The moment I stepped off of the church bus in the Appalachians in southern Kentucky, I breathed in the crisp, misty air. Then and there, I made the decision that my mission trip in 2011 was going to be the best trip ever. I just knew that being surrounded by emerald mountains in the company of my best friends would be pleasantly relaxing. Sure, we had to do some work, but how bad could it be?
My naiveté was soon brought to light the next morning when we rolled up to our worksite. The dilapidated trailer that we were supposed to fix up looked lifeless and abandoned. It was clear why the porch and roof needed to be redone, in light of the frail and splintering wood that stuck out in places. A striking stench wafted over the grounds, and through the cool dew on the earth, bits and pieces of trash could be seen poking up. Despite the dismal sight, we proceeded with our work.
As time went on, the sun grew hotter and the mosquitoes grew thirstier. The sweat and labor tugged at my thoughts. My forecast for a pleasant week seemed to be utterly mistaken. Just as my spirits were taking a turn for the worse, a head peered out from behind the front doorframe. The head belonged to a little girl. She plopped herself onto the floor of the trailer, dangling her feet over the edge of the house where the porch had been taken off. There she sat in a worn Sleeping Beauty nightgown. The girl began to ask questions and make small talk with those who passed by her. The sight of her made the tough work seem to lessen.
At around lunchtime, the girl disappeared. Since my group was about to sit back and enjoy lunch, I didn’t think anything of it–only of the glorious food I was about to receive after a tiresome morning. I began to take a bite of a peanut butter sandwich when a sudden “thump” jerked my attention towards the door hole.
It was the girl.
She had jumped off of the short porch cliff and was racing to our small foldable picnic table. In her hand, she carried a small bag of bread. With no words, she smiled and placed the bread on the table. As she rushed back inside, I could not help but admire a family with so little that had the heart to give so much.
Throughout the rest of the week, the family gradually crept out of their cave. As we started chatting and connecting, the work shrunk and my knowledge and appreciation grew.
By the end of the week, I finally realized that though I had given to the family, in truth, they had given me far more. When you get past the selfishness and the troubles of the job, you figure out that in fact, the only way to serve yourself is to serve others—this is what I believe.