Having gotten stowed and situated on the bus, it lurched out of the airport parking lot with a bleat of the horn and a roar from the diesel engine. Barely one hundred meters to the left lay a glistening, precious jewel. Dancing, dazzling azure crowned with frothy ivory, the Caribbean ocean appeared in a splendorous glory only witnessed before in photographs. Gracefully crashing with thunder against the dark, rocky coastline, it beckoned all who beheld it to submerge themselves beneath its rolling beauty. Murmurs of awe punctuated by flashes from cameras, the mission team took in this marvelous exhibition of God's creation.

      With a rude suddenness the magnificent view was obstructed by the machine of human industry. Mountains of steel and cement rose hundreds of feet around as we first passed through the industrial park, and then into the more residential and commercial districts of Santa Domingo. Billboards announcing a variety of wares from pesticides to fruit beverages to metrosexual grooming products lined the streets. Large department stores a la Wal-Mart seemed to be on every corner and in between were fast food restaurants, both the familiar and the obscure; Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Burger King, and Pollo Rey. The later being a local chain that served excellent fried chicken with a side of fried plantains (think large, non-sweet bananas).

      Passing a dilapidated stadium far from its glory days, the odd feeling I had been sensing finally flashed into clarity. The people and the scenery was a pseudo image of the larger towns I had lived in back in Benin. My brain was telling me I could walk up to any of these people and hold a deep conversation, that I could read any sign and understand the music I could hear playing from the sidewalk speakers--but my brain was wrong. It was all incomprehensible, spoken in a language in which I could barely count. I experienced a disorientation that I had not had since I was eight years old, for, from that time on I had been traveling in English and French speaking countries. This time I was a true foreigner, and an element of culture shock was twisting me.

      The climate, sights, smells, and sounds were reviving memories of a home that I had forgotten, memories of Africa and the people that I grew up with. A longing to return to my roots filled me and I resolved to do this before I graduate medical school.

      We bounced from side to side across the smooth, paved road, narrowly escaping one insane potential crash situation only to land in the middle of another one. The bus in which we were entrusting our lives had a disturbing lack of seat belts, but, on the other hand, had an impressive array of steel pipes welded barricade fashion on the front and back like an iron cushion--or battering ram. Horn honking with absolute gusto and singing to Christian alternative music in Spanish, our chauffer (Edward) must have been guided by his very own angel as we rumbled through Santa Domingo. The capitol city was easily congested with five million people, all of whom seemed to be out on the streets that day. If they had been simply walking then our journey would have been much less hazardous.

      Careening on everything from mopeds to street racing crotch rockets, two wheeled vehicles assaulted us in every direction, zigzagging their way around the lumbering buses and other large vehicles both over laden and under repaired. Various street vendors, pushing their wares on carts, darted across the streets as if running on molten lava, adding just a bit more chaos through the cacophony of metal and rubber.

      This people, although close in mindset and culture to those in Benin, had in some profound way had their innocence ripped away. The scars of a culture lost in sin seemed to be more visible--or maybe my eyes had been opened. The glittering stores and restaurants gave way to a very different scene as we traveled out of the heart of the capitol. Everything took on a crumbling, dilapidated appearance as if rotting from within, mirroring the outcry of the souls that dwelt in their care forsaken walls. Rowdy bars advertising nude entertainment and penny gambling establishments littered the neighborhoods that were painfully bereft of pharmacies, clinics, schools, or churches.

      An acute lack of money, and to a greater degree, the absence of instruction on using it wisely accompanied by greed and corruption at higher levels in the government had thrust the populace into near abject poverty. There were the ultra rich, the well off, the middle class...and then those whose children gorged themselves on what little food they could find, unsure of the next time they would eat.

      At some point living in Africa and seeing this pitiful plight day to day had desensitized me somewhat. Now, however, having lived in this great nation for several years, returning to a third world country was a reawakening. The lavishness, the wastefulness, the epidemic of obesity in America is easily disgusting when compared to those who have nothing and who will always have nothing.
God had called JK and me to be reflections of His great light, if even for a few short days, in the squelched darkness of the Dominican Republic. In the days ahead we were filled with an abundant love for these people that flowed from Jesus. We became captured by it as we served by helping laying out food, helping with chores, meeting people's needs, praying without ceasing, and lavishing the love of Jesus onto those who had only known the destruction, chains, and torture of sin.

      I awoke with a start, having only just shut my eyes moments before. The room was shrouded in shadows and silent except for the gentle breathing of JK by my side and the annoying, grating, harsh beeping of the alarm clock on the wooden bedside table. Not familiar with my surroundings as we were staying with a fellow medical student's family, it took me several moments to bang the offending electronic device into submission. During the process I very nearly knocked over an antique lamp, and while steadying it I landed a glancing blow onto my glasses which went spinning to the floor.

      Through blurry eyes the clock shone happily at me in a brilliant institutional green: 3:30 AM. I had been sleeping for just over three hours. JK, quite awake now, mumbled something to me in the gift of tongues given those who have had little sleep, and stumbled out the door clutching her shower pack with her.

      Half an our later we were more or less presentable and joined the other team members, all of us wearing identical brown t-shirts that, with our near zombie like behavior due to exhaustion, probably made us appear to be some kind of cult. Soon, with multiple infusions of our choice caffeine, we were more like ourselves and packed into the waiting vehicles idling in the warm, muggy Kentucky air.

      Dawn still an hour away, we drove off in the darkness, each lost in thought and anticipation.

      A flurry of thank-yous and handshakes later and we stood in line to check our luggage. Things had thus far gone extremely smooth, so it stood to reason that a problem would crop up. The devil, it seemed, was not done pestering us. With the hardships of gathering medication, chasing down our passports, and raising the money, we knew we were up against some serious spiritual warfare. The battle was far from over.

      Adam, one of our team members, went up to the counter to check in. He ran his passport under the electronic reader and the touch screen flashed the "working" animation. Seconds later it came back with a joyful error saying that Adam wasn't found in the database. He tried again with the same results. The lady behind the ticket counter had him come over. After fifteen minutes of trying to get things to work, which included calling our travel agent at 5:15 AM, we finally figured out that the agency had some how invalidated Adam's ticket.

      A bit more red tape (and prayer) later and everything was sorted out, Adam was handed a boarding pass, and we got to walk as a troop over to security. Let me first say that I appreciate the work that the TSA performs, it is an invaluable service that doubtlessly has made terrorist action in and around airplanes much, much more difficult. They are an intimidating bunch, and even though I know that I have nothing to fear, I always approach a security check point with a little bit of trepidation.

      I once had a run in with security while in the Paris, France airport that left me a little scarred...and I don't want to talk about it.

      Do you ever wonder if they catch people in the random checks? I guess it is possible that someone makes it all the way to security, only to be stopped by the TSA agent standing at the gate. I'm glad they do what they can to make our skies safe.

      These security measures did little to re-assure another team member, and a good friend of mine, when faced with a...situation. On our flight from Miami to the Dominican Republic, Darren was sitting close to the aisle. Diagonally across from him sat a man whose eyes were wide and he was rapidly breathing. Perspiration stood out on his forehead and upper lip, even though the cabin was quite cool. He kept nervously wiping away the moisture with a folded white handkerchief. The man kept standing up, sitting down, buckling and unbuckling his seatbelt, and walking the aisles. It did not help that he was also of Arabic descent. This made Darren extremely uncomfortable (understandably so), and although nothing happened, he later confessed to me that he was ready at any moment to jump the guy.

      My friend didn't get much sleep on that flight. I, on the other hand, sitting in the last row of the airplane, slept like I was in a Hilton hotel, completely unaware of the drama many rows in front of me.

      We landed in Santa Domingo, the capitol of the Dominican Republic, without incident--save being several hours late due to a weather delay. I prayed that everything would continue to go smoothly for us, as we were about to trek through immigration with thousands of dollars worth of medication with only our very meager Spanish skills, a letter in Spanish explaining who we were and what we were doing, and the Savior of the Universe to fend for us. (I was very confident in that last one.)

      Using the letters like they were a shield, we walked through customs and immigrations without so much a as a hiccup--for which we praised God! The only tense moment came as one of the luggage inspectors pried open the lid to my container and flitted through several of the bottles to check their dates (it is illegal to take expired medication to the DR), but after glancing at several she put them back, smiled, and waved us through.
With a whoop of joy and the others in tow, I walked out of the double glass doors and suddenly realized immigration had been well climate controlled. Wearing jeans and two t-shirts I began sweating almost immediately. The warms, sticky air clung to me as I walked through the throng pushing my luggage cart. Waving excitedly were the full time missionaries who welcomed us with open arms.

      Rounding everyone up we had brief introductions to both the missionaries and the Dominicans who served with them, then we packed up our luggage into their trailer and boarded the bus, that thank God had air conditioning. Settling back in the seat and jabbering incessantly with a multitude of questions, we prepared for the four hour drive ahead of us.

      Life has a humorous way of crushing you beneath a rigorous schedule that, had you been able to foresee the manner in which the events were to unfold, would make you want to crawl into a dark, damp hole on some sun-forsaken rock face and huddle in a fetal position while quietly whimpering for your mother.

      Such were my concluding days as a first year medical student. The final exams of the year were grueling, and the extra day off to prepare for them was nothing short of a godsend. As if studying for these exams was not strenuous enough on its own merit, that same weekend happened to be when we needed to prepare the new apartment to meet our standards for a habitable living conditions.

      Our standards are, apparently, quite different from every former tenant whose apartment we have had the fortune to move into.

      The previous tenants of the new apartment had had a large, beautiful, black Labrador retriever , who had spent long hours confined inside the house and thus had relieved itself in several locations on the carpet, giving the light gray a somewhat darker, more rusty quality. The carpet, having had said Labrador tracking its way too and fro for three years, had somehow not managed to have been cleaned. Even once. Apparently the previous tenants where allergic to carpet cleaning products, and had not even had the carpet shampooed before they moved in.

      Thankfully, though, that was something the landlords were taking care of for us. What we had to contend with, however, was still quite a task. Nothing like the mold or the water demon infestation of our previous apartment, this was still rather gross. Hair, fine, black dog hair punctuated by long illustrious strands of brunette had gathered in small colonies in every corner of the bathrooms and had recently, with the aid of the White House and several, albeit minor, peace keeping forces, held free elections. They had established a new base of operations behind the toilet and were subsequently planning a large scale invasion of the bathtub.

      In a dictatorial fashion, with a sponge in one hand and a vicious cleaning product in the other, JK wiped their tiny republic from the face of the planet. We do not mourn their loss.

      We praise God for our new apartment! It has been so excellent, no crazy neighbors, no infestation with irritating and destructive mold, no water demon, and much, much better conditions all in all.

      But back to the insane schedule.

      Mere hours after my last exam on Monday JK and I were actively packing things in house and transporting them to the other. Although the two apartments are worlds apart in class, comfort, living conditions, and overall excellence, they were only five blocks away in distance. Thus, we decided to go without the legal and monetary trappings of renting a moving truck and decided to rely on friends and our two small cars.

      Tuesday morning I began helping our gross anatomy lab instructor along with two other med students. For the next week we taught basic human anatomy to high school students who were part of a government funded program (called PEPP). We dissected a new (fresh?) cadaver for them and fielded many questions. It was a great experience.

      In the mornings before and evenings after teaching at the school, JK and I toiled away at the house, and with the help of friends (thank you guys so much!), we finally got everything moved in.

      Have you ever noticed that you can be completely moved into a new place and not be moved in at all?

      This process brings us all the way through to the following Wednesday. Up until then I had been teaching for the PEPP program, leading outdoor games for my church's VBS program, trying to get things actually set up in our new household, and finalizing preparations to journey to the Dominican Republic for our medical missions trip.

      More on that in a moment.

      Wednesday I headed to a medical convention in Louisville, KY, and stayed there several nights before returning home late Friday evening. Saturday and Sunday passed without incident, and we left for Cincinnati Monday afternoon, for we had to be at the airport by 5:30 AM to catch the first leg of our flight to the Dominican Republic.

      Flashing back--over the course of a week or so I had collected over $20,000 worth of medications...but not the "good" stuff. No narcotics or benzoids or opoids, just antibiotics, antifungal, antiviral, and thousands upon thousands of vitamins.

      We were also trying to get JK's passport. I'm not sure if you have heard or not, but the Federal Government is so far behind in issuing passports that they are recommending applying at least a full year before the passport is to be used. (Those of you in favor of a national health care system should take note of this.)Would that they had made this public announcement months before JK applied.

      We submitted the forms, the marriage certificate, and the updated photo a full three months before our schedule day of departure. Three weeks before we were to leave JK called them and they said they were processing the application and to call back fourteen days before our departure. Sweating a little bit, JK dialed their number again two weeks later. They said that it wasn' done, but that a "rush" would be placed on the account. The next day a different person said the same thing. A week later, still no passport and we were sweating a little bit more.

      Friday, before the Monday we were leaving for Cincinnati, we were desperate. I was in Louisville, JK in Pikeville. That day JK was to have an interview with the local high school for an English teaching position. She decided to get up very early and call the Transport Bureau as soon as it opened at 6 am.

      She let the phone ring for over thirty minutes and no one picked up. She called me in Louisville near tears. This wasn't the way things were supposed to work out. Without her passport she couldn't go. After all of her hard work raising money and being active, to be held back by a lack of a passport was a huge blow.

      A friend of mine, who was also going on the trip, had had similar passport issues and had called the governor's office. Within a day of speaking to his office he received a call on his cell phone. It was from a man who identified himself as a specialty contractor who had been hired by FedEx to meet an airplane on the tarmac. He was calling to inform my friend that he was picking up his passport and would be hand-delivering it to his doorstep shortly. About forty-five minutes later a black sedan with tinted windows pulled into his driveway and a tall man with dark hair and darker still sunglasses stepped out of the vehicle. Reaching into his charcoal suit he pulled out a package, handed to my friend, returned to the car and drove away. Inside the package was my friend's brand new, freshly minted passport. He didn't pay a dime for any of this.

      I got the governor's phone number from him that Friday and gave the office a call. They forwarded me to a senator's office and I spoke with one of his secretaries. She took down some important information, had me fax to her a release form, and then told me she would be in touch. Half an hour later JK called me and told me that the woman had contacted her to say that someone had placed her passport on permanent hold, and that no one had put "rush" orders on it. She then told us it would be completed the same day, sent out via specialty courier, and that we would get it Monday morning.

      FedEx arrived Monday morning with JK's passport and three hours later we were on our way to Cincinnati. Arriving around eight o'clock, we enjoyed food and fellowship before undertaking the grand task of packing the medication into the twenty or so plastic totes. Around midnight many of us began to turn in, for three short hours later we were to be roused from our blissful slumber and begin our trek to the airport and the adventure God had prepared for us in the Dominican Republic.