After our first visit, I carried the encounter with me for days. I couldn’t quite let it go. I wanted to share what we had experienced – so I wrote a post in a Facebook group, almost instinctively.
I didn’t expect what followed.
People responded. They resonated with the story. And some went further – they offered to help.
Maureen sent toys for the children. Laurel promised crayons.
Bill and Judy offered financial support. Judy, in fact, went all in: she prepared 100 individual gift bags, making sure that every child would receive something – sweets, small toys, something just for them. And she didn’t stop there. Judy wanted to meet the community in person. So she came with us.
That day, not only the trunk of the car was full of gifts – our hearts were overflowing too.
Once again, we stopped at the village’s small central plaza. Within minutes, the children began to arrive, many of them accompanied by their mothers.
Seeing them again felt unexpectedly familiar, almost like greeting old friends.
One little boy kept coming up to me. Asking questions. Telling stories. I was touched by his openness, his ease. And that’s how my very first friendship in Santo Domingo was formed – with Diego, an eight-year-old boy. Did you know that for him – and probably for several others in the village – this was the first time they had ever tasted walnuts?
There was another moment that has stayed with me ever since. A mother approached me and asked, very simply, if her sons could take a photo with me. That was all she said. But inside, it felt monumental. In that question was trust. Acceptance. A quiet kind of affection.
I wrapped my arms around the two boys and smiled at the phone’s camera, my heart full. I don’t have that photo myself, and I don’t remember exactly who took it — but I will find out. And when I do, I promise to share it. I’m just as curious to see it again.
This visit gave me more than I ever expected.
The community began to move closer, to open up, to trust us. We talked – a little clumsily, since my Spanish is still far from conversational – but I truly believe that the language of care needs no translation.
A smile is universally understood.
Before we left, one last sign of that openness: we took a group photo together – children and mothers standing side by side.
We had barely gotten into the car when both Judy and I felt overwhelmed by emotion. All we could think about was what else might be possible. How else this small community could be supported. And the truth is – those thoughts didn’t quiet down for days.
We are not a foundation.
We are not an NGO.
We are simply two people who saw poverty and felt a quiet certainty: we needed to do something — even if it was small. Even if it only brings a few smiles to a few children. Some people have already joined us, once or more than once.
And if anyone feels called to join – in any way, at any time – we would be honored.
If you’d like to support in a practical way, or simply learn more, you’ll find details on the Support page.
If you’d like to reach out personally, feel free to contact us.
Creciendo juntos, floreciendo juntos.
