Three and a half years ago, I graduated from college, packed
my bags and hopped on a plane for the Dominican Republic en route to a home
called Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos. I
knew I wanted to do volunteer work, but I really had no idea what I was getting
myself into. I had found the organization online about six months earlier and
thought it sounded like a good fit. It met my three simple requirements for the
service year I planned on doing: working with children in a Spanish-speaking
country and a faith-filled environment.
Before long, I was hooked. I remember my very first day at
the home and how one of the special needs girls ran up to me giggling away as
she lovingly tackled me with a bear hug. Since I was walking into a life where not even one face was familiar to
me, I vividly remember how welcoming that hug felt. I also recall my second day
there, Three Kings Day, and how I was allowed to choose the house I would get
to work with (although looking back, it was actually them who chose me). I
ended up in Casa Santa Ana, a house of twenty rambunctious teenage girls all
hitting the age of puberty. After about six months of my patience being
constantly tested by these girls, they started to trust me and open up. I sat
by these girls’ sides for hours as they talked about their boy crushes, their
absent family members, their plans for the future and many other things; as
they opened their hearts to me, I found myself doing the same with them. Before
long, the thought of leaving after a year became unbearable, and I decided to
extend my time there for another eight months.
As my second Three Kings Day with the girls came and went, I
realized just how hooked I had become. What had felt foreign in every sense of
the word just 365 days earlier, now felt familiar, comfortable and most
importantly, right. I had twenty new hermanitas
who meant the world to me. Months later, as my time abroad came to an end, I
was forced to do the hardest thing I have done yet in life – say goodbye to
these newfound family members. I am usually a person who keeps her emotions in
check, but with this life event, I wasn’t able to. Even reflecting on those
goodbyes a couple years later gets me choked up once again.
However, as many people told me, it wasn’t an adios (goodbye), but rather an hasta luego (see you later). And that
was true. Since that difficult departure, I have been blessed to be able to go
back and visit once or twice a year. I send letters to Casa Santa Ana every
month, and I’m now sponsoring one of those twenty girls who hold such special
spots in my heart. I’m also an active member on the NPH Upper Midwest Associate’s
Board where I get to spend time with other young adults who possess the same
strong connection I feel towards NPH. We
host fundraising events and find every means possible to share this piece of
our hearts with friends and family in Minnesota.
When I think of how important NPH is to me, a million
different faces, moments, and memories come to mind. I remember things from my
first day in the Dominican Republic three and a half years ago all the way to
the conversation I had with my parents’ NPH godchild yesterday, on the day of
his graduation from high school. In the end, I realize that NPH has not only
changed me, it is me.
