Month: April 2009

El pollo bailar

I am sitting in my hotel room mentally going over the events of the day and I have tears rolling down my cheeks. I’ll be honest, it’s not the first time it’s happened today.

On the flight to Miami, I listened to my iPod most of the way. The song “Captivate Us” by Watermark came on and as I listened to the lyrics I felt like I was seeing a glimpse into my week as I listened to Christy Nockels sing, “Captivate us, Lord Jesus, set our eyes on you. Devastate us with your presence falling down”.

In that moment, I prayed that God would devastate me with His presence on this trip. As much as I imagined that I wouldn’t walk away from a trip like this unchanged, a small part of me was worried that I might. What if it turns out that I’m dead inside?

Today was one of the most heartbreaking, yet joyous days I have ever experienced. We left this morning and headed to one of the Dominican’s Batey communities. These are basically Compassion projects in the midst of sugar plantations owned by large corporations. We were told that most of the residents are Haitian refugees who were lured to the DR with the promise of a better life, which hasn’t been the case. Instead they find themselves barely surviving in a country that doesn’t even recognize them as citizens. They aren’t necessarily slaves, but they aren’t free either.

As we drove into the Batey community, we were surrounded by fields full of sugar cane on every side, which gradually led to a small village where we could hear the excitement of the children before we even got off the bus.

We divided into groups and began to visit a few classrooms that are part of the Compassion project. The first class I went to was filled with kids ages 3-5 and my heart melted onto the floor right on the spot. They sang a few songs for us and we reciprocated by teaching them The Chicken Dance or as I preferred to call it in my limited Spanish vocabulary “El Pollo Bailar”.

Y’all will be glad to know that El Pollo Bailar is every bit the hit in the Dominican Republic that it is in America and that my rhythm is equally limited overseas. There are some things that cross all cultural boundaries.

After a few classroom visits, I was taken to a small classroom to meet my sponsored child named Ana Anjelica. Although I’ve sponsored a child in Uganda since the last Compassion trip, I just began to sponsor Ana prior to this trip. I was prepared that she might be a little solemn because her profile picture was so serious.

I approached Ana and with the help of a translator explained that I was her new sponsor and was so excited to meet her. I had brought a backpack filled with various things that I felt certain a six-year-old girl would like, but as I pulled them out she never cracked a smile. She was polite and answered questions that I asked through the translator but no smile, even when I pulled out my surefire ace in the hole, also known as a Ballerina Barbie.

Honestly, it would have been great if she’d jumped up and down with excitement, but I understood why she didn’t. I have no concept of what her day-to-day life is like or what it involves.

After we met, a group of us went to her house for a home visit. Her home was the worst one I’ve been in since the trip began. There weren’t even sheets used for partitions, but rather long pieces of paper from a Beauty Rest mattress ad. I introduced myself to her mother whose nickname was Chica.

Ana immediately disappeared behind one of the Beauty Rest partitions and about that time her grandmother showed up at the house. We began to talk with them and ask them questions about their life. Ana is one of three children with another one on the way. Her father is a day laborer and just goes out and looks for work every day.

This was her grandmother. She followed us all the way down the road as we left and her expression never changed.

Toward the end of the visit, I asked Chica how I could specifically pray for her family. This was her answer.

“I don’t really believe that God will answer the dreams I have for my children, but I hope they stay in school and get an education so they can have a better life.”

It broke my heart and it made me understand while Ana is such a solemn girl with a sad look in her eyes. She is being raised in an environment where there is no hope.

And here’s where I’m going to be really honest and say that I totally understand why her mother feels the way she does. All she’s ever known is poverty and difficult circumstances. Chica can’t even comprehend what a better life would look like because all she has ever known is hardship. It’s the reality that poverty goes so far beyond material things.

Honestly, it’s hard for me to reconcile it in my mind and understand why I am blessed with so much, when others have so little.
If I were in their place, would I believe that God could answer my dreams? Would I even dare to dream?

I believe as strongly as I believe anything that God is good, but sitting there in that house filled with sadness it was hard to understand all His ways.

I cried as I sat there on the little couch in Ana’s home because I wanted to offer them some kind of hope and, all of a sudden, my $32.00 a month didn’t feel like much at all.

But the thing is that as Ana’s sponsor, I have the opportunity to give her hope. By providing for her socio-economic, academic, spiritual, and physical needs, I am giving her hope for a better life with my $32.00. However, the most important thing I can do is to commit to write Ana on a regular basis to let her know that I love her, that God loves her, and that it’s okay to dream of a life beyond what she knows.

Because if I’m not telling her, then who is?

I understand that in my head, but it devastates my heart. I looked at this little girl today who is the same age as my Caroline, my smiling, laughing Caroline, and all I saw was sadness. God used it to devastate me, but He also used it to challenge me to go deeper. These Compassion kids aren’t just kids on a piece of paper or a random snapshot. They are real kids that are barely making it in this world and need every last piece of hope they can get.

And if you think you can’t make a difference, then let me tell you about Beatriz.

Beatriz was a lady we met on our second home visit and has three children, two of whom are sponsored by Compassion and she told us that she was a Compassion child from the time she was six years old until she graduated from high school. We asked her if she knew who her sponsor was and without pausing, she said, “Bill from Michigan.”

Not only that, her son Misael pulled out the letters he’s received from his Compassion sponsors named Peter and Melanie from Massachusetts. He was so proud of his letters. And even though this family didn’t necessarily have any more materially than Ana’s family, they had joy. It was a startling contrast.

Until today I had no idea how much hope these kids find in having a sponsor and how much the letters they receive mean to them. Not only do you know their name, they know yours and find hope in your words.

And for some of them, like my Ana Anjelica, you may be the only one telling them that there is more than the life they know and that God has a plan for their life.

Words have power, even when they’re written by a goofy American who does a bad version of El Pollo Bailar.

If you’d like to sponsor a child, you can go here or click on the image in my sidebar and if you already have a sponsored child, I encourage you to take the time to write them before the day is over.

And if you haven’t read all the other bloggers on this trip, you can find their posts over at Compassion Bloggers.

This post was originally published in November of 2008.
Goodbye forever, except for only a few days

I just wanted to let y’all know that I’ve decided to take this week off from the blog. Nothing’s wrong and my head is filled with so many things I want to share from the weekend, including how I was almost certain I was going to die at Domino’s Pizza in New Orleans on Friday night.

All I could think was I can’t believe it’s going to all end with a tombstone that reads, “She really wanted that $4.00 pepperoni pizza”.

But I have to say that it ended up being one of the best pepperoni pizzas I’ve ever had. I’ve always heard that near death experiences heighten all your senses and give you a renewed sense of gratitude and that’s how I felt as I devoured that pizza in Room 1203 of the Hotel Pere Marquette.

Anyway, I’ve just felt a sense of God asking me to set aside the blog this week and focus on Him. So that’s what I’m going to do.

I’ve scheduled some old posts to auto-post for the rest of the week and I will be back next Monday with all-new useless stories about whatever happens in the meantime.

Y’all have a great week.
Edition 57: Fashion Friday

Okay, so remember how last Friday I showed you how Caroline had decided to organize her closet using a Sharpie marker? And y’all were sweet enough to tell me how to get the marker off? But then I told you that I adore the marker because it will make me smile every time I see “Witt!” and “Sring!”?

Well, by noon last Friday, the nice folks at Sharpie had emailed me and offered to send me one of their fancy new stainless steel Sharpies to try. Who’s going to turn that down? A dang fool, that’s who.

So yesterday my fancy new Sharpie showed up via FedEx and it is delightful. It’s like a sophisticated Sharpie and if there is anything I crave in my life more than chips and queso, it’s sophistication. That’s the whole reason I read “US Weekly”.

Anyway, I’d just like to say WELL DONE SHARPIE HEADQUARTERS.

About a year ago, I made it a personal challenge to link to Anthropologie as much as possible with the hopes that they might send me perhaps a single dishtowel. A dishtowel. My expectations could not be lower. But Anthropologie never calls; they never write. It’s like coming home from summer camp all over again.

But yet the folks at Sharpie found me without even a direct link to guide them. They are like the CIA of corporate America and I applaud them.

I also applaud my new stainless steel Sharpie which I will keep on a very high shelf because it is my precious.

Now for some questions:

1. Rachel asks: “At what point are you too old to shop in the Juniors/Misses?”

I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I get there. I always think it’s a score when you can find something (especially trendy items) in the Juniors department because it’s usually less expensive than the clothes for grown-ups.

It’s not so much about age as it is about body type and how clothes fit your body. It also depends on the store because some department stores have better Junior departments than others. I’ve had luck finding cute things like these in the Nordstrom Junior department, but I probably won’t be buying clothing with the brand name “L8ter” any time soon.

Nor will I revisit Esprit.

The important thing to remember is that you’re going to wear a bigger size in Junior clothing than you do in other things and that’s okay. Your self-esteem shouldn’t be tied to a number on a tag. It should be tied to how good your hair looks.

And also remember that there comes a time when it’s better to leave some trends to the teenagers because it’s a right of passage to wear clothing that will make you look back at your high school pictures and cry.

2. Lilah asks: “What kind of sock do you wear with a shoe like this? Do you wear those half sock thingies or tights or no socks? If it’s no socks, how do you keep your feet and your shoes from being stinky

You can wear half sock thingies only if they don’t show. Tights if it’s really cold.

Other than that, I have to go with no socks.

The stinky feet question is a good one and is also why you will never see me wearing flats when the weather gets warm. My suggestion is to sprinkle the shoes with a little baking soda. I have no idea if it will actually help, but I felt like I needed to offer some type of suggestion and it works for my refrigerator.

I just like to throw out all kinds of unsubstantiated advice. It’s essentially the entire basis of Fashion Friday.

3. Anne asks: “I need a denim skirt. What color denim for summer? Can you wear a dark rinse year round? And would you do a pencil skirt, or A-line?”

I would love nothing more than to find a great denim skirt, but it has proved to be my fashion nemesis. I just can’t ever find exactly what I’m looking for and so I go without. That is my tale of denim woe.

However, I did see this skirt in the Boden catalog and think it’s darling, although those pockets might be better in theory.

I also saw this denim pencil skirt which looks so cute on the model with a tucked in shirt and belt. Do you know how often I’d wear a tucked in shirt with a belt in the summertime? Exactly never times.

That’s all for today because I have to finish packing for my trip. It’s like trying to stuff an elephant in a shoebox.

Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez, y’all. (I know Hebrew and Cajun. Sophisticated is the word you’re looking for.)

Here’s Mr. Linky if you have anything to add.
Now with 50% more random at no extra charge!

Is it just me or is Wednesday night the worst night of television all week long? Oh, I know there are a bunch of you who watch “Lost”, but that convoluted ship passed me by about three years ago. And, yes, there’s always the “American Idol” results show, but Seacrest kills me with all his drama.

Dude, it’s just a talent competition, not something important like the Showcase Showdown on “The Price is Right”.

Anyway, none of that is really the issue here. Consider it foreshadowing for all the nonsense that’s to come.

Over the last few days, a couple of questions have come up that I wanted to answer. Not to mention the fact that I can’t really come up with anything else to write about.

1. Many of you asked how I know Beth Moore. The short version is that I became friends with her daughter, Amanda, through the wonder that is the internet. We’d read each other’s blogs for about a year and finally got to meet in person at a Deeper Still event in Atlanta last summer when I was there to write for the Allaccess blog.

Since then, we’ve seen each other from time to time if we happen to be in the same city and have become real life friends, not just nerdy computer friends.

So, going out to dinner with Beth isn’t a regular occurrence. In fact, that’s the only time it’s ever happened. Although she does call me CONSTANTLY when she needs someone to translate a Biblical reference to the original Hebrew.

If my twenty-year-old self could read that last sentence she would die a little because how did I become a person who makes dorky Bible study jokes?

Truth be told, I don’t know any Hebrew. Except “shalom, y’all”.

2. The other question was about the ribbons on my front door.

That is a Fiesta wreath. There is a big celebration every year in April called Fiesta. It involves lots of parades and people dressing up as faux royalty and riding in police-escorted caravans all over town so they can blaze through stoplights like they’re on their way to a medical emergency as opposed to visiting a local preschool to hand out medals to a group of people who aren’t even potty-trained.

Anyway, you see these wreaths everywhere in San Antonio. Many of them have all sorts of little things tucked in them like a tiny Mariachi band that plays “Guantanamera”, but I chose to go with something more simple.

If you can call something covered in multi-colored ribbons and flowers that are bigger than my head, simple.

And I believe that concludes the question-answering portion of this post, but I have an idea.

If you have any other questions that you’ve ever wanted to ask, leave them in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer some of them at some point next week, or maybe never depending on how I feel and what the questions are.

I’ll even tell you what I weigh. In my dreams.

Also, I’m heading to New Orleans this weekend so if you have any restaurant recommendations, feel free to share.

And thus concludes a post that makes even less sense than “Lost”.
A tale of tails

From the moment the pregnancy test turned positive, I wanted to have a daughter. There were so many reasons I wanted a baby girl, not the least of which was styling her hair into pigtails everyday.

It wasn’t until her first birthday that the dream was realized. I combed and sprayed that baby fine hair into two sad little pigtails for her party because we were going to need something to hold that tiara in place.

It took a while to get them to resemble real pigtails.

But then the day came that they actually looked like a real hairstyle.

And from then on, I’d put her hair in pigtails any time she’d sit still long enough for me to get those Goody rubber bands in her hair.

I bought bows in sets of two in every color of the rainbow to ensure that we’d always have perfectly accessorized pigtails.

Because there just isn’t anything cuter than that.

Alas, the day came about a year ago when she started to resist the pigtails. She’d feel me run that comb down the middle of her head and say “NO PIGTAILS TODAY!”

So the singular ponytail became the style of choice, alternated with the occasional braid. I’ve mourned the pigtails because I felt like they were gone before I had a chance to say goodbye. I put a lot of my heart and hairspray into them over the course of four years and they just went away.

Yesterday morning, I went into Caroline’s room armed with a brush and some rubberbands and asked, “How do you want your hair today? A braid? A ponytail?”

Then just to mess with her, I said, “Pigtails?”

She said, “Yes. Pigtails.”

And I fell over.

I have never parted hair and secured it in pigtails faster than I did at that moment because I just knew she’d change her mind. When it was all finished, I looked at her and wanted to cry.

But instead, I just savored the pigtails.

Because it won’t be long before they’re gone for good.