#5 A Dress Is a Dress, Oh Yes, Oh Yes!

Dresses of Hope.  That's where it all began for me.  Two years ago I heard about a team from Mosaic Church preparing to go to the Dominican Republic, and something inside me sparked to life with a desire to collect dresses to send to the little girls in the rural mountain village where the team would be serving.  Wanting to be bold and dream big, I asked God for one hundred dresses.  Ha!  He gave me a hundred and fifty!  The enthusiasm of the girls receiving the dresses was so great that I determined to do it again for the next trip, with ideas for how to do it even better.  One of the betters was to include others in the preparation as well as the donations.  The blessing I got from preparing all those dresses for the 2011 trip was too much to keep all to myself again, so I solicited volunteers to help process the 181 dresses that were donated for 2012.  We spent many hours making cards, doing minor mending, ironing out the wrinkles to make every dress look like new, and pinning a lovely card to each dress with a ribbon.  Oh, and most important of all, we prayed over each dress for the girl who would receive it.

Lin making tiny bows to glue to cards

 

Sherilin

 

Lucia

 

Gloria

 

Claudia

 

Lin mending

 

Cards for dresses

 

And more cards

 

Piles of finished dresses ready to send

 

The message handwritten inside each little card says:

"Little girl, you are precious to God.  We pray that

every time you wear this dress you will remember

how much Jesus loves you."

 

That load of dresses was then divvied up among the team members for transporting in our suitcases along with other goodies that had been collected for little boys and for the clinic.  We were instructed to plan one suitcase for our personal things and one suitcase for gifts we were taking. 

It has been reported to me that the first year Dresses of Hope came to Pedregal it was disorganized and confusing, as those doing the distribution hadn't had time to figure out a systematic plan of action.  From that first experience, however, Sharyn came up with a strategy that would smooth out the biggest bump in the process, which was how to keep someone from getting more than one dress while someone else got none.  The word quickly spread that dresses were going to be given out on Monday at 3:30, and by 3:00 the porch of the clinic was crammed with expectant niñas and madres who appeared on foot from every direction like ants to a picnic.  Mechi, the clinic secretary, stood in the doorway taking down names.  Dozens of names.  As the first page filled up with two columns of names she began a second page, quietly keeping the rambunctious crowd from bulldozing the door. 

 

Waiting for dress giveaway to begin

 

Mechi taking down names

 

Meanwhile, Kristi and I wiped buckets of sweat from our brows while holed up in the tiny storage room, doing our best not to stumble too many times over the suitcases and bags overflowing with dresses, while we sorted and organized them according to size. 

 

Staging area for dresses in the storage/exam room

 

When the piles were ready we hauled them out the back door to the gazebo where they were flopped across the walls for easy access when the gate was opened and the girls were allowed access to our free dress store.

 

Somehow Mechi and Sharyn managed to keep the crowd under control and permitted only a limited number of girls to go back to the gazebo at one time.  Kristi, Debbie and I would quickly size up a customer and make a few selections til we found one that was a good fit and also to her liking, then send her on her way with a hug, a smile and a dress tucked under her arm. 

 

Here they come

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so it continued for 45 minutes, at which time we closed shop for the day and learned that we had given dresses to 70 beautiful little girls. 

 

#4 A Greeting By Any Other Name

The whole point of a bunch of gringos trekking off to the DR for a week was to partner with Paul & Sharyn in bringing the love of Jesus to those in Pedregal who are spiritually lost.  Eternity is a very long time, and if we can make the difference for someone between spending it in heaven or spending it in hell, then it is worth every discomfort, inconvenience, or sacrifice.   We were not there merely to do a job.  We were there to engage people in conversations, build relationships, and turn hearts toward the One who loves them unconditionally and has provided the perfect and only way to the Father.    

Conversation is a tricky thing when the undeniable obstacle of language is all up in your face, hindering your efforts and attempting to shut it down through frustration and discouragement, not to mention the embarrassment of failure.  But love is the motivation that compels one to persevere until a way is found to push through the barrier, so push we did.  Some are gifted at picking up language on the go.  A word here, a phrase there, until a small repertoire of useful vocabulary is soon accumulated.  Give one of these auditory-oriented Americans a few minutes with a willing Dominican and before long there will be dialogues in Spanglish that have the power to bond them for life.   Over and over I witnessed this on the job site with amazement.  The local master carpenter, Arcardios, who was hired to provide some semblance of order, direction and aptitude in our construction projects, exhibited the patience of a saint as he gave instructions or made requests for assistance while the rookies shrugged shoulders and waggled fingers denoting lack of comprehension.  "No entiendo!"  Often the fastest way to communicate an instruction to get a task done was simply to demonstrate or use crude charades, bypassing the need for language.  Whatever works.

Arcardios giving instructions to Mark

Arcardios, keeping his thoughts to himself as he supervises Mark

 

Brad getting instruction on bending rebar from

12-year old Diego

 

Derry assisting Arcardios

 

Derry befriending Carlos

 

Brad & Carlos bonded as brothers

 

Out and about on foot, however, we encountered people on every road, around every corner, and along every path, quick to smile and accept us as we waved and called out greetings.  "Hola!"  "Buenos dias!"  Hugs and arm pats were not uncommon, especially from older women, even in passing as we continued on our way.  Whether we were out for our early morning walk in front of our villas in Jarabacoa, hiking from the clinic in Pedregal to a job site and back, or stopping in the local colmado to buy a cold drink, we did our best to make connections through friendly greetings.  The warm responses were rewarding, and we felt genuinely accepted by the people, regardless of whether they yet understood the reason for our presence.

Debbie connecting with a local deaf mute woman

 

Roscoe, perhaps the most thoroughly extroverted member of our team, was caught off guard one morning when he encountered a young woman suddenly in close proximity.  Wanting to be friendly and extend a greeting, he froze while his brain malfunctioned and stalled momentarily, then opened his mouth and with a big smile called out, "Aloha!"  After her laughter subsided, the young lady returned his greeting in kind, and throughout the rest of the week she and various other locals could be heard calling out, "Aloha!" to the gringos.  But it was all done in fun, and we laughed along with them, using even that glitch as a connecting point between cultures.

Roscoe

 

 

#3 With Labor and Chaos for All

Our first work assignment was to rebuild the top half of the walls of a kitchen that had originally been made of rough wood that the lady of the house found impossible to clean.  We were told that the roof and the old wooden walls would be removed before we got there, so our team could begin right in with laying cement blocks to finish off the walls properly.  When we arrived with tools in hand, however, the only thing that had been done in advance was the emptying of the kitchen.  We had been warned by our missionary hosts to expect that nothing would go as planned.  It's the way of the culture and we might as well accept that which cannot be changed.  So flexibility was the key to maintaining good humor when encountering one undesirable surprise after another, and our team members were amazingly adaptable.  For me personally, having the house still intact was preferable because it allowed me to get pictures of the before, during, and . . . well . . . more during.  This was the duringest project I ever did see! 

Back of house BEFORE

 

Yard behind house

 

 

King of the rock

 

While the old roof was peeled back and the sheets of rusty corrugated aluminum were lifted off by the various men in the family who were present to contribute their time and effort to this task, we did our best to stay out of the shower of debris raining down and sending even the chickens scattering for shelter.    Once access had been gained (i.e., 2 or 3 sheets of aluminum roofing out of the way), some of our own men began tugging at the wooden supports to begin demolishing the walls themselves.  A little yanking, a little whacking with a hammer, and a whole lot of jumping out of the way and it was down.  Well, sort of.  In actuality, the yanking and whacking and jumping out of the way were interrupted several times when men appeared on the roof with machetes and chainsaws in hand, tying up huge limbs of an overhanging mango tree and then buzzing through them while we watched the tree fall in large hunks onto the remaining roof. 

 

 

 

By the time the tree felling was complete it was already hot enough to cook an egg on one of the huge rocks jutting up in the backyard where we were all crowded about trying not to trip over each other or the dogs or chickens or rocks or fallen tree limbs, or get strangled on one of the many clotheslines tied from the back of the house to an avocado tree or an animal pen. 

 

Avacado tree

 

But in spite of the crowding and chaos, significantly complicated by the Americans speaking English and the Dominicans speaking Spanish, neither of which could be understood by the others, we managed to get some work done.  The old kitchen roof and wooden upper walls were torn down, the tree limbs and smaller branches were dragged off to a corner of the backyard, and all the old boards were relieved of their nails by the excellent teamwork of Debbie and myself.  Carpentry has never been one of my learned skills, but I was up for pounding old nails backwards out of old boards, then using the claw end to pull them the rest of the way out.  Debbie's role was to bring the boards to me, collect the liberated nails, and stack the finished boards neatly out of the work zone. 

 

Lin demonstrating her nail removal skills

 

 

Debbie sorting through termite infested boards

 

Brad knocking down remaining wood walls

 

At some point mid-morning we were served little disposable plastic cups of strong, dark coffee by one of the women in the family whose house we were working on.  Sharon had told us to expect this, and to take it with a smile and a "gracias" whether we wanted it or not.  Since I have never been a coffee drinker I needed to empty my cup by some means that did not involve my taste buds, so I furtively approached one of my team members who is a coffee lover and requested permission to pour my beverage into his cup, thereby making everyone happy.  The hostess was happy to serve her guests, the coffee hater was happy to unload the foul beverage, and the coffee lover was happy to get an extra serving of caffeine laced brew.  Before too long the demolition was complete.

No more wood.  No more roof.

 

Quality control just doing their job

 

This guy had to give his approval as well

 

And so went a morning of labor.  By the time we walked back to the clinic for our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we were ready for the siesta that was being forced on us by custom whether we wanted it or not. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#2 Hi-Hoed, Hi-Hoed, It's Off to Work We Goed

Pedregal is barely a blip on a radar.  A grain of sand on a beach.  A flea on an elephant.  Most of the world remains unaware that this village in the mountains of a little island in the Caribbean even exists, and yet it is bursting at the seams with souls of inestimable value.  Gap-toothed little boys run through the streets with their imaginations in full gear, bow-legged  toddlers explore the corners of their tiny world with unbridled curiosity, pig-tailed school girls giggle and tease one another while trying their best to keep their dresses clean in an environment dominated by dirt, wrinkly old grandmothers lug naked babies around on their hips, and proud young men eager to show off their strength strut in hopes of attracting the attention of a lovely young lady.  This is a place teeming with life, hopes, dreams, pain and disappointments just like our own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One thing common to every person ever born on this earth is the lack of opportunity to choose our place of birth.  Had I been given that choice, where would it be?  Someplace exquisitely beautiful?  Someplace with a certain type of government?  Someplace with my idea of perfect weather?  One thing for sure, I would have chosen a place with clean water and plenty of it.  The 2,000 residents of Pedregal have water in abundance.  But clean?  Not so much, unless you don't mind parasites wriggling in your stomach and turning the contents of your intestines to liquid. 

We may not get to choose where we are born, but those with adequate means may choose where they go, and our team of nine eager missionary wanna-be's chose to go to the Dominican Republic for a week of serving the people there who are lacking the resources to meet all their own needs.  To whom much has been given much will be required, and we were not only willing, but indeed anxious to give out of our abundance. 

Before we could go, however, there had to be someone there with the vision, the commitment, and the foundation of relationships already in place to welcome us.  Enter Paul & Sharyn Branson, long-term missionaries to the DR with House Upon the Rock Ministry.  Fifteen years ago Paul & Sharyn chose to make this place their home, responding to God's call on their lives to take the love of Jesus to these people through evangelism, construction services, school sponsorships for children, and a medical clinic which serves an expanded population area of 100,000 people with one doctor and one nurse. 

 

Paul, Sharyn & daughter Samantha at home

 

 

Current rates (in pesos) for services

 

Paul & Sharyn in clinic

 

Dr. Wendy in her office/exam room

 

 

A critical piece in the effectiveness of Paul & Sharyn's ministry is the hosting of mission teams like ours from the U.S. and Canada, whom Paul puts to work on various construction projects when they arrive.  Managing a team of unskilled laborers at a construction site is no small task, but Paul does it masterfully and with grace.  He gets teased a lot about his coffee drinking, porch leaning, chit chatting habits during work hours, but he is in fact an expert in overseeing and directing the energy and enthusiasm of a bunch of untrained volunteers.  What we lacked in skills and experience we more than made up for in willingness and gusto.  And so, with full confidence that God would be able to accomplish something of significance to His glory with our paltry offering, we threw ourselves into our assigned construction projects.

Hi-hoed, hi-hoed, it's off to work we goed.

 

 

 

 

#1 A Whole New World

"Tiene una casa grande?" 

 

Even with my painfully limited knowledge of the Spanish language, there was no doubt in my mind what 11 year old Maria was asking me.  I hesitated for a moment or two, trying to decide if I wanted to tell her the truth or give my standard, "No comprendo."  Her lack of frustration over my ignorance of her language was a marvel to me, and her patient and persistent efforts to make herself understood was reason enough to keep trying.  This time she hit on a question I could answer if I was willing to be honest.  "Si."  There.  My secret was out.  I have a big house.  Not that I'm ashamed of having a big house, or that it has any value beyond providing a comfortable place for me and my family to rest, and eat, and shower, and store all our material wealth.  But sitting with Maria in her family's tiny living room, grateful for the simple hospitality of this child who knows nothing firsthand of the comforts that I have taken for granted every day of my life, I felt extremely self-conscious about my big house. 

But this story hasn't even gotten started and already I have digressed.

One year ago I wouldn't have dreamed that I'd be spending a week in the Dominican Republic in October 2012.  Six months ago I wouldn't have guessed that I'd be spending a week in the Dominican Republic in October 2012.  Three months ago I was arguing with God about spending a week in the DR in October 2012, with Him saying, "go," and me saying, "no".  One month ago I was so convinced I was about to be spending a week in the Dominican Republic that I told everyone I was going even though I still had not even one measly dollar toward the trip.  Two weeks before the departure date, however, the pieces started coming together, and within seven days the funds were in place and my ticket was purchased.  So like God.  He just refuses to stay in that box I keep putting Him in, insistent on doing things His way for His reasons without regard to my desire for predictability.  The only thing predictable about God is His faithfulness, and on that I can anchor my trust.

So on October 6, in less time than it takes to drive from Charlotte to Chattanooga, I was whisked out of my comfort zone into a world as different from mine as a tuna on rye is different from peanut butter and jelly on Wonder bread.  They have the "essence of sandwich" in common, but that's pretty much where it ends.  And, once again, I will never be the same.