la lucha

I think I’m done fighting.

The past twelve days I’ve spent fighting the fact that I’m here, the heat, the language, the starchy food, the hissing, the honking, and just about anything else one could struggle with in the DR.  While I admit that these things won’t cease to irritate me at times, I am no longer allowing them to take center stage.

Not that I regret my struggle over the past couple of weeks, because it was absolutely necessary for me to get here. My culture shock was combined with mourning over the end of LAUP, leaving my family yet again, and not returning to Wheaton for the first half of senior year. That’s a lot for a girl to deal with all at once, and I have my share of adult temper tantrums to show for it.

But I’m here now. Ready to throw fear (not caution, Mom) to the wind. Ready to step out my front door and see not the abundance of trash in the street but the beauty of the palm trees bursting out of the dirt and into my new world. Although maybe I should rephrase my earlier statement; I’m not done fighting. But now my fight is to learn Spanish, to dance bachata, to take public transportation all by myself, and appreciate butterflies as much as the Dominicans do.

More than anything else, my fight is to discover how to love Jesus in an environment entirely foreign and surrounded by people entirely different. I more or less know how to do that while serving in an urban homeless shelter (although not all the time, that’s for sure), but how do I do that here? And how do you translate love into a different language and different culture? How do I interact with my host family, classmates, and men in a way that reflects the love of Christ? How do I interact with the poverty around me, with the children dressed in tattered rags in the streets who beg me for just one peso? Or the tired-looking old man who so desperately tries to sell me a bottle of water?

So the game plan is to ask lots of questions and learn a little more, day by day, and the next day ask the same questions or even harder ones until I get answers.

on being a failure. and liking it.

There are two things that I want to learn to do well before I die: speak Spanish and dance. The Dominican Republic happens to be an excellent place to learn both of these things; this particular group of Spanish speakers practically come out of the womb dancing to bachata, merengue and sometimes salsa.

Yet at this point, my skills in both of these areas are severely lacking. And here’s something I’ve learned about myself since being here – I am absolutely terrified of failure. It’s taken me a long time to realize this, because I rarely allow myself to experience it. When I’m not immediately good at things, I tend to give up and move on to something that I already know or can pick up quickly.

And here I am, in the middle of the Caribbean, in a place where both Spanish and dancing are an inherent part of culture. Meaning that these things that utterly confound and frustrate and tantalize me are like breathing to everyone else; I struggle to find the right verb conjugation and move my feet at the right time while everyone else can do both at once!

I’m learning that not everything will come naturally, but there’s a chance that it’s worth the effort. Most importantly, it is alright for me to look silly and sound like a first grader and just to be wrong sometimes. So here’s to facing your fears. Here’s to failure. Here’s to asking people to repeat themselves three times, and very slowly please. Here’s to stepping on your partner’s feet. Here’s to trying again. And again and again and again.

Here’s to making yourself into exactly the person you’ve always wanted to become.

poco a poco

la ciudad de Santiago: view from the monument

Crazy things happen in this country. On Sunday I went to mass with my host family, and so my host mother Daisy drove us there (which can be scary). When we got to the church, Daisy parked on the SIDEWALK. Just hopped right on up there like it was nothing. She didn’t even look to see if the parking lot was full! And THEN when we crossed the street I saw that she wasn’t the only one! Apparently it is acceptable to park on the SIDEWALK here! Hahahahaha. That is the first thing that has honestly surprised me about the DR. No, I take that back. The first thing that surprised me is that you are not supposed to flush your toilet paper! Apparently the plumbing is less than stellar.


So here are mis palabras nuevas, my new words: deshidratarse – to become dehydrated, como “Hoy mi sobrina se deshidrató” (like “Today my niece became dehydrated”). Por lo menos, pienso es corecto. At least, I think that’s right. El cajero – ATM. Salvación – salvation. Salvar – to save or rescue, como “Jesús te salva”. (Like “Jesus saves you”.) Y por ultimo (and finally), salvaje – wild, savage or cruel, como “Amor Salvaje”, una telenovela yo vi últimamente (Like “Wild Love, a soap opera I saw recently). La acera – the sidewalk. (Yes, I am still laughing about that.) 


Conchos – public cars that drive the same routes around the city. They are generally old sedans with five seats, but it’s not at all unusual to cram seven people in there. Dominican drivers conducen como personas locas. They drive like crazy people! It’s not necessary to wear a seat belt, stay in one lane, or stop at stop signs. Instead of stopping at an intersection, it’s common to just honk as you approach so other cars know you’re coming!


Another common occurrence while on the street is los piropos or “compliments” from men as I walk by. Sometimes they hiss and other times they say things like “Me gustan rubias mucha” which roughly means “I really like blondes/light-skinned women”. As a woman, you’re not supposed to acknowledge them or give them any attention. But this morning I couldn’t help but laugh. I was walking by El Fogón, a hangout for university students near my apartment, when a man said to me, “Esscuse me! Esscuse me! I need a visa! I needa go to New York!” Hahahaha. Dime. Sorry brother, you’re gonna have to apply for that visa all by yourself.


Oddly, I have never been so excited to start classes, which I will on Thursday. Today I went to PUCMM (my university here) to register for classes. I'm taking Spanish grammar, History of the Dominican Republic, Introduction to Latin American Literature, and Latin American Culture and Society. But my favorite as of now is Community Service Practicum. Every Thursday I will go for a few hours to a school to teach English to children in poverty, and I am so excited about this opportunity.


Sometimes life is really hard here, but sometimes beautiful things happen that make me think this is going to be worth it. Like seeing a panoramic view of the city of Santiago from atop a huge hill in the middle of the city. Or like having an hour and a half conversation with my host mother about Dominican/Haitian relations and the injustices of the immigration system in the United States. (No, I’m not fluent yet; estoy lejos de dominar el español. But dear Daisy speaks very slowly and clearly with me now, gracias a Dios.) So I am indeed learning, poco a poco. Bit by bit.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.

The title of this post is what is CONSTANTLY going through my mind, thanks to the many, many challenges inherent in living in a country where you don't speak the language...


Las perchas: coat hangers. La microonda: the microwave. La terraza: the terrace. Guagua: the bus.

These are the first few of the many new words I will learn here en la República Dominicana. Since coming, I have acquired my first Dominican pesos and had my first glimpse of the Dominican countryside; I experienced the thrill of my first conversation with a local and tasted the first bit of my Dominican mother’s cuisine.

I’ve succeeded in making it here alive and intact. And, praise the Lord, no diarrhea. On the other hand, my attempts at communicating with my host familia have largely failed; I think I understood about 10% of what my poor host mother has tried to tell me. Although that may be generous.

But I'm not only learning words. I'm learning that Sometimes it is okay just to cry. When you’re in a foreign country without a friend, when you can’t understand a word that is spoken to you, when you’re wondering why God brought you somewhere only to break you, it is okay to cry. Which I’ve been doing a lot lately. More often than not, I have tears streaming out of my eyes, snot out of my nose, and sweat out of my pores.  My life right now is more difficult and more daunting than it has ever been in the past twenty-one years of my existence. Yes, hard things have happened before, but I’ve always – always – had a friend to lean on.

The hardest part, after the immense frustration of not being able to comprehend the language spoken all around me, is knowing that the closest person who loves me is over a thousand miles away. And knowing that this will be the case for the next four months. Four months, which seems like it must be several lifetimes.

So this is what it is to depend completely and exclusively on the Triune God. It’s when you are forced to beg His mercy at least once every sixty seconds. It’s when you know you physically, emotionally, and mentally cannot make it without Him. It’s when you tune out the shrieking children, the honking horns and the rooster outside your window desperately trying to hear the sound of His voice speaking peace to your soul.

In case I haven’t painted a vivid enough picture, I will reiterate that allowing yourself to be in a situation where you must rely solely on the Lord is not pretty. Because regardless of how personable and confident I am in America, how many friends I have, or how good my grades are, I have none of that here. It is all stripped away and I am left naked to discover who I really am.

But the point of redemption in this mess I’m in is that I also get to discover who God really is. I will become a person who has seen the power of God enacted mightily, and my faith will increase tenfold. In the meantime, I strive to respond as Job did: falling to my knees in worship (Job 1:20). If Job lost all of his children plus all he owned and still worshipped, I know I certainly can.

And Job didn't even get to go to the beach, which is where I'm headed tomorrow. But for now I have to go, because this internet café is starting to get a little questionable. ¡Hasta luego!

When justice rolls down like waters, I want to be drowning.

"And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight and closed in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom."


Wise words, Alicia Keys.  And so very felt right now. As I sit on the cusp of what may be one of the defining experiences of my life thus far, I can't help but wonder what this next stage of life is going to bring. In a few short days (eight to be exact), I will board a plane for Santiago de los Caballeros. According to Frommer's, Santiago is the cultural center of the Dominican Republic, "the most Dominican of cities", and home to the best tobacco and rum makers of the West Indies. But more importantly, it will be my home for the next four months as I study abroad at Pontifical Catholic University.


Now honestly, I am just not much of a travel-the-world kind of girl. My idea of adventure is more like going to the next town over and checking out that new karaoke place. For me, going to college in the Midwest is practically studying abroad. They don't serve sweet tea there, for crying out loud! So while I never planned or expected to jet away for a semester during my senior year of college, I did have a sneaking suspicion that the Spanish language was supposed to have a part in my future. In the summer of 2009 I got my first taste of what is sometimes called "incarnational living", or purposefully dwelling in an under-resourced, impoverished community as a way to respond to the Gospel. I fell in love with my community there, and I fell hard. The tricky thing was that the majority of them, like so many others in the United States today, only felt comfortable communicating in Spanish. Needless to say, that was a something of a barrier to relationship formation. I wanted so badly to hear their stories in all their fullness, but I had to settle for a few shy smiles and passing gestures. 


A year later, I'm still committed to community development, and these days I'm particularly interested in immigrant issues.* There are so many people out there with stories to tell. In those stories there is often a call for justice -- a call that demands a response. I want to be a listener, one who hears the call and delivers that response. Not because I'll be able to "fix" things immediately, but because of the way his Word tells us to interact with aliens in our land: with love, acceptance and compassion. So it's my hope that my time in the DR will equip me with a better mastery of the Spanish language, which will in turn enable me to join in as the body of Christ seeks justice for millions of Latino immigrants in the United States. When justice rolls down like waters, I want to be drowning in it.


But I'm not there yet. I'm in process. And the painful part of that process is when the bud hasn't yet blossomed and there's a part of it that questions if it ever will. While I'm thrilled about my upcoming experience in the DR, I'm also terrified, and this self-professing homebody is about to get ripped out of comfort and thrust into a land far, far away. Which creates "an excellent opportunity to trust in the Lord," as my friend Rachel McAlvey would say. In the words of Andy Stanley, I will slowly (slooooooowly) learn to respond to all of life's circumstances as one who is absolutely confident that God is with her. That's big faith, and this is another chance to grow it. I don't speak Spanish; it's a foreign country; it's a developing country; I'm naturally a fraidy cat; the list goes on. So it's okay for me to feel scared sometimes. It's okay for me to feel apprehensive not knowing what this place will hold for me, as long as I know that my God is so much bigger than anything that can ever frighten or hurt me. And in this knowledge I will march bravely through that terminal, with his love in my heart and a Spanish pocket dictionary in my hand...


Coming up next: I love writing lists, and I love making goals. So I'm going to combine the two and make a list of my goals for the DR so that YOU as my online community can hold me accountable! Stay tuned, Mom! (And you too, if by some chance you are reading this not out of maternal obligation but love me enough to read my blog anyway.)


*For a helpful and informative book on this topic, I highly recommend Welcoming the Stranger: Justice, Compassion and Truth in the Immigration Debate by Matthew Soerens and Jenny Hwang. Plus it's available at www.betterworldbooks.com, where your purchase helps raise funds for global literacy.