Yo soy Catalina. My
name used to be Caitlin, but no one here in the Dominican Republic can pronounce
it. “Caitlin” has become just a jumble
of letters and sounds, something unrecognizable. In Puerto Rico, I still had my name and some
of my culture, but those days are over.
I’m Catalina again. I’m a
missionary in a foreign country again. Having
a holiday break in the states seems like a distant dream; now it’s back to reality. In the Dominican Republic, I can’t depend on
electricity or running water or internet. I can’t go for a jog on my own in the
neighborhoods where I stay. I work with people
who don’t speak my language or understand my culture. People make constant comments about my hair,
my skin, my body. Caitlin is being
squeezed out of me all over again. Yo
soy Catalina.
As challenging as it’s been to jump back into life here
after being in the states, I wouldn’t have it any other way. As I sat in a poor farming village the other day,
random dark-skinned children running their fingers through my hair and
laughing, my heart felt at peace. I’m in
the right place. Sure, I am challenged daily. But I am blessed daily. I love the islands. I love the people here. I love the kids, the prisoners, the lepers,
and the senior citizens I’ve gotten to hang out with in the last few
weeks. I love the beautiful Caribbean
ocean. I love the simplicity of things
here. Though being Caitlin was a lot easier, I love being Catalina.
My team began our time in the Dominican Republic in the
capital city of Santo Domingo. After a
short flight from Puerto Rico, we were greeted at the airport by Pastor Luis
and Julio, his friend from the church.
While driving from the airport to the pastor’s home, I could already
sense a stronger Caribbean flavor than what we’d experienced in Puerto
Rico. The main road from the airport
into the city hugged the coast, providing us with breathtaking views of
sparkling crystal-clear water. Palm
trees hid people in their shade and swayed with the rhythm of the gentle ocean
breeze.
On the way to Pastor Luis’s house, we pulled over at a man’s
fruit stand where he treated each of us to a freshly cracked coconut. We swigged the sweet milk straight from the
coconut, then scooped out the remaining fruit.
Now we were in the real Caribbean.
As we
continued driving, the roads became a bit more industrial, and we could sense a
shift from laid-back Caribbean life to a chaotic favela community. Luis’s
neighborhood is called La Canela, meaning “cinnamon” in Spanish. And just like the spice, this neighborhood is
a flavorful little barrio, bustling with people, commotion, and noise. Whether
dogs barking, stereos blaring, children playing, street vendors announcing
their products, or motorbikes whizzing by, noise rules La Canela at all
hours. The neighborhood is comprised of
a series of steep up-and-down streets, weaving a wild labyrinth of roads filled
with colorful homes.
Upon
entering Pastor Luis’s home, we were excitedly greeted by his beautiful and
bubbly wife, Belkis. She had heard through the grapevine that Roberta loves a
traditional Dominican food called la
bandera which literally means “flag” in Spanish. Belkis had a bowl on the kitchen table
covered in a cloth and declared that she’d prepared la bandera for us. She
pulled the cloth away to reveal a literal bandera--a
flag folded up in the bowl. She burst
into laughter at our look of surprise, pleased by our reaction to her clever
joke. Moments later, she whipped out the
actual meal of la bandera and invited
us to sit and enjoy. We shared an
amazing spread of rice, savory meat, and sautéed vegetables.
Throughout
the week, we spend much time at the kitchen table surrounded by good company
and some of the best food of our entire Latin American journey. Meals were a time to enjoy the local culture,
share our hearts with Pastor Luis and his family, and gain corporate revelation
about spiritual matters. Luis and Belkis
explained that normally when visitors come to their neighborhood, they offer
them a place apart from their house where they stay on their own. They are careful about who they let stay in
their home. We were all surprised,
because we were under quite the opposite impression. When we’d called Luis from Puerto Rico, he
had offered us his home instantly, without asking a single question about
us. But while in his home, Luis
explained that the Holy Spirit had moved inside him during our brief Skype
call, and he immediately knew he needed to receive us. Belkis nodded in agreement, explaining that
when she prayed for us, the Holy Spirit told her we came with pure hearts. We’d done nothing to cause such certain
expectations and such a warm welcome.
God had done it all, and we undeservedly reaped the benefits of His
work.
Throughout
the week, we worked within Pastor Luis’s church; but more importantly, we took
the gospel outside of the building.
Preaching, sharing testimonies, and heading up a conference for church leaders
were all good opportunities to share the love of God. However, my heart really came alive when I got
to do ministry outside the church walls.
Pastor Luis had hoped to light a fire for missions in his congregation,
and we arranged several little outreaches that honestly began to spark
something. Many people from the church
had been interested in evangelistic outreaches for a long time, but they’d
never taken the initiative to organize them.
Our team got the ball rolling and initiated visits to houses within
poorer areas of La Canela, a local prison, and a leper colony. Everywhere we went, young people from the
church ministered alongside us. Once
people saw how easy it was to jump in and how God worked so powerfully through
these outreaches, they excitedly declared that they would continue the work
after we left.
Pedro,
a young pastor from Luis’s church, accompanied us on every outreach; and the
fire inside him transformed from a spark to a burning flame in just a few
days. He had a natural gift for
preaching and evangelism but wasn’t yet operating in his full potential. The Lord had given him a vision to preach in
every prison in the Dominican Republic, but he’d never been to a jail yet. So we went to a prison with him and encouraged
him to preach. Pedro wanted to share the
gospel outside the church, but had no platform to do so. So we went house to house within La Canela
and prayed for needy families. Pedro
wanted to pray for the sick, so we went to a leper colony together. He loved every moment.
During
every outreach, we saw hearts touched and enjoyed our own breakthroughs with
the Lord. But I saw the greatest
breakthrough in Pedro’s life, and I rejoice for what God is doing in him. His eyes were opened up to countless ministry
opportunities within his own community, and many doors were opened that he may
not have attempted to open on his own.
By the end of our time together, Pedro felt empowered to continue with
the ministry we began together. Other members
of the church were starting to catch that fire for missions as well; and I
believe we witnessed the start of a powerful evangelism team who will share the
gospel around Santo Domingo for years to come.
To be
honest, I sometimes worry about coming into a city for only a week or so,
because I don’t know what will happen after we leave. I wonder if our efforts
ever go to waste. But God reminded me
that He is faithful to complete the work He starts. In Santo Domingo, He connected us to the right
people to follow through with the work that was started during our time there. I am confident that Pedro will revisit the
houses within La Canela, the prison, and maybe even the leper colony. I am excited to hear about what God does
through his life and the life of others within his church.
One of
our greatest moments together happened while visiting homes inside La Canela. While
walking through the maze of small homes that comprise the neighborhood, we
encountered an older couple who asked for prayer for different health
issues. The wife said she had pain in
her back and knees, so we prayed for God to heal her. After, we asked if she could do anything now
that she couldn’t do before. She began
to bend over and twist. Realizing that
she hadn’t been able to do those movements just moments prior, she began to
celebrate her healing and excitedly praise God.
The
woman was a Christian and wanted her husband to know Jesus as well. We asked how we could pray for him, and he
explained that he had a heart condition in addition to diabetes. Earlier in the day, he had attempted walking
from his bed to the front door but wasn’t able.
He’d become too dizzy and had to return to his bed. We prayed for God to heal him too and
afterwards asked him to try to walk.
This time, the man walked to the door and back without problems. His dizziness was gone.
The
man sat back down and explained that he had not yet accepted Jesus into his
life. But he was happy that God had chosen to heal him nonetheless. So were we.
The man went on to explain that during this very week God had begun to
speak into his heart. God was inviting
him into His love. Just one day prior to
our visit, the man felt a real desire to go to church. He said he had been too sick to get there, but
declared that God had brought church to his house today. His eyes radiated with true joy. His body looked old, but his eyes were like
those of a boy—excited, pure, and captivated by the love of His father. The man said he wanted to pray with us; and inside
his little home, he accepted Jesus into his life. Because God had just touched his body, it
appeared as if he would now be physically strong enough to go to church. But no matter what, I rejoice that his heart
was touched by God’s love, and no sickness can ever take that away from him.
After
a week in Santo Domingo, we prepared to move on to our next city in the
Dominican Republic. We had originally planned
to travel to Santiago, but after going in circles with our contacts there, we realized
this was another closed door. Pastor
Luis went to bat for us and made several calls to pastor friends around the
country. We waited to see what came
through. We needed to leave on
Wednesday, and on Tuesday night, we still had no idea where we were going. All we knew was that we were going to the bus
station in the morning and would get on a bus—to somewhere. On Tuesday at midnight, plans were confirmed. We made plans with just hours to spare! A pastor from the city of La Romana invited
us to work with his church and stay with a family from his congregation. La Romana is a coastal city about two hours
east of Santo Domingo. With no other
options, we hopped on a bus to La Romana and hoped for the best.
And
the best is what we got! We were met at
the bus station and hosted by two of the most joyful people I’ve ever met. Always-laughing Ramone welcomed us into his
home, constantly calling us beautiful, giving us hugs, and sharing funny
stories. His gorgeous wife, Lucy, showered
us with hospitality as well—working tirelessly to prepare amazing meals and
serving us with a smile on her face. The
kindness of strangers blew me away once again.
I immediately felt at home and looked forward to hearing Ramone’s
infectious laughter each day.
One
evening, while eating dinner, Ramone told my teammates and I that he’d seen us
in a vision two weeks before we arrived.
He had forgotten about the vision until that moment and then realized
he’d seen the whole scene before. He
explained that he’d seen each one of us sitting around his table, talking. We’d had no idea where we were going until midnight
the night before, but Ramone had seen us weeks ago. God had it planned all along. Crazy.
We
worked at Ramone and Lucy’s church, attending prayer meetings and preaching
(apparently I’m a preacher now); but again the work outside the church walls is
what really moved my heart. We connected
with several women from the church who accompanied us to a senior home, a
prison, an orphanage, and a Haitian community outside the city. One of the women, Maria Teresa, astonished me
with her faith. She lives in a poor
community and visits homes in her neighborhood almost every morning, sharing
the gospel and praying for people. She
regularly visits a local orphanage and a prison as well. She has almost nothing, but everything she
receives, she gives to others. She waits
for God to provide enough money for her to catch a bus to the prison and uses
those coins on bus fare instead of her own needs. She walks long distances to get other places. She works tirelessly, day after day, loving
people with radical abandon, yet receiving no glory. She is a faceless, nameless woman who will
probably never receive due honor here on earth.
When I
travel, I have strangers taking me into their homes and cooking me feasts. When I’m in the U.S., I have people showering
me with generosity, praising me for simply doing the work I love. Yet, there are local people in these poor
countries who never get praise, honor, or glory. They work simply because their hearts are
full of the love of Christ. Maria Teresa
is one of these women. She is a hero,
and the world will never know.
I had
already fallen in love with her genuine heart, but when I heard more of her
story, I was literally in awe. Maria
Teresa’s father had been her closest companion, the man she adored. He was unjustly murdered, and three men were
accused of the crime. Instead of
resorting to anger or bitterness, Maria Teresa chose to love. God told her to go to the prison and pray for
the men who had killed her father. She
started visiting the men who had been accused—to show them love. The three alleged killers all claim innocence,
but they are still awaiting trial, so there’s no proof either way. Maria Teresa doesn’t care whether the men are
guilty or innocent. She loves these men,
and they love her. Over time, she’s
become a mama to them. They adore her
and shower her with affection when she walks into the prison. Maria Teresa is a walking story of forgiveness
and God’s redemption. Wow.
Normally,
she goes to prison alone whenever she can save up enough to get there. This time, my teammates and I arranged for a
vehicle and went with Maria Teresa. She
was very glad to have company and thankful for transportation. We arrived at the prison and were told to
leave all our belongings at a dodgy kiosk outside the jail. We waited in the scorching sun for about an
hour and a half, our water bottles and sunglasses already confiscated. Finally, we were led into the jail, where we
underwent the most humiliating prison security inspection yet. We might as well have been prisoners
ourselves. Each of us still reeling from
the shock of that experience, we walked into the main meeting room where
inmates were receiving visitors.
Immediately,
we were greeted by a smiling Angelio, one of the accused killers. He didn’t look like he could hurt a fly. He was probably a few years younger than me,
and I could see all he wanted was someone to hug. We sat down with him and chatted about his
life. He said he used to live a godless
life—doing drugs and getting into trouble.
Open and honest about his past, he admitted he was far from perfect but
declared that he had not killed Maria Teresa’s father. He had been accused of committing the crime
with two other men whom he’d never met prior to being thrown in prison. When he met them in jail, he heard they’d
been accused of the same crime and were his alleged partners in crime.
Angelio
wanted his freedom back but said that he was thankful he’d met Jesus in prison. He said God had actually shown him mercy by
bringing him to jail. All his friends
from the streets had been killed. His
life was heading in the same direction, but God spared him. Now Angelio knew God, cleaned up his life,
and had hope in something greater. But
the thought of never leaving prison was more than he could bear. He wanted to be free and start a clean
life. He wanted to have friends he could
trust. He wanted to see his mom.
We
asked if we could pray for Angelio, and he knelt down in the middle of us,
reaching out to hold me and Aleeza’s hands. Tears poured down his cheeks as we prayed for
him. Afterwards, he stood back up and
said, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”
He looked like a child, scared and longing for comfort. Without knowing quite what to say, we sat
with him and held his hands. Roberta sat
with her arm around him, and he drank in her presence like a young child does
with his mother. He broke my heart.
Visiting
hours quickly faded, and we had to say goodbye.
Angelio left us with a smile, and I forced a smile back, knowing freedom
was just steps away for me and maybe years away for him. I believed in his innocence but knew the
corrupt system could easily find a way to prove otherwise. I wondered what Maria Teresa thought, but
then I remembered that she doesn’t care.
All she wants is to love. And she
does. She loves Angelio with all her
heart. And he knows it.
Yo soy
Catalina. I am a blessed woman. I think my life is hard sometimes, and then I
look at the world around me. I am
free. I am loved. I get to see what God is up to all around the
world. In the Dominican Republic, He’s
up to a lot of good. He’s using selfless
people to reflect His incredible heart of grace, love, and forgiveness. And lucky me—I get to see it. I am humbled by my time in the DR and amazed
by God’s goodness. His love is beautiful
beyond words.
