It all started at 1 a.m. the morning after Easter in a Walmart parking lot. Well, not really. It actually started the January of my senior year, when I signed up to go on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. I had gone on one my sophomore year to Puerto Rico and loved it, so I knew I definitely wanted to go when my calculus teacher, who was also in charge of the mission trips, told me that there was going to be one to the Dominican Republic over spring break.
That morning after Easter, 24 students, parents, faculty, and volunteers from our small Catholic high school met in a parking lot ready to give up our spring break to volunteer in a country we knew almost nothing about. As we groggily loaded our suitcases onto the bus that would take us to the New Orleans airport, there was definitely a mix of emotions in the air, but everyone was mainly just ready to get the trip started. After a very bumpy ride, we made it to the airport with just enough time to check our bags, make it through security, and board our flight to Miami. Once we landed in Florida, we had a little while to grab one last American meal before finally getting on the plane that would bring us to the Dominican Republic.
Once we landed, we had lunch (which was a pretty big adventure in and of itself because of the language barrier) and found the bus that would take us to the mission house in the village of Cotui. We were told it was going to be a one-hour ride. It turned into three hours of really crazy driving and partially fearing for our lives, but we survived (thankfully) and it was our first “bonding” experience of the trip.
By the time we made it to the mission house, everyone was super tired from a long day of traveling. We were happy to unpack, meet with everyone, go to mass, and then fall asleep in preparation for a day full of work the following morning. (*Side note: in basically any country that is not America, things move A LOT slower and our “full day of work” ended up being somewhere around two hours of work; but our group was able to get close to each other through a long day spent at the mission house).
While the students, and some adults who stayed to watch us, were bonding at the house, the leaders of our group were out visiting three different work sites, trying to figure out just what we would be doing for the next week. They decided that we were going to “remodel” this little chapel in a tiny, and very poor, village called Villa Rosa. The first day that we were there, a family came out to see just what was going on at their church. This chapel was probably one of the most run down buildings I had ever seen. Parts of the roof were missing, and, the pieces of tin that were still there, had so many holes in them, that they weren’t doing much to keep the weather out. The pews had splinters and nails sticking up out of them, making them almost unusable, but they were all that they had as far as seating went, so every week the villagers would use them for mass. In short, it was depressing to see just how they had to live and what conditions their church was in. They knew no different though and were just happy to have a place to gather and worship weekly.
Throughout the week that we were there, we did a lot of work for this community, but honestly, they did more for me than I ever could for them. They taught me, and everyone on that mission trip, that it is not the material things that matter. The people of this community did not have many material things, the majority of their clothes and furniture were things donated from others, but they had the two things that mattered. They had each other and God; and for them that was enough. I learned so much about love and happiness the week that I spent in that little village in the Dominican Republic. I learned that we do not need all of these earthly things to make us happy. The joy and love that I saw there was so authentic.
Having a small group meant that everybody worked at the same site, and, therefore, we were able to all get close with one another and the community. In the end, it did not matter what grade you were in, if you were part of the “popular” crowd, or who you hung out with back at home. By the time it came to leave, we all were friends. So many relationships were forged on that trip that would have never happened without it. Not just between the missionaries on it but also with the community. It did not matter that the majority of us could not speak Spanish and therefore could not communicate through words. We used “sign-language,” hand motions, and simple acts of love to communicate. The week that I spent in Cotui will always hold a special place in my heart, as will the people that I met there. God worked miracles through all of us on that trip, and so many lives were touched just by the simple acts of kindness, like playing with the kids or hugging the women. I strongly believe that at some point in their lives, everyone should go on a mission trip. It can really change your life.
