Jamie Parsell
Bluefield Daily Telegraph
BLUEFIELD —
There are times when a blinking cursor on a computer screen or an old-fashioned white sheet of paper sends a jolt of urgency to a writer’s being. Like an electric shock, it travels through the fingers, up the arm and strikes the central part of the writer — the heart. The warm beating — the patterns of sentences — flows from the deepest part of a man, woman and child. Feelings, either written or spoken, begin in the heart. The mind simply strings together nouns, verbs and adjectives in a formula, learned through years of classroom diagrams. I am struggling to find enough space, paper and time to put feelings into words, sentences and paragraph. My heart is full, overwhelmed by experiences, memories and realizations.
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Last week, during my first vacation of the year, I traveled to Jamaica on a mission trip to a deaf village. I spent weeks preparing for the trip; I even learned some sign language to communicate with the residents of the village. But I was not prepared for a summer of firsts — the plane ride, the airport, a foreign country or mission work. I underestimated the impact, the challenge of a trip not based on leisure, but on hard work, charity and servitude. And I underestimated the strength, desire and love of a people — the residents of the Jamaican Deaf Village — for God, family and friends. By the end of the week, I didn’t want to leave the peace and serenity. It calmed my nerves, soothed my fear and called attention to the inner chambers of a writer’s heart.
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Yet, I don’t know how to take eight awe-inspiring days and turn them into words. I can’t describe the scenery of the village — rolling green hills, beautiful sunsets, marshmallow clouds — to satisfy the reader. It is hard to put into the words the tangy, crisp texture of fresh, island pineapple or the spicy, heat of Jamaica’s famous jerk chicken. I could try and paint a visual picture of Erica, a woman whose hands moved through the air; her hands telling a story about her two children, Lance and Brianna. But one needs to see the excitement in her eyes to see her true spirit. This challenge — the desire of expression — is harder than the four work days at the village. Everyday, I would slip on my thick gloves for the main purpose of the trip — work. A construction site in America would be easy to explain. But a building in Jamaica takes years to finish. I shoveled until my back muscles screamed in pain. I lifted wet cement in the hot sun, while sweat dripped down my face. Dirt covered hands, face and body, but satisfaction washed all the grime away at the end of the day.
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A mission trip is not all work and no play. Children — who were not deaf — were always around with shiny faces and bright smiles. No matter how sore or tired I was at the end of the day, I always had energy to spend time with the children. There was a day at the YS Falls, a natural waterfall with a rope swing, canopy tour and river. And there was plenty to record in the summer of firsts — the city of Miami, a Cuban restaurant with excellent coffee, a Jamaican juicy patty, fried plantains and much, much more. At night, without the distractions of technology, card games became entertainment. Often, I would end up writing in a notebook; my computer at home in West Virginia. Like a teenager, I recorded the day’s events, but eventually, my hand cramped up. There was too much to write, explain and describe about the day. Even during the heat of construction, my camera caught moments, but even those don’t tell the whole story.
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Maybe I could find enough paper and time to justify my week in Jamaica. Or maybe the story will remain deep in this writer’s heart, serving as reminder and tool for the future. And while I am unable to tell my entire story — from departure to arrival — I can share what I learned during the mission trip. I discovered I cannot stay up all night long like 15-year old teenagers. But I can still swing off a rope swing and jump off into a waterfall with the best of them. I know I can be a chaperone, but have fun with young adults. I know that hard work — even the dirtiest jobs — are satisfying, especially when done out of love for God and others. I realized I can deal with ants, low water pressure and humid nights with no air conditioner for a week. Above all and the most important epiphany is gratitude. I am thankful for a heartfelt week to discover each and every blessing — my faith, home, family, friends, job and church. For the rest of my life, the descriptions of my experience will change, especially in my writer’s heart. For now, I am joyful, blessed and happy, thanks to God’s tremendous blessings.
Jamie Parsell is the Lifestyle editor of the Daily Telegraph. Contact her at jparsell@bdtonline.com.
