Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Days 1-5
Here are my first five days of the One Dress(Shirt) Project to raise awareness for The Daughter Project.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Dominican Reflections: God in Saman
Danny
Several people were introduced to us early on in the trip as being people who would be very helpful. One of them was a young man named Danny. Danny was a Haitian who spoke good Spanish and was better at English than nearly everyone in Saman. He was eager to learn more English and spent much of his time with us asking what words were for different tools and learning other words he heard us use. Talking with Danny I found out most of the English he knew he learned from his copy of an English Bible. He brought it with him one day to show me. You could tell by the way he carried it that it something highly treasured.
Regularly Danny carried around a small, green, paperback book, which I found out was a John Piper book that had been translated to Spanish. Danny told me the book was about having joy in God. I told him Piper is highly respected in the US, and that I was certain the book was great. In the back of the book, written in pencil were words that Danny was learning. Some of the words had drawings next to them to help him remember their meaning.
Danny told me he wanted to go to the US to study theology, but it seems like it will be hard for him to accomplish that. He currently works 14 hours a night, six days a week, as a security guard. The pay is not good, but it is what is available. I wonder when he sleeps, because he is with us from late morning until he has to go to work. He told my brother he sleeps for a couple hours at work. There is another guard intruders would have to get past before they get to Danny, so he says it is not a big deal if he dozes for a little bit.
Danny quickly becomes my favorite person in Saman. In our free time we chat about the church and what the differences are in the DR versus in the States. He explains to me that there is a lot of rules associated with being a Christian in the Dominican. For example, he says that Christians are not supposed to drink. He also tells me that he does not agree with this, and I can't help but like him all the more.
Before we left Danny asked for our contact information: email and facebook. I haven't heard from him yet, but I look forward to hearing from him and keeping in touch.
Church
One night we were invited to go to church with a young man named Edwardo. Shortly after dinner he and another boy named Ricardo lead us into town to a small one roomed church. The place was packed, and a few people had to stand outside. Nonetheless, we were treated liked honored guests and seats were given to us.
The service started with different folk coming up front and leading the congregation in a song of their choice. The church had a keyboardist and guitarist, but no one seemed to have told them what songs they were going to be playing, or what key they were in. Depending on the complexity of the song, the musicians spent 30 seconds to three minutes trying to figure out what key the song was being sung in, and what the chords were. Also, there were two large speakers in the church turned up as loud as they could go, so every clashing chord and wrong note was blasted in your ears. It was hard not to get frustrated with the whole process.
After the music the pastor came up and started speaking to us in Spanish. When he realized we did not speak Spanish he called up Lolo to translate for him. After a few kind, welcoming words, the speaker for the night came up. She preached in Spanish, the pastor translated it into Creole, and Lolo then into English. One sentence at a time. Microphones at full volume.
The room was small enough that talking loudly would be more than enough volume for everyone to hear, so I was really baffled why they used mics at all, especially since everything they said sounded muffled and distorted through their sound system. Also, Lolo's English was not very good, and he essentially kept telling us, "God wants your time," while pointing to his heart. While I didn't get it at the time, it was probably exactly what our group needed to hear.
After the speaker finished a pile of what looked like American passports where brought up to the front of the church and prayed over. I never did figure out what that was all about, but when that was over people shook hands and left. Many people seemed to make sure they shook our hands, and a few small children wrapped themselves around my legs. It was the best experience of the service by far.
It was not until I was back in the states that I realized the significance of what Lolo kept saying. "God wants your time." That week, although it was a mission trip, we set aside no real time just for God. Sure, we served and loved the people, but there was not time for prayer or worship or communion or anything. The whole week I think we prayed over maybe two or three meals.
I left that week feeling like we could have done more, and looking back, I'm certain we would have if we had given God more of our time.
Several people were introduced to us early on in the trip as being people who would be very helpful. One of them was a young man named Danny. Danny was a Haitian who spoke good Spanish and was better at English than nearly everyone in Saman. He was eager to learn more English and spent much of his time with us asking what words were for different tools and learning other words he heard us use. Talking with Danny I found out most of the English he knew he learned from his copy of an English Bible. He brought it with him one day to show me. You could tell by the way he carried it that it something highly treasured.
Regularly Danny carried around a small, green, paperback book, which I found out was a John Piper book that had been translated to Spanish. Danny told me the book was about having joy in God. I told him Piper is highly respected in the US, and that I was certain the book was great. In the back of the book, written in pencil were words that Danny was learning. Some of the words had drawings next to them to help him remember their meaning.
Danny told me he wanted to go to the US to study theology, but it seems like it will be hard for him to accomplish that. He currently works 14 hours a night, six days a week, as a security guard. The pay is not good, but it is what is available. I wonder when he sleeps, because he is with us from late morning until he has to go to work. He told my brother he sleeps for a couple hours at work. There is another guard intruders would have to get past before they get to Danny, so he says it is not a big deal if he dozes for a little bit.
Danny quickly becomes my favorite person in Saman. In our free time we chat about the church and what the differences are in the DR versus in the States. He explains to me that there is a lot of rules associated with being a Christian in the Dominican. For example, he says that Christians are not supposed to drink. He also tells me that he does not agree with this, and I can't help but like him all the more.
Before we left Danny asked for our contact information: email and facebook. I haven't heard from him yet, but I look forward to hearing from him and keeping in touch.
Church
One night we were invited to go to church with a young man named Edwardo. Shortly after dinner he and another boy named Ricardo lead us into town to a small one roomed church. The place was packed, and a few people had to stand outside. Nonetheless, we were treated liked honored guests and seats were given to us.
The service started with different folk coming up front and leading the congregation in a song of their choice. The church had a keyboardist and guitarist, but no one seemed to have told them what songs they were going to be playing, or what key they were in. Depending on the complexity of the song, the musicians spent 30 seconds to three minutes trying to figure out what key the song was being sung in, and what the chords were. Also, there were two large speakers in the church turned up as loud as they could go, so every clashing chord and wrong note was blasted in your ears. It was hard not to get frustrated with the whole process.
After the music the pastor came up and started speaking to us in Spanish. When he realized we did not speak Spanish he called up Lolo to translate for him. After a few kind, welcoming words, the speaker for the night came up. She preached in Spanish, the pastor translated it into Creole, and Lolo then into English. One sentence at a time. Microphones at full volume.
The room was small enough that talking loudly would be more than enough volume for everyone to hear, so I was really baffled why they used mics at all, especially since everything they said sounded muffled and distorted through their sound system. Also, Lolo's English was not very good, and he essentially kept telling us, "God wants your time," while pointing to his heart. While I didn't get it at the time, it was probably exactly what our group needed to hear.
After the speaker finished a pile of what looked like American passports where brought up to the front of the church and prayed over. I never did figure out what that was all about, but when that was over people shook hands and left. Many people seemed to make sure they shook our hands, and a few small children wrapped themselves around my legs. It was the best experience of the service by far.
It was not until I was back in the states that I realized the significance of what Lolo kept saying. "God wants your time." That week, although it was a mission trip, we set aside no real time just for God. Sure, we served and loved the people, but there was not time for prayer or worship or communion or anything. The whole week I think we prayed over maybe two or three meals.
I left that week feeling like we could have done more, and looking back, I'm certain we would have if we had given God more of our time.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Dominican Reflections: Life in Saman
Waking up on the second day none of us felt all too rested. Its true we had been laying down for about ten and a half hours, but the beds sucked and there was all kinds of ridiculous noised going on outside. Dogs fighting, people sawing and hammering, and several over zealous roosters who began announcing dawn just after midnight. Upon their revelation that the sun was not quite ready to rise they would shut up for about an hour and then give it another shot.
So, feeling rather groggy the seven of us (Marie is still in Newark at this point) make our way to the outside and soon to our neighbors for breakfast. We eat a hardy meal and then begin of first day of "work."
The first thing we need to do is get supplies. Several of us head to town to find some of our basic needs: tools, wood, nails, pvc pipe. Carol drives off with Jerace, a local with a car who is supposed to be helping us, to find some 50 gallon barrels. Several hours later we have some of what we need and get to work doing what we can, which at this point is next to nothing. We piece together some stands for the barrels, and manage to install one pipe on a house.
Much of our day was spent just sitting around and seeing what life in Saman was like. From what we could tell, Saman is populated mostly with Haitians, from newborns to those in their mid to late thirties. There were some who were older than that, but the curve was pretty drastic. Something there was no shortage of was babies. Babies and little kids everywhere. Some of them wore clothes, but many of the younger ones ran around naked or with just a shirt on.
What stood out the most though was that it seemed like so many of them had nothing to do. All day many of them just sat around. They have no TVs, no computers, not even books. Some have radios, but the power doesn't always work. Those who have jobs usually work nights, but you wonder when they sleep because they are up all time we are.
Near our house kids play marbles. I think I've figured our the rules, but I probably would still get it wrong if I tried to play. The oldest man we've seen lives next door, and he comes around with a stalk of sugar cane and a machete and cuts pieces for us to chew on. Its surprisingly sweet, but not sickly. Its sugar the way it was meant to taste. There is an abundance of the stuff here, so much so that fields of it simply get burned because they have no use for it. One day we woke up to find it raining ash after such an incident. Little kids everywhere walk around with this sweet treat.
Women gather in small groups, doing each others hair, some doing laundry, each one pregnant or just recently gave birth. Their babies are being passed around, and toddlers wander a short radius from their moms. Even though there was not much to do, the women seemed to always have some work to do.
My brother played soccer with some of the young men one day. It seemed like this was a regular game, occurring once a week. My brother said it was a lot of fun, but not knowing anyone he was playing with was tough, and he thinks he kept passing the ball to the other team.
As night approaches, the little kids go inside, but many of the boys in their teens and twenties go on hanging out in the dark. And it is dark. The power goes out every night around eight, so when the sun goes down it gets DARK. Some of them go out at night. They may not be able to afford more than a beer, but the dancing is free. Some others go to evening church services, which are just as loud as the bars, but that is another story entirely...
So, feeling rather groggy the seven of us (Marie is still in Newark at this point) make our way to the outside and soon to our neighbors for breakfast. We eat a hardy meal and then begin of first day of "work."
The first thing we need to do is get supplies. Several of us head to town to find some of our basic needs: tools, wood, nails, pvc pipe. Carol drives off with Jerace, a local with a car who is supposed to be helping us, to find some 50 gallon barrels. Several hours later we have some of what we need and get to work doing what we can, which at this point is next to nothing. We piece together some stands for the barrels, and manage to install one pipe on a house.
Much of our day was spent just sitting around and seeing what life in Saman was like. From what we could tell, Saman is populated mostly with Haitians, from newborns to those in their mid to late thirties. There were some who were older than that, but the curve was pretty drastic. Something there was no shortage of was babies. Babies and little kids everywhere. Some of them wore clothes, but many of the younger ones ran around naked or with just a shirt on.
What stood out the most though was that it seemed like so many of them had nothing to do. All day many of them just sat around. They have no TVs, no computers, not even books. Some have radios, but the power doesn't always work. Those who have jobs usually work nights, but you wonder when they sleep because they are up all time we are.
Near our house kids play marbles. I think I've figured our the rules, but I probably would still get it wrong if I tried to play. The oldest man we've seen lives next door, and he comes around with a stalk of sugar cane and a machete and cuts pieces for us to chew on. Its surprisingly sweet, but not sickly. Its sugar the way it was meant to taste. There is an abundance of the stuff here, so much so that fields of it simply get burned because they have no use for it. One day we woke up to find it raining ash after such an incident. Little kids everywhere walk around with this sweet treat.
Women gather in small groups, doing each others hair, some doing laundry, each one pregnant or just recently gave birth. Their babies are being passed around, and toddlers wander a short radius from their moms. Even though there was not much to do, the women seemed to always have some work to do.
My brother played soccer with some of the young men one day. It seemed like this was a regular game, occurring once a week. My brother said it was a lot of fun, but not knowing anyone he was playing with was tough, and he thinks he kept passing the ball to the other team.
As night approaches, the little kids go inside, but many of the boys in their teens and twenties go on hanging out in the dark. And it is dark. The power goes out every night around eight, so when the sun goes down it gets DARK. Some of them go out at night. They may not be able to afford more than a beer, but the dancing is free. Some others go to evening church services, which are just as loud as the bars, but that is another story entirely...
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