People touching my hair and other things I hate...

I am not someone who likes being touched. It's probably really weird but it makes me really paranoid and I start thinking about germs any time someone touches me, especially my hands, face and hair. (Why you would think it's appropriate to just grab someone's face, I have no idea. Clearly, if that's normal for you, you have some things to work out.) Unless someone does it on purpose because they know how much it irks me, I won't say anything, but on the inside I'm probably seething.

Other things I hate: (besides what was mentioned above)

1. Getting death threats.
2. Being stuck in mobs.
3. Accidentally causing mobs.
4.  Not speaking the same language as the mob surrounding you.
5. Crying in public.

What do any of those things have to do with each other, you ask? Because all of them happened to me within a period of two hours last summer in the Dominican Republic.

Why am I writing this? Because it was the exactly moment when I tangibly saw that indifference is not an option.

Ever since I was little, I've had a heart for people. Vulnerable, hurt, broken people. Maybe it was because somewhere deep inside, I understood. It just took me 18 years to realize it. You know those commercials for Feed The Children that make you feel really terrible if you change the channel? I was their perfect audience, because I would always try to convince my parents that we needed to adopt the entire continent of Africa. (Side note, obviously, I realized that couldn't happen, but it's the reason we have our really awesome sponsored child from El Salvador, Sandra. Check out Compassion International) This was definitely instilled early on in my life by my incredible parents who always taught us and demonstrated  the importance of missions, serving, and tithing. However, I think there is something intrinsically wired in us to respond with compassion and love when we see injustice because we were created in the image of God.

From then on, I would learn about causes and organizations that would tug at my heart. I would research and support them and raise awareness as much as possible. (Clearly, PR was a good choice.)

Forward to the summer after my senior year. I was on a mission trip to Belleglade Florida, one of my favorite places in the world that will always have a special place in my heart. There, I learned from a dear friend about Word Made Flesh and her time with them in Thailand, and her experiences with trafficking victims. I'm pretty sure I annoyed her by asking her for more stories almost every day during that trip. (If you're reading this, sorry Bekah!) But I couldn't get enough, and I had a heart for southeast Asia even though I had never been there before.  (Cue hint #1 on India and my future calling.)

Forward a month later and I found myself on another trip to the Dominican Republic. Quite possibly, a series of the most life changing moments of my life. Will took us to a tiny slum called Guatchupita, where he first worked the year before while on the World Race.
I had never seen such alarming poverty.
The houses looked like they would fall over with a gust of wind. The river around the slum was an unhealthy brown. The stench was nearly unbearable. Everywhere was covered in trash piles four feet high, full of broken glass, feces and anything else that could be thrown out. For a germaphobe like me, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
All of the sudden as we got further into the slum, children started gathering around us. Mostly, because we were gringos.
They just wanted to be loved. They would grab our hands (Things I hate), they would follow us everywhere.
Then they started going for the hair. (Clearly, traveling to places where blonde hair is both attractive and uncommon is a theme for me.)
One, having a bunch of little kids pull your hair is really freaking painful. Two, I was about to freak out from this. Truly, I was going to have a full on panic attack.
Guess what. By the grace of God, I didn't. Somehow, He gave me patience and calm about the situation. He got me out of my comfort zone. (This doesn't seem like a huge deal, but it was for me.)

This was because He needed to open my eyes to something so much bigger than myself and my comfort zone.

As we were walking, I noticed the little girl clinging to me wasn't wearing shoes. Alarmed by the fact the ground was covered in glass and other disgusting dangerous, I did what seemed rational. I picked her up.  (Mind you, she was about nine years old and didn't know what I was doing since I couldn't communicate in Spanish. Typical events in my life.) Then I looked around and realized none of the thirty kids following us were wearing shoes.

By the time we left, I was seething with anger. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't, I was so mad. I was silent the entire forty-five minute walk home and most of the day. I was angry that the people I was with were making excuses, saying that's just their life. I was mad at the Dominican government for letting their own people go without clean water or sanitation because they were on the margins of society. I was angry with God for letting this happen.

Then, I realized something. I could go home and forget I saw this. I could just be indifferent to it.

But that's not what I'm called to.

A few days later, we went back with supplies, crafts and equipment to have a mini VBS for the kids there. This time, we came with translators too.

However, this was really bad planning.
Somehow, all of the girls got separated with only one translator and only a few of the guys. Not good.
Seeing a bunch of gringos, this time with "gifts" kids came from all over the place surrounding us. This time, they came with their parents too. Really not good.

In a matter of minutes, we accidentally caused a rowdy and violent mob, with no way to communicate.

We were being pushed and shoved. Women were attacking each other for a simple tooth brush, grabbing children, hitting each other and the children. Then weapons started coming out. (By weapons I mean sticks and a tv antenna. But still, it was alarming.)
The police in the area just stood there (with giant guns that scared the crap out of me, mind you) and watched.

Suddenly, I found myself surrounded with our translator, Frank, and no way out.

It looked a little like this:

All I heard was Spanish, so I had no idea what was being said until Frank told me they were threatening to kill us.

Umm...WHAT?! That's probably something you never want to hear, and this was definitely not the way I was planning on going.

Then I felt the tears coming and there was no way I could stop them. In a matter of seconds my face went from fearing-for-my-life panic to sobbing tears. (Poor Frank was so overwhelmed trying to calm down the crowd and me, looking back on it, I should have apologized.)

I wasn't crying because I was overwhelmed and scared, even though I definitely should have been. I was hyperventilating, and sobbing to the point of nearly puking because I saw the desperation and pain of not having enough. I saw such overwhelming need. I saw how selfish I had been. I saw what God sees and his overwhelming love for his children. I saw the face of God on every single person, even in the angry mob.
It was scary, beautiful, saddening, angering, heart-breaking, and incredible all at the same time.
That was the moment I knew God was telling me indifference could never be an option.

Two minutes later, thank God, Elliott was able to break through the crowd and literally pick me up over them. Then we all ran for our lives, with the crowd chasing us. (looking back it was probably really funny looking, but at the time it was absolutely terrifying.)

This incident will stay with me forever. Because in that desperation, I saw God. I audibly heard His voice through the shouting of Spanish and cries and screams.
And I couldn't say no to it.
It's funny how He works, because in retelling this story, I realized how absolutely ridiculous and crazy and slightly humorous it is. That's just life though, and the fact that God has a sense of humor.

I left the DR completely changed with that etched in the front of my mind and the depths of my soul. I started college with those thoughts of suffering and the knowledge that I had to do something, but I didn't know how to respond.

I learned though, quickly, because God is in the business of answering prayers when we're willing to humble ourselves for him.


“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?  Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter —when you see the naked, to clothe them and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?  Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.  Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I." Isaiah 58: 6-9



                                   With Love,
                                     Kaitlyn