.   Sharing.   Loving.   Showing Jesus.    Guys, it gets me all choked up.

This is why I’m here.  Not to be the one going house to house.   I’m a distraction, with my American self and awkward spanish.    I’m here to support these guys while THEY do it, loving on their own.   Understanding and participating in their own culture.   And guess what?   Dominicans are coming to really KNOW Jesus because Euclides and Santos and Luiyi and Enol are in their living rooms, sipping coffee with them and praying about Grandma’s blood pressure or Tio’s diabetes and “hey, we want to give you guys a BIble” and “can we talk to the kids about toothbrushing?”.

And meanwhile,  Hector is talking to the folks in the barrio clinic about leptospirosis- which is a killer…just like SIN.   And Nef is teaching about dehydration and then what LIVING WATER is.   And Glennys is talking to the women in the pharmacy about how to do breast exams.   And Simon is double checking some guy’s blood pressure and reminding the adults how to take care of their teeth.    And Amaury is teaching folks how to take ALL of their medication and not share it with the neighbors or their kids.    If my hubs were there he would probably be finding some blind guy in his house to bring to the barrio clinic and then be running around playing with all the local kids setting up organized games.  All of them- Santiago and Alexa and Quilson are doing it too… loving on their own.   And I get to watch it.   Sure- I can facilitate.   I held a pharmacy class for these guys a couple years ago.     I have an education suitcase full of stuff that they can use.  We as a staff have met recently to review charlas and teachings and we pray together and prep and I can help get the Bibles through groups sometimes and the toothbrushes and toothpaste through groups sometimes too.    But that’s my role? Maybe I’m not exactly changing the world, right?    What is it that is required of me?  Oh right-  it’s in Micah.  And I’ve posted this before- recently in fact.

Micah 6:8 And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

BOOM.   My crew is showing me how it’s done.   Faces of Jesus.    I heart them all…  #DominicanslovingDominicans

A Day in the Life: Paperwork (September blog)

Just an idea to give you guys what paperwork in the DR looks like….

I’m working on some paperwork for both Monch and I….both to travel to the States and also for me to gain legal citizenship here.   One of the requirements is a birth certificate for both of us, translated and legalized.  That might sound easy to you guys but here my nightmare begins.

Let’s start with mine.   I have to order a copy of my birth certificate in PA to be sent to my parents.  That should take maybe 2-3 weeks and costs 30 bucks.  When it arrives, they will either take it to Harrisburg or mail it to Harrisburg to be apostilled.  That’s another 15 dollars.   Then they will wait to see which team they can send it with to arrive in San Juan directly handed to me (this is because we have had my paperwork LOST IN THE MAIL IN THE UNITED STATES, including my passport and birth certificate).   That may take who knows how long?   Next step,  I have to have it translated into Spanish.  By a legal translator.   Fine.  I know a guy in the capital.    Gas to get to the capital and back is about 80 bucks.   I also probably need to eat at least one meal somewhere there.   I have to plan on maybe 7-8 hours roundtrip just for this step because I will wait for the document to be translated.   It will cost between 30-80 bucks to have it translated by a LEGAL translator.   Next up, I need to have the SIGNATURE of the translator legalized at the Procuraria to be sure he or she is legit.  Close to 20 dollars.   I also waited 5 hours in line the last time that I had to do this.  FIVE HOURS.   Next up, I have to have the TRANSLATION itself legalized or apostilled.   This is done in the Canceleria in the capital also.   Also another 20 dollars.   I have to pay for both the signature AND the document legalization in Banca Reservas, the national bank here.   It’s usually a good one hour wait although Laura and I have waited up to 90 minutes in the line too.    I pay the fees and then hand in my receipt at the Procuraria and also at the Canceleria.   Once my translation is legalized/apostilled I’m hopefully good to go.  Oh and the Procuraria and the Cancelia aren’t anywhere CLOSE to the same place so there is lots of driving and trying to park in the capital.  Oh and did I mention the Dominicans like everything to be recent, like in the last 6 months?  So they usually don’t accept copies that are older than 6 months.   We have to be MOVING with this paperwork.

This is just for MY birth certificate.   Monch’s is along the same lines and process but starting from Spanish to English.     I goto the JCE/courthouse and ask for his birth certificate.   I need the extended version with the maximum amount of info.   It costs about 10 dollars, including the certification stamp.   Last week I had to pay TWICE because the receptionist printed THE WRONG ONE and I had to pay for both pages.  Ridiculous- the poor people in the JCE/courthouse are used to my tears now and it doesn’t sway them even a little.     I have to send it away to be legalized (15 dollars) OR drive myself to Azua (one hour) to wait in line to have it arrive hopefully the same day.   I then have to have it translated in English (anywhere from 30-80 dollars depending on who does it) and then undergo exactly the same procedure at the Procuraria (20 dollars- legalize the signature of the translator) and Cancelleria (20 dollars- legalize the translation itself).   There is no way to avoid a trip to the capital and if I’m trying to do more than one step it’s probably best to plan on spending the night.

The latest nightmare in our paperwork is that there is ONE word spelled incorrectly on our Marriage Certificate.  An extra “e” in someone’s name (not mine or Monchy’s name).   I never ever in a million years dreamed that this would turn into the disaster that it is.    The National Police refuse to accept my paperwork for legal citizenship with this word spelled incorrectly.   I have been to the courthouse here in San Juan 3 times and although there MAY be some attempt to help me, they have assured me that this is an 8 month process to correct it without trips to the capital.  Therefore, Monch and I went to the capital to attempt to speed up the process, since our other paperwork is dated and we want to try to turn everything in within the 6 month process.   We drove from courthouse to courthouse, 5 different times.   We were told 6 months, 3 months, 10 days, one month.   Finally one woman told me that I MYSELF needed to go to the Feria (where all the paperwork/courthouse books are stored), get a scanned copy of the written mistake from our courthouse wedding book, and bring it to them.  ONLY then will they begin to make the changes and that will take over 10 days.   Me.   Driving to the Feria and bringing the scan myself, even though they all have computers and it COULD BE done online.  Do you see the futility of paperwork here?   Can we BEGIN to discuss the amount of money that we spend ATTEMPTING to be legal and trying to get a Visa?  The amount of tears that I shed in the JCE/courthouses is obscene.   The lines that we wait in are an abuse to humankind.    The cost of a lawyer?  Um, no.

I take deep breathes and take a book with me.   I very gently approach these topics with my husband knowing full well the pain of these “paperwork” days for him (and me!).    I am sure this is God’s way of teaching us patience…since that doesn’t come very naturally to either one of us.

This is an example of how paperwork works in the DR.    Another day we can talk about trying to use my address, explain the mail postal service (just…NO), have electric turned on, get WIFI to the house, figure out why we never have water coming through the pipes.   We can discuss why we purchase oxygen tanks from the rice factory in town, or change our money at the Agricultural Center (better rate than the banks!), or buy cell phone minutes from the lady who sits by the side of the road at the military checkpoint.   I can tell you another day some of the beauty and pain in these daily life decisions…how I make a phone call (if I have minutes!) and in less than an hour a 15 year old kid will bring me 10 eggs IN A PLASTIC baggie (none are broken!) and some salami if that is what I ordered.  They will ask me on the phone how I’m going to pay and in what denomination so that he can bring me correct change.  Of course they won’t be able to tell me the total on the phone so I have to guess at about how much money I may need.

But back to our paperwork.  I’m estimating that each PAGE that we need to have…costs us an average of 140-200 dollars.    Pray with me that we can get them all finished and turned in within the 6 month window.    And that, my dear friends, is an idea of what it means to need “just a birth certificate, translated and legalized”.   RRRRIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHHHHTTTTTTTT.    This is so fun.   So easy.

Tis the Season...for politics? (August blog)

Dominican election year is 2016, which means the winding up of the ridiculous frenzy has begun.    I’m sure it’s nonsense in the US right now as well…but political campaigns in the US don’t involve hiring huge trucks with speakers and blasting music and propaganda at 5 am in the morning (or whatever hour!) as 25,000 vehicles and screaming people begin to clog the road and drive around the city.   That’s how we do campaigns here.   In the States, you all get automated telephone calls but remember it’s optional to answer your phone!  Here, if you are a politician you get as many vehicles as you can full of people waving your flag and playing your song…and you drive around the city and annoy everyone.    Just when I’m in a hurry to get somewhere the road will be full of campaign vehicles or bajillions of people and I won’t be able to get through and I’m forced to sit there grimacing as bumper stickers are shoved in my face and flags are flown over my windshield and speakers are blasting at a volume that is clearly unsafe at a 100 mile radius.  Grumpity.

Here’s a tricky underside though.  Politics pretty much run everything here.   It’s all who you are and who is on your team.   Want to hire someone in the public sector?   Sure hope they are in the correct party!   Because whoever is in power pretty much holds the power to hire…and they are going to hire IN PARTY for the most part.    I’m so grateful that I’m here through Solid Rock.   Jesus is apolitical as far as I can tell (although I guess you wouldn’t know that from Facebook, eh?) and it’s reassuring to be able to serve people and announce in the barrios “We are not coming through ANY political party- this is completely free!”.   Beautiful.   I hope it’s eye-opening for those that we serve.

Politics was one of those things that I had zero idea about when I arrived here.   It’s taken me nearly 5 years to peel back some of the layers of life in the DR and I still feel like I’m barely scratching the surface.   Oh I know some things.   I know better than to wear my flipflops OUT on the town.   Geez, everybody knows that flipflops are for the HOUSE only (I fail at this, by the way).      You put on your fancier sandals to head out, unless clearly you are still in your pajamas at the grocery store, which then excuses whatever outfit you have on.   I know better than to wear shorts out unless I’m exercising at the track.   Dominicans wear super tight jeans for the most part.    Americans are seen as sloppy…and compared to the beautiful primped and perfumed locals here, we sure are.   Sweatpants and a sweatshirt?  You may as well give up and move home.      I know that rice and beans are for LUNCH, not supper.   I know that you are supposed to shower AT LEAST 2-3 times a day.    Otherwise you might be a dirty American who doesn’t know how often to bathe.     You should especially shower BEFORE you go to the gym or track because you need to cool your body down before you heat it up.   Huh?  I know that you drink beverages (out in public) in small plastic cups so that you can share your glass bottle with others.    I know that you spring to your feet when someone arrives at your house and at the very least offer them juice or coffee.     Or you send your husband scrambling to the store to bring home some crackers/sodas to offer guests.    I know that “come at 7” means we will eat at 9 or 10 and that dinner probably hasn’t been started at 7.    I know that you can squeeze an orange or a lime on your car battery and then the engine will probably start.    I know that if someone says “Dios te Bendiga” or God bless you, I had better respond with “Amen” immediately.    I know how to play dominos and how to follow my frente.   I know that I better pretend that I mop my house everyday to rid it on this incessant dust that covers everything immediately afterward.   True words between my husband and I:

Nik : “Hey, we really need to clean.  I don’t think I’ve mopped in two weeks…..”

Monch:  “Don’t ever let anyone hear that!”

Oops.

I know you shouldn’t drink milk and juice at the same meal unless they are MIXED together.  In that case, it’s a delicious combo of Dominican batida milkshake which really can’t be beat.    I know that you SHOULD hang curtains on all on your inner house doorways because thats just how we decorate here.   I know I’m supposed to put brown sugar in the hot oil before I fry my chicken so that the cooked chicken will have a darker color.   White chicken?   Thats just clearly not cooked correctly!   And speaking of cooking, all rice needs to be “cleaned” (pick out all the rocks, dirt etc) and then washed (submerged in water) before it is cooked.   That is the only way.    Raw meat should be washed with orange or lime juice before cooking.    Again, thats the only way.

I know that when I arrive somewhere it is my responsibility to greet and acknowledge everyone else there, including hand shakes or at the very least a “saludos” to all.    I know that if I’m going to a reso (wake, viewing,funeral) I have to pass through an inner room of the folks most close to the one who died.   I will at the very least shake their hands if not give hugs and kiss the women on the cheek.    I will hear the wailing and I will say “I accompany you in your feelings”.    I will also wear black pants and a white shirt or the closest combo of the two that I can find.    Then I will sit somewhere and be served a small cup of dark sweet coffee in the morning and later on get in a huge long line for a community lunch that has been cooked in humongous vats outside over 3 big rocks by the neighbor women who are caring for the family.

So many things.    And I still fumble regularly with cultural faux-pas.    The truth is- I’m not Dominican.   I married one.  I’ve got the inside scoop.    But there are things that I will never understand or comprehend without Monch prepping me beforehand or explaining in great detail as we lay in bed and I fixate on why people think I’m so weird.    Why can’t we just eat black bean soup?   Why does it have to go with rice?   Why do the washers not have a rinse cycle?   Why can’t we leave the laundry hanging outside and leave for 15 minutes?    Why is straight hair the most acceptable?   Why do people always have to find something to blame for tragedies?    Why don’t they eat more vegetables here?     Why is every Sunday night evangelism night at church?     Why do sandwiches need ketchup and mayo?  Why do guys run outside in the rain and drive around on their motos looking for all their friends to “bathe in the rain” with them?     Why does someone have to stay at our house if we go away?   Why is it unacceptable to be barefoot even in the house?   Why can Dominican babies be lifted and carried by one arm and they never get nurse-maid’s elbow?   Why do they use injections for everything instead of pills?   Why can’t pregnant ladies eat potatoes?

I could write down at least one billion more questions or examples of what it’s like living outside my birth culture.     Then I start to think….imagine how it will be for my husband when we visit the States!   Why do Americans flush toilet paper?   Why do they eat so much meat?   Why don’t they greet people on the street?     Why do they waste so much money on pet food?   Why do they dress that way?   Why do they have to have dessert with lunch AND dinner?    What’s dessert anyway?

All the questions.   All the differences.   All the learning.   All the failing.

I arrived here just about 5 years ago ready to serve Jesus and change the world.   I don’t think I’ve changed very much at all, except maybe my heart and attitude.    (Wait- there’s one thing.  Our defibrillator in the OR stays plugged in 100% of the time.   That might be the only thing I’ve instituted that has stuck……)  Have I served Jesus?  I hope so.   I’ve seen lives changed by HIM.   I’ve seen Americans come down here and return to the States changed people.   I’ve seen Dominicans come to Jesus…but I’ve also seen a whole lot of Dominicans demonstrating Jesus to US, to ME, to other DOMINICANS.

It’s a great reminder to me that YES I have been called here.    I love what I do and I love serving how I get to serve.      It’s a joy and honor, mostly.     But man, despite me God has been working and changing hearts and transforming lives for ever and ever in the DR.   And THAT is the beauty of His Kingdom.    He doesn’t need me- He ALLOWS me to serve here.   I get to watch it all….unfolding and birthing and shining and rescuing.    Even when I’m tired and burnt out- that privilege isn’t lost on me.    The Kingdom…..in spanish.    I still love it.