Howdy!
Or buen día as they say here in the DR. Yesterday we went to the capitol of this wonderful country, Santo Domingo. We were so tired – or at least, I was – that I had no energy to write the blog last night. But it was a good day, so the exhaustion felt good to have. (I got to hold a bunch of pigeons and feed them out of my hands. Pigeons are heavier than they look.) The Dominican Republic has an ancient feel to it in some places. One of those places is Santo Domingo, where you can stroll among the ruins of Christopher Columbus’ house after grabbing KFC on el Conde. History is palpable: Dr. Bob told us how the cannon balls would simply be absorbed into the walls of the fort on the river because the walls were made of live coral (which are still there). It was because of this ancient feel that I felt the truth of Dr. Bob’s words when he told us to watch for the skyline of Santo Domingo as we were driving in. He said it was an analogy of heaven. Dr. Bob told us to imagine the highway as the road of life, and the capitol as the Shining City we were all heading towards as Christians. It was a comforting metaphor to end a mission trip on. Because our time here is over. For now, at least. But it is heart wrenching to think that we won’t be heading out to help people again on Monday. I’ll be heading back to Birmingham to start school again. Everyone else will be going back to the normality of our lives in America. (Except for Christina, who will be relaxing on a beach here in the DR for the next week.) This trip will be a thing of the past. Mr. Bobby said that we had a choice as we leave the country: we could let this trip just be something that happened to us, or we could work to make it something that changes us. So, what is it I learned from this trip that should change me? As simple as it seems, I learned that God is still there, still working, and still cares. I struggled with a lot of apathy towards church and towards God coming into this trip, but the smallest of things can help change the mind. One day I lost my wallet. You know, the tiny thing that has my ID, all my money, and my debit card inside. I was understandably panicky about that. Dr. Marsha, though, kept a calm head and prayed to ask God to let me find it. Internally, I scoffed at this. God doesn’t care about wallets, after all, I thought. It could very well have been stolen at clinic and I would never see it again. Not five minutes later I found it in a place I had already looked. I had to sit there for a moment with my wallet and the fishy feeling all divine appointments have. I thought about all the people I have met this week, patients that will praise the providence of God over a pair of reading glasses. In the middle of abject poverty, disease, boiling heat and suffocating humidity, these people respond “By the grace of God, I am doing well” whenever you ask how they are doing. After sitting in the evangelism station with Mr. Bobby and hearing how he initiates conversations with people about God, I feel like my faith has been restored a little bit and I might have the courage – by the grace of God – to strike up similar conversations with my classmates. After reading this blog of the experiences we’ve had in the DR, I hope you too have felt that fishy feeling of God moving. If not, take a look around. If God can reach me here, he can definitely reach you in your living room. If you come away with nothing else from reading our blog, know this: God loves you as he loves the people of the DR. God is looking for you and reaching for you just as he was looking and reaching for me. He sent his Son for you, to die for you: the greatest act of love in the history of time. And so, as we pack up and prepare to depart, I will leave you with the words I was using to say goodbye to my patients this week: Dios te bendiga. God bless you. From the heat and the sea breeze, ~Samantha Chapman UABSO Class of 2025 Comments are closed.
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