As soon as my friend Sam informed me of the upcoming mission trip to Illinois, my heart immediately started to race with excitement. Millions of questions raced through my head: where was the trip, when was the trip, how many days, who was going? Despite all the questions, I knew I had to go, and even as I began typing the text message to my mother that would inform her of the upcoming trip, I thought about how different my easy excitement was from the emotional response I experienced the first time I had been invited to join a friend for a church-led mission trip.
That time, it had been my friend Morgan who had issued the invitation, and although the thought of spending a couple of weeks of the summer in her company had appealed to me, I was certain that participating in a mission trip in the unfamiliar town of Booneville, Arkansas, located so many miles from home, would push me too far outside my “comfort zone.
However, a half hour of quiet contemplation at a small worn down park on the fifth day of that mission trip enabled me to see just how powerful an excursion outside my comfort zone that involved service to others, could surge my ability to appreciate the simple blessings that had been provided for me back at home. Two weeks away from the comfort of my home, leaving to go and do things that were unfamiliar to me was something I had never experienced. Anybody could have told me he or she were going on a mission trip four years ago, I would have gave them a simple nice reply, then I would have forgotten all about it.
That changed after I experienced my first mission trip to Arkansas. Today if anyone talks to me about a mission trip, I become very enthusiastic. I start asking them many questions, and want to know every detail about their journey. If someone told me I would go to a small town twelve hours away, filled with poverty, and violence, I would have laughed. Before my freshman year; other than the occasional family vacation, I rarely left Minnesota. I never even considered giving up one week of my summer to go on a trip with people I did not know, to a place I had never heard of.
I never thought that leaving my house for one short week would make such a huge impact on my life. My friend Morgan had begged me all summer to come on a misson trip with her. I knew she really wanted me to go, and I did not want to let my best friend down. I mentioned it mildly to my parents. They encouraged me to learn more information concerning the trip, and eventually their encouragement became talk about me going on the trip. The next few weeks included many convincing texts from Morgan. Soon I was filling out a thick packet of forms and information.
I signed my name on page after page, until I was officially signed up to go to Booneville, Arkansas. My mom helped me pack my duffle bag; it was so full that to zip it shut I had to sit on it. She bought me some snacks for the long drive, including a considerable amount of pop tarts and cookies; then before I knew it, the day to leave had come. Two mini vans and a big white church van were needed to bring everyone comfortably to Arkansas. I was sat squished in the back of one of the minivans with Sam, our treats and various forms of entertainment for the long ride sat between us.
The drive was long and boring. We slept, played every car ride game possible and watched movies. The 806. 2 miles seemed to take everlasting. We stopped for two nights at a hotel and took a day to go to an amusement park. My love for amusement parks was stronger than my urge to return home and after spending the day on roller coaster rides and eating cotton candy, I decided for a brief moment that maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. By the time we reached our destination and had to hand in our electronic devices, I was ready to go home.
It was extremely hot in Booneville, unloading our luggage from the vehicles took forever, and we were all dripping in sweat by the end. When we finally got inside the church we were staying at, I found out I would be staying in a small classroom with all the girls from several other churches, and we would be sleeping on the cement floor. We were the second to last group to arrive and all the sleeping spots on the floor were already claimed. Fighting for a place to sleep became a competition. Every girl in the room ran around throwing their belongings all over to claim space creating complete chaos.
My group was pushed into the corners of the room, we all laid our sleeping bags and cots out. Each sleeping area on top of the other uncomfortably with no room. To make matters worse, the room was hot a sticky, filled with at least forty girls all in one hundred degree weather. In order to move, girls pushed each other out of the way, trying to get to the hall where there was the heavenly air conditioning. I was ready to go home. I was tired, sweaty, and crabby. I wanted to shower, but there was no showering until the next day. I was hungry, but we were not allowed to eat until dinner time at six o’clock.
I sat on the floor next to Morgan on our sleeping bags, waiting for something to do, complaining about the awful sleeping arrangement. One last group still had to arrive to the church. We waited so we could move our sleeping bags all over again and try to find a place for them to sleep for that night. While Morgan and I laid on our sleeping bags, one of the leaders of the mission trip came into the room. She announced that the last church had arrived and since there was no space in this room, they would be sleeping in another classroom across the hall.
They would need four to six more girls to sleep in the room with them. Morgan and I jumped up, volunteering to move we grabbed Sam, and another girl from her church, Skylar then quickly gathered our belongings, and raced across the hall. The new room was beautiful. Even though it was smaller than the last room, there was no window, the walls were a sad blue grey, and paint was chipping off it, in my eyes it was beautiful. The other girls had already set up their beds, leaving plenty of space for us. There was a small fan which sat on the floor, a mirror was hung on the door.
We could easily lay out our sleeping bags, and cots with plenty of space to spare. After our sleeping areas were set up, the five girls whom we would be sharing the new room with walked into the room. The nine of us introduced ourselves, and immediately a bond was formed between us, and I had five new friends. We talked until it was time for dinner, and the hours suddenly seemed to speed by. My viewpoint on the trip positively increased after that moment. Each day was something new and exciting. I was learning and taking so much in it was overwhelming, but I loved it all and absorbed every second of it.
I was assigned to Kids Club for the week. Everyday we had to walk two blocks to the town’s school. Each day over one hundred kids would peer out the windows from the top level of the school, pushing each other out of the way to see us, their little noses would scrunch up against the dirty window glass. There were about thirty of us assigned to Kids Club. We were in charge of setting up crafts, games, and helping the children read each day. Once we were ready, or at least thought we were ready, more than one hundred kids came charging down the stairs from the top of the school.
Each one of them was filled with an enormous amount of energy as they screamed and ran around the small gym. The children were all different ages, many were neglected at home, or didn’t always have a home to go to. Each child had a different personality and was filled with excitement. I was so overwhelmed and scared I would do something wrong. The number of games I played in those few days seemed to be endless including games like tag, and hide and seek. This soon became very exhausting, but I was so full of joy I did not notice how tired I was.
I did not realize it at the time, but one thing all the children had in common was that they just needed a little love and attention. That would become my goal towards the week. When I was not at Kids Club, I was at the church, where I connected and became close friends with the other churches, or at the nursing home talking to the residents, playing bingo, and pushing residents around in wheel chairs. On the fifth day I was assigned to paint benches that were placed around the town. The work was tiring, boring, but all worth the small amount of pain I felt.
Just a small amount of paint on a the benches conveyed the impression of qualities that made the town look like it was cared for. This was one of the first times I got to experience Boonville outside of the church which I slept at, and the building Kids Club was held in. I learned that the town had once been a busy town, filled with many busy stores, nice houses, making it was once an average community. A fire had struck one of the main factory’s, causing a large loss of jobs, and money. Shops foreclosed, and people left town. The town became infested with gangs and drugs.
Families left town to find new jobs, and the spirits of the small community diminished. Clouds took over the dull overcast sky. I was in a group of ten others on the trip, we strolled through the town, our clothes filled with black paint spots from earlier that day. I noticed that not a single person walked through the town besides my small group. Posters were falling off of buildings, stores were boarded up, and signs were hung saying, ‘closed’. It was an eerie feeling the created a ghost town effect as though I were in a scary movie.
As we walked down main street of Booneville, I could tell from the numerous shops and empty parking lots, Bonneville had once been an active town. The leader of the group, Brent led us to a small worn down park. The park had three small swings which were full of rust, and falling apart. A small metal slide–also full of rust–stood across from the swings, and a patch of dirt that which I assumed was supposed to be a baseball field lay behind the swings. It was a gloomy day, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds even though it was still scorching hot out.
Our group had been walking for over an hour through the ghost town. I was tired, hot, hungry, and ready to go back to the church. The leader walked to the back of the park, everyone following behind him. We were led onto a small dirt path filled with twigs, rocks, and weeds that brushed up against my legs, from the sides of the path. We walked across a small wooden bridge which was over a small stream, and into a grassy clearing. Thick trees surrounded the area, closing it away from the rest of the world. Weeds grew in small patches, showing that the clearing was taken care of.
Brent told us that this was his favorite spot in the town, where he often came to sit in peace after a long day. I examined my surrounding; birds were chirping in the somewhere in the distance, the water rustled as it hit the rocks in the stream. It was a very peaceful, charming place, yet all I had in mind was wanting to leave. I knew once we returned to the church I would be able to shower, and showering had become a luxury that week. Interrupting my thoughts, Brent told everyone to find a spot to sit, pray, and think for ten minutes in silence.