What does it look like to weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn?
Do we always take the extra step and go the extra mile to do that? To extend a loving arm to the ones who are hurting, saying that even though we may not be involved in any way, we understand. we can relate. we are sad with you. I want to share with you something that is currently a reality in our Dominican lives today, right this minute.
To set up a little context for you, yesterday was Rachel’s 24th birthday. Rachel is a walking, breathing, compassion-in-the-flesh example of the heart of God. You cannot be around her without being comforted by the Father. I think that is because her story goes deep. Her story involves loss. Her story involves finding the Lord when she wasn’t looking but had nowhere else to go.
Last night at around 10:30 p.m. I shared with Rachel that this year is going to be a year of redemption for her and that the Lord is going to use the losses that she has felt for His glory. I had no idea how soon this would become a reality.
In our little apartment here in Santo Domingo on Calle H, four of us sleep on the porch, Rachel included. Our porch overlooks the driveway and the part inside the fence of the people who live downstairs. We live above a family who lives all together. Every day we wake up to the littlest ones screaming and throwing things and everyone talking. This usually happens around 6:30. Some days we make it to about 7 before they start talking, but that is quite rare. Today was no exception.
Somewhere around 6 a.m. the wailing started. “Ay mi Madre” “Ay Dios mio” “Mammmaaaaaa”. My first thought at 6 a.m. was “seriously? really? why are we starting this so early today? I just want to keep sleeping.” Then as I gained a little more consciousness I realized that I recognized the tone of their voices. I felt it deep inside of my heart. It was a sound associated with pain and with loss. A sound that can only come because of death. The other three girls and I all understood at around the same moment what was going on.
I could see the wheels turning behind Rachel’s eyes as the four of us began to try and figure out who it could be that died. I could see that she didn’t need to know. The only thing she knew was that she was feeling their loss. She was feeling their pain. It was all too familiar, but at the same time she had a new confidence in her about this loss. Almost like the Lord brought her here to Santo Domingo for this reason. She said “I just wish I could speak spanish.” We discussed waiting for our contact to get here so that he could translate, but we knew it would be hours before that happened.
Then Rachel had a moment where she took a few steps into bravery. She said “I’m going down there.” And she did. She walked down the stairs, around the corner, and through their gate. Told the family she was sorry in English and the only words she knows how to express her sorrow in Spanish “lo siento, mi amiga.” She has been handing out her hugs and has been sitting next to them, telling them in English that it is okay to cry. Tears escaped her eyes as she felt the weight of their loss. In that moment I saw the Lord begin to start a new healing process in her. I saw the Lord begin to use the losses she has felt for His glory as He made her arms an extension of His and a literal place of comfort for those experiencing such a pain.
She gave the Lord permission to use her to help others heal, and the Lord is using her own experience to do that. He is not requiring her to have more experiences than she has had in order to use her, He is using her with what she has already experienced. Something that is solely hers. God has taught her in this way so that she can weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn, quite literally. And no one can do it in the same way Rachel can.
As I sit listening to the wails and cries as people come to visit I have no idea how to end this blog. I don’t know if I should move from the porch and stop watching the people coming in and out. I don’t know if we should just keep living our lives upstairs like it is just another day on the world race. Maybe I am just sensitive to laughter and music and people who are insensitive during loss because I have experienced that myself. When the wailing and the tears seem like they will never stop and the joy seems so far away, it might seem insensitive that a group of young Americans are just watching and laughing at their own lives.
So here we are. Just sitting on the porch, hoping that some of the love of the Lord will spill over into their space.
Much love,
-A
