DominiBlogging
This afternoon as I write, it’s cold and rainy here in Tennessee. I’ve put on sweats and made a nice afternoon cuppa tea (some English habits die-hard!). The weather today is totally different from the beginning of October when I, along with 14 others from the Otter Creek Church of Christ, spent eight days in the Dominican Republic.
I was nervous to the point of feeling terrified leading up to this trip. I honestly was looking for any excuse not to go. I don’t enjoy heat. I don’t enjoy not having electricity and/or running water. I especially do not enjoy creepy crawlies and spiders that look like small mammals! And, of course, there was the challenge of my very limited (three-word) Spanish vocabulary. I just did not know how I would survive eight whole days in the Dominican.
Our week was split into two different parts. When we arrived (and I stepped out of the airport into the sticky Dominican heat), we were driven to a small village in the middle of nowhere called Bobita. The surrounding countryside is gorgeous (think Jurassic Park; after all, it was filmed in the DR), and riding into the village on our noisy, bright blue truck/bus, the villagers stood on porches and in doorways to wave and greet us. In Bobita, there is a school, a Christian camp (which was our lodging), and a children’s home, run by Cory and Laura Beth Lamb who had moved in from the U.S. a couple of months previously. In Bobita, there are also lovely, friendly people, beautiful children and livestock of various forms roaming around. I was truly a long way from Nashville!
We were welcomed to the camp by TJ and Holly McCloud, missionaries supported by Otter Creek, and los Pescadores, the shoeshine boys TJ and Holly minister to in Rio San Juan. The boys graciously hauled our luggage to the sleeping areas, where all manner of large insects were waiting (to welcome us, perhaps?). I have to be honest and say that when I saw our cabin had no electricity, mosquito nets over the beds, and spiders the size of my hand, I felt my heart sink. How would I survive this experience?
Saturday evening, we played games with the Pescadores, an interesting and challenging experience for me because I speak no Spanish. Getting ready for bed by candlelight and hearing people scream when they encountered gigantic insects . . . well, that first night, I felt terribly discouraged. I truly believed that God had directed me to go to the Dominican, that He had something to teach me on the trip, and that I had something to offer . . . but maybe I had heard Him wrong?
Sunday was worship with the villagers and the Pescadores. Even though the whole service was in Spanish, I still felt blessed by it somehow. Later, we took the boys to the river to play . . . and suddenly, amidst the water fights and smearing mud all over each other, words didn’t matter so much anymore. Children love to have fun, and they love adults who want to have fun with them. I love children, and I love to have fun. I could do this! My spirits started to take an upturn.
Monday, we all climbed aboard the big blue bus, and headed back to Puerto Plata, the city we had landed in. This was the day I had feared most of all. In the morning, we would visit the hospital to sing, pray and distribute care packages. In the afternoon, we would visit the people who live in the dump, and pass out food, drinks and Bibles. I don’t know why I was so terrified. After all, I work in the medical field and see some pretty unpleasant things on a daily basis. Maybe it was the horror stories the previous year’s team had told of the horrifying conditions of the hospital and the stench of the dump. It had definitely put me on edge. I had prayed so much about this day, that I knew whatever strength I had would absolutely not be my own.
When we arrived at the hospital, we climbed off the bus and started dividing into two groups: one to visit the men’s ward, and one to visit the women’s. We would then go to the children’s ward together. As we were gathering our care packages, a man approached me, my sister and another teammate. He began speaking in French. No one else around knew what to do, but suddenly, my three years of high school French came in handy. His wife was in the women’s ward, and he wanted us to visit her.
The hospital we visited in Puerto Plata is a public hospital. The wards are split into large rooms filled with a dozen or more cots. The patient’s family is responsible to provide food, bedding and other basic necessities; they also must buy medicine, or else the patient won’t receive any. Every doctor in the DR must work one day each month without pay in a public hospital; therefore, the care a patient receives may or may not be the best quality. I went to the men’s ward, where we prayed over patients, sang some songs in Spanish, and gave out small care packages filled with soap, toothpaste and toothbrush, a washcloth and shampoo. Many patients had family members with them . . . but some did not. It was dirty and hot, but those people were so thankful we were there. Even if we prayed with them in English, they were thrilled.
We then went to the children’s ward and passed out coloring books and crayons along with the care packages. The Dominican children are so beautiful, and they were so glad to have anything we could give them.
Finally, a few of us went to the nursery to see the babies. It was amazing to see babies in incubators that were open and exposed, where anyone could walk in and touch them and breathe on them. I met one woman who was staying with her twin grandbabies who had been born the day before. The mother had already been sent home because there was no room for her. It was the only time I cried the whole trip. I work in a rich area (even by American standards) with people who have everything. When my patients have their babies, they are born into a world of luxury and excess . . . and yet these babies had nothing. We have so much here in America, and yet we complain and whine and demand more.
After the hospital, we went to the dump outside the city. It’s hard to put into words the sights I saw there. The people who live in the dump gathered around and we took turns singing to each other. Once again, my French came in handy, because many of the people living there are from Haiti and speak Creole. There was one man, who came to meet us carrying a Bible. He wanted us to know that he is a Christian, and that he is telling the people he lives with in the dump about Jesus. We passed out Creole Bibles and food and more care packages. The whole scene was almost unbelievable.
Tuesday, we visited the school in Bobita, and taught two sessions on hygiene. Our lesson was about germs, and why washing your hands and brushing your teeth is so important. We also taught a couple of songs (one of my teammates teaches music), along with the Chicken Dance, which they thought was pretty hilarious.
On Wednesday, our team moved to Rio San Juan, the city where TJ and Holly work. Rio San Juan is on the north coast of the Dominican. We were reunited with the Pescadores and taken to our hotel, which seemed like the Hilton after the camp in Bobita! The electricity was still iffy, and there was no hot water, but it was on the beach and it was clean (and I didn’t see large bugs lurking anywhere).
We visited a small school in Rio San Juan that day . . . an open-aired school made of wood and cardboard. Another lesson in germs, some more Chicken Dance and a few rounds of Heads Up, 7 Up. The children were so wonderful, and the teachers were so appreciative.
TJ and Holly have been in the DR for just over a year, and they have an incredible ministry to the children of RSJ. Their apartment is behind a small building that is sometimes called ‘the coffee shop’ (not sure why; they don’t serve coffee there, and it’s not a shop!). It’s more like a small community outreach center. The children congregate on the small porch until they open the doors, and then there’s music and games and fun . . . which is exactly what happened on the Wednesday night we were there. We also split into three teams and did a photo scavenger hunt all over the town. We had to take photos with a cat, a baby, in a boat, holding hermit crabs, doing the human pyramid, with a fish, riding a bike, on a motorcycle, with everyone’s feet off the ground, among other things. What crazy fun! Those kids had us running all over Rio San Juan, alarming some residents (and one very terrified cat, let me tell you!). I also really enjoyed the scavenger hunt because it gave us Americans a peek into the home lives of the kids. We got to see some of their houses and neighborhoods (one had sewage running down the middle of it). It was amazing to get a glimpse of how they live.
On Thursday, our team went to paint a house for a family in the poorest district of Rio San Juan. Painting houses is not just for cosmetic enhancement, it protects the wood from termites and the elements, thereby keeping the wood in good shape for a much longer time. A family of eight (with another due only days after our visit) lived in the small 20 by 30-foot house. We also finished the roof. Only half of the house had been roofed; the materials for the rest of the roof would have cost the family a year’s wages. Our team raised the money to cover the remainder of the house, giving the family more livable space. We even had enough paint to paint two other houses nearby. It was one of the highlights of the trip for everyone, and all the neighborhood children came out and helped (and also threw small crabs on us where weren’t paying attention, gross!).
Thursday afternoon, we hosted a craft and game time at the outreach center. The Pescadores and Princesas (the group of girls Holly has recently started working with) made necklaces, photo frames, and played some pretty competitive Twister. Afterwards, we had some free time to explore the town, for which the children acted as willing and enthusiastic tour guides.
Thursday evening, Holly had turned the photos from the scavenger hunt into a fantastic slide show (and thankfully, the electricity supply cooperated). It was our last official time with the kids, so there were many hugs, more photos and some tears. We hated to say adios.
Friday was our official day off. Most of the team went to an amazing beach, where they enjoyed kayaking, hand-caught fish and time in the sun. Five of us went to 27 Charcos, an hour-and-a-half from Rio San Juan. This is a natural wonder, deep in the Dominican forest, of 27 waterfalls and underground caves. You hike, swim and climb up the waterfalls, and then . . . you jump down them to get back. Yes, that’s right. You jump off the waterfalls. Now, I’m not a super-athletic person. I’ve also never rockclimbed, repelled or even taken a dive off of a diving board before. So whatever possessed me to do this, I cannot say. I think since I was terrified of the trip in general, I was determined to face any fears I had in a big way. All in all, the waterfall adventure was the most terrifying and most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I paid for it dearly in the following days (talk about muscle-ache), but it was a God-given boost of trust and strength and confidence. Amazing! I would do it all over again . . . but wear much better shoes!
TJ and Holly had organized our final team devotional of the week at a cliff overlooking the beach at sunset. It was a special time of reflection and sharing and thanksgiving and worship. We were all tired – physically, emotionally and mentally – but we were all so thankful. I felt alive and full.
On Saturday morning, we walked out of our hotel to board the big blue bus one final time for our trip to the airport, and found a big group of the Pescadores waiting for us. During our time in Rio San Juan, whether we were walking to the outreach center, walking to the hotel, or walking to the restaurant that cooked our meals for us, these kids would find us. It was so humbling, but they loved us, and wanted to be with us . . . even if most of us couldn’t speak their language. That last morning, we cried and prayed with them and gave them whatever random food we had. We left them crying outside the hotel, and it was horrible.
The eight days I spent in the Dominican Republic changed my life. All my previous missions experience was in first-world English-speaking countries, which is hugely important. I think I’ll always be drawn to that kind of ministry, because I feel like I’m gifted to work in those cultures. However, I believe it was so important for me to see and experience a country that, by first-world standards, is very poor. It’s incredible all we take for granted here in America: we can turn on a tap and instantly have hot water and water that we can safely drink; we flip a switch anytime of the day or night and a light comes on; our closets are overflowing with clothes and shoes; we don’t have to cook our food over a fire; we have a roof over our heads, and our homes consist of more than just one room. The Dominicans have very little, but I saw so much joy in them. They don’t care about fancy cars, the latest digital camera, the newest Ipod. I came back to America thankful for all God has given me . . . even the car I drive that was built 14 years ago. It just doesn’t matter.
Before we left for this trip, each member of our team was challenged to choose a Bible passage that they would claim as ‘their verse’ for the week. A few weeks before our departure, I came across Psalm 91 in my daily quiet time, and I felt like God told me this was for me:
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare of the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I am trusting Him. For He will rescue you from every trap and protect you from the fatal plague. He will shield you with His wings. He will shelter you with His feathers. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor fear the dangers of the day, nor dread the plague that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday . . . If you make the Lord your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you, no plague will come near your dwelling. For He orders His angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you with their hands to keep you from striking your foot on a stone . . .” Psalm 91:1-6, 9-12 NLT
God really made those promises real to me in the Dominican. He kept us safe from harm. I didn’t get sick; in fact, no one on our team was sick. He protected me from the creepy-crawlies. He gave me rest each night under my mosquito netting. I wholeheartedly believe He sent angels to protect me on the waterfall adventure. He truly provided me with strength and safety and shelter in the moments I needed Him most that week.
The Dominican Republic is a beautiful country with warm, friendly, welcoming people. I pray I’ll have the opportunity to return someday for longer than just eight short days. I’m starting to take a Spanish class next week so I can hopefully say more that just “hello”, “goodbye”, and “how are you?”. I miss the children, and I pray for them daily. I hope that someday in the future, I’ll be back in Rio San Juan, chasing terrified cats, singing devo songs in Spanish and doing the Chicken Dance with them.
I was nervous to the point of feeling terrified leading up to this trip. I honestly was looking for any excuse not to go. I don’t enjoy heat. I don’t enjoy not having electricity and/or running water. I especially do not enjoy creepy crawlies and spiders that look like small mammals! And, of course, there was the challenge of my very limited (three-word) Spanish vocabulary. I just did not know how I would survive eight whole days in the Dominican.
Our week was split into two different parts. When we arrived (and I stepped out of the airport into the sticky Dominican heat), we were driven to a small village in the middle of nowhere called Bobita. The surrounding countryside is gorgeous (think Jurassic Park; after all, it was filmed in the DR), and riding into the village on our noisy, bright blue truck/bus, the villagers stood on porches and in doorways to wave and greet us. In Bobita, there is a school, a Christian camp (which was our lodging), and a children’s home, run by Cory and Laura Beth Lamb who had moved in from the U.S. a couple of months previously. In Bobita, there are also lovely, friendly people, beautiful children and livestock of various forms roaming around. I was truly a long way from Nashville!
We were welcomed to the camp by TJ and Holly McCloud, missionaries supported by Otter Creek, and los Pescadores, the shoeshine boys TJ and Holly minister to in Rio San Juan. The boys graciously hauled our luggage to the sleeping areas, where all manner of large insects were waiting (to welcome us, perhaps?). I have to be honest and say that when I saw our cabin had no electricity, mosquito nets over the beds, and spiders the size of my hand, I felt my heart sink. How would I survive this experience?
Saturday evening, we played games with the Pescadores, an interesting and challenging experience for me because I speak no Spanish. Getting ready for bed by candlelight and hearing people scream when they encountered gigantic insects . . . well, that first night, I felt terribly discouraged. I truly believed that God had directed me to go to the Dominican, that He had something to teach me on the trip, and that I had something to offer . . . but maybe I had heard Him wrong?
Sunday was worship with the villagers and the Pescadores. Even though the whole service was in Spanish, I still felt blessed by it somehow. Later, we took the boys to the river to play . . . and suddenly, amidst the water fights and smearing mud all over each other, words didn’t matter so much anymore. Children love to have fun, and they love adults who want to have fun with them. I love children, and I love to have fun. I could do this! My spirits started to take an upturn.
Monday, we all climbed aboard the big blue bus, and headed back to Puerto Plata, the city we had landed in. This was the day I had feared most of all. In the morning, we would visit the hospital to sing, pray and distribute care packages. In the afternoon, we would visit the people who live in the dump, and pass out food, drinks and Bibles. I don’t know why I was so terrified. After all, I work in the medical field and see some pretty unpleasant things on a daily basis. Maybe it was the horror stories the previous year’s team had told of the horrifying conditions of the hospital and the stench of the dump. It had definitely put me on edge. I had prayed so much about this day, that I knew whatever strength I had would absolutely not be my own.
When we arrived at the hospital, we climbed off the bus and started dividing into two groups: one to visit the men’s ward, and one to visit the women’s. We would then go to the children’s ward together. As we were gathering our care packages, a man approached me, my sister and another teammate. He began speaking in French. No one else around knew what to do, but suddenly, my three years of high school French came in handy. His wife was in the women’s ward, and he wanted us to visit her.
The hospital we visited in Puerto Plata is a public hospital. The wards are split into large rooms filled with a dozen or more cots. The patient’s family is responsible to provide food, bedding and other basic necessities; they also must buy medicine, or else the patient won’t receive any. Every doctor in the DR must work one day each month without pay in a public hospital; therefore, the care a patient receives may or may not be the best quality. I went to the men’s ward, where we prayed over patients, sang some songs in Spanish, and gave out small care packages filled with soap, toothpaste and toothbrush, a washcloth and shampoo. Many patients had family members with them . . . but some did not. It was dirty and hot, but those people were so thankful we were there. Even if we prayed with them in English, they were thrilled.
We then went to the children’s ward and passed out coloring books and crayons along with the care packages. The Dominican children are so beautiful, and they were so glad to have anything we could give them.
Finally, a few of us went to the nursery to see the babies. It was amazing to see babies in incubators that were open and exposed, where anyone could walk in and touch them and breathe on them. I met one woman who was staying with her twin grandbabies who had been born the day before. The mother had already been sent home because there was no room for her. It was the only time I cried the whole trip. I work in a rich area (even by American standards) with people who have everything. When my patients have their babies, they are born into a world of luxury and excess . . . and yet these babies had nothing. We have so much here in America, and yet we complain and whine and demand more.
After the hospital, we went to the dump outside the city. It’s hard to put into words the sights I saw there. The people who live in the dump gathered around and we took turns singing to each other. Once again, my French came in handy, because many of the people living there are from Haiti and speak Creole. There was one man, who came to meet us carrying a Bible. He wanted us to know that he is a Christian, and that he is telling the people he lives with in the dump about Jesus. We passed out Creole Bibles and food and more care packages. The whole scene was almost unbelievable.
Tuesday, we visited the school in Bobita, and taught two sessions on hygiene. Our lesson was about germs, and why washing your hands and brushing your teeth is so important. We also taught a couple of songs (one of my teammates teaches music), along with the Chicken Dance, which they thought was pretty hilarious.
On Wednesday, our team moved to Rio San Juan, the city where TJ and Holly work. Rio San Juan is on the north coast of the Dominican. We were reunited with the Pescadores and taken to our hotel, which seemed like the Hilton after the camp in Bobita! The electricity was still iffy, and there was no hot water, but it was on the beach and it was clean (and I didn’t see large bugs lurking anywhere).
We visited a small school in Rio San Juan that day . . . an open-aired school made of wood and cardboard. Another lesson in germs, some more Chicken Dance and a few rounds of Heads Up, 7 Up. The children were so wonderful, and the teachers were so appreciative.
TJ and Holly have been in the DR for just over a year, and they have an incredible ministry to the children of RSJ. Their apartment is behind a small building that is sometimes called ‘the coffee shop’ (not sure why; they don’t serve coffee there, and it’s not a shop!). It’s more like a small community outreach center. The children congregate on the small porch until they open the doors, and then there’s music and games and fun . . . which is exactly what happened on the Wednesday night we were there. We also split into three teams and did a photo scavenger hunt all over the town. We had to take photos with a cat, a baby, in a boat, holding hermit crabs, doing the human pyramid, with a fish, riding a bike, on a motorcycle, with everyone’s feet off the ground, among other things. What crazy fun! Those kids had us running all over Rio San Juan, alarming some residents (and one very terrified cat, let me tell you!). I also really enjoyed the scavenger hunt because it gave us Americans a peek into the home lives of the kids. We got to see some of their houses and neighborhoods (one had sewage running down the middle of it). It was amazing to get a glimpse of how they live.
On Thursday, our team went to paint a house for a family in the poorest district of Rio San Juan. Painting houses is not just for cosmetic enhancement, it protects the wood from termites and the elements, thereby keeping the wood in good shape for a much longer time. A family of eight (with another due only days after our visit) lived in the small 20 by 30-foot house. We also finished the roof. Only half of the house had been roofed; the materials for the rest of the roof would have cost the family a year’s wages. Our team raised the money to cover the remainder of the house, giving the family more livable space. We even had enough paint to paint two other houses nearby. It was one of the highlights of the trip for everyone, and all the neighborhood children came out and helped (and also threw small crabs on us where weren’t paying attention, gross!).
Thursday afternoon, we hosted a craft and game time at the outreach center. The Pescadores and Princesas (the group of girls Holly has recently started working with) made necklaces, photo frames, and played some pretty competitive Twister. Afterwards, we had some free time to explore the town, for which the children acted as willing and enthusiastic tour guides.
Thursday evening, Holly had turned the photos from the scavenger hunt into a fantastic slide show (and thankfully, the electricity supply cooperated). It was our last official time with the kids, so there were many hugs, more photos and some tears. We hated to say adios.
Friday was our official day off. Most of the team went to an amazing beach, where they enjoyed kayaking, hand-caught fish and time in the sun. Five of us went to 27 Charcos, an hour-and-a-half from Rio San Juan. This is a natural wonder, deep in the Dominican forest, of 27 waterfalls and underground caves. You hike, swim and climb up the waterfalls, and then . . . you jump down them to get back. Yes, that’s right. You jump off the waterfalls. Now, I’m not a super-athletic person. I’ve also never rockclimbed, repelled or even taken a dive off of a diving board before. So whatever possessed me to do this, I cannot say. I think since I was terrified of the trip in general, I was determined to face any fears I had in a big way. All in all, the waterfall adventure was the most terrifying and most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I paid for it dearly in the following days (talk about muscle-ache), but it was a God-given boost of trust and strength and confidence. Amazing! I would do it all over again . . . but wear much better shoes!
TJ and Holly had organized our final team devotional of the week at a cliff overlooking the beach at sunset. It was a special time of reflection and sharing and thanksgiving and worship. We were all tired – physically, emotionally and mentally – but we were all so thankful. I felt alive and full.
On Saturday morning, we walked out of our hotel to board the big blue bus one final time for our trip to the airport, and found a big group of the Pescadores waiting for us. During our time in Rio San Juan, whether we were walking to the outreach center, walking to the hotel, or walking to the restaurant that cooked our meals for us, these kids would find us. It was so humbling, but they loved us, and wanted to be with us . . . even if most of us couldn’t speak their language. That last morning, we cried and prayed with them and gave them whatever random food we had. We left them crying outside the hotel, and it was horrible.
The eight days I spent in the Dominican Republic changed my life. All my previous missions experience was in first-world English-speaking countries, which is hugely important. I think I’ll always be drawn to that kind of ministry, because I feel like I’m gifted to work in those cultures. However, I believe it was so important for me to see and experience a country that, by first-world standards, is very poor. It’s incredible all we take for granted here in America: we can turn on a tap and instantly have hot water and water that we can safely drink; we flip a switch anytime of the day or night and a light comes on; our closets are overflowing with clothes and shoes; we don’t have to cook our food over a fire; we have a roof over our heads, and our homes consist of more than just one room. The Dominicans have very little, but I saw so much joy in them. They don’t care about fancy cars, the latest digital camera, the newest Ipod. I came back to America thankful for all God has given me . . . even the car I drive that was built 14 years ago. It just doesn’t matter.
Before we left for this trip, each member of our team was challenged to choose a Bible passage that they would claim as ‘their verse’ for the week. A few weeks before our departure, I came across Psalm 91 in my daily quiet time, and I felt like God told me this was for me:
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare of the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I am trusting Him. For He will rescue you from every trap and protect you from the fatal plague. He will shield you with His wings. He will shelter you with His feathers. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor fear the dangers of the day, nor dread the plague that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday . . . If you make the Lord your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you, no plague will come near your dwelling. For He orders His angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you with their hands to keep you from striking your foot on a stone . . .” Psalm 91:1-6, 9-12 NLT
God really made those promises real to me in the Dominican. He kept us safe from harm. I didn’t get sick; in fact, no one on our team was sick. He protected me from the creepy-crawlies. He gave me rest each night under my mosquito netting. I wholeheartedly believe He sent angels to protect me on the waterfall adventure. He truly provided me with strength and safety and shelter in the moments I needed Him most that week.
The Dominican Republic is a beautiful country with warm, friendly, welcoming people. I pray I’ll have the opportunity to return someday for longer than just eight short days. I’m starting to take a Spanish class next week so I can hopefully say more that just “hello”, “goodbye”, and “how are you?”. I miss the children, and I pray for them daily. I hope that someday in the future, I’ll be back in Rio San Juan, chasing terrified cats, singing devo songs in Spanish and doing the Chicken Dance with them.
posted by Michelle @ 4:02 PM
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