"Have you ever been past the Colmado?"
That's a question I've been asked several times recently. The Colmado is a little store just up the street from my house. Think of it as the Dominican version of Walgreens; a place to buy a coke, drinking water, or milk.
No, to answer the question, I've never been past the Colmado. From what I've been told, life just two blocks down the street is much different. A slum, el barrio, shacks, shanties, poverty. I don't know exactly how to describe that neighborhood since I haven't experienced it for myself yet, but I can imagine what it might be like. I imagine it is much like these places that I have experienced.
It might be like The Hole, in Los Guidos, Costa Rica. I first visited The Hole in 2006 on a week long mission trip. That's where I first fell in love, where my journey began, and what lit my passion.
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| The Hole, Los Guidos, Costa Rica |
Each one of those tin shacks is a home, many smaller than a Johnson Hall dorm room, for a whole family. The Hole fills an entire mountain valley with shacks the ones in this picture. The poor can live here because no one else wants this land; the valley floods when rains. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people live here with precariously strung electrical lines and open sewers.
Or maybe past the Colomado is more like the villages outside of San Pedro, Dominican Republic that I visited in 2008. Here, my group gave out some bags of food; I was surround by people begging for food. The missionary we were working with made us leave early to avoid a riot.
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| outside San Pedro, Dominican Republic |
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| outside San Pedro, Dominican Republic |
After high school, I was blessed with the chance to return to Costa Rica for 9 months. In February 2009, I once again visited the village of Los Guidos.
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| The Hole, Los Guidos, Costa Rica |
In March, I gladly took a chance to visit Nicaragua, but I wasn't prepared for the extreme poverty I saw there. The corrugated tin sheets that I'd seen used to build homes in Los Guidos were replaced with plastic tarps and cardboard boxes. While standing in the midst of this my friend ask me, "If God called you, would you live here?" I froze; I don't think I ever gave her an answer. My first thought was "What if I get sick? Permanently?" How many diseases, parasites, and germs must be there? I've thought about that question many times in the 3 1/2 years since then. Of course, I want to say "Where You send me, I'll go", but unless that day comes I can't be sure how I'll respond.
After 3 long years of waiting, I finally returned to my beloved Latin American this past August. This time to Jarabacoa, Dominica Republic. It's much different here than what I expected, in many ways. In particular, the boundaries between rich and poor aren't defined like I've seen them in the past. Costa Rica has Los Guidos, San Pedro, DR has the sugar cane villages, Nicaragua has the cardboard and plastic camp. Even in the States, it would take about 5 seconds to name as many towns known to be 'poor' in Lake County, IL (and a contrasting wealthy one to go with each as well). In Jarabacoa, mansions and shacks stand side by side, and regular homes (like the one I've been living in) are mixed in between. One of my students at school was proud to show off his new backpack--his dad got it from New York. At OANSA (AWANA), I see children with decayed teeth and who consider the simple snack of bread and juice their breakfast. One dear boy had broke his arm and when they took the cast off he couldn't move his elbow. It's been that way for several weeks now and there's no telling if he'll ever be able to move it again.
Each student at school and each OANSA clubber are dear to me; I love their hugs, their smiles, and personalities. It breaks my heart to see the incredibly differences between their lives. Why do some have so little and others so much when each one is precious? I've also become increasingly aware of the prevalence underage prostitution here. I don't mean aware in terms of facts or statistics; those I've been aware of for several years. Now I am aware in a much more real way; real because this may very well be how the neighbor girls I met a few weeks ago earn money. (This topic could easily become a whole blog post of its own, maybe I'll write that one day. For now, if you want more details on this read these blogs by my missionary neighbors the Ostberg's and Plankenhorn's.)
I'd been thinking about all this recently and I read Psalm 9 one day. What an encouragement that was!
Even though it may seem as if the world has forgotten about the lives of these precious children and their families, God has not. I am thankful that God has given me the privilege to be a part of the hope a refuge that he provides for those in need. I love my Saturday morning at OANSA were I can simply be. Be a friendly smile, a lap to sit on, a hand to hold, or a hug goodbye. Be a cheerleader during game time and a dancer during worship songs. I'm not a leader, a planner, a director, or an organizer; that was very strange to me at first. I've worked with kids my whole life. I don't think I've had such an undefined role since middle school. Once I got used to this new place I realized how much I enjoyed it. It has been a chance to be with kids and simple be. To be Love.
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| Managua, Nicaragua |
After 3 long years of waiting, I finally returned to my beloved Latin American this past August. This time to Jarabacoa, Dominica Republic. It's much different here than what I expected, in many ways. In particular, the boundaries between rich and poor aren't defined like I've seen them in the past. Costa Rica has Los Guidos, San Pedro, DR has the sugar cane villages, Nicaragua has the cardboard and plastic camp. Even in the States, it would take about 5 seconds to name as many towns known to be 'poor' in Lake County, IL (and a contrasting wealthy one to go with each as well). In Jarabacoa, mansions and shacks stand side by side, and regular homes (like the one I've been living in) are mixed in between. One of my students at school was proud to show off his new backpack--his dad got it from New York. At OANSA (AWANA), I see children with decayed teeth and who consider the simple snack of bread and juice their breakfast. One dear boy had broke his arm and when they took the cast off he couldn't move his elbow. It's been that way for several weeks now and there's no telling if he'll ever be able to move it again.
Each student at school and each OANSA clubber are dear to me; I love their hugs, their smiles, and personalities. It breaks my heart to see the incredibly differences between their lives. Why do some have so little and others so much when each one is precious? I've also become increasingly aware of the prevalence underage prostitution here. I don't mean aware in terms of facts or statistics; those I've been aware of for several years. Now I am aware in a much more real way; real because this may very well be how the neighbor girls I met a few weeks ago earn money. (This topic could easily become a whole blog post of its own, maybe I'll write that one day. For now, if you want more details on this read these blogs by my missionary neighbors the Ostberg's and Plankenhorn's.)
I'd been thinking about all this recently and I read Psalm 9 one day. What an encouragement that was!
"The Lord reigns
forever; he has established his throne for judgment.
He rules the world in righteousness and
judges the peoples with equity. The Lord is
a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold
in times of trouble. Those who know your name trust in
you, for you, Lord, have never
forsaken those who seek you. Sing the praises of
the Lord,
enthroned in Zion; proclaim among the nations what
he has done. For he who avenges blood remembers; he does not ignore the cries of the afflicted. The Lord is
known by his justice."(9:7-12, 16)
And also verse 18, "But
the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever
perish."
Even though it may seem as if the world has forgotten about the lives of these precious children and their families, God has not. I am thankful that God has given me the privilege to be a part of the hope a refuge that he provides for those in need. I love my Saturday morning at OANSA were I can simply be. Be a friendly smile, a lap to sit on, a hand to hold, or a hug goodbye. Be a cheerleader during game time and a dancer during worship songs. I'm not a leader, a planner, a director, or an organizer; that was very strange to me at first. I've worked with kids my whole life. I don't think I've had such an undefined role since middle school. Once I got used to this new place I realized how much I enjoyed it. It has been a chance to be with kids and simple be. To be Love.
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| at OANSA, Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic |
