Chapter 13: A Glimpse of the Dream

In a bold move of faith, we scheduled a visit to the safe house before hearing back from the government agencies about Carmen’s birth certificate.

Carmen told me she didn’t want to visit—why not move in right away?

“I want you to see it, think about it, and make your own decision,” I explained. “No one is making any decision for you. So, take your time.”

I arrived at Carmen’s apartment at 7AM. She was wearing the sparkly floral shirt I had decided was just youthful and innocent enough for a teenager, but too much so for me. She wore it with pride, along with some matching teal leggings.

We got on the 8AM bus. 80 pesos ($2) and 45 minutes later, I asked the driver to let us off in the small beach town of Juan Dolió, and walked to the sign that read “Plaza Leche y Miel”, which translates, Milk and Honey Plaza.

After traversing the long gravel path up to a two-story building that looked like a small school, brightly colored in typical Dominican fashion, I asked a young woman for “Erica”.

“O, si. Dame un segundo.” I could barely wait to meet the woman who was fighting this battle with me from afar, the one who was meeting with Children’s Services, who was prepared to open her arms and receive Carmen into the safe house she helped run.

Erica had set up three chairs in the threadbare grass under a large almond tree in the backyard.

She looked Carmen in the eyes and smiled.

What ensued was a description of the rules and inner workings of Lily House—the good and the bad—along with Erica’s sincere assurance that they would do their best to love her, and teach her about God’s love and healing. The whole time she spoke, Erica held a big Bible in her hands.

“Because you are 14, you will be put in school. You will get to learn a trade in the afternoon as well if you would like, but the main focus will be school. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes! I want to go to school!” Carmen answered.

“OK, perfect! Now, all I ask of you…” Erica paused for emphasis.

Everything that came out of Erica’s mouth was said in a firm but loving and soft tone that inspired confidence instead of mistrust or fear. The grace of God was all about her.

“All I ask,” Erica continued, “Is that you tell us the truth. We need correct information in order to make this work for both of us. We will tell you the truth, and we ask you to do the same with us. Can you do that?”

“Yes,”  Carmen answered.

I sighed with relief inwardly, thinking of the times she had been lied to and the lies I knew she had told me, but hoping her verbal commitment to truth would be one of the first steps to healing.

“Today is your opportunity to see things for yourself, and decide if the Lily House is a place you want to be,”  Erica explained.

“Oh, it is,” Carmen interjected.

“Take your time,” Erica cautioned. “Of course, we want you here! But only if you want to be here. Part of making wise decisions for your life means taking time and thinking about things. I want you to think about it for at least 2 days before you make a final decision, ok? But first, have a look around!”

Before we began our tour, Erica found some women cleaning the bathroom.

“Today is cleaning day, and everyone pitches in,” she explained. “Ladies, would you mind introducing yourselves to Carmen, and telling her the absolute best and worst parts of being a part of The Lily House?”

The women laughed.

They were. They honestly said they enjoyed living and working there.

“Sometimes it’s hard to not leave the premises unaccompanied for the first few weeks, for example. But if you can stand the difficulty in the beginning, it is more than worth it.”

Erica had explained that while no one was forced to stay, they weren’t allowed to come and go without notice, either. If they wanted to stay, they would need to stay on Lily House’s terms, which were just meant to preserve structure and provide protection and true healing. But if at any point a woman wanted to go, she was free to go.

After touring the living quarters, the daycare, the dining room, the salon, the coffee shop, the sewing center, and the jewelry making room, Carmen could only say,

“It’s beautiful here. I love it.”

But her favorite part was definitely the jewelry-making.

Before we could leave, Carmen wanted to get her hair done at the salon. I decided to treat her. She unpinned her thin, short hair from its tiny knot at the nape of her neck. What happened next reminded me why Dominican salons populate the streets of New York city thousands of miles away.

“You look beautiful!” everyone told her. It was true. Carmen has an effortless beauty, hair fixed or not.

As we walked to the bus stop in town, holding plastic bags over our heads, the driving rain threatened to undo the style, but I knew it was worth every peso.

We shared earphones again on the bus ride back. I played songs of hope and praise in Spanish, as we both stared out the window at the rain. It was the quietest I had ever been around Carmen—so careful not to try to influence her against her will, and yet so desperate that she make the right decision. I prayed silently for God to bring it to pass, all the while wondering why it took so much longer to get back than it had to get there.

Finally we made it back home. It was tough to leave Carmen in her filthy apartment again, after having caught a glimpse of the dream, and hearing from Carmen’s own lips that it was “a beautiful place.”

I prayed every day after that—for the birth certificate, but most of all for Carmen.

God, please keep her steadfast. Don’t let the hope that’s been born in her die.