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It was constantly 8 degrees. It was dirty and hot. There was no running water or electricity. It was infested with huge mosquitoes that left baseball sized bumps. I would not have wanted to be anywhere else that summer.


During the summer of 001 I traveled to Honduras on a mission trip, but my preparation for the mission started during the winter. Every unpleasant, cold Saturday morning, I woke up to my alarm clock buzzing. With my feet heavy like a ton of bricks I would grudgingly drag myself out of my warm bed. As I got ready I would yell for my mom to wake up so that she could drive me to a church all the way in Virginia. We would leave the house by 445 a.m. Starting in the winter, I was committed to six months of missions training. Morning prayer started at 50 a.m., with missions training right after. I had to prepare myself not only physically, but spiritually as well. I gave up my Saturday mornings and Sunday evenings to prepare for my trip. Attendance was mandatory and homework was highly enforced. This was more of a commitment than school, but my hopes of changing others drove me to endure the training.


I was so pumped up for the mission. I thought I would go there like some kind of saint, save a village, convert non-believers to believers, shape miracles, move mountains, and make the sky tremble. I was warned about the lack of running water, the absences of electricity, the bland food, and the persistent heat. I paid no heed to these warnings. I wanted to go to the worst possible place and change it into a “God-blessed” village.


The goal of this particular mission trip was to build a church in Marcovia, Honduras. Finishing this church was the number one priority for me. I worked hard under the blazing sun. Each stone brick and bucket of cement encouraged me; I felt that I could finish this church. I did nothing but move rocks and buckets till sundown. I worked like a machine, stopping only for food and sleep. As days went by, I noticed I had frequent visitors. The village kids came down and watched me while I worked. They stood at a distance, as if afraid to approach me. After a few days, they started to help with the construction. My Spanish was poor but we used body language to communicate. After a day’s work, the kids invited me to play with them. I taught them how to play duck-duck-goose, hide-and-seek, and red light green light. They taught me how to balance a bucket of water on my head and how to kill the little scorpions that crept up at night. These children got so much joy from such simple games, whereas back in the United States kids their age only appreciated their Playstations and computers.


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One morning I got up, ready for another toiling day of labor. As I walked out the front door, kids bombarded me from every direction. They jumped up and down wanting to play more with me. I forgot about the day’s work and played with the kids. Day after day, kids greeted me, fighting to hold my hand, and hoping that I would visit their homes. As I saw how small their homes were and how little they had, a wave of sympathy passed through me. The kids reassured me that what they had was a blessing to them and that they were lucky to have even the small things. Even though I never learned any Spanish except “Hola, m’amo Rachel”, I felt I had a mutual understanding with the kids. With pointing and gestures, we were able to comprehend with each other.


The day finally came when I had to leave Honduras. Before climbing onto the bus I took one last glance at the village. The kids stood in front of me, some with tears in their eyes, others with hopes that I would return some day. Behind them about ten yards away was the church. The stones were not set into the floor yet, the columns were unfinished, and there were no walls. I didn’t finish the church. However, as I looked back at the faces of the village kids, with their dirty clothes, tangled hair, and bare feet, I knew I had still accomplished my goal. I had wanted to leave an effect on people’s lives. I didn’t need the buckets of cement or stones to encourage me. The smiles on their faces were enough. I wasn’t the God-sent saint. I didn’t build the church and I didn’t work miracles, but I did build a lasting friendship with the village kids.





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