Dominican Republic mission trip, 2010
more from the journal
7-31-2010 – Saturday
So today was the first rehearsal.
They brought the counseling team up the mountain to Eddie's little church to see our “dress rehearsal.” How often do you have a dress rehearsal as your first rehearsal? Molly took most of the load this time, since she remembered the blocking I gave them as well as I did. Um... probably better.
After siesta, we went back to the church to present some gifts to pastor Eddie and his family, and then we all prayed for him – it was very much like the old days back in the 70's, very Jesus-people-ish.
There was no rehearsal for the rest of the day, because we did Vacation Bible School, and my body chose that moment to start warning me that it had to cool off or else – I had been hot for too long, even though this wasn't as long as it had been the day before. But that's the way grace works, you know – you get just what you need when you need it. So I slipped out of the church and sat down under a tree across the street, where there was a nice breeze as well as a good shade. Several older kids, too old for the VBS session inside, said Hi in English, and came over to sit with me and chat among themselves, leaving me alone but staying with me while two of the boys showed off nearby.
After cooling down, I went back inside to help some kids make owls out of old defective CD's. Don't ask.
That evening, the outing was for “exotic salty snacks” and “exotic juices,” which I politely declined because I was really tired, and besides I wanted to catch up on my journal. As it turns out, this was a trip to the mall in downtown Santiago, which was essentially pseudo-America in Santiago, so that those of us who might be experiencing culture shock, or missing home, could feel like they were back in America for an hour or so. It was a perfect night for me to stay in the dorm and rest, because the last thing I wanted was an American mall to walk around in.
8-1- 2010 – Sunday, performance day and so much more
Sunday morning, we went to another church for morning worship. And again, I loved every minute of it, because worship service for these people is actually worship, rather than a structured routine preaching session like we have at home. They provided a translator for our benefit, and they worked him to death. I followed some of the Spanish in the teaching, and I could tell that the poor guy was completely thrown by some of the words used. I had been a little concerned whether it would be OK for us to bring our water bottles to church, since this was a little more formal than what went on up in the mountain, but everyone assured me it would be OK, and it turns out that everyone else brought them too. Good thing, because it got a little warm in the building.
After lunch, and a chance to take a very short nap in the dorm (as well as shower and change clothes), we went back up to the mountain church. The plan was to have one more rehearsal (the real dress rehearsal), break for supper at Eddie's mother's house, and then come back to the church for the play to be presented. I knew that by this time, my job was over. It was their play now, and I was going to stay out of the way and see what they did with it.
On the walk back down the hill, we experienced that rarest of Dominican cultural events, dualing cantinas. Two cantinas, to our left and to our right as we passed between them, were playing music so that unless you were in one or the other, what you heard was a cacophony of clashing notes. It was oddly surreal, and after passing through it... I wondered if maybe they would turn it down by the time the play began. I wondered if we could present the play in the dark, in the event that God had to pull the plug to stop the sound. When we got back to the church... we had no power. But the cantinas did. I wasn't sure how this was going to work out.
People began arriving, some of whom, I suppose, were church members, and some of whom were the parents of the cast of our play. They stayed outside on the lawn and on the street, patiently waiting. I sat down inside, wondering if the power was going to come back on, wondering if the kids were going to remember their lines, wondering if – if there was going to be enough room in the church, because there were an awful lot of people out there!
Some guys started bring in stacks of white plastic lawn chairs, and setting them up as extra seats for each row, then as extra rows. People started coming in. Somebody was outside trying to fix the “inverter,” whatever that is, as that was apparently the problem with our electricity.
Pastor Eddie decided to go ahead and start us singing and praying in the dark, and it was wonderful. The lights came on briefly, and then went out again.
Eventually, well after the planned curtain time, we had to start the program. Somebody drove a motorcycle around to the side of the church and aimed his headlight into the side door, which was also our stage left entrance. The light was perfect, showing us each face, and Jesus and Peter made their entrance for the beginning of the Servant parable.
The king sat proudly on his throne, passing judgment on Servant #1, the debtor, then forgiving him, then jailing him when he saw him trying to collect a much smaller debt from another servant. Servant number one displayed the perfect smugness, and I was so proud of him for it. The play rolled right along, with no flubbed lines or missed entrances. It was wonderful to see, lit from the side, and so there it was, the third miracle.
The nice lady who had originally been in place to direct the thing was there to see it, and we were surprised to discover that she had sent us the three acts for us to choose one of them, not all three. But we had done all three, and a good time was had by all.
The nice lady who had originally been in place to direct the thing was there to see it, and we were surprised to discover that she had sent us the three acts for us to choose one of them, not all three. But we had done all three, and a good time was had by all.
8-2-2010 – Monday
Monday was a day at the beach by comparison.
OK, it was literally a day at the beach. This was recuperation day, where we got to relax under a shade tree listening to the surf, and shop for souvenirs. Life is good.
8-3-2010 – Tuesday, time to go home.
We got up early Tuesday morning to be at the airport in time to go through security and catch our flight, which was delayed by an hour because the pilots had to have more rest according to regulations, not their fault.
When we arrived in Miami, we knew it was going to be close, because we had to go collect our baggage from the carousel, then go through customs, then place the bags in an area for re-loading on the next plane.
All but 13 of us had successfully deposited their bags in the designated spot, and suddenly a stern American Airlines employee forbade us to put any more bags there. Never mind that the bags hadn't been taken away yet. Never mind that there wasn't even anyone there to take them away yet. Never mind that there was no possible reason that we couldn't just leave ours with the rest of them, as if we had been at that point maybe two minutes prior instead of at the present moment. Never mind that we still had time to catch our flight if we could just drop those bags off and continue on our way, as we had been instructed to do. No. Her little stop watch said it was time, so she said “This flight is closed. Go to ticket counter.”
“But -”
“No. closed. Go to ticket counter.” Off we obediently went to the ticket counter, which had a line about thirty people long, and which was not moving at all. We wasted about ten minutes trying to call American Airlines for help with this situation. Finally somebody got somebody's attention, and they led us to another ticket counter to arrange some sort of way to get back to Kentucky. While waiting in line there, we heard the PA system announcing the availability of our seats for stand by passengers.
Another miracle. There were thirteen seats available on a flight to Atlanta, where we could then board another flight to Louisville. The pretty lady with perfect posture at the counter began processing the passports and tickets. Slowly. Very slowly. By the time ten of us were ready to go, the other three seats were gone. So our ten began the dash to the next gate, while they figured out something else for the other three.
We were now split three ways, and somebody said this was a record, though two way splits had occurred in the past. So we got to Atlanta, and now we had to change to Delta, which meant that we had to present the tickets from American Airlines to be converted to Delta boarding passes. One by one, we got them done, and I was the last one in line. He said, as he handed me my pass, “OK, you're good to g--- wait a minute.”
A pause. “What? What's wrong?”
“The person at AA didn't put the ticket number on this. I can't let you board.”
I stared at him as if he had crab claws coming out his nose.
I alerted some of the rest of the team, who immediately started praying. Potentially, we could set a record, with a four way split. With me being all alone in the bowels of the airport system.
“Well what do I have to do? I have to get home.”
“I can't let you board.”
The team continued praying. Then the man said, “there's one other thing I can try, but I don't think it's going to work.” He started clicking keys again. It worked. He printed me my boarding pass.
As we boarded, I handed that pass to the Delta ticket taker dude, who said “Enjoy your flight – wait a minute.”
“No, no NO!”
He took my pass and went back to his screen, clicked on the keyboard, and finally said “OK, you're good to go.”
All this because one airline employee was a slave to her stop watch. The name of that airline, again, was American Airlines.
Just sayin. :)
We got back to Louisville at more or less the same time, that is on the same evening. It was one of the most wonderful weeks of my life. I wouldn't trade a moment of it, not one hot sweltering moment.
1 comment:
Bill, It sounds like a wonderful trip with very positive results. People above are smiling on you and your friends who took the trip.
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