Maybe it was the orange couch. Maybe it was the bible open on the table. Maybe it was the pound of sugar our hostess poured into each 4 oz coffee cup. But I was giddy.
Our first visit to Maria’s was preluded by a session we led at the local women’s club. To end the meeting, we all asked God to reveal what He thinks of us, and when Katie shared that He loves her whether or not she has a man, or a ring on her finger, Maria thought it was hilarious. She invited us to her house across the street afterward, and with a blessing from our host, we happily followed.
This became a regular occurrence. We would go to Maria’s. She would set out plastic chairs for us (I may or may not have broken one of them. I blame all the torta.) We would spend hours playing dominos or teaching English or listening to her son, Bernabe, explain every single plant growing in her backyard.
I told Maria how I liked sitting across from her so I could see her smile. She would shyly cover her mouth and it would grow even wider. Our conversations were random, boisterous, and uniquely profound. We could be talking about her grandchildren or having a gross miscommunication over the meaning of the Spanish word “bateria” and no matter what her laugh sang through the house.
Here’s the problem: I’ve wanted to write about Maria for about 3 weeks now, and I just couldn’t find words to do her justice. She’s completely uncontainable, indescribable, irreplaceable. I never thought I’d know the joy of feeling your heart laugh. Eating fresh cilantro and sipping coffee so sugar-ridden you were practically chewing it were never tastes I thought I’d experience.
By the end of our time in the DR, Maria and Bernabe were sitting with our team, talking about our impending departure to Haiti. Our eyes were welling up, and these people–who were so recently strangers—were assuring us that if anything were to happen, they’d be there to protect us.
I still don’t have a word to describe Maria. It’s that cloud I can’t seem to catch or pin down. I may not remember all the things she said, or the ways we let her cheat in dominos; but to me, when I think of the Dominican, it will sound like her laugh, taste like her coffee, and welcome me like her big orange couch.
