Saturday, December 20, 2014

Ponche, Russian Tea, and Jengibre

Our very generous coconut tree
I type "Christmas decor ideas," and my screen fills up with images of evergreens in the snow, cozy cabins with fireplaces, and snowflakes. I look out the window, and I see the grass in our backyard full of coconuts that have sadly gone bad, because we're still not able to keep up with the amount produced by our tree. The passion fruit vine in our garden is loaded. Our neighbors are plowing their land to start planting in the next week. The thermometer inside my house says it's 74 degrees outside - such a cool day; I might even wear a scarf.

Things certainly do look a little bit different on the island. Since the husband is the more aplatano (literally plaintain-ified) in the house, he is the one who makes jengibre every night. Jengibre has become my favorite Dominican drink. It's a tea made of fresh sliced ginger and cinnamon.
However, as a true Guatemalan, what I really crave during this time is a little bit of ponche.  The quintessential Christmas drink, it's made of pineapple, apple, and other fruits brought to a boil with some spices and sugar. The husband doesn't really go for it. What he would have on any given afternoon during this season is Russian tea.

All three drinks will be available on Christmas day.

And so, our little multicultural family is learning how to pay attention to both old traditions and new. We now have three different cultures intertwining every single day. It's a complicated dance. And it is hard to keep up the pace of that dance. The husband has lived outside of his home country for eighteen years now, split between two countries. I have lived outside of my home country during 12 years, split between three different countries. The boys have been born in a country that is their own but not their parents'. It would be so much simpler to just pick one. We could choose to just keep one language at home, and focus on living out of just one culture. Yes, it would be a lot easier, specially because we would actually fit in somewhere.

Yet, if we chose the easy way, we would go unchanged. Our cultures would go unchallenged. I love Guatemalan culture. It is rich, and it is beautiful. However, I would be deceiving myself if I said it did not have its weak spots. Same goes for the other two cultures in this household. So, we are constantly pushed to think about what we say and do. Yes, we crack jokes in this house about each others' countries. We say our peace. We also ask tough questions. We enter deep conversations asking, 'why do they do this or that in the U.S. or in Guatemala?' 'Why do you think they do this or that here?' And the most beautiful part of the whole deal is that it will never be done. This tension will never be resolved. We will never arrived at an 'aha' moment or at a moment where we said we equally integrated the three or we came at a moment of comfort.

I have yet to learn a lot about island living. I am by no means an expert on Dominican culture or its history yet. I only hope that I will be able to walk within these cultures with honor and love.


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Update on David's Health

We had a "fun" day in Santiago this week. It was time for David's six-week post-Kawasaki treatment echocardiogram to make sure his heart and associated blood vessels had not been damaged by the Kawasaki. Read this blog entry about his illness. I (Roy) had to get some dental work done and Rebeca had to have a little lab work done to follow up with a doctor's visit last week. We had a good plan we thought: get to Santiago about 10am, get the echo done, give a blood sample at the same hospital, get some lunch, do a little Christmas shopping, then go to the dentist. The plan didn't quite work out. My dental checkup ended up being dental surgery. The echo didn't happen until the time of my dental fun, so Rebeca had to handle alone both Daniel the explorer and David the uncooperative unhappy patient, then wait a couple of hours for my ordeal to end and for me to pick them up.

But the good news was worth it. David god a clean bill of health! His heart suffered no damage in his bout with Kawasaki. We are done giving him daily doses of aspirin and having him bleed and bruise more easily than normal. We had been pretty optimistic that this would be the result, but receiving it still was a burden released. We are thankful. Thank you for your prayers during this process!


Sunday, December 14, 2014

Of Privilege and Entitlement

A few days ago, my brother wrote about the infamous car rides we endured as kids. I did not like riding in the car with my family very much. First, as the brother mentions, I got car sick a lot (a lot). Second, more than likely, I was going to a place I had not personally chosen to go to. Third, it was the place where all bets were off. We were either late going somewhere, or we were just tired and cranky returning from somewhere. And we fought. Sometimes, things would get so intense inside that car, that the parental unit would pull over, and make the biggest troublemaker of the moment get out of the car and walk a few blocks.

While it was somewhat amusing to remember those times and think about how ridiculous all of that must have looked, there was something in the story that really bugged me. In the middle of one of those not-so-happy moments, my brother was asked to change seats and complained, "this isn't fair!" I replied to his complaint with a snark "Life is not fair." Reading my reply to his frustration made me feel very uncomfortable, because I know exactly where that reply came from.

I had a very special place within my family. I was the first born daughter. My parents lost three pregnancies after I was born, so for five solid years, I was it. Then, after three high-risk and very awaited pregnancies, three baby boys were born. By the time the third brother was born, I had a secured spot in firstborn-and-only-daughter hierarchy. Yup, I was a daddy's girl.

On top of that was the fact that I had also been born to a very intelligent evangelical feminist. My mother was a preacher who did not conform to social or cultural stereotypes, and nobody-will-ever-put-you-my-baby-girl-in-the-corner was pretty much how she went about me.

And that was the place where the 'life is not fair' reply came from. At some point, I became so convinced that whatever special treatment I had within my family, I had earned it. In fact, technically, I had been born with it. In many different circumstances, I had it easier than the brothers. A lot of times it was out of the aforementioned dynamics. Other times, it was just because I was in a different season of life. However, as I look back at that scene in the car, I have been mulling over the same question in the past few days, 'Why didn't I offer up my seat?'  Because I was entitled to my comfortable spot.

Let the brothers fight, cry, and complain about their unlucky current state. Not my problem. Let them continue being uncomfortable. Let them continue to fight each other. Let them continue having the smaller bedroom. Let them continue being bullied. Because, yes, life isn't fair, and it is currently tilted in my favor, and I don't want to risk losing.

My parents carved a special place for me in the family. They did it out of love and a deep conviction of what Kingdom life looks like. I imagine them as the young couple they were, fresh out of seminary, working full-time at a church. I imagine them holding their new baby girl. I imagine my mom, knowing about all the stories she hears, thinking of how her jaw clenches and her own skin gets tight when she sees women being treated as less worthy because of their gender. I imagine my dad thinking of his own mom, the only daughter in a family of seven boys, and all the pain she's suffered, because she was the girl. And I imagine them thinking not for her, we mustn't let it happen... we need to do something different. And they do, they create this safe and nurturing place for the woman that I will become.

What a sweet spot to be in. Yet, how afraid I was so many times of losing it. At times, I was convinced that this was my divine right. Most times, I was so wrapped up in how good it felt that I became ambivalent to the needs of those around me. Isn't that what we do, though? Day after day we hear our brothers and sisters saying "this is not fair!" Another momma buried her child after a shooting. A friend's sister lost her house to a fire. A boss just took off to another country and left his employees without any pay. A husband left and never returned to care of his wife and two girls. How do we respond, out of our pimped seat? Are we willing to say, "hey, why don't I ride in the back for the rest of the trip. Come on up, the breeze is pretty nice right now."






Friday, December 12, 2014

The Toddler and The Baby in a Manger


I love Christmas season. It has always played an important part in my family life. We decorated our house the last weekend of November, making it toddler-proof as much as we could. As the days went by, I caught David as he was trying to reach for the Nativity scene on top of the piano. Since the pieces aren’t breakable, I just watched, thinking that, being the rural boy he is, he was going to play with the sheep – something so familiar and ordinary to him.
Part of Our Nativity Scene
However, as I watched closely, he just grabbed the baby figure, and brought it close to Mary. I asked, “what are you doing?” and he replied, “tetita”. That’s his word for nursing. He added, “baby eat.” I thought that was cute, and left him playing. After a while, I returned, and asked “did the baby eat?” David replied, “otro lado.” The other side. Of course, I thought. A baby needs to eat his fill.

Innocent and funny as that interaction seemed, the image stayed with me throughout the day. I had never thought of Jesus as a nursing baby. However, to David, Jesus is a baby, and thus can relate so well… he being nursing baby himself. So, naturally, his first thought when seeing the baby in a manger was to pick that baby up, and bring him to his momma’s breast.
Not the case with this breastfeeding mama.
David and Mama during a nursing session
This has been a hard year for me. No big tragedy. No big disaster. It’s just been the constant day to day battles that half the time feel like I’ve lost – the kid who throws tantrums, the baby who still wakes up in the middle of the night, the kid who now is afraid of the dark, the messy floor after every single meal, the overflowing never-ending to do list. It seems that on a constant basis somebody needs something from me. I have no moments to myself.
And more often than not, I have felt like Christ and I don’t have much in common these days. How can I relate to the one who made blind men see, and the lame walk, the one who came back from the dead? Such power and glory! I often feel powerless and by no means have my act together. But David made me rethink this mystery – Who is this Immanuel, God with us, Word made flesh? Who is this God who decided to enter the world as one of us breastfeeding babies?
 “Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”