The air here sticks close to the body. It almost unwaveringly grabs ahold of every hair and article of clothing. The jungle canopy rolls over the hills as far as the eye can see. The sun comes peaking over the mountain tops in a golden blanked that envelops the whole island. Every morning small white birds will fly two by two northwest across the island, to a place I haven’t had the privilege to digest. The people are kind, hardworking, quiet and loud all at once. The sound of small engine motorcycles fills the daytime, while smell of oil and garlic will float up from the kitchen to the surrounding work areas. The range of mutts and mixed dogs will plod and romp down the street at a pace independent of the rest of the area. A mule can be found tied up next to a motorcycle at the local store.
Hope Mountain is where the aforementioned can be discovered, along with being my home for the next 25, the tight, neatly designed mission center, shelter is nestled perfectly in the Dominican hillside. Over the past few days, ministry has been some things I’ve been familiar with throughout my life. I’m more familiar with digging ditches and clearing hillsides then I am with “traditional” mission work. Therefore the entry process into the area has been a gradual one. The host family is amazing, and the hired hands they have running the property are diligent and hardworking faces. Often Jason can be seen with his puppy, and Nani can be found fixing the fence with freshly cut down guava trees as posts.
It’s not every day that one can say they went on a mission trip and was sent into the jungle to hack down fallen banana trees with a machete. There is something to be said for hard work, there’s something to be said for going to bed feeling a satisfying soreness in the shoulders, and something to be said for a well-deserved shower in a waterfall (yeah, we do that here). Also the kids that meet us to play basketball vary from little kids to players that would absolutely clown most high school teams in the states. You can get two burgers, a soda and a bag of chips for about $2.50, and the coffee is strong enough to wake the dead. And goats. The goats are everywhere. One minute they are across the canyon, and the next they are about two feet from strolling right through the front door of the male dorms.
My few days here has been eye popping. The shot to the heart of my reality that the rest of the world does not live as I do in the states. It’s refreshing and truly a learning experience. Every time I tell myself that I have my feelings or thoughts or emotions figured out here, the Lord graciously leads me into another adventure for the day.
I’ll keep you tuned. These little progress reports will become more and more common. All the Love
