Beautiful

"I am a thing of beauty." Frank Sinatra

     I have had numerous conversations about hair with my friend and Spanish tutor pictured right. She, along with other Dominican friends, have let me know that straight hair is "good and pretty" hair. Curly, wavy, and, heaven forbid, frizzy hair is "bad" hair and must be forced into submission. Now most Dominican women are born with hair that is not straight and frizz-free. So, many spend time each week at one of the numerous salons here having it washed and straightened. I have been to a salon twice in my nine months of living here. (Three times if you count the time I went in for a wash only. I had been without water for three days and it was my best option besides my neighbor's backyard hose.) This is how it goes down at the salon:

     Hair is first washed and conditioned, then rinsed with freezing cold water. From there it is trimmed, (long hair is preferred so they don't cut off too much), dried, and straightened. A heated straightener is not used, only a blowdryer, a large brush, and a no-nonsense stylist. Two hours later, I emerge looking like a different woman. It is nothing short of a miracle how straight and perfect my hair becomes when a Dominican stylist gets ahold of it. Women here then wrap it in a "tubie"(sort of swirled around the head--it's brilliant) and a crocheted black net is placed over it. This keeps a woman's locks from getting frizzy or going into curly mode for a week before they go back to the salon. Dominican women sleep in their nets and some wear them around town if they're not doing or going anywhere special. When they are, they simply take off the net, shake their head, and their hair seductively swirls around them before lying perfectly down their back. It's a scene to behold.

     Going to the salon here is much cheaper than in the states. The most I've paid is the equivalent of $15, including tip. Both times I've had it styled, though, for several days my neck and shoulder ache from having to keep my head steady while the stylist straightens my hair with great force! (What I saved in salon fees, I spent on Tylenol.) I realized, too, that something else ached in me after getting my hair done--my self-esteem.

     While I do wear some make-up and dye my hair, I have felt pressure here to not have "bad" hair, but do all that I need to do to make it "good." But I don't want to spend so much time in a salon. I don't want my neck to be in pain. I just don't want to put so much effort fighting my curls and frizzies. It has taken a while, but my rebellion has actually resulted in me embracing how God made me. My white skin, German nose, and crazy hair stand out here. I do not look exotic like the women around me, and yet I am "fearfully and wonderfully made." How many times have I read that verse in Psalm 139! And now, at nearly age 48, a lightbulb has gone on in me about my looks. I'm sure I'll have my days, but I've gained a peace I haven't experienced before and I'm thankful for it.

     How are YOU feeling about you?

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.....Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in my, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139: 14, 23 & 24

     

Saved

"Don't matter how much money you got, there's only two kinds of people: there's saved people and there's lost people." Bob Dylan

I know that many people in the Dominican Republic love their pets--they must because pet stores and vet offices are as numerous here as Starbucks coffee shops are in California. Yet, there is an enormous population in this country of stray dogs and cats. Every day, as I walk in my neighborhood or run errands in my car, I see a pound-full of strays. Many of the dogs are limping from being hit by cars. Daily they dig through trash and more than once I've seen people throw rocks at them. And the cats--they're often a sorry bunch as well. So, when my husband discovered a small kitten stuck in the drainpipe next to our carport, my compassion went into overdrive.

(Yes, this is a cat story. But it's more, I promise....)

After several hours and some gentle prodding with a stick, the fur ball inside of our drain revealed himself. He was scared, injured and barely able to walk due, it appeared, to being hit by a car or motorcycle. He was also hungry, dirty, severely dehydrated, and covered with fleas. And, oh yes, his belly was full of parasites. How could we ignore such a mess? He needed medical help, food, shelter, and love so my family sprung in to action. My husband Rob took him to the vet (the bill came to $15--about the price of two lattes and a couple of scones), I gave him medicine and treatments for the fleas and parasites and we all took turns feeding and holding him. Almost immediately, the kitten--we named him "Bo"--responded. He began to heal, and grow stronger. The more he trusted us, the more relaxed and content he became. We adopted him and he joined our family. And soon, the REAL Bo emerged. It turns out he's not mellow and shy, but rather full of energy and extremely friendly. In the process of helping Bo, and it was a process, we were given a living illustration of God's love for us.

No matter our backgrounds and whether we realized it at the time or not, before knowing Christ we were a mess like Bo. We were in need of a Heavenly Father who would accept us in our "yuckiness" and take us in. We were and are given on-going love and attention and, because we are human and in need of it, forgiveness. When we received Christ we were given the gift of comfort from the Holy Spirit. God continues to strengthen us (Isaiah 40:31) and has given us a "future and a hope" (Jeremiah 29:11). In Christ, we have a Savior.

That's truth to bask in....like Bo at the moment, asleep on my couch in the patch of sunlight shining on him through the window. Content to be saved.


"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation...All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation..."
2 Corinthians 5:17a & 18a

Possible

“Grace is love that cares, and stoops, and rescues.” John R.W. Stott

I first met Moises (he's the one in the middle--my husband is on the left, Moises' stepson is on the right) a couple years ago during a week-long mission trip to the Dominican Republic. We were at a church and the pastor asked the guitar player in the worship band to be his interpreter. Moises, in a Jersey accent, translated the sermon into English for us gringos and afterward my husband and I shook his hand and thanked him. He was humble, but friendly and quite American. I left curious about his story and God wouldn’t let me fah-getta-bout-it.

About a year later, not long after we moved to the DR, my husband became friends with Moises and I had the opportunity to interview him. His story could be a movie on the big screen and Mark Wahlberg would be my pick to play Moises, if anyone wants to know. In a nutshell: He was born in the Dominican Republic, but his family moved to the Bronx when he was six and later to New Jersey. It was there, at age 13, that life took a messy turn when Moises discovered drugs. By age 16 his parents divorced, he became a high school dropout and, not long after that, an addict. Years later, at age 38 and after several run-ins with the law, Moises was deported back to the D.R. (He hadn’t been there for 32 years!) He says when he got off the plane he thought to himself, “Where the ---- am I? Africa or somethin’?” For months he roamed the streets of Santiago stoned out of his mind until finally he sought help and went to rehab. There he was reintroduced to Jesus and decided to surrender to Him.

Moises grew up in a Christian home, in fact his dad was a pastor, but it wasn’t until he was in his late 30’s that he acknowledged God and gave Him his life. The Lord was faithful to pursue Moises even while in his lowest state. And now, because of the Lord, bada-bing, bada-boom, Moises has been drug free for 10 years. He serves God through G.O. Ministries, in his community, and as a husband and stepfather.

I’ve interviewed many people here with amazing and often heartbreaking stories like Moises’. Hearing their testimonies, I see God’s hand—His persistent hand—and it moves me to pray for the “impossible.” Jesus is big enough, loving enough and faithful enough to woo and pursue those we love who need Him, no matter what shape their life is in.

"For nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37

A Piece of Quiet

”In the quiet, in the stillness I know that You are God.
In the secret of your presence I know there I am restored. So when you call I won’t refuse. Each new day again I’ll choose. There is no one else for me. None but Jesus…” -Hillsong


Santiago is generally not a quiet place. There are gorgeous, peaceful mountains nearby and serene hills in shades of green that would take your breath away, but I live in the burbs and my neighborhood likes to party. The 172 dogs that live on my block have formed a barking chorus and they practice throughout the day. The roosters crow like there’s no tomorrow morning. People greet one another and get their point across by using full, boisterous voices. Horns, merengue music, car alarms, and more horns and more music...

Yet, my soul is refreshed by quiet. Sometimes I ache for it.

Today, in my slice of the Dominican Republic, it rained most of the day. I first heard it early in the morning when I was still mostly asleep. It was not a storm. There was no lightening or thunder or even wind. It was a steady, rhythmic downpour. By the time I got out of bed to start the laundry and the oatmeal the downpour turned into soft, silent rain. As the morning continued on and I sat down to work, it hit me that I was not on edge. I was mellow like Jello and here’s why: My neighborhood was quiet. The rain brought a hush to Calle 3 and the area of Las Damas II and covered me with good vibrations. Quiet ones.

For several hours today God gave me the gift of quiet and I reverently expressed my gratitude. It also was a reminder to me that while I can not control the neighborhood noise, I need to give over to the Lord the “noise” going on in my head and there's plenty of it. The what-if’s and over-the-top to-do lists can be deafening. Too often I am the one who sabotages the peace God intends for me to experience each day by filling my mind with worry. I need His help to change my ways, quieting my brain and remembering who He is and who I am in light of His grace. Then peace and quiet will be mine no matter how loud it is outside.


“Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10

Bending

“Most plans are just inaccurate predictions.” Ben Bayol

Seven hours. That’s how long we were without power in my house yesterday. Two days before that we lost power for over three hours. And so it goes. Ours, however, is one of the fortunate households. We now have an inverter that gives us power enough to keep some fans and lights working, but our stove, water, washing machine, refrigerator, microwave, etc. are lifeless when the power disappears. Living in the Dominican Republic these past five months has taught me a variety of things, but flexibility and holding my plans loosely top the list. Will I get laundry done today? I’m not sure. Will the casserole I popped into the oven cook? Perhaps not.

I look around me at the ebb and flow of life here and others don’t seem to be particularly put out by the inconvenience of the unpredictability of it. Down the street from us, for example, laundry can often be found strewn over barbed wire fences to dry and many times I see it later, drenched from a sneaky rain cloud. That's just the way it goes and it doesn't seem to ruin anyone's day, no matter the economic class. One night, while at a restaurant with friends and, after paying the bill and getting up to leave, the power went out and the place went dark. No screams or gasps came from the full dining room of people. Some diners whipped out their cell phones for a bit of light. Waiters scrambled briefly and produced lighters and the evening meal, from what I could see, resumed. I held on to my husband as we each stretched a hand out in front of us and groped our way out the door and into our car, shaking our heads in disbelief and laughing nervously!

Losing power on a somewhat frequent basis as well as people showing up an hour or two late for dinner (“Dominican Time”), and arriving with extra people I didn’t know were coming, and putting clothes on the line only to have them become drenched by an unexpected thunderstorm, and having random “No School Days” because of city-wide strikes are all things God is using in my life to help me go with the flow and trust Him with my day and my “to-do” list. I admit this isn’t easy for me. I’m a planner and these mundane challenges take a toll some days, but God is using them to chisel away some rough spots in need of mellowing. I need to give my day, my plans, to the Lord and bend to what He allows, trusting that God is in control and He loves me. There’s really no better way to live.

“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” Proverbs 19:21

Rhythm

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

Rich Indeed

I recently interviewed a Haitian pastor who ministers in Haiti. This man is a national partner with G.O. Ministries (which means a portion of the money we raise to live and minister in the Dominican goes to him). When I heard that he, along with many other Haitian leaders, was coming to Santiago for a conference, I arranged for a translator and set up some interviews. During my interview with the pastor I noticed the weary look on his face. He was very friendly and had a joyful countenance, yet his weathered, leathery skin and tired eyes told me his life wasn’t an easy one.

I don’t know the exact condition of my new friend’s life in Haiti other than he’s a widower with five kids. Also, I know that his congregation’s greatest need isn’t for comfortable chairs or new hymnals, but it’s for food. His people want to serve, he told me, but it’s hard for them because they are so hungry and “need nutrition.” In the midst of this, he encourages them to have faith. My friend lives in poverty, (I have seen poverty to the extreme in the Dominican Republic. I can only imagine what it looks and smells like in Haiti), but he said that ever since he was a small child, he knew there was a God and that he needed Him. He began following Jesus when he was seven and has walked with Him ever since. Something just told him from the time he was a young child that God existed, and he needed to know Him.

Without any bells or whistles, or freshly painted Sunday School rooms, or slick sermons, or paintings of Jesus holding a white lamb, a little Haitian boy knew in his heart that God was for real. And, now as a 50 year old, my friend continues to serve God and others out of his abundance of faith. He is rich, indeed!

I can't say that I understand why God doesn't give my faithful friend a more comfortable life. But, I know God is good and His ways are "inscrutable." Romans 11:33 says: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable His ways."