Shots in the Dark

Just as I turned out the lights the other night, about a half dozen shots ripped through the air. So close they sounded like they were being fired from the roof outside my bedroom. What on earth??

The lights went back on. I could hear the dogs going crazy in the yard. Something was definitely wrong, but my curiosity in that moment really could have killed. I made myself stay put.

I confess that my first guess for the shots was my "house brother" Darren, the Johnsons' son. If you've been to La Casa Grande when Darren's around, you already know that this is a common dining room view:

Darren's a protector, and he walks around with a rifle. He also just happens to like guns. Okay, then.

But I was wrong-- I found out in the morning (after being awakened by a second volley of shots) that Darren had been soundly asleep when all the ruckus occurred. There had been a riot (they called it a "strike," or huelga) out in front of Casa Grande the night before-- neighbors burning tires, cutting down trees, banging on our gate, and throwing rocks, petitioning the government to repair the lunar-scaped (i.e., pitted and cratered) road we live on, 3 kilometers of dirt and occasionally concrete that turns into a river every time there's a rainstorm.

The shots had been fired by police, attempting to break up the violence. Three people were hit with rubber bullets and birdshot. Ow.

Our neighborhood isn't bad. We have some great neighbors, and in the daylight it's not so scary. We do live on the edge of a very bad neighborhood, Los Pérez, known for drugs and prostitution and a couple of amazing pastors who have made it their life work to be lights in that darkness. They're actively working to take back the ground for Christ, but it's going to take some time, some prayer... and a little road repair wouldn't hurt, either.

As a missionary, sometimes you break down dividing walls.
Other times, you're grateful for your razor-wire fence.

Another day in the DR!