Traffic in every major city in the world is crowded and noisy, especially at rush hour. Santo Domingo, the capital city of the Domincan Republic, is no different. And there is a highway running along the Caribbean Sea on the south shore. As cars and buses bustle past, the view on the south is captivating by the color of the water and on the north side there are a variety of buildings, from abandoned businesses and half-built shacks, to five-star casino hotels.
Most people will miss a random road that if you turn onto will deteriorate into a dirt road with hills, potholes, and dips that are so deep the puddles left from the tropical rains are like small ponds. Further along this road it still seems as if there is nothing of significance because you primarily will see empty lots on both sides of the road. But if you stop at the yellow house on the left, behind the locked gate you will see the Casa de Luz (House of Light).
Casa de Luz is hard to describe in words because its impact is multi-dimensional. I will try. On entering the building there is a long hallway straight ahead. It is very clean and brightly painted with simple colorful flowers. Then there are the rooms. There are two on the right for the girls, and two on the left for the boys. But these children are different. If you are not prepared you may experience any or a combination of emotions ranging from disgust, anger, fear, nausea, compassion, helplessness, and hopefully … love. ALL of the children have some disability. Most are SEVERE. Beds are filled with contorted spastic bodies, but faces are often brimming with smiles. One with a fever is wailing in pain. All are well taken care of by the saintly staff that works there.
Little or no verbal communication is effective. We are told they like to be walked in their wheelchairs. Only a few can be carried. The others are too severely deformed. One can’t turn from her back while another is stuck on her front. Some drool. Many respond favorably to the cards the children from our church made for them. Some want to eat the cards. I wonder if the children at the church knew what these kids were like, how would they respond. Then I remember that children are resilient and loving. I look at my mission team members and many are on the verge of tears. The team members respond to the initial shock with an outpouring of hugs, love and prayer.
The pastor who runs the house has a son with Down’s syndrome and the pastor and his wife are humble with hearts of gold.
When I ask the pastor why he does this; why does he take care of these children that nobody wants, he simply says, “It all started with my son.” And I realize that God felt the same way … It all started for us with His Son.
