Author Archives: Aaron

Love This Big (February Newsletter)

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Aaron Roth – HOPE International – “Love Big Enough” – February 2012

His eyes say it all. He’s full of joy and he’s curious about the world. I’m standing in his classroom waiting to talk to his teacher, Ruth, which turns out to be his mother. By this point all the kids want me to take a photo of them and they are surrounding me asking to see the photos I’ve taken. Justin is very polite, trying not to push people around and finds my left arm holding the camera. He reaches out for my arm and grabs it to pull himself front and center. When I show him his photo, he looks up and smiles with a look that says, “That’s me!”

At three years old, Justin, is what he should be at that age: kind, curious, and with a heart that opens both ways, to give and receive love. Ruth, his mom, swings around and picks him up, “Oh, mi corazon, tienes hambre? Vamos para la casa de una vez y cocino para nosotros, tu y yo.” (My heart, are you hungry? Let’s go home now and I’ll cook for you and IFeb-12-News-02.) So that’s where he gets it from.

I spend a lot of time around children down here in the Dominican Republic because this year I’m focused on working in our microlending program to small, Christian schools. Public education is so bad in the DR that even though parents can barely afford food and clothing, they will still pay to send their children to private schools with tuition around USD $7-$9 a month. Our microloans are to schools are to build more classrooms and computer labs. Through a partnership with the organization www.Edify.org we are able to provide this necessary capital for schools to grow and receive the resources they need to improve the education that they give to the students. By improving the education for the children, we are able to help put them on a path of opportunity and success for their whole life.

Feb-12-News-03I love it. Working with these schools and their owners to help improve their businesses and their role in the community always brings joy to me. I guess it helps that kids here are like kids everywhere. Full of joy and endless wonder, ready to talk to anybody who walks through the door. At this age, they are full of innocence and possibility.

Justin is a bit shy, and when I try to talk to him, he hides behind his mothers face. So I ask her, “What kind of things does Justin say? What does he do.” She urges him, “Show mommy what you do when I ask you how much you love me.” Justin smiles and stretches his arms out wide.

Ruth tells me, “He loves me this big!”

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What Happens to All Those Boys When They Grow Up?

It’s Carnaval time in the Dominican Republic. It started from a tradition held prior to Lent, and you can find these parades on every Sunday afternoon in the big cities  throughout the island. I had the opportunity to view a parade with some friends and it was quite intriguing.

Enormous, meticulously decorated costumes are donned by young men and teenagers who march through the streets carrying stuffed pig bladders on small ropes. WHACK! They swing these pig bladders striking unsuspecting bystanders. It’s not so much the impact that hurts, but the surprise by the sudden smack on the back of the leg. Their large masks hide any indication of their next strike, and BOOM! another victim.

Feb-12-News-04For spectators and most costumed young men, it’s all for fun, a cultural celebration that they’ve been doing for years and years. Standing there watching the powerful swings of the rope by young, skilled, baseball-obsessed young men, I hear the squeals of girls jumping out of the way, and I’m taken back by one thing: the faces of some of these young men. They aren’t smiling. They aren’t really having a good time, are they? Their eyes don’t show celebration, nor revelry in being part of a parade, but simple determination to strike someone else, someone who may or may not deserve it.

Later, a fight breaks out with some of the non-costumed bystanders brought on by limited standing space in a battle of turf and lack of respect. Eyes of hate, seething with revenge. Eyes ready to strike at someone who may or may not deserve it. What’s happened to all those boys?

A Wall Around the Heart

What I saw in the eyes of some of those costumed young men and in the youth who were ready to fight, is what I’ve seen at home in Richmond, VA, or many places in the States, and quite often here in the rough neighborhoods. It’s the response of a boy fighting back.  Taking revenge and doling out some of the hurt he’s received. Lashing back at anyone who crosses the line, and indeed so many have crossed that line over the years since he was a kid. It’s a heart that opens for no one. No Feb-12-News-07love comes in, no love goes out.

I think about all the young people that I’ve met working in the schools. Hundreds and hundreds of young boys and girls, too young to care about anything else but simply that they just want to know somebody at home loves them and that there will be food on the table when they get there, and they won’t get yelled at for something they didn’t do. But unfortunately, that’s not a reality for most of them. There’s not a safe home to come back to.

They start learning that the world is hard, and it doesn’t care if you haven’t eaten, or that someone hurt your feelings. The best solution then, is to close your heart to the world, because if you do, nothing else can come in to steal and destroy, and consequently nothing comes out to heal and repair. Poverty too, makes that poison of hate even more deadly. It can steal and destroy the innocence of possibility of these young boys and girls even before they have a chance to bloom.

Life Lessons that Stay

So when I think about Justin, Ruth’s son, at the age of three years old, I know he still believes that the world is good, that he doesn’t need to fight back; he just needs to stand up for himself because he deserves to be treated well. That’s what his mom taught him. In fact, that’s what she shows to all her students.

Feb-12-News-06I asked her why she became a teacher here and she responded that 15 years ago she was one of the first students in a class of 50 that the director, Aleyda Torres, taught. What she received as a young girl was a good education, daily encouragement, and above all else, that she was valued and loved. Now, the school cares for over 440 students in the same way in one of the roughest areas of La Romana. Ruth continues:

“I want these children to feel the love that I felt as a young girl. It’s important to me to be an instrument of God’s love and to form relationships with these children, to guide them, instruct them, and love them as my family and the way that God has loved me.”

She goes on to add that a lot of times the students that come to her class don’t have three meals a day, or have holes in their shoes, or they are angry, because their parents are fighting, or their father left, and it’s hard for their mom to raise four kids on her own. Ruth wants to show them a love that covers over these daily hurts and deep pains. She wants to provide them a home, even if it’s just a classroom, where people are respectful and people listen, and everyone is treated as though they matter.

What a child learns everyday they take with them their whole life. Poverty isn’t just about lack of resources, it’s about the loss of hope. That’s what happened to all those young men with no love in their hearts, they stopped believing that people cared. But I want to ask, what does it look like if we start to change the story for those who are still young? And show them that someone cares about them? That it matters what they do and what they believe? What will that mean for them when they grow older?

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14)

“Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.” (Psalm 22:6)

I pray today that you would see the opportunity to reach out to someone that needs to know that there is still kindness and love in this world.

Bendiciones,
-Aaron Roth

aroth@hopeinternational.org
(540) 421-8683
Skype: aprothwm05
Web: www.AaronRoth.net

The (bitter)Sweetness of Hindsight

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The last time I needed to make about 1,200 copies for a project, it took me close to 4 hours. In a country that continues to develop its infrastructure, what can be considered a basic task can turn into the most complicated ordeal. In the last episode of printing, four hours were spent trudging from copy shop to copy shop when there was no electricity, or copy machines running out of toner, paper jams that resembled DC’s 495 at 8:00am, “out to lunch” signs or just closed doors, prices of 9 cents a copy for black and white (do the math for 1,200), and traditional copying woes like snail-like printing. Don’t even get me started on stapling . . .

Well, this time, 1,200 copies took about 15 min at six times less the cost.

Take a look at my man Martin. With his left hand he’s holding two sets of two sheets of paper together and with his right hand he’s delivering what can only be described as a stapling beat down. The rhythm of his attack is calculated, precise, and deadly; it’s a battle march that carries over the fields and mountains of stationery. The hills and valleys echo his triumphant firing and reloading, and stacks of fresh, 24lb, A4 paper sit in silence contemplating their imminent fate.

He’s a veteran and an active duty juggernaut, so when we proposed the idea of 300 double-sided stapled surveys, he smirked — along with mangu and eggs, he eats projects like this for breakfast. It’s a mere afterthought as he plows through the mess and makes order with four neatly stacked piles to carry out of his shop. He is a machine. In fact, he’s faster than the machine spitting out the copies. He’s outsmarted it and outfoxed it, and chuckles when I consider his work magic.

Like many things in life, and certainly relating to my experience here, I look to the heavens and ponder “Why all this pain, all this run-around, all this difficulty, when 3 minutes from my apartment, stands the solution, the “Martin,” the chief and ruler of the place called ‘Copy Master’ annihilating beasts of  tasks that plagued me.”

The question we may come to when we come out of a struggle could be a bittered, heavy-hearted lament:

“If only I had known, oh what pain I could have saved myself.”

I’m still trying to get rid of that, and indeed, I try  to consider most of my episodes like the copying fiasco as simply elements that help me arrive to the destination. I remember when I used to take two public cars back from Parque Enriquillo, now I take just one guagua. I remember when I paid transaction fees to withdraw money, then I got a Bank of America card and pay nothing to withdraw money from a ScotiaBank (bank friends). I remember being confused in Spanish in relation to what I asked, and then I paraphrased what I heard and asked for affirmation, a simple yes or a no. That changed my world.

We live and we learn, don’t we?

My goal is to make hindsight less bittersweet. And for that, I need to just take the bitter out of the ingredients, so that when I arrive at “Copy Master,” meet the valiant Martin, I can simply snap a picture, get my copies, and rejoice that I’ve finally found the solution.

Oh, how sweet it is.

A Cold Breath of Reality, the Death of a Soul?

Sierra does not enjoy the cold or the snow.

As I kid, my friends told me you couldn’t see the air. They lied. One day when the weather turned cold, a strange thing happened. I could see the air that I breathed. I was fascinated to realize that a thing not seen suddenly took form and became real.

Especially after living in a very hot and humid country, seeing your breath is a bit of a wonder, so stepping off the airplane onto the jet way in Milwaukee last week I was again surprised by seeing my own breath.

It’s a blatant reminder of the change in temperature, and for me, the cold snap of the reality of the passing of a loved one. First, it’s the shock of the chilly air, and the realization that I’m in Milwaukee because of the passing of my grandmother, and second, it again was that recognition of a breath of air manifested into a physical form that took me by surprise as a kid.

I was always confused by the idea of a soul as a child. How exactly could a thing exist that we can’t see, that I couldn’t touch with my hands, that I couldn’t stuff in my Dukes of Hazard lunchbox, or cram under my bunk bed? And if it did exist, was it in the heart, or was it in the mind?

I did know one thing though as kid. When our dog was killed running across the street in Iowa and my dad took my brother and I to a barn to see where he was laid to rest, something hurt deep inside. It wasn’t just my heart, it wasn’t just my mind, something ached for something lost.

I came across a poem by Robert Frost last week when I was home. It’s the same poem I read six years ago, and committed the last stanza to memory.

Robert Frost “Reluctance” written in 1915 (4th Stanza)

“Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?”

I encourage you to read “Reluctance” in its entirety.

To me, the biting cold of winter is like the pain of loss, a reminder of a warmth that has left us. But do we only ever see our breath when the temperature drops below 32 degrees? Is a thing unseen only manifested in the absence of warmth, only in pain or loss?

It is true, the soul is a mysterious thing, as is the nature of life, as is the reality of death, as is every element of the design of the Creator. There are two things that bring me closer to understanding the things of life and death and breath –  first, this video below:

And second, that the dead leaves scraping across the ground of winter came from the trees that proudly displayed their brilliant colors in the fall, leaves that matured during the summer from the heat and rains of summer, a delivery from the bloom and growth of spring.

If winter is the death of warmth, then why does spring come?

If a breath is only visible in the exhale, from where do we draw it in?

If a soul is extinguished in death, then where did it begin?

. . .

I believe less in beginnings and ends, and more in the simple movement of things. Maybe the soul in its journey of life and death is just a change in address.

Last week we passed by 415 Staver Street, but I don’t believe grandma and grandpa live there anymore.

Grandpa’s Handkerchief of a Thousand Miles

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Albert always carried a handkerchief with him in his back pocket that he used to wipe his forehead when he worked doing construction. He didn’t understand why people didn’t carry handkerchiefs with them anymore. They were so useful he’d say, and I remember him wanting to give each of his grandchildren one of these practical gifts – new ones of course. He didn’t like how we would throw Kleenex tissues away so easily, it seemed like such a waste to him. He was a man of reason, a practical thinker, a “I can probably fix-it so don’t throw it away” kind of guy.

Six years ago after his funeral we spent some time cleaning out his old home office. To me, it was fascinating to see how he arranged his work, and his specific manner of workflow. There were folders for business, for school, for family, for woodworking projects, and for church. Everything had its proper place and purpose, and he had a daily routine that he kept to. I even remember the date had been updated in the morning on the last day he was alive.

Even until his last days he stuck to the discipline with all the matters and materials of daily life. One thing that sticks with me is that he never took anything with him when he passed on, all his possessions stayed there at the house. Keeping track of my own possessions the past two years has been mediated by baggage requirements: one carry one, and one checked baggage, and yet, I still realize, you can’t take anything with you traveling heavenwards.

I took a handkerchief from Grandpa’s desk six years ago, and I put it on my desk at home. Two years ago when I left the States, I put it in my backpack. It was a simple reminder of the practicality of my grandpa, and of my grandmother, both lived through the days of rationing during the Second World War. It was hot and humid in every single country I’ve visited, perfect for wiping the brow just like grandpa did in construction, but I know the reason I kept that handkerchief with me is that it reminded me of home, of a solid family, of grandparents that cared about me and loved to hear from me.

Next to grandpa’s desk were a few shoes neatly arranged and recently polished. Mom said, “You know when we were growing up, Albert used to have holes in his shoes because he spent the money on us. Over time, he could afford to have nicer shoes, leather, with sturdy soles that could be easily repaired and last a long time.” I tried on a pair to see if they fit. They did.

My parents packed the dress shoes I asked them to bring along for the funeral. I had kept the sturdy ones that fit well, and used them from time to time in the past six years. I had kept Grandpa’s handkerchief with me in my backpack and then at my desk in Santo Domingo. I stuck it back in the pocket of my backpack on the trip home. Arriving to the funeral, I had Albert’s shoes and handkerchief.

. . .

I remember carrying my grandfather as he carried me. I carried his handkerchief with me on all my travels, and I kept it in my pocket Monday morning.

I carried my grandmother as she carried me, one hand on the casket bar, the other holding the handkerchief grandpa gave me.

. . .

I don’t know why I do stuff like this. If you ask people that really know me, they’ll tell you that I’m a person who likes to carry out a movement or a tradition so that it in some ways connects to its origin. I’ve done it with the houses I’ve lived in, the campus of W&M, and the bridges of Richmond, VA and so on.

Helen was being laid to rest next to Albert, something she had wanted for six years, and as I stood on the edge of the grave, I realized, strangely, that it was like I was bringing Albert’s belongings back to him, as if to prove to him that I was a good and faithful servant. Thousands of miles I brought them back to the origin. Wouldn’t he be so proud?

But I know, and I know he would have told me, that he never wanted them returned, he just wanted to see how far they would travel.

I think that’s how Albert and Helen loved their grandchildren, never wanting a permanent deposit, but most certainly a visit, a meal, and stories to see how far they had traveled.

With tears stinging my face on a cold January Monday morning, I took out his handkerchief and wiped my eyes, and put it back in my pocket; I still had plenty more miles to travel . . .

International Lessons from My Grandparents

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I was sitting on a guagua (see recent post for definition) coming through El Salvador when a Canadian asked me, “I think it’s so rare to find American traveling through Central America, what led you to make that move?” Before I jumped into all the ego-boosting reasons why it was so rare, cool and unusual for someone like me to be traveling around, I actually stopped to think about the question. Why did I want to travel?

Well that answer has been explored throughout this blog over the past two years, but I know for sure that there’s one experience, or set of experiences, that shaped me growing up.

Thanksgiving in Warren, IL

As a kid, I knew it took longer than 4 or 5 Sesame Street programs (this was my unit of time back then) to drive to Warren, IL from Waterloo, Iowa or from Elgin, IL, and I also thought that was a really long way to drive for food. I’m not sure why we had to go through all the hassle of loading everyone up in the mini-van for something I know mom could have made at home.

Clearly, Thanksgiving is, and always has been more than a meal, and certainly, going to Grandma & Grandpa’s house in Warren, was always an adventure and an international one as well. It was there I learned that not all Russians were communists (Sergei was tall and kind – pictured right) and not just vampires came from Transylvania (a husband and wife explained the difference between Hollywood and reality).

Now, a town of about 1,428 (2010 census) may not seem like a huge international tourist stop, but when we look at Wikipedia we see that Warren hosted many visitors in the past:

“Captain Alexander Burnett was the first known American settler in present-day Warren; he built a log cabin at the corner of what is now the corner of Main and Water Streets in 1843.In 1851 a stagecoach stop was erected on the Stagecoach Trail, the building still stands and is now serving as the Warren Community Building.The village was platted in 1853 along the proposed route for the Illinois Central Railroad tracks and later growth in Warren was heavily influenced by the presence of the railroad. (wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warren,_Illinois)“

My grandfather, Albert, was a superintendent of schools and my grandmother, Helen, had gotten her masters in education, taught for a good many years and raised three boys and two girls. Education, raising children, and being involved in the local and international community were always important to them.

My guess is that when all those kids left the house, they had to fill it with new ones. Maybe they just missed the noise, but they always seemed to host guests from other countries, and it was always around Thanksgiving when I got to meet them (here’s me trying to learn a new board game – pictured left).

I asked my mom about three years ago how many international travelers my grandparents had hosted and how many countries they’d visited over the years. Here was her reply: (1/15/09)

“[Grandma] said there were 2 guys from Jordan-I remember one’s name was Zadie. She remembered Sergei from Russia, she said there was a couple from India. She couldn’t remember all the countries she and dad visited but I would ask her some names and she would say yes or no. We came up with 25!! They went to 8 elder-hostels in other countries. Here are the names of the countries:

Australia, Austria, Brussels, China , Costa Rica, Denmark, Ecuador, England, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, India, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Netherlands, New Zealand, Panama, Poland, Russia, Scotland, Spain, Thailand, Turkey

They went to Brussels to see their Foreign Exchange student Antonio and his wife. Previously they had gone to their wedding in the Netherlands and got to sit in a place of honor in the castle where they were married! They went to see Lyle in Germany when he studied there for a semester. Mom was in a teacher exchange program in Japan where the students brought their own typewriters to class everyday and then the students would clean the schools and then go to the bookstores and stand and read books for a couple hours.

Mom and dad had stuff in their home that different guests would have given them. You probably went with grandpa Tucker when he took the guests to the cheese plant and then to the dairy farm. And of course, they went with us to the Apple River Canyon area to help us “Shoot” a Christmas tree!

To me, the lesson as a young child was this:

The world is big and mysterious, so go explore!

That’s something that’s stuck with me all these years.

So yeah, that’s part of why I’m here, doing what I’m doing. That’s what I told the Canadian in El Salvador, and that’s what I tell the locals why a 6’3” white dude is walking around the community where they live. It started a long time ago, in a small town, over a big table, with tales from travelers from all over the world.

Thanks grandma and grandpa.

Friendship is Realizing You’ve Been Riding the Same Guagua

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I had been riding a guagua for about 15 min with the same folks up front when I saw something that made me smile.

“Guagua” is the name for a bus in the Dominican Republic, but just here in this country. You won’t find it elsewhere, and you shouldn’t try to use it either. For example, in Chile in means “baby” and you can imagine the consequences when you ask the locals “If I go to the city center, can I take a guagua toward the West?”

Sometimes a guagua route can take a while. With all the stops of people getting off and on, inevitably the time spent on a broken uncomfortable “seat” will be doubled, even tripled. (Don’t ask me about the heat of summer, that time gets exponential.) But this afternoon, we didn’t have that many passengers coming and going, the route was simply a long one. We had just turned a corner onto La Avenida Bolivar and a gentlemen on the left reaches over across the aisle and smacks the arm of the guy sitting on the right.

“Oye! Hermano! Como te va!? (Hey brother, how’s it going!?)

“Ay, yay, yay! Dimelo ‘manito! Que lo que!? (Tell me little brother, what’s up?)

“No sabia que tu estabas en esta guagua!” (I didn’t know you were on this bus!)

“Jajaja, pues si, aqui estoy!” (Haha, well yea, here I am!)

“Ay, que bien! Y, la familia? (Ha! That’s great. How’s your family?)

“Bien hermano, estamos bien.” (Doing well brother, we’re all doing fine.)

Turns out, these two friends had been riding the same guagua for awhile, headed in the same direction, and didn’t even realize it. Their exchange of words were simple in their content, but the tone of brief conversation revealed that they had known each other for quite awhile and judging by their age, possibly years of friendship.

I believe you can always tell when you’ve got a good friend, in that you never need to work for conversation, and indeed it was this way with them. And similarly, with good friends, you may not even need to talk so much. For these gentlemen, the length of conversation wasn’t important, both were satisfied in their happenstance meeting, and didn’t worry themselves in creating a big reunion anymore than any other day. After all, they were on the same route home. There would be plenty of time to catch up later.

All these details pooled together to give me better definition of how I think friendship can be expressed:

When you realize you’ve been headed in the same direction for quite some time and one of you has to smack the other one to get them to recognize that you indeed have been friends for the whole journey.

I know I’ve got a few people I need that I need to lean over and smack, so before you think I have to apologize, get ready to say thanks.

She’s Been Waiting to Share So Many Stories

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Grandpa made this stained glass hummingbird.

Six years ago when my grandfather passed away, my grandmother requested her grandsons to carry the casket of her husband, 87 years of age, and 60 years of marriage. It wasn’t just that she wanted the strongest, most capable men to carry it; rather, she said that it was the most fitting.

Albert had loved each of us dearly when we were babies. He held us as he rocked back and forth in his chair, carried us around the home, and even changed our diapers. He used to call me “little pumpkin head;” my guess is my siblings and cousins had similar nicknames befitting of their early physical condition.

Now, on that cold, January day in the small town of Warren, Illinois, his grandsons, men of post graduate degrees, working young professionals, and university students would carry the man who once carried them.

How beautiful and mysterious life is, that me, a baby of 7-8 pounds and some ounces, small enough to fit in a wash tub, could grow  to be 6’3” not able to fit into a bathtub. Once, completely dependent on those that provided for every need, I was innocently incapable. We were all like that though, my brother and my cousins, dependent on love to sustain us, for without it we would perish. We were vulnerable and weak.

At 22 years old, tears stinging my eyes as I held them back, I waited to see if my cousins let theirs go. Yes, strangely, I was still vulnerable and weak. I felt like that was ok though. I think Albert knew we had become strong men, both in will and stature, strong enough to carry the man who once carried them. He was dependent on love to sustain him.

I never got to tell him that I set sail on the greatest adventure of my life, but my grandmother knew.

She told me several times that her Albert would be proud of me. I know she had been carrying many messages for him. She had been saving them up for six years now. To think she’d lived more life with him, than without him – 60 years of marriage.

I can’t imagine all the things she’d been waiting to tell him, things like the accomplishments of her grandkids, new sewing patterns or quilting ideas, corn that needed shucking, and the plans for the big Thanksgiving dinners. When he passed, she said she just wanted to be with Albert up in Heaven. She was really ready to go.

 

Two weeks ago a stroke set in motion the rapid decline of her health.

I’d like to think she just started packing her bags.

It had been a very difficult two weeks for the entire family. Many tears.

I think she was just firming up the details of her departure.

. . .

Sunday night she left to go be with Albert in Heaven.

. . .

I imagine her with pockets full of letters, stacks of photos with rubber bands wrapped around them, and printed emails from the family at home and abroad.

She’s coming home grandpa, so make sure the kitchen is clean.

I love you Grandma 🙂

Still an American in the Dominican

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So the guy at the taxi stand asked me when I arrived. “Cual hotel?”  I couldn’t understand why he would ask such a weird question. I had told him my address in Gazcue, and he asked me again, “Cual hotel?” I was perplexed. Then I dove into my library of Spanish nouns, verbs, and growing lexicon of Dominican slang trying to find what he could have meant.

My mind was racing, I was ready and prepared to throw out any number of local qualifiers, the proximity of the Bellas Artes Museo (Beautiful Arts Museum), the intersection of Maximo Gomez y Independencia, my joy at the opening of the new public park close to where I live, which is a great place for families, a haven for surfers, and a safe place to walk around at night.

I was ready for all that, but “Which hotel?” I started going through the conversation in my mind: “I dunno which hotel you mean. Which hotel are you talking about, and why are you talking about a hotel when I told you where I live? Is there something I should know about a hotel? Do they have fresh baked cookies like DoubleTree?”

It makes me laugh because when they think I don’t know Spanish, they act like it, and then I act like it, and because they see that I’m acting like it, then I get confused, and then they’re confused, and then we’re both confused. As a last resort, we both start looking for someone else to translate. Naturally though, that’s just what it is.

I’m still American, they tell me, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. I guess I just don’t think about when I walk around the city of Santo Domingo, but apparently to everyone else, I’m still a 6’3″ white dude who’s sporting a brownish/blond beard. That’s certainly not the appearance of a Dominican, but to me I’m not phased by it. To me, “that was so last year.” But to them, that is the now, right in front of them, a strange looking dude with light eyes is going to open his mouth and speak something that isn’t Spanish.

I think that’s another small reason why it’s still awesome to be abroad. You’re consistently reminded that the perspective that you walk around with is not the perspective that everyone else has. Maybe, that’s part of the lesson that traveling and being abroad gives you. You start to see your context in the world, and start viewing your perspective as unique. Before you never really questioned what you thought, or what you did, because really, “That’s just what everyone does, right?”

That’s how you had been living, that’s how you had been thinking, and wow, there was a world out there wasn’t there? And now you’re in it, the new world, the world that is new everyday.

So I finally told the taxi driver that I live here and that I was confused at his question, maybe he thought a hotel was a better option than where I was living. We both laughed and I got in the taxi.

Aaron Roth Support Letter for HOPE International 2012 (January Newsletter)

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 Aaron Roth Support Letter for HOPE International 2012

A day before I left the Dominican Republic to come visit for Christmas, I had the opportunity to enjoy a Christmas celebration meal with the HOPE’s on-the-ground partner,  Esperanza Internacional. I was sitting next to the staff that works in the northern part of the capital. Ramona Gonzales had just been named loan officer of the year for the country, and in her acceptance speech she said, “None of this has been my own effort. I am grateful to the Lord for his strength and his grace, and also to my teammates, my friends and coworkers of my office.” Ramona visits all her 500 microfinance clients on a bi-weekly basis. She was my first microfinance teacher, and most importantly, taught me that it’s not just about making micro-loans.

January 2012 Support - Meeting.jpgYes, we provide small loans to individuals, but I believe, just as Ramona does, that the real work comes in the relationships we build. The real work of Hope is forged in friendships, in conversations, in prayers, in walks to and from home. I have met hundreds and hundreds of people that rely on our financial and educational services, and they are incredibly grateful for our partnership as we work together to overcome the crushing force of poverty. Quite often we are the only organization that travels to these remote communities to visit them because HOPE believes in this work, and I do too.

What the Lord has taught me over the past year serving in the Dominican Republic (DR) would be impossible to condense into a letter, but I believe it’s important to highlight a few lessons:

1)     The Economic Need is Enormous, and We Can Help.

It is true, we live a nation that is blessed with economic prosperity. Even in our darkest economic slumps, we are still better off than 80% of the rest of the world that try to live on just a few dollars a day. We have the ability to attend good schools, walk around our neighborhoods safely, and drink water from the kitchen tap.

January 2012 Support - Colmado.jpgThis is not the reality for the rest of the world. I’ve sat in bank meetings and spoken with our clients of HOPE about the consistent challenges of trying to provide three meals a day for their children, the expensive costs of going to clinics for medicine (usually just a few dollars), and saving enough money to send them to good schools (about $7-9 a month). They have told me, that simply by me being present with them, working with them directly and also with the people who sent me – you, my friends, my family, my church – it is an honor for them, and our work makes tangible improvements in their lives and makes them feel connected to the communities where they live.

2)     We All Work Best With Inspiration.

The work of God’s kingdom, whether locally or internationally thrives on inspiration and encouragement. Shame or guilt serves no purpose in motivating those to participate in overseas work. I know that I get to shake the hands of the grateful clients and see their smiles, but I wish that you could as well. I am grateful to be the messenger, to be your hands and feet on the ground, knowing that we all do this work unto Jesus.

35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. (Mathew 25:35-36)

3)     The Local Church Accomplishes God’s Work, Home and Abroad.

We meet in local churches and homes all across the country. In 10 offices in the DR and four in Haiti, we have impacted more than 50,000 people this past year in 2011. On the ground there are over a hundred local staff of Dominicans and Haitians and just five Americans. Working together as God’s local church, we believe in the mission that God wants to redeem all that is broken and hopeless, that all may know the hope manifested in his Son, Jesus who came to this Earth, and that we should shine with the joy of the Lord.
Nov-News-05.jpg
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Mathew 5:14-16)

4)     When Traveling, Eat at the Local Cafeterias with the Longest Lines.

Slight change of topic: by sticking to venues with long lines, it’s a signal that the locals approve of the food; it’s affordable, safe to eat, and most likely delicious. Many foods and fruits are seasonal, and half the joy is hearing how they describe the sweetness of a ripe mango, or the succulence of savory “mofongo” with roasted pork 😉

5)     Hearing Someone’s Dreams for the Future is all the Motivation I Need.

Sometimes I find myself spending an extra hour in a school talking with a teacher or a student about their goals and aspirations for the future.  I’ve realized that there’s something contagious about hope. When I hear someone really share what’s on their heart, I too get a taste of the joy and excitement for that day when they graduate from high school, make a better home for their family, or even attend a university. Hope keeps us all moving forward, you know?

My Role as a Dominican Fellow in 2012

January 2012 Support - School.jpgAs I have mentioned in my monthly newsletters, I have been working in the area of educational program for Christian schools throughout the island of the DR. My role with HOPE in 2012 will be to continue to work in the partnership with Esperanza Internacional and a Christian Microlending organization called Edify to help build more classrooms and computer labs in Christian schools throughout the poorest communities in the DR.

We have built classrooms and made improvements in 20 schools and have started programs for Biblically-based curriculum and training resources for administrators and teachers throughout the country. Over 2,700 children have been impacted by our work and thousands more will have the opportunity to attend a good school, learn about the love of Jesus, and learn the skills they need to thrive in school and beyond.

Timeline & Resources

As I prayed about my plans for 2012, I was led to continue serving in the DR as a full-time volunteer. HOPE has established a budget for the 8 months I will be in the country. I will need $900 a month for living costs in the capital city of the DR, Santo Domingo. I am asking friends and family to prayerfully and financially support me in this opportunity to participate in the work of the Lord.

I’d like to follow up with you about this letter within two weeks. Any amount you give is tax deductible, and you can find information about writing a check or donating online listed below. Some of my supporters have found it easier to make a small donation ($15, $25, or $50) with their credit card that recurs every month, you can find out about that below. If you’re interested in knowing more about HOPE International’s work in the world and the Dominican Repubilc, I’d love to talk with you about it over email, Skype, or a fresh cup of Dominican coffee – I know a great spot!

I hope you’ll consider coming alongside me in what God is continuing to do in the DR. I am excited for the opportunity to serve again with HOPE International in the Dominican Republic in 2012. My prayer for you is that God would encourage and inspire you every day, like He has this past year for me, and that you will listen to His Spirit moving in your life.

Bendiciones y que Dios les bendiga mucho,
-Aaron Roth

aroth@hopeinternational.org
(540) 421-8683
Skype: aprothwm05
Web: www.AaronRoth.net

More than a Number (December Newsletter)

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   Aaron Roth – HOPE International – December 2011

Kickstarter-560x420-LOGO-2-300x225Last week, I was working on a special project that brought me face to face with many of the people that we’ve served over the past year. Come to think of it, I’ve met hundreds and hundreds of people in 2011. All very different from me. Teenagers with children, married, and working manual labor jobs. Single mothers supporting their family of four on a couple dollars a day who smile and ask me about my family, and where my children are (not if I have children, but actually, the location of them). Haitian church choirs of women who need to dance when they sing. (How else can you stay on beat?)

Grandfathers that lived through two dictators and chuckle about the problems of the current administration. Small children playing with broken two liter bottles as toys. Grandmothers that emigrated from Haiti 70 years ago. Men working 10-12 hours a day cutting sugar cane by hand six days a week and earn $2.50 for 2,000 pounds of sugar cane. Aggressive bus drivers weaving through busy city streets that come to a complete stop, turn and face their passengers to bid farewell with “Vayan con Dios” (Go with God) to which I think: “We’ve already being going with God, because I’ve been praying we’d make it here alive.”

And all of these people just knew a couple words of English.

I am grateful to God for this opportunity to serve with such inspirational people and for learning the Spanish language. I’ve realized that Spanish was the key that unlocked this opportunity to serve and to meet such amazing people over the past year. I am grateful that even “starting late” in life for attaining fluency, I am now able to tell my stories and jokes in Spanish (I’m still working on my delivery in both languages though). Most of all, I’m grateful for being able to participate in the work of HOPE International and especially for their local partner in the Dominican Republic (DR), Esperanza International. Here in the DR, we have been able to impact over 50,000 people this past year through our community banking services, medical, dental, and educational programs.

Dec-News-01So, as I was working on this project last week I was thinking about these people that we serve; and I was doing it rapidly. With the new launch of Esperanza’s web site: www.Esperanza.org we have been uploading all the client photos so that they will be integrated into the online donation system. Since we have thousands of clients, we had to work quickly to format them to upload them to the site. I could do a photo in a little over a minute and I was flying through the folder shown here in the picture to the left.

What you’ll notice is that all of these women have a numbered title for their photo. The sequence is representative of the national ID number system called the “cedula” – it’s a lot like our Social Security system. What I saw in this group of photos was that the three letter prefix began with “999.” I remember early on working with some of our loan officers that we recorded the national ID number of the client, and if they don’t have a national ID number, we give them a number starting with “999.” I asked, “Why don’t they have a national ID number.”

Dec-News-03“Well, it usually means they emigrated here from Haiti.”

If you don’t have a “cedula” (a national ID) number you cannot get a job and are therefore disqualified from any government services. What it means is that as far as the level of poverty is concerned, these “999” women are the poorest of the clients that we serve. They have no official documentation and when they become a client with Esperanza Internacional, it is the first official document with their name on it that they receive. It is a way of recognizing them as a unique individual, someone who is publicly recognized in the community where they live.

Our photo upload project requires us to look up their number. Let’s take for example the woman in the top left of the picture in the group of six above. You cannot see her face that well, because of the light streaming through the door in the background. The light interests me as I log onto the system and check out the details of this woman. Turns out she’s not just a number, she has a name, like you, and like me, and like every single person I’ve met this past year.

Dec-News-02Her name is Franchesca Ramirez and she is a member of the community banking group called Bendiciones de Dios (Blessings from God). She’s my age, married, and has two children. Her microloan was for $160 dollars over six months for her small business of selling clothing in her local community. Immediately, a story fills in the details of her life, much like that light in the background fills up the room where she sits.

This is the same manner in which I’ve met everyone over this past year: It first starts with a face, then a name, and then a story. The light moves from one detail to the next and gradually presents a story of a life, of a woman providing for her family, making them meals, sending children off to school, and singing them songs or telling stories to them before tucking them in at night. She’s one of the hundreds of people I’ve me this past year, one of the thousands that we’ve impacted in 2011. Her story reminds me of one of the truths I have learned over this past year:

Each one of us has a story to tell.

I think about that light behind Franchesca again. The light of the sun that rises and sets for us, those who speak English, those who live in America, those who have children, and those who work during the day to put food on the table and spend time with those they love before retiring for the evening. It’s the same light that shines for the millions of people throughout the world day in and day out. It is the light that shines for everyone and gives us each a story.

I am grateful for the light that shines behind each us helping to illuminate the details of our life. I am grateful for the Light that was given to us and that which we celebrate this Christmas season.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:1-5)

Blessings to you and your family,
-Aaron
aroth@hopeinternational.org
www.AaronRoth.net
Skype: aprothwm05

*Update: I’ll be sending an email about coming back to the Dominican Republic in January in a few weeks.