Triton
3rd August 2005, 09:27
Alternate title, "What I Did on my Summer Vacation"
My second missions trip was quite different from my first trip. My first trip was full of many things to make a pampered urban dweller as uncomfortable as possible. This one? Well, as I later told John, there was what I perceived to be a "stunning lack of adversity". In fact, it was because of this that I initially found it difficult to write a compelling report .
Mind you , it's not that there was nothing on this trip which moved me; instead of working at the Deaf Village all week, I could have easily stayed at the orphanage, which we visited on Sunday. The other group who worked with us, from a PCA church in Philadelphia, got to work on a VBS at a separate orphanage, and I was just a little envious of them for it. So many children with no parents; some of them with health issues. One in particular, a little boy named Michael, had some sort of skin disease. Ken remarked that it looked like an ailment known as progeria, which causes premature aging. We never did find out - but I could have taken that little boy home with me.
The thing which really haunted me about that orphanage was not the younger children, but the older ones. Try as I might, I simply could not connect with any of those who appeared to be over 13. They seemed to be content to simply stand in the shadows in a group and watch us play with the younger ones. I looked around at the teens from our group, and I thought, do any of them realize how blessed they are to have families and a youth group in this, the most confusing time of their lives? Here were some who would never know such a carefree life, one which our teens take for granted.
Monday was my first real "work" day - but as I watched everyone else head up to the hill, ready to dig trenches in what turned out to be rock, I felt really guilty. In terms of physical labor, I had the easiest job. The staff at the village had learned of my skills, and had my week planned out before I even arrived. My tasks: day one and two, run off mailing labels and create a template for the new JDV newsletter. Wednesday and Thursday were "server reconstruction" days. (The humid climate in Jamaica must not agree with electronic equipment; the missionaries told me that they had chronic computer problems.) As I headed down the unpaved road to the offices of JDV, my prior thoughts about the lack of adversity were rewarded: a small rock, strategically, providentially, lying in a spot on the path which was already slick from a light rain and the red clay which, we had been warned, was slippery.
Clunky workboots and an altered center of gravity (my backpack) provided the physics for a spectacular pratfall. Gerald Ford would have been proud of the ensuing tumble that I took down the hill. As I bounced to a stop, bruised, muddy, and bleeding, my first thoughts were of John's laptop, which was in the aforementioned backpack. Once I was convinced that it was undamaged, I looked up and noticed one of the deaf residents, watching me from the door of the chair factory. He had obviously seen the whole thing. Humiliated, and, forgetting he couldn't hear me, I yelled to him, "I'm OK". He just shook his head and walked away.
After the pain subsided, I limped to the office. I had only gone down there to get a cable, and already, the young morning had not been kind to me. The final insult? After my harrowing trip down the hill, I found the office door locked. I knocked, and there was no answer. I pounded, and was met with silence.
Trudging up the same hill which had assaulted me earlier, I entered the chair factory and was met by Ionda, the fellow who had seen me take my tumble. I asked him if he could let me in the office. He shook his head, pointed to his ears, and walked over to get the attention of the other person in the spacious building: a slight, bespectacled, soft spoken man. The man saw me, and said, "Yes sir, may I help you?" I explained that the office door was locked, and asked him if he could let me in. He looked a little surprised that nobody was there, and it was then that he must have realized that he was dealing with someone (me) who didn't quite get it. He asked, "You didn't knock, did you?" Still not getting it, I said, "Yes". I was also thinking, "What else would I do?" Incredulous, the man said, nearly yelling, "She's deaf, mon! She can't hear you!"
He explained that I should go to the third window (they were all at ground level) and just stand there. The JDV secretary would eventually notice that I was standing there and let me in. I followed his instructions, and sure enough, after about ten seconds, the curtain stirred and a woman stared out at me. I pointed to the door, and she let me in. Of course, they had every type of cable except the one which I desperately needed to complete my work.
I would not return to that office until Tuesday afternoon. I had finished the work on the mailing labels and the newsletter, and was ready to tackle the Big Problem. I was pointed to a dim little room, and told, "Here it is, make it work". The server was lying on its side, inert, every bit as useful as a paperweight. The office was full of spare parts, and I was to use those to effect a solution.
It took the rest of that day, plus all of Wednesday and Thursday to find the parts necessary to get the server running. Aside from the occasional visit from John or Julie, I had little interaction with anyone else while I was working. From my sheltered spot in the office, with a pleasant breeze blowing in the open window, and a ceiling fan whirring above my head, it struck me that I had it good. As I heard the rattle of the jackhammer up on the hill and the occasional clatter of pick and shovel, my only discomfort was that if I ran out of diet Pepsi, I had to go all the way up the hill to get more. Little did I know that, on Thursday, three hours of compressed misery which Andrew later called the Jamaican Death March would completely counteract the preceding three days of comparative ease.
Someone (probably John) got the bright idea that we should go on a hike up the mountain which towered above the village. (Actually, I didn't think it towered until we got closer to the top - and saw a plane flying below us.) Mike, one of the missionaries, told us that he had no desire to see what was up the mountain, and would not be joining us. I should have listened to him. Anyway, he knew someone who lived "up there" who would be glad to lead us on a pleasant stroll up the hill. Our guide, a 62 year old man, said that it would take about a half hour to get to the top.
I suppose I should pause here to state the obvious: there were no other 62 year old Jamaicans in our group. As a result, it took a little longer to go up the mountain and return. One and a half grueling hours of vertical hiking, to be exact. If it weren't for the coaching from John and the prayers and encouragement (and a hiking stick) from Brad, a young man from the Philadelphia group, I would probably still be up on that mountain.
Barbed wire and charging bulls notwithstanding, we did finally make it back. Drenched in sweat and breathing raggedly, I collapsed in a grateful heap. As I sat there in the dining hall, waiting for my legs to regain their feeling so I could eat my (late) dinner, I realized that John and my other brothers and sisters in Christ had just seen me at my most vulnerable. I don't know that there has ever been another time in my life where I had to so completely depend on others. There was no room for pride, and believe me - I was humbled. Perhaps this is a better way to explain it: there was never a time where I was more aware of my dependence on others. As physically isolated as I was during the work week from everyone else, I was never really alone. Gayle Knight told me that she had been praying for my aching knees and elbows ever since I fell on the hill. I have since found out that there were many praying that I would be able to repair the office computer.
In stark contrast to last year's trip, here there was much more autonomy (or so I thought) - and yet, God still chose to show me that He will not allow His work to be done in a vacuum. After having been to the top of a mountain, the irony struck me: God had forced me, twice, to my knees. From that vantage point, my view of Him was much clearer.
My second missions trip was quite different from my first trip. My first trip was full of many things to make a pampered urban dweller as uncomfortable as possible. This one? Well, as I later told John, there was what I perceived to be a "stunning lack of adversity". In fact, it was because of this that I initially found it difficult to write a compelling report .
Mind you , it's not that there was nothing on this trip which moved me; instead of working at the Deaf Village all week, I could have easily stayed at the orphanage, which we visited on Sunday. The other group who worked with us, from a PCA church in Philadelphia, got to work on a VBS at a separate orphanage, and I was just a little envious of them for it. So many children with no parents; some of them with health issues. One in particular, a little boy named Michael, had some sort of skin disease. Ken remarked that it looked like an ailment known as progeria, which causes premature aging. We never did find out - but I could have taken that little boy home with me.
The thing which really haunted me about that orphanage was not the younger children, but the older ones. Try as I might, I simply could not connect with any of those who appeared to be over 13. They seemed to be content to simply stand in the shadows in a group and watch us play with the younger ones. I looked around at the teens from our group, and I thought, do any of them realize how blessed they are to have families and a youth group in this, the most confusing time of their lives? Here were some who would never know such a carefree life, one which our teens take for granted.
Monday was my first real "work" day - but as I watched everyone else head up to the hill, ready to dig trenches in what turned out to be rock, I felt really guilty. In terms of physical labor, I had the easiest job. The staff at the village had learned of my skills, and had my week planned out before I even arrived. My tasks: day one and two, run off mailing labels and create a template for the new JDV newsletter. Wednesday and Thursday were "server reconstruction" days. (The humid climate in Jamaica must not agree with electronic equipment; the missionaries told me that they had chronic computer problems.) As I headed down the unpaved road to the offices of JDV, my prior thoughts about the lack of adversity were rewarded: a small rock, strategically, providentially, lying in a spot on the path which was already slick from a light rain and the red clay which, we had been warned, was slippery.
Clunky workboots and an altered center of gravity (my backpack) provided the physics for a spectacular pratfall. Gerald Ford would have been proud of the ensuing tumble that I took down the hill. As I bounced to a stop, bruised, muddy, and bleeding, my first thoughts were of John's laptop, which was in the aforementioned backpack. Once I was convinced that it was undamaged, I looked up and noticed one of the deaf residents, watching me from the door of the chair factory. He had obviously seen the whole thing. Humiliated, and, forgetting he couldn't hear me, I yelled to him, "I'm OK". He just shook his head and walked away.
After the pain subsided, I limped to the office. I had only gone down there to get a cable, and already, the young morning had not been kind to me. The final insult? After my harrowing trip down the hill, I found the office door locked. I knocked, and there was no answer. I pounded, and was met with silence.
Trudging up the same hill which had assaulted me earlier, I entered the chair factory and was met by Ionda, the fellow who had seen me take my tumble. I asked him if he could let me in the office. He shook his head, pointed to his ears, and walked over to get the attention of the other person in the spacious building: a slight, bespectacled, soft spoken man. The man saw me, and said, "Yes sir, may I help you?" I explained that the office door was locked, and asked him if he could let me in. He looked a little surprised that nobody was there, and it was then that he must have realized that he was dealing with someone (me) who didn't quite get it. He asked, "You didn't knock, did you?" Still not getting it, I said, "Yes". I was also thinking, "What else would I do?" Incredulous, the man said, nearly yelling, "She's deaf, mon! She can't hear you!"
He explained that I should go to the third window (they were all at ground level) and just stand there. The JDV secretary would eventually notice that I was standing there and let me in. I followed his instructions, and sure enough, after about ten seconds, the curtain stirred and a woman stared out at me. I pointed to the door, and she let me in. Of course, they had every type of cable except the one which I desperately needed to complete my work.
I would not return to that office until Tuesday afternoon. I had finished the work on the mailing labels and the newsletter, and was ready to tackle the Big Problem. I was pointed to a dim little room, and told, "Here it is, make it work". The server was lying on its side, inert, every bit as useful as a paperweight. The office was full of spare parts, and I was to use those to effect a solution.
It took the rest of that day, plus all of Wednesday and Thursday to find the parts necessary to get the server running. Aside from the occasional visit from John or Julie, I had little interaction with anyone else while I was working. From my sheltered spot in the office, with a pleasant breeze blowing in the open window, and a ceiling fan whirring above my head, it struck me that I had it good. As I heard the rattle of the jackhammer up on the hill and the occasional clatter of pick and shovel, my only discomfort was that if I ran out of diet Pepsi, I had to go all the way up the hill to get more. Little did I know that, on Thursday, three hours of compressed misery which Andrew later called the Jamaican Death March would completely counteract the preceding three days of comparative ease.
Someone (probably John) got the bright idea that we should go on a hike up the mountain which towered above the village. (Actually, I didn't think it towered until we got closer to the top - and saw a plane flying below us.) Mike, one of the missionaries, told us that he had no desire to see what was up the mountain, and would not be joining us. I should have listened to him. Anyway, he knew someone who lived "up there" who would be glad to lead us on a pleasant stroll up the hill. Our guide, a 62 year old man, said that it would take about a half hour to get to the top.
I suppose I should pause here to state the obvious: there were no other 62 year old Jamaicans in our group. As a result, it took a little longer to go up the mountain and return. One and a half grueling hours of vertical hiking, to be exact. If it weren't for the coaching from John and the prayers and encouragement (and a hiking stick) from Brad, a young man from the Philadelphia group, I would probably still be up on that mountain.
Barbed wire and charging bulls notwithstanding, we did finally make it back. Drenched in sweat and breathing raggedly, I collapsed in a grateful heap. As I sat there in the dining hall, waiting for my legs to regain their feeling so I could eat my (late) dinner, I realized that John and my other brothers and sisters in Christ had just seen me at my most vulnerable. I don't know that there has ever been another time in my life where I had to so completely depend on others. There was no room for pride, and believe me - I was humbled. Perhaps this is a better way to explain it: there was never a time where I was more aware of my dependence on others. As physically isolated as I was during the work week from everyone else, I was never really alone. Gayle Knight told me that she had been praying for my aching knees and elbows ever since I fell on the hill. I have since found out that there were many praying that I would be able to repair the office computer.
In stark contrast to last year's trip, here there was much more autonomy (or so I thought) - and yet, God still chose to show me that He will not allow His work to be done in a vacuum. After having been to the top of a mountain, the irony struck me: God had forced me, twice, to my knees. From that vantage point, my view of Him was much clearer.