My neighbors have a rhythm about them. Early in the morning a couple of the women from the house behind ours--a mom and daughter, I believe--work in their outdoor kitchen. While their rooster is still in full cock-a-doodle-do mode, (it perches in the tree outside my window, grabs a megaphone and mercilessly gets busy at around four a.m. announcing the new day) the women begin their ritual of banging pots and pans and filling them with water for their beans, rice and meat. All the while, they chit-chat. I wish I could join them and enjoy such camaraderie even though I’m not much of a talker in the morning. I admire their side-by-sideness. By the time I’m out of the shower and dressed for the day, the smell of the neighbor’s lunch cooking on their outdoor stove fills my bedroom. The swishing of brooms can be heard on the sidewalks out front and another neighbor is on her roof hanging laundry. It’s 7:32 a.m.
The man with fruit on his head has a rhythm about him. Before lunch and after my Spanish class he a walks down my street balancing a plastic tub of fruit on his noggin, singing “Aguacates, aaaguaacates….” He’s selling more than avocados. His inventory includes bananas, melons, oranges and, when they were in season, mangos. His rhythm includes pounding on my gate, whistling and giving me a dirty look if I don't buy from him. I don’t want to give in to his dirty looks, though I do want to lighten his load and be friends.
The Haitian men working construction down the road have a rhythm about them. They dig, stack, mix, pour, haul and swat at flies. I greet one of the workers with a motherly (not flirty) smile and “hola” as I walk by and he returns the greeting. I wonder how they work so hard when their living (several are squatters in the half-built house two doors down) and working conditions are so difficult. The Haitians here endure much prejudice. Their rhythm of perseverance humbles me. I say a prayer for them.
There are rhythms all around me and, of course, I have several of my own like the timing of my household chores and the partaking of my daily cup of coffee—black, a bit strong, green and white mug. But mostly the rhythm I have here in the Dominican is still being formed. I am grafting my American rhythm with my new Dominican rhythm. I am finding my way and learning a new dance. I desire a rhythm that includes acknowledging God in and through all that I do. I desire a rhythm that glorifies God and blesses others and models for my children contentment and thankfulness.
“So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31
