Familiar Faces at the Gate

The e-mail messages for this trip to the Dominican have been flying in flurries; there is so much to remember and to do. Copies of the film script need to be made in case we misplace our work scripts, and there may be a reason for other people to look them over. The shoot list, a schedule of must-get shots, needs to be prioritized and sent to the videographer; a day agenda of where we will be shooting and when must be compiled. The translator who volunteered to help needs to be contacted with information as to when we will need her. (Nothing complicates an out-of-the country shoot any more than the film team and the principals speaking different languages.)

David coached me on making sure we hit the bottom line of the script. My adult children, many who are involved in media—film, video and television—reminded me that this is a visual medium. Content is important they said but if we don’t get enough B-roll, there isn’t enough to work with in the editing room and the project is left with way too much talking heads.

I e-mailed Dr. Bibiana MacLeod, the Regional Coordinator for MAI in the Caribbean, and said, “Two days out from departure and I am getting the nervous-jervies; I am certain there is something major that I am forgetting.”

Phone call from the videographer: “Say, Karen. Are you sure we have reservations at this hotel? I’ve called and e-mailed, and they say they have no record of our names, and the hotel is full for the night of our arrival.” We both had visions of arriving in Santiago, gathering our luggage (including two carts of video and sound equipment), finding a taxi and arriving at the hotel, only to discover they indeed had no room in their inn and we would have no place to stay. Our couple on the ground was working in Cuba, to return shortly before arrival. Another e-mail to Bibiana for translation.

Last week I was worried about getting myself from the airport at night in a taxi, a woman alone in a mostly strange city. Then Paul and I compared arrival notes, discovered we were taking the same American Airlines flight from Miami, and that the three of us—videographer, audio guy, and myself (general gofer and untried director’s assistant, as well as script doctor and script editor) could take one taxi together to the hotel that we didn’t know whether or not we were booked into!

E-mail from Bibiana: “Not to worry. (Bibiana is an Argentina and speaks fluent Spanish.) I talked to the desk clerk (calling from her home in Canada). He has rooms for the three of you under my name.”

I don’t know why I can’t remember this; it seems as though I forget it every day (every day). God does not abandon us ever, not when we are in pain or sorrow, not when we are ecstatic with celebration, not when we are confused by chaos, not when we are lost or on standby, not when we travel.

Our flight to Santiago, Dominican Republic, went smoothly. We sailed through immigration control, picked up our bags, were waved through customs. Then we saw familiar faces at the gate where those long lines of family and friends and drivers waited to meet and greet all who disembarked from Flight 4537 from Miami.

Our translator had come to find us along with Hiram DeLeon, our contact on the ground who speaks about as much English as we speak Spanish (maybe more, which is not a lot) and without whose services this film project could not be a success.

Help me not to forget, Dear Lord, that You are always waiting at the gate to greet us, in the loving guise of people who sincerely care about doing the compassionate thing. Help me not to forget.

I spy God!