Sunday evening I sat in Pastor Selenda’s church soaking up everything that was happening around me. People sang, spoke, shouted, and prayed in Spanish. Little girls crowded all around me and my friend Karina sat patiently on my lap. A scuffle of feet resounded to my left as I looked down to see a young boy at my side. Clad in a black and gray hood, arms crossed in subtle defiance, he sat, a stern look plastered on his face.
Everyone else in the room was on their feet, clapping and singing during worship time, so naturally I leaned to my left and signed for him to stand up with me. A simple nod of the head communicated to me his thoughts “absolutely not”…so I challenged him and taking his hand, insisted he stand. A smile cracked in the corner of his mouth as he stood beside me. Clapping his hands, he began to engage in worship.
The song finished and we sat back down – the girls resuming their positions around and on me. They played with my hair as I observed my new and strange friend. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Jose” he responded. “Well Jose, my name is Christy.” “Christy” he repeated and smiled. He removed his hood and paid good attention to the person speaking at the front.
Another song began and he rose quickly to his feet clapping along with everyone else. Momentarily detained, I stayed seated as the girls continued playing with my hair. This was apparently not acceptable and he asked me reminded me to stand in Spanish. I scotched the girls off my lap and stood beside Jose – singing broken Spanish worship phrases, but mostly just clapping and engaging my heart in this special moment.
It’s moments like these I celebrate and tuck away here in the D.R…Dios te bendiga!
