#12 "Here am I. Send me!" (Isaiah 6:8)

The land of the Dominican Republic as created by God is a verdant tropical paradise where even the poorest regions are lusciously adorned with explosions of vibrant colors and textures, serving up a continual feast for the eyes. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mountains surrounding Jarabacoa and Pedregal reminded me often of the pleasure our Lord seems to get from the beauty of nature. 

Paul & Sharyn's house has a view of the mountains

 

From almost anywhere in town the mountains can be seen

 

Misty morning

 

The Psalmist said, "Let the rivers clap their hands, let the mountains sing together for joy."  I'm not sure what it sounds like when a river is clapping its hands or when a mountain is singing, but I know the sounds of believers clapping and singing their praises to the One we adore!  Our first full day in the DR was highlighted by worship at an open-air church where even the local chickens didn't want to miss out on the celebration.  We found ourselves moved by the blending of voices singing simultaneously in two languages, as the worship songs were mostly familiar to us Americans.  And we were blessed to have a young lady translate the message for us so that we could participate fully in every part of the service. 

 

Worship Leaders

 

 

Mr. "Pastor"

 

Mrs. "Pastor"

 

Throughout the week, evenings were defined by the gathering of our team for devotions after dinner.  What a sweet time this was!  Pete offered his musical talents with the use of Paul's guitar, and Kristi used her beautiful voice to lead us in some very special times of singing that aptly expressed our hearts at the end of each day of service.  We were all swirled up with love for our God, love for the people we were there to serve, love for the missionaries we were partnering with, and love for one another as our hearts were being knit together in new levels of friendship.

 

 

 

 

Our team with House Upon the Rock staff

 

The memories we brought back with us are rich, and they compel us to make plans to go again.  And again.  And again.  Even I, who thought I could never be touched the way I was touched in West Africa, am already looking forward to my next trip to Pedregal.  I want to go back to encourage Paul & Sharyn and their children in the great Kingdom work they are doing among the people there. 

 

Paul & Sharyn at their home w/ daughter Samantha

 

I want to go back to have a hug and a conversation with Daniel, an inspiring and godly man who was born and has lived his whole life in Pedregal, now serving alongside Paul & Sharyn in House Upon the Rock Ministry, whose love for God and people just oozes from his pores. 

 

Daniel

 

A few Mosaic members with Daniel & his beautiful family

 

I want to go back to take Dresses of Hope to as many girls as possible, and to start actually getting to know some of those girls and investing in their lives on a more personal level.  I want to go back as a servant, ready and willing to do whatever assignment I am given that has the potential to make an eternal difference in someone's life.  I want to go back and be the hands and feet of Jesus, if only for a week, that some may come to know Him as I know Him.

 

 

#11 A Time to Live and a Time to Die

During one game of stick caps I realized there was a particular sound drifting on the breeze that explained the aroma ever present since arriving at this particular location.  When I needed a break from pitching caps I turned to Maria and pointed back behind the houses while making pig sounds in my throat.  I figured a noise like that would transcend any language barrier, and she caught it immediately and grabbed me by the arm and took me back for show and tell.  The show part worked out really well, but the tell part was lost on me, though I smiled a lot and kept saying, "Si."  I was delighted to see three litters of little piggies in various stages of development, doing what piggies do in their mud havens.  I pantomimed eating and pointed to the pigs, asking if they were going to be using these pigs for food, and received confirmation from Maria and her little friend.  While my camera was out snapping photos of the pigs, they wanted some photos in that setting that included them so I happily obliged. 

 

 

 

 

 

We took turns posing and shooting, but just before I was about to suggest another angle a woman came rushing up and grabbed me by the arm, gesturing for me to go with her.  She drew her hand across her neck twice in an unmistakable sign of death, and I willingly followed her to what I was sure would be another adventure.  She was going to take me to see a pig being butchered, and while I didn't relish the thought of observing such a grisly business, I am a realist so I might as well put my eyeballs where my mouth is all too willing to go and watch the part of the bacon that happens between the pig and the supermarket.   Those BLT's might never taste the same again, but I was a guest and this dear lady was trying to share something with me that seemed to be very important to her, judging by how urgently she was leading me through a maze of small dwellings.  Imagine my surprise when we stepped inside an open door and there lay an old woman on a bare mattress, covered only by a sheet, apparently dead.  God gave me the grace to switch gears immediately from thoughts of bacon to thoughts of sorrow and grief in this home.  There was only one thing I could possibly do that would be of any value to this woman and her family, and that was to share her sadness and pray for God to provide comfort and strength.  I immediately expressed my sorrow to her for her loss, and as I reached to embrace her she threw herself into my arms as if I were a life preserver thrown to a drowning person in an open sea.  I prayed for her and for her family, asking God to bring comfort and to meet all their needs, while she cried on my shoulder and petted my arms and back in an emotional display of painful loss.  The two little girls who had come along were sitting in chairs just watching, showing no emotion and saying nothing.  Was the old woman in the bed their grandmother?  Or were these children in this room with me simply because of the openness of the culture and the door?  After the prayer I simply stood and looked at the woman in the bed, with my arm around the waist of the lady who had brought me here, hoping that my quiet show of respect would be understood and received as the love it was meant to convey. 

 

On a zigzagging path around these buildings . . .

 

to this door where death lay in wait or had already come.

In the Dominican Republic it is common to bury the dead within 24 hours.  Due to the tropical climate and the cultural belief in not embalming, this is a necessity for dealing with the rapid deterioration of a body.  I didn't have the opportunity to see a rural cemetery where the poor lay their loved ones to rest, but the cemetery in Jarabacoa was unlike any I have ever seen.  My guess is that these above ground crypts are primarily owned by wealthier residents, judging by how elaborate many of them seem to be.  The poor in this town would most likely rent or borrow a burial space for a period of seven years, after which the family would either collect the bones and move them to a different location, or they would have the option of buying a permanent site. 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps the old woman in the bed hadn't yet breathed her last.  It's impossible for me to be sure since we were unable to communicate with words.  But whether death had already claimed her, or whether her final heartbeats were still in countdown, I can only hope that she knew Jesus before she took her last breath. 

#10 A Time to Work and a Time to Play

Take a stick - say, part of an old broom handle, or a length of dry bamboo - and collect some plastic bottle caps from here and there off the ground, and you've got the components for a perfectly good game.  Stick caps is what I called it.  One little boy liked to toss them up himself and hit them so he could play even when there were no friends around, but mostly the kids were taking turns pitching and hitting.  I discovered firsthand that this game could become quite addictive.  The kids I played with were great sports about taking turns, and after I had pitched a couple dozen times I was invariably handed the stick to give my best effort at hitting.  My cap hitting abilities were about on par with my bat and ball hitting, so it was no more humiliating than playing whiffle ball in my backyard with the grandchildren.  Some of those kids could hit a cap so hard that it split right in two when it made contact with the stick!

Me pitching bottle caps

 

Me attempting to hit bottle caps

 

Whenever there was a lull in the construction work it provided an opportunity to mix it up with the local kids who were always around.  Some of our team members seem to have a special gift for building relationships with the children, and I envied them just a little, but my connecting point was to play games with them or take their photos.  Every kid seems to know the word photo, and they love to be photographed and then look at the images on our digital cameras, so we could spend a lot of time together doing photo shoots.  Occasionally I would even allow one of the children to use my camera to take a picture of me with another child, which was a special privilege that they seemed to love.  Regi brought a couple frisbees and a ball or two, providing some variety from stick caps, and those toys will undoubtedly be used until there is nothing left of them.  In my week in Pedregal, the only toys I saw that we hadn't brought with us were one tricycle, one doll and a couple of plastic guns.  Other than that the kids played with junk.  A latex glove kept two little girls busy in a dirt pile, filling it up, shaking it around, dumping it out, trying different methods of filling it or manipulating the filled glove.  A boy was the envy of his friends as he played with a snake that he had caught.    

Brad showing the kids the photo he just took of them

 

Children at medical clinic were given balloons (Notice dog.)

 

Boy with snake

 

Pete playing ball with kids

 

Kristi getting a new hairstyle

 

Me playing frisbee

 

Mark giving piggy back ride

 

Kristi is happiest when she is surrounded by kids

 

Brad & Roscoe have tagalongs

 

Regi & Kristi always have kids around them

 

Debbie is a child magnet

 

Brad thumb wrestles with some tough guys

 

Debbie giving away crocheted crosses

 

Lin braiding some pretty hair

 

Regi and one of his many friends

 

Lin & Maria

 

The stickers and small playthings that were given to the children throughout the week were excitedly received, but nothing beat the love of the bracelets.  Too bad there were only a hundred to give away, as they were desired by boys and girls, teenagers and adults.  They went like hotcakes and the kids who didn't get one were begging for them the rest of the week.  These bracelets were special because of the ingenious symbols imprinted on them which provide a guide for telling the story of Jesus.  The down arrow means that Jesus came from heaven to earth.  The cross means that He died for us.  The two curved lines like a double rainbow symbolize the empty tomb, followed by an up arrow and then another down arrow, meaning that Jesus went back up to heaven but one day He will come again.  It is such a simple way to tell the story of Jesus that even a child could repeat it after hearing it once, pointing to each symbol and explaining its meaning. 

 

Julia showing off her bracelet

 

Our prayer is that the children and teenagers who own and wear these bracelets now  will think about the gift of salvation that has been offered, and that they will respond in their hearts by choosing to follow Jesus.  If they think the love we lavished on them was something, it doesn't compare to the love of Jesus that is theirs just by saying yes to Him.