Every time someone asks, “How was the DR trip?” I get a little overwhelmed. I’m never quite sure how to answer the question. Do you want to know the whole shebang, or are you simply being polite, like the cashier at Piggly Wiggly in Toccoa, GA who asks, “How are you today?”
Every trip to the DR has the potential to be life-changing, life-giving.
I could give you the weather report (it rained almost every day at some point.) I could recount the work done (poured a lot of concrete, couldn’t find decent cement blocks to work on the wall, fixed a ton of bikes.) Maybe you want to know about the scenery (breathtaking), the food (scrumptious), the fascination of little Dominican kids with the Americanos (never gets old.) I could tell you that we got our booties kicked by the Rose of Sharon baseball team (seriously, we couldn’t play with the 11 year olds). I could sing you the songs I learned in Spanish, or talk about the hundred times that Henry wanted us to sing Oh Praise Him.
But I think the thing I land on is the relationships. I got to hang out with my kids. I have chosen to love these boys and girls, given them my heart. We had a lot of down time (waiting for the cement truck to arrive, etc) so we got to spend a greater amount of time laughing, playing, singing, worshiping, tickling, holding hands, speaking broken Spanglish, and loving the kids who live in the orphanage.
You see, there are about 60 kids living at the Rose of Sharon. Most of the people they interact with are women, and there are so few adults to care for so many kids. Don’t get me wrong–I believe that the folks who care for the kids actually love them. There just aren’t enough adults to go around. So for a week, these boys and girls get some much needed individual attention, especially from older males. We get to ask how their day is going, what they like to think about, to laugh and stare into the sky at clouds, to play in the rain, to hold hands and say “I love you. You matter to me, and to God.” I got to look Olbi, Isaac, Bernardo, Henry, Rodi, Ulise, Gladys, Wandel, Pipa, Musica, Paco, Cici, Berto, Carlos, Esmeraldo, Blaudio, Juan Carlos, and so many other young men in the eye and tell them, “I believe in you. I have hope for you. You are important. God cares about you, and you can make a difference in the world.” I got to tell Rubelisa and Laurenhy, “I think you are beautiful, smart, funny, creative, talented, and wonderful. God loves you.”
I don’t know if they hear that often. But they heard it from us.
We got smoked by a little league team from an orphanage in the game we invented. They wore their uniforms, lined up to listen to us struggle through our National Anthem, belted out their own, then handed us our hineys.
We ate some incredible Domincan food, shared a meal with the orphanage director and his family, rode on the back of the Diahatsu in a thunderstorm all the way to the top of a mountain to meet Bartolo’s mother and father.
We raised enough money to leave a good chunk behind to pay for the kids to have chicken several times after we left, and to get every kid in the orphanage to the dentist in Santo Domingo.
But for me, the bottom line is that I got to touch their lives, to encourage their hearts and faith. I went to give love, and got my love-tank filled.
I am so grateful to Brooks and Sharon Way, and to those who have gone before us to prepare the way for our trips to the Rose of Sharon Orphanage. I can’t brag enough about the graduating seniors (and their fearless leaders, Marc and Sara Pensyl) who worked/played/loved their tails off. I am humbled by the people who gave so that we could go.
Like trying to drink from the firehose…
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