On the beach of Punta Cana. The sunny part of the trip.
A view of the tropical clouds from far above.
My dear friend Daniela and her daughter.
The flight from Syracuse early in the morning was breath taking.
The pastor at the church in Bani, praying. See below for full story.
The truck that lugged us through the flooded streets.
GOING THRU THE DESERT
Riding in a taxi one Saturday evening, the driver and I struck up a conversation. Turns out he is a christian. Upon learning this, of course my ears perked right up. Christian? Well, what kind? I started asking about what changes Christ has made in his life. What he believes about certain key doctrinal issues. All seemed in sync with the bible. At the end of the ride, he gave me his taxi card to call him if I needed transportation anywhere else during my stay.
Well, it just so happened that night I got stranded and the friend who was supposed to take me home, couldn't get there. So, I called Jose, the christian driver. That night he encouraged me. "God is calling you, Gracia. Maybe He wants you for his service in the mission field." Well, this isn't the first time I'd heard that line before. To which I told him I just don't know. My impulsive side would love to jump into the mission field. But I don't want to do anything without God's leading. I also shared that I felt like I needed to serve God more where I am and felt so often like a hand was in front of my mouth when it came to sharing the gospel. I can talk so freely and excitedly to other believers about Jesus, but at work or back home with unbelievers, I clam right up. He then shared his experience of going thru a desert time. "Every believer goes through this at some point in his life" he believed. And said that his time lasted 3 years. For 3 years he felt like the heavens were silent, he had no money and life was really difficult. Then when the Lord finally spoke to him, it was like the sun breaking through. He shared that the Lord showed him that Moses had to go through 40 years alone before God worked out things in his life and he was ready for service. He also told me that now, he's a pastor. Money is very tight, which is why he drives a taxi, but he invited me to come visit his church on Sunday. "Well, thanks" I told him, but I already had plans for the morning at a church I have attended during every visit.
The next morning I went back to Fuente de Salvacion and once again was very blessed by the worship. And then you'll never guess the message: Moses and the children of Israel had to spend 40 years in the desert. And when the Lord told Moses he'd take them into the promise land, Moses said to the Lord, "If your presence does not go with us, I don't want to go." Wow! The same topic we'd been discussing. And my sentiments exactly about not wanting to go if the Lord didn't go with me. I called the taxi driver that afternoon, and said I'd like to visit his church that evening. Delighted, he said that he and his family would pick me up at 5:30.
It was starting to rain when they arrived in a beat up old 2-seater pick up truck. Jose and his wife and I in the front seat. The two young kids rode standing up behind us holding onto our seats. "How poor their lives are" I thought. Then we arrived at this run down church in the middle of a kind of dangerous-looking neighborhood. A bunch of excited young people between the ages of 15 and 24 began loading musical equipment in the back of the truck. I had no clue what was going on. But obviously they all did. It took no more than 30 minutes to load drums, amplifiers, guitars speakers and sound controllers into the back. They then covered the equipment with tarp and we set off with 4 more people now crammed into the cab of this two-seater truck. Two beat up cars followed close behind filled with the rest of the young people. By now the rain was beating down hard. The windshield wipers were broken and there was no air to defog the windshield. But these people acted like nothing was wrong. They were so happy! The pastor drove on and on with his arm out the window to move the windshield wipers occassionally. I grabbed a towel and kept obsessively cleaning the windshield in an attempt to make visibility better. The roads in the Dominican Republic are difficult to navigate on a good day. Now add torrential downpours and no visibility. But the group kept laughing, excitedly talking about the coming service. We didn't arrive there until after 7pm.
The church was in the middle of nowhere, a town called Bani Torro, primarily made up of Hatian laborers. The church was very simple, but clean. The pews were obviously hand made of plywood. The bathroom was an outhouse located in back of the building. I was surprised to learn that there were no adult attendees. In the three years they'd been working here, only children from very young to 15 years old attended. Their parents were still leary of this church. Sometimes they visited, but none converted. The pastor's young wife informed me that they hold services at the church 3 times a week.
When we arrived, the young people went to work setting up the equipment. The pastor and his wife changed out of their tattered wet clothes into cleaner tattered dry clothes and in about 30 minutes, the service began. The pastor spent quite a while kneeling in prayer before the service. And at first no one else was there but us. Then the Hatian children started arriving. You would have to have seen the service to really understand. But these young people, who in our country probably would have been standing bored mouthing the words to church songs, were instead singing their hearts out. They were clapping, raising their hands and encouraging the kids to get involved in worship. And they sounded great on top of it all. The service lasted into the night. The pastor preached and after some more singing, it finally ended around 10pm.
By now, I was blessed, and thoroughly impressed with all of this, but exhausted and hoping we wouldn't be cramming 8 people in that same pickup truck. I was dreading the long ride home. But we loaded all the equipment up again and crammed 8 bodies back into the vehicle. This time, one of the young people had rigged up the windshield wipers with ropes to be pulled by the driver and the far left passenger. We laughed and sang all the way home. The ride back seemed alot shorter. But by now the streets were practically flooded. We hadn't known that Tropical Storm Noel had arrived that day. At points, the water was up to the top of the tires. Once we made it back to Santo Domingo, the pastor pulled into a dingy flooded restaurant and ordered chicken for all of us to thank the young people who had helped to lead in praise and worship.
Finally, I arrived home after midnight and fell into bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. What was all that? Who gives their life in service like that? I don't want to forget this experience, but more importantly the lessons I still feel like I'm learning from it.
In an almost dream-like ending, I careened down to the Santo Domingo airport in a taxi, windows down, the breeze blowing my hair, with Anthony Santos blaring, strumming his meringue beach music. Meanwhile my taxi driver belted out the words for me. I stared out the window at this beautiful paradise I was leaving as the palm trees whizzed by. I can't believe it's already over. So quick. Just like that. Thank you God for this trip. May I never forget the things I saw or the lessons I learned here. 
