Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Picture

So I was having a conversation with my best friend back home, Sara.  She and I have been kind of in the same car of a similar roller coaster lately.  Our lives have always sort of been "cosmically connected", but it has felt, in the last 15-18 months, like God has us tethered together.  We are both going through a season of waiting in our lives.  She's waiting on the perfect job opportunity for her husband Jared so that she will be able to stay home with their nearly 11 month old little girl Emma.  I am waiting for God to answer mine and Jonathan's prayers for a baby.  We talk often about how unfair it is that these things just haven't come easy.  We talk about how painful waiting is.  How glorious it will be when it does happen.  And how tightly we are both gripping that hope that God will see through to completion these things that He has started in us.  I have to remind myself (really convince myself some days) that God follows through with His promises.  And I BELIEVE whole heartedly that He has promised these things to me...to us.  In Psalm 21:1-7, David is rejoicing.  For God has granted his requests.  David stayed true to his faith, stayed in constant prayer, and clung tightly to the hope that God would come through for him.  And He did!  David says, "You have granted (me my) heart's desire and have not withheld the requests of (my) lips."  We know that David wrestled with God.  He spent years of his life in a season of wait.  Trying desperately to absorb what God was trying to teach him during those seasons...learning the nature of God along the way.  And when God came through for him, He came through in a big way!

I got some great advice from my sweet Sara in regards to this painful season of wait.  She said, "Write it down.  Remind yourself every day.  Write it because it's your heart's cry!"  And it is.  This picture I'm going to paint here really is my heart.  Wide open.  I think about it every day.  I dream about it really.  It's a snapshot of my hopes and dreams for my future family.  What I want for me and Jonathan.  What I want for Bernice and Charlie, and Patrick and Nicole, and Mom and Dad, and Amanda and James and Carolyn.  What I want for our grandparents.  What I want our lives to look like.  It's what my heart is literally aching for.  I feel like it's so close, but also so far away.  And writing it down could either make it that much sweeter when it does happen, or equally devastating when it doesn't.  But I don't care.  I've been wounded enough along this road that if it does end in disappointment in 8 months, I'll just brush myself off and paint a new picture.  Keep right on hoping and believing that if He has continued to foster this deep seeded desire in me, He will see it through to completion...

It's July 4th, 2014.  Jonathan and I have just returned from living in the Caribbean for nearly 2 years while he completes the first half of medical school.  Coming back to the states has at once been a bit of a culture shock, and also intensely gratifying.  It's SO good to be home!  We still have a long road ahead of us, but we are more than halfway done with medical school and he'll be off to start clinicals in just a few weeks.  We are spending this holiday in Granbury, Texas.  My parents have recently completed the building of their retirement home in Pecan Plantation, a fly in gated community.  Me, Jonathan, Mom, and Dad are all sitting on their back porch watching the dogs play in the backyard.  Enjoying the hot summer sun just chatting about life and the future.  Not long after, my sister Amanda and her husband pull up.  They come in carrying sweet baby Carolyn and their newest addition.  They let their dogs into the yard to join the party and they hand me Carolyn so I can kiss her sweet little cheeks.  Soon, Bernice and Charlie are there with Patrick and Nicole in tow.  They come into the yard and commence hugging everyone's necks.  They sit down on the patio with us and join the conversation.  The gang's all here and it feels incredible to have everyone together at one time.  We have missed family time so much these past 2 years.  Then up the drive comes Sara and Jared and Emma.  They pile out of the car and just barely get the doors shut before Jonathan and I are wrapping them up in hugs.  I can't believe how big Emma is!  She's nearly 2 years old and she's walking and babbling and being silly just like her daddy.  They follow us into the yard and we all sit together on the patio.  We talk and laugh and watch Emma and Carolyn play together in the yard.  I sit back in my chair, Jonathan kisses my cheek and puts his arm around me.  He reaches over, pats my pregnant belly, and smiles.  And I feel that little flutter of tiny arms and legs inside me and I smile too...

How I literally LONG for the reality of that picture.  It is my heart's desire.  My heart's cry!  I want my grandparents to hold my children.  I want our parents to gasp in shock and excitement when they hear us say we are pregnant.  I want to be in that snapshot just relishing in the fact that Jonathan and I fought the good fight and finished the course...and we're starting a new one!  I want to be reminded that my God loves me uncontrollably and unconditionally.  I want Him...no I NEED Him to grant this desire of my heart.  The desire to be a mommy is me at my core.  A wise friend of mine, Elise, made a very astute observation the other day over Cokes at The Tomato.  She said, "Rachel, if it wasn't something God wanted for you, don't you think He would have provided ways for your heart to move on from that want?  Instead He has placed you here where you are surrounded by children and babies every day!  He's continuing that desire in your heart, strengthening it, making it more and more real..."  It's true.  Every single day of my life here I am snuggling babies, kissing little freckled cheeks, drying tears and patching up boo boos, hugging children and letting them know they are loved.  I champion for them, feed them, make them laugh, teach them.  It's like a trial run!  It's at once soothing and also unnerving.  Because as the hole in my heart and the emptiness in my womb are lessened briefly by the smell of the crown of a baby's head, those voids are also brought closer and closer to the surface.  They become more raw, more tender, sometimes they become even more painful.  I become more vulnerable.  I am forced to remember that those precious babies are going home with someone else.  My own precious babies are still yet to come...and who knows when they'll get here...

We have considered adoption (after all it's insanely cheap comparatively and relatively simple here in Domincia), but after much prayer and consideration, we both just feel like it's not right.  We are getting the big fat WAIT from God.  He's got a different plan.  How I wish He would reveal just a tiny glimpse of what He's got in mind!  In the meantime, I'm just clinging to the hope that that snapshot is that glimpse.  I've got a death grip on it really.  I want it to be true so badly that at times while writing this post I've had to suck in a ragged, painful breath of air to soothe the pain in my heart for a minute.  Have you ever wanted something that badly?  Do you long for something right now?  Is there a hole in your heart, a void in your chest, that desperately needs filling?  What is YOUR heart's cry?

My heart cries...no WAILS...for motherhood.  My soul longs for it.  My arms ache for it.  And one sweet day my God will finish what He has started in me.  And the title of that post will be I Always Knew He Would...

Wait With Me,








Monday, September 16, 2013

Never Did I Ever...Until I Moved to Dominica...

I feel like I have lots of "shaking my head" and/or "face palm" moments here in Dominica.  I've been contemplating this week the paradigms that have so shifted in the past 14+ months that we've been living in the Caribbean.  The things that make me think, "Wow...in a short 9 months time my life will look SO different than it does now."  So I thought I would share some "Never Did I Ever...Until I Moved to Dominica" moments with you tonight...

Never Did I Ever...try to cram 13 teenagers in a room smaller than my bedroom and try to teach a music class...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...consider purchasing (and actually purchase) a beater TANK of  a car that has parts attached with duct tape and think it was at once a true instant gratification investment AND the equivalent of a Rolls-Royce...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...swim in the seemingly poop free ocean and come down with E. Coli 4 days later...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...buy more okra in a month than my Pa could grow in his garden in a year...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...stack 3 dirt cheap mattresses on top of each other (a pretty sweet idea until they get misaligned and you accidentally fall off the bed) and feel like the Queen of England-James Store Style...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...sing silly songs and color crazy weird pictures with Kindergarteners 5 days a week and love every second of it...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...consider it a great day when Subway has soup...Until I Moved to Dominica...

 Never Did I Ever...eat/drink passion fruit at least 3 times a week...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...wear my hair in a ponytail almost daily, rarely blow dry it, and almost never wear it down...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...have to tell my husband that my hair was "full of secrets today" because it was so poofy from humidity that it was three times it's normal size...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...have to consider "boob sweat" a real and serious situation to which my attention needs to be brought on a daily basis...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...consider the presence of geckos in my house a good thing (neither would I EVER have allowed one to sleep in a washcloth on my bathroom counter because he looked so peaceful)...Until I Moved to Dominica...



Never Did I Ever...scan trees to see if there was ripe fruit on them (and 9 times out of 10 there IS!)...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...blow a fuse in my house from turning on my shower head heater and it electrocuting itself...Until I Moved to Dominica...

Never Did I Ever...have to have my husband turn on and preheat my oven every time I use it because I can never remember my celsius to fahrenheit conversions...Until I Moved to Dominica...


And the list could go on.  I guess there will need to be a part 2 at some point...




Sunday, September 1, 2013

Dust to Dust: An Account of a Dominican Funeral

This Thursday was an eye opener for me.  In so many, many ways.  I didn't realize until I'd been living here in Dominica for a few months that it would become so important to me to 1) Make an impact on the lives of the locals, and 2) Become a part of them.  But slowly this past semester, I've felt like I've been doing just that.  Many of you have seen (or read my post about) my involvement with a particularly special family here in Dominica.  Through a ministry called in.Light.in, I have come to know and love the Henrys.

Junie Henry is a mother of 7 children ranging in age from 4 to 20.  We have come to know and love 6 of her 7 children.  Dion-20, Shernia-14, Johnson-12, Joseph-10, Calvin-7, and Stacy-4.  Elise, Chelsea, Christy, and I have been working for a few weeks to get the school aged kids outfitted with school uniforms.  It's been a bit of an adventure where that is concerned, but the fringe benefit of going back and forth into Portsmouth to price and purchase the items has meant that we have had the pleasure of spending lots of time with this sweet family.  The week before last at inLightin, Junie tearily told me that her mother had passed away on Thursday morning.  Christy had already given me a sort of heads up about it, so I wasn't surprised to hear it.  But my heart just broke for her when I saw tears well up in her eyes as she told me, "Rachelle...my mommy die."  Oh goodness, just guts me.  She's a tough woman.  Been through the birth of 7 children, lives in a home with no electricity or running water, raises those children the best way she knows how.  But no woman, no matter how strong, can be expected to be strong when her mother passes away.  Most especially if she is close to her mom.  It's impossible.  And I was honored when several days later, when I spoke with her on the phone about the kids uniforms, she requested that Elise and I attend her mother's funeral.  I was touched.

And then...I got a kidney stone.  And then on top of that found out I had E. Coli.  Rough week for me man.  All that is a post for later though.  Suffice to say that as the week progressed, I was becoming more and more unsure of whether I would be able to attend this funeral.  And I didn't want to let my sweet Junie down.  So Thursday came.  I woke up with a fever.  Muscled through it.  And by about 1:00, I started to feel uncharacteristically better.  And by the grace of God alone, that glimmer of health lasted from 1:00 through the funeral and burial.  More on that in a bit...

So Elise and I roll up to the 7th Day Adventist church in Portsmouth.  It is simple.  No frills.  A mint green house with a little picket fence outside.  There is a silver hearse outside and countless Dominicans out front dressed in black, white, and purple.  Us two lily white girls dressed in black timidly walk toward the gate and Shernia and Junie burst through the crowd, faces streaked in tears.  Shernia hugs us both and Junie just cries.  I put my arm around her and squeeze her tight and she sort of melts a little.  She is not actively crying, but she is most assuredly in a daze.  She finally reaches up and kisses my cheek and whispers "You cwom and see ha.  She is jost eenside." And I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little apprehensive.  #1-Because I've never met her mother.  It sort of didn't seem right for me to view her body having never known her.  #2-Because I didn't know what the practice of embalming is like here in Dominica and I wasn't sure what to expect...

So as Elise and I begin walking toward the entrance of the church, people are literally clearing a path for us.  Guiding us toward the cwoffin (as they call it).  They are so intent on us seeing Ms. Debonnes.  As we get closer to the casket, I begin to hear the first wails.  "She not dead, she sleeping.  I know she only sleeping!" shrieks a distraught granddaughter.  The church is filled with tears and pain.  And then there she is.  In a simple pine box with laminate wood facing, simple brass handles, with white silk lining the inside.  She is peaceful.  Holding a single island flower in her clasped hands.  Her head is covered with something that looks like a net bonnet.  She is dressed in white.  There is a styrofoam cross laced with pink and yellow silk flowers placed at the foot of the box.  There is nothing fancy or over the top.  I see a little of Junie in her face and I realize why she is so intent on us seeing her mother's body.  It's because her mother is part of HER.  And now I feel like I've got another piece of sweet Junie to cherish...

As we walk to our seats, we spot Calvin.  Dressed in black pants and a white suit coat with no shirt underneath.  He seems dazed as well.  Just kind of confused.  So I kiss his little head, tell him I love him, give Junie one last squeeze, and Elise and I take our seats.  There are 2 rows in the front for family.  A lone pianist plays ambient hymns on an electric keyboard.  And then two women from the congregation get up, pick up two corded microphones, and say "There's a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar.  For the Father waits over the way to prepare us a dwelling place there."  We are going to sing In the Sweet By and By.  I am transcended to the funeral of my sweet Granny Frenchy as I remember singing that song at her funeral.  But this service is a little different...

We sing and sing and sing.  Some of the family members are crying.  Junie's twin sister Marilynn is in the front row.  Marilynn is 6 months pregnant.  She begins to scream.  And when I say scream I mean the kind of scream you might utter when someone is ripping you limb from limb.  Just sheer pain.  Hot, searing pain.  People rush to her.  They try to comfort her, wipe her face.  The children begin to cry out of sympathy and maybe a little fear.  And the pain becomes too much.  They have to bring Marilynn outside of the church.  And then the pastor stands and asks us to bow our heads in prayer.  When we open our eyes, he instructs to pianist to play a hymn while we sing and they "bring de cwoffin fahwahd".  And then it starts.  Elise and I and most of the others sing.  And the family wails.  They scream!  The children, many of which are the dear sweet children we work with during inLightin, wander up and down the center aisle, arms flailing...just shrieking.  The box is closed.  It's becoming more real...

Three teenage girls make their way to the front.  They grab three corded microphones.  The begin singing a cappella with no cue from the piano.  A haunting 3 part harmony of "oohs" turns into a performance worthy of a standing ovation.  It's just simply spectacular.  Made me feel like I wanted to raise my hands...and I rarely feel that way in praise and worship...it's usually not my thing.  They were amazing.  Set the tone for the sermon that the pastor preached.  He titled it We Will Rise.  He talks about how Miss Helena sleeps, but in the twinkling of an eye, she was quickly changed.  The body we mourn in the cwoffin down front is her old self.  Riddled with pain and suffering.  And now "she can run so fast Bolt has nothing on her".  And the family begins to shed the weight of her loss a little.  He speaks of Heaven.  Of how God is the beginning and the end.  And we will all see Jesus one day...Miss Helena will be at His right hand!  He is the quintessential "Dominican preacher".  He wipes the sweat from his face every so often.  He smacks the lectern.  He raises his hand.  He says "can I get an amen". The congregation, while fanning themselves, is a constant hum of "mmhmm's", "amen's", and "hallelujah's".  And then we begin singing again and the pal bearers wheel Ms. Debonnes' casket back down the aisle to the front door...

Elise and I, being from the US and all, assume the graveside service is reserved for immediate family.  But a man in green pants and an unbuttoned shirt comes up and says "Junie say she need you."  So we go to Junie who is loaded up in a bus headed for the burial site.  She says "You take a transport to de pobleek cemeetary.  Eet ees jost up de heel."  So we ride up to the cemetery.  Except it's not what we are expecting.  We drive up a hill and stop at the bottom of another hill with grass as high as my waist.  Miss Judith (another mother from inLightin) shows us the way to the burial site.  We walk a path of smashed grass and see little outcroppings in the lawn where other people are buried.  As we approach Ms. Debonnes' final resting place, Judith informs us that this land is public.  When someone dies, you just find a place and dig a hole.  And so we arrive.  It is a small clearing in the grass.  There are 5 unmarked graves there and one marked with a crude concrete headstone with a handwritten memorial on it.  And then there is a hole.  Elise and I are literally hustled up to the front.  Even though we try to say "No, no.  We aren't family.  We can stand in the back," the locals refuse to let us be back row spectators.  They are proud of their traditions and I can't help but think that they are also very flattered that we have come to pay our respects to one of their lost loved ones...

They lower the box into the grave.  The paster speaks the quintessential "from dust we came, and to dust we shall return" speech while literally standing in the hole and tossing dirt inside.  The sound of the mud hitting the hollow box is a little unnerving to me.  There is no fancy concrete vault.  And poor Marilynn, who had been advised not to come to the graveside but refused to stay away, screams louder than I've ever heard anyone scream.  They try to comfort her, they take her out, and then later bring her back in.  We begin to sing seemingly endless hymns.  While the pal bearers, who in Dominica double as grave diggers and buriers, throw the loose dirt in on the casket.  Dion, Junie's oldest, solemnly does his duty in this.  He heavy handedly spikes the shovel into the earth, and tosses a shovel full into the grave.  He wipes his sweat with a hand kerchief and does it all over again.  We sing until there is no more dirt to toss...

Then a stream of people carrying plants comes in.  These are not perfectly arranged sprays from a gifted florist.  They aren't even flowers at all.  Some are tropical plants that have been placed in styrofoam containers.  Others are plants that have been literally ripped from the earth on the walk to the gravesite.  They come in one by one and place the plants on the grave.  They stick the unearthed stalks into the freshly turned soil of the grave.  And it is absolutely beautiful.  The sunlight streams down and the greens and oranges and purples from the fresh leaves create this gorgeous natural rainbow.  Ms. Debonnes' resting place is a veritable Dominican botanical garden...

When the plants stop coming, it is finished.  And Marilynn's poor little body cannot take it.  She faints.  Completely.  And her limp body is carried out of the gravesite while everyone shakes their head and says "She must be careful with de baby.  All dat wailing..."  They are a little upset with her, I think, for being so out of control.  They whisk her down the hill, put her in a car, and take her to the hospital.  We walk out of the cemetery and down the hill to our awaiting ride.  I scoop up Calvin and Stacy and bear hug them both.  Kiss their sweet cheeks and tell them I love them.  I give Junie and Dion and Shernia hugs and tell them if they need anything to call me.  The locals are so friendly to me and Elise.  They express how grateful they are that we came...

A few hours later, we meet Junie back at her house.  We deliver the backpacks and uniforms components that we have been able to purchase over the last few weeks (the kids start school tomorrow).  We bring her 4 bags of groceries.  She is solemn.  Quiet.  So very very grateful, but she is in obvious pain.  But she says to me, "I tell Elise dat I so concerned abot you.  I tink 'Oh I cannot tink about Rachelle being so seeck!'.  And I pray to Gwad dat He would make well my sweet Rachelle so dat she can cwom to my mommy funeral.  And He answer dat prayer."  And my heart soars.  It is then when I realize where that uncharacteristic wellness that I had been experiencing came.  He was answering her meek prayer for me!  I have to resist bursting into tears with the gravity of how real that was.  It was real.  I was sick as a dog that morning.  But felt better than I had in nearly a week for those 4 hours.  Miraculous.  For those few moments.  So that I could be His arms around that family.  His feet to deliver that clothing and food.  His heart to hurt in a real way for the loss of their sweet mother and grandmother.  His comfort in their time of grieving.

Thursday, August 29th, 2013 will be a day I do not soon forget...

"Blessed are those who mourn for they shall inherit the earth. ...Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in Heaven is great!" -Matthew 5:4 & 12





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