Psalm 36:5
Your love, Lord, reaches to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the skies.


My life wasn’t perfect. In fact, I was the farthest from perfect I ever thought possible. I was antisocial, painfully shy, and had to take anxiety medicines to get through the day. My safe haven was what I referred to as my “shell”. I locked all my emotions, opinions, and expressions inside my heart, to avoid any embarrassing conversations. To me, my life was useless.

Though I called myself a Christian, I always seemed distant from God. I knew He was there, but I never I never knew how to reach Him. I felt as if I was a burden on everyone’s life. I was always too nervous to regularly attend youth group at my local church. When the church would rejoice, I wouldn’t lift my hands in praise, for the fear of being judged. I knew my life was heading downhill if this kept up. The church I had been attending since I was an infant was still out of my comfort zone.

The opportunity to attend a mission trip, My Mission 2014, appeared while at youth group. I’m ashamed to admit, but my first thought wasn’t “I can’t wait to serve God!” but instead, “Perfect, a way to get service hours!”.

I signed up.

The camp had no showers. That small detail made me feel as if the five days were going to be a living Hell. I began to talk myself out of going, but decided against it. For once, I was going to step away from my comfort zone and see what could possibly happen.

We all gathered at our church before we went to Wesley Methodist Church, where we would be staying for the event. I awkwardly sat next to a few acquaintances. I kept my hands in my lap, opening and closing them, hoping to stop my pathetic trembling. The ride there, I remained silent as the others talked. Occasionally, I would whisper something, but when asked to repeat myself and simply shook my head and said, “Never mind”.

When we all arrived, I became overwhelmed. People were buzzing around, carrying luggage and talking. I already felt intimidated, seeing as people can make friends with groups from other churches so easily, while I couldn’t even make friends with the people from my own church. I was basically forced inside the traditional style church, seeing a large group of “Servant Team” members. They all smiled and said hello cheerfully, almost in sync. I signed myself in and escaped to where I would be sleeping with the other girls.

I set up my sleeping bag on the cold tile floor. A group of girls set up their air mattresses and cots around me. I picked my spot against a wall to feel safer... As well as the electrical plug located near where my pillow would be.

Once everyone was ready, we all gathered outside for a meeting. We would have worship sessions outside, in the open, in the middle of a neighborhood. Our task for the evening was to knock on doors and ask people to join us. I followed a few of my acquaintances around as they led the way down an alien street.

The houses looked as if they were withering away, dying from the inside out. Street signs were knocked over, twisted and crippled. Walls and fences were painted in scribbling vandalism. Vines clung to the base of houses like leeches, crawling their way of the roofs. Each yard was overgrown with damaged lawn chairs, couches, and tables strewn across the ground.

I nervously followed my group as they picked houses to approach. I stayed behind on the cracked sidewalk and focused on the lawns. Every few minutes, I would see a cat peer at the group from the bushes before taking shelter again.

The first door was opened. It was a woman. She looked tired, her brown hair tangled into a bun that rested on the bottom of her neck. Her eyes widened, probably feeling intimidated by the large number of the group. One of the Servant Team members started off the conversation, inviting her to join worship. I stayed quiet, listening and watching. From behind the woman’s leg, a tiny face peaked out. A young boy, a toddler, was also listening and watching, but from behind his mother’s leg. She smiled and nodded to the conversation, placing a hand on the boy’s head. The mother and son happily listened and spoke to us, accepting our gifts. Each person that answered the door was happy.

That’s when something clicked inside me. I wasn’t afraid of the neighborhood anymore, or revolted by the trashy look. Instead, my perspective changed and viewed it as a beautiful land, housing beautiful people.

We all returned to the church for worship. My youth pastor, Ruben Saenz, was the one preaching. It was that day I learned that God is relentless. God will travel over mountains, dive to the bottom of the deepest of oceans, and scour the entire earth to find you. I felt loved and valued in that moment. My heart fluttered a bit.

The director, a man named Todd, stepped to the microphone to give a small speech before starting the prayer.

“God will always search for you because He is relentless.” Todd spoke, his eyes drifting across the crowd of students. “But, who isn’t being looked for? It is our job to find the people who are not being searched for, in the name of God, to love them and show them God’s love.”

That is when my heart exploded inside my chest. My shell had been cracked. In that moment, I felt as if I were almost a new person. I then realized the kind of person I had been.

How often had I walked past a homeless man on the streets, not even giving him a second glance. I had done nothing. All he may have needed was a smile, or to hear that he was loved, and I had done nothing. But now, I was going to do something. I was going to redeem myself.

Isaiah 40:31
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
They will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.



I jerked awake at 6:29 a.m. and couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, seeing as I set my alarm for 6:30. I changed out of my pajamas and put a tad of makeup on. At 7:00, I woke my younger sister and a few people that had asked me to wake them. I tied my hair into a high ponytail and headed outside for my breakfast: a small bowl of Frosted Flakes.

I made two sack lunches containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Cheetos, chocolate chip cookies, and a water bottle. One was for us to eat, and the other was for us to give away. Soon after, we were assigned our groups.

My group was referred to as “S4”. A youth leader named Kristi was the adult of the group. When I first saw her, I was terrified. She seemed so serious, as if she would be strict and mean. We had three Servant Team members in our group. A boy named Sawyer, who was kind enough to let me store my lunches in his backpack, and two girls, Alyssa and Abby. Alyssa had dark brown hair that almost matched mine and was always smiling, laughing, and trying to brighten up everyones day. Abby had thick rimmed glasses and was rather serious about her job. She was friendly, but always tried to keep everyone on track. Chris and Mason were some boys from my church that I had never really spoken to, but because they looked familiar I planned on sticking to their sides. A girl named Natalie was also in the group, though she didn’t speak much either. And lastly, there was Jacob, the youngest in the group as he were only just becoming a sophomore, while he sometimes acted like an adult.

The walking began. We tread along sidewalks, across streets, and beyond highways. The sun was unforgiving, burning it’s glare deep into my pale and freckled skin, tinting it pink with warmth. Every time I managed to shelter into shade I desperately took in the cool feeling as if I would never witness it again.

Seeing my discomfort around others, Abby attempted to speak to me. She asked me about my journalism and I answered briefly. I have to admit, she was stubborn. She kept the conversation flowing despite my feeble responses.

During an awkward silence, I looked over and saw a man, walking on the other side of the sidewalk. He had shaggy, tangled hair and dirty clothes.

Without thinking, words flew out of my mouth. “Good morning!”

My heart stopped. I had never spoken to a stranger on the streets before. The others in my group chorused me.

The man stopped for a moment before grinning from ear to ear. “Mornin’,” He replied, laughing to himself. “You guys just made my day.”

And just like that, he was gone.

My heart was pounding and my hands were trembling out of shock. My voice had jumped out of my throat. My guarded shell was disintegrated, allowing me to speak my reserved thoughts. I had formally thought that loosing my shell would kill me, but it wasn’t killing me at all. It made me feel more human.

A simple good morning was all it took to make that man’s day. That’s when I discovered that he could of been facing great difficulties. No matter the issues, I brightened his day by just smiling and speaking a mere phrase to him.

As time passed, we passed out all of our lunches and went to Central Park to eat our own lunches. We all sat in a circle and began to eat. Curious squirrels had popped into the picture as Sawyer and Jacob tossed them bread. Soon, they were surrounding us and crawling into our laps. We played some games together and told stories. I told stories without feeling scared at all. I had already become so comfortable with these people, and I couldn’t explain why. After Sawyer took pictures of himself with the squirrels, we were on our way again.

We were assigned a “homeless experience”. The goal was to find places to use the restroom, get water for free, and rest in some cool air conditioning. Each time we entered a store and asked to use the restroom we were turned away. If we looked homeless, our faces covered in muck with torn clothes, I’m almost certain that we would be kicked out instead being politely declined. My feet were aching. We had to use the restroom badly and I wanted to sit down.

We entered a gas station and asked for free water. To my surprise, the man said yes. The only catch was it was from the sink, not a bottle. None of us cared at that point. We filled our empty bottles with warm tap water and searched for a place with a bathroom, since the gas station had none.

After crossing a few streets, we walked inside a CVS, knowing that they would have a bathroom to use. The air conditioning blew against my face and calmed the rising temperature of my body as I walked inside the automatic doors. There was only one multi-gender bathroom, but we were happy to just take turns. We refilled our water bottles again into a much cooler water fountain. While waiting, we sat down in the isle closest to the bathroom and water fountains, which so happened to be an isle dedicated to treating foot fungus and vitamins. We teased each other about needing the special creams and laughed.

I already considered these people my friends. I made more friends in a day than I had in my entire school year.

Upon leaving, we decided to walk towards a middle school to sit in the shade and relax for a bit. On our way there, we noticed a man laying on the sidewalk, a twenty-four pack of beer next to him.

Kristi spoke to him and helped him drink water, seeing he was dehydrated, drunk, and directly in the sun. Alyssa called 9-11, hoping to help the man.

A police officer came. I sighed with relief. Surely, this man would get the help he needed.

The officer put on gloves before touching the man. My heart sank and I was filled with anger and disappointment. How disgusting would a person feel if someone had to put gloves on before touching them? It broke my spirit.

The man wasn’t given medical treatment at all. He was forced to stand, carry his heavy pack of beer, and told to go uphill and find somewhere else to drink the rest. The poor man couldn’t even make it a few steps. He collapsed several times, and the officer just stood, arms crossed, looking annoyed.

Eventually, the man was out of sight, and my group continued the journey to a middle school, recovering.

The group took coverage from the harsh sun under a large, shade giving tree. We sat upon a half wall built of cement.

We began to talk to one another, and I learned how sweet and kind Kristi is. I couldn’t believe I was scared of her at first. I couldn’t believe I was scared of any of the eight people I was with.

After discussing the squirrels at the park, Alyssa announced proudly that her spirit animal would be a squirrel and proceeded to give all of us spirit animals. Mine was a flamingo, though there was debate between a cat as well. Jacob, the panda, referred to me as a “caflingo”. In return, I began calling him a “cuddly panda bear”.

In the middle of our relaxing and joyful afternoon, a homeless man approached us, nervous and awkwardly making small talk. At last, he finally asked what had been gnawing on his mind and stomach.

“Would any of you happen to have anything to eat?” He breathed, looking at the ground, only giving us a few shy glances.

His voice was so faint, the majority of us didn’t understand.

“He’s asking for food.” Kristi explained, pointing at the bag in which we held the food.

We all smiled at him. We gathered the remains of our food, which was mostly bags of cookies, and handed them over.

He smiled and thanked us, before heading on his way. After we watched him leave, we headed to the church.

After dinner and worship, I collapsed into my sleeping bag on the hard floor. My feet were throbbing. My eyes kept trying to give up and close themselves. After a goodnight prayer, I allowed myself to drift away into a peaceful, yet cold, slumber.

Mark 8:36
What good is it for someone to gain the whole world,
yet forfeit their soul?


My sleep was short, getting less than five hours. I woke at 3:00 a.m. to get ready, having to attend another church that hosts a free breakfast every Tuesday and Thursday for anyone that may need it at 5:00. My group tiredly crawled into a van and remained silent until we arrived at the church.

The number of volunteers were overflowing. Alyssa, Natalie, and I were sent downstairs to the clothing section. While we were headed downstairs, the homeless were being let into the building, all rushing upstairs to eat. The look in their eyes mirrored the hunger that roared inside of them. They trampled over each other to get up the stairs.

Downstairs, we organized clothes by sizes, so if anyone was in need of clothes they had the option of finding some, though sizes and items were limited. I distributed the clothing to people who asked for them. Some refused while others jumped for the opportunity.

It was there I met Michael, an eighty-five year old man. He told me he had been living on the streets for years. When I asked him about his life, he just shook his head.

“I’m running out of time.” Michael sighed, looking distressed.

I became slightly concerned, tilting my head. “What do you mean?”

“I have yet to fulfill my greater purpose.” He looked at me, a fire sparking in his eyes. “If I don’t I will surely have damnation. I don’t want that. So I will keep going strong until I fulfill that purpose.”

I prayed for him in that moment. After telling him to have a blessed day, he left.

Another man paused, looking at the counter the clothes were being displayed on. He quietly spoke to himself. “I wish I could have a new T-shirt.”

“You can. You can come pick one out.” I responded to him, causing his eyes to wander from the clothes to me.

The man grinned, shaking his head. “No thanks, someone may need it more than me.” He waved goodbye and walked out the door before I could say anything else.

I was in shock. A man who hardly had enough to cover his back refused the chance to get clothing, something he obviously needed. He defended his reasoning with the knowledge that someone always needs something desperately. He didn’t want to take that away from anyone. Behind his messy appearance, he was a generous soul, giving up his own needs to grant someone else’s wishes. It amazed me that someone so little was still able to recognize and understand the feelings and needs of others.

The men’s clothing soon ran out, and the men were becoming desperate enough to search through the girl clothing.

A large man took a nightshirt with Tweety Bird on it. Another man took a girl’s luggage bag to keep his items. A man in a wheelchair asked me to help him find some pants. The pants that looked the closest to men’s pants were a baggy pair of sweat pants. He thanked me and took them.

As the day went on, our second task was to have lunch at an apartment building, where kids can go to get free lunches during the summer. After the children finished their lunches, they were allowed to go outside and play-which is where our group came in.

Everyone in our group was outside except Natalie and I. Two little girls were still inside. Both had matching dark skin, paler brown eyes, and curled black hair. The older sister’s hair was shaved into a boyish style, while the youngest, about five years old, had a wild lion’s mane around her face.

The oldest, a nine year old, stood up, brushed off her pale blue shirt, and began to inch to the door leading to the playground.

“No!” Her mother snapped, “You aren’t allowed to be out there without me. Go play in here.”

The girl obeyed.

I could tell in that quick moment that something wasn’t right. Why wasn’t she allowed to go outside, but her other siblings were? Shaking my head, I decided to mind my own business. I focused my attention on the youngest sister, watching her eat and drink milk. Occasionally I would have to wipe the milk off her chin and shirt, since she was a messy eater.

Natalie had give the older sister all of her spare attention, reading a book to her. The girl was so intrigued by the story, smiling whenever something interesting happened and laughing when a character said something silly.

The small sister noticed this and went to listen to the story as well.

As the story ended, the eldest sister clapped. “Again!”

Natalie looked exhausted, a mixture of waking up early and reading a rather long children’s book. I picked out a shorted book off the shelf and sat down.

“Let’s read this one,” I smiled, setting it on the table.

The nine year old snatched it off the table and smiled. “I will read to you all, now!”

I sat near her, helping her read. She was having trouble pronouncing letters and sounding out words, so I taught her. It took longer than I thought, but we finally made it through the book. I praised her with a high five and and hug, before she had to leave with her mother for a therapy session.

I was puzzled at why a nine year old girl would need therapy, but I was soon told the truth by another youth leader.

The eldest sister wasn’t blood related to the family she currently belonged to. She was a foster child. She had been taken away from her family because of males in the family sexually abusing and raping her. As if that wasn’t sickening enough, a few months before I had to privilege of meeting her, two other nine year old boys cornered her at the playground and raped her. The boys went to her school, so she knew who did it. I was told the boys are in the process of being punished, and she had fallen very behind in school, because she could no longer attend.

I wanted to vomit in that very moment.

It makes you wander what those boys had seen to learn how to perform such a horrifying act. A poor, sweet, innocent girl had experienced something, several times, that no person should ever have to experience in less than a decade. I felt physically ill. My fists clenched. I wanted to beat up every person that hurt her. I wanted to kill every person that hurt her.

Suddenly, my brain put the pieces together. She couldn’t read properly because of her lack of education since the incident. She wasn’t allowed to go outside without her foster mother because the mother was worried of her being hurt again. I completely understood. I wanted to cry.

Worship that evening was different. I had the chance to reclaim my faith to God, and I took it. I made a promise to follow Him and to spread the good word. I prayed over people that day. It brought tears to my eyes. I held students close and prayed for their peace. Everyone began to sob on each other as we helped each other accept Jesus. When the band began to close us in song, I escaped to the back for a drink of water. I was about to return to my seat, but I saw a girl kneeling on the ground, praying.

I hesitantly walked over to her, when something took hold of me. I placed my hand on her shoulder, kneeling down next to her, and prayed for her protection, love, and guidance.

When the song ended, she lifted her head and looked at me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,.” She smiled, stood, and left.

I brushed the grass off my knees and went back to the room to get some well earned rest.

All night I laid awake, staring at the ceiling above me, crying. How could God be so cruel? So many people that were in this trip were suffering in their daily lives. So many kind people were living on the streets. A young girl had been raped several times.

That’s when my tears stopped. God wasn’t cruel. He was preparing them all for something greater than themselves. I felt somewhat relaxed, being drawn to sleep. I felt as if God had done is work through me, and shown me His understanding and protective nature. I wanted to know more about God. I wanted Him to continue using me for good.

Psalm 90:12
So teach us to number our days,
That we may apply our hears unto wisdom.



The next morning, my eyes were swollen from my outburst of tears the night before. The exhaustion was starting to nip at my heels. On the streets, my group spotted a long line homeless people, waiting to get a free meal.

I gave a homeless man a water bottle, asking him how he was.

“I’m okay.” He snapped curtly. He had shaggy gray hair with a fluffed beard. For a 45 year old man, he already had wrinkles and tired brown eyes.

I awkwardly smiled, pushing towards a conversation. “Where are you from?”

With that simple question, he grinned a fairly toothless grin, and began to tell me his entire life story and ancestry.

He became homeless in Wisconsin, because the house he was living in was too crowded and he didn’t want to burden his family. His mother talked him into coming home. On his way home, he accidentally got on the wrong train, but still managed to get their scheduled meeting place. After approaching his mother, he stated her full name to make sure it was her. Later on, she admitted to him that she thought “Why is this old guy talking to me?”

“It’s me, Ma.” He had said, getting his mother to recognize him.

She took him to her work at a pizza place, and got there 2 minutes before her shift started. His mother’s ex-boyfriend lived with them and they were unable to kick him out because of the laws referring to people living in the houses over a year- it had to be mutual. She got him a job where he worked as a bust boy. He helped his mother pay for the bills. When it got cold, he came to San Antonio, Texas. He had discovered he has heritage in the Alamo, and felt a strange connection drawing him to that place over time. He moved to Austin and is now trying to save money to go back to Wisconsin. He has a medical disease, Diabetes and Supra-ventricular tachycardia (SVT) where his heart beats too fast and is dangerous. He had to be taken to a hospital and had his heart stop for five seconds to slow it to normal. He is currently saving money to move back with his mother.

By the time his story ended, it was time for him to go inside the building to eat. We shook hands, and he was gone.

So many homeless people had such great lives before. A woman was a Spurs cheerleader, and another was a middle class citizen, who lost her home in an electrical fire. I also met a man with one arm formed into a nub at the forearm. On his shortened arm, he had a leash wrapped around tightly. On the other end of the leash was a happy dog. He told me he had taken care of the dog for four years and had only wanted a companion to keep himself company on the streets. I never gathered up the courage to ask what happened to his arms.

We ate lunch at the apartment building again. The young girl I had met the day before wasn’t there. I stayed inside again to encourage a young boy named Nathan to eat. I tempted him with the idea of going out and playing with water balloons once he finished.

After I walked him to the playground, where my group was playing with the other kids, I began to fill up water balloons with Natalie.

It wasn’t long before I was soaking wet. Water sloshed around in my shoes and the children dumped water on me. Panda (Jacob) and I had our own little teams to attack each other with.

Once the children were gone, I painted a cat on Panda’s cheek, while he continued to scribble random lines all over my entire face.

I actually had a lot of fun, though scrubbing the paint from my face wasn’t so great. My last night there was peaceful. A young middle school girl named Sarah had crawled into my sleeping quarters. Her hair was long and blonde, with piercing blue eyes. She asked me about the girl who had been raped, asking me how people could do that to a person.

I tried my best to explain. I told her people that abused others weren’t mentally stable and were away from God. I told her that the little girl was going to be okay, because God was always going to be on her side.

Sarah had looked at me with such understanding, and such faith. She trusted my word and opinion.

As I went to bed that night, I prayed for everyone I had met on this trip.

The car ride home was just what I had been needing. I had become so homesick it was making me irritable.

I felt a new calling come over me. To spread the word of God and support others in finding God. This piece of writing is my way of spreading the word of God.

God may work in mysterious ways, but that should only make us want to follow Him more. God may let us suffer, but only so we can see the blessings He creates. He always has a plan for each and every one of us.

For me, He cracked my shell. I’m currently mending it, but I know now that it’s okay for me to come out every once in a while. The world is a beautiful thing, and it would be a shame to hide from it.

Hebrews 11:1
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for
And certain of what we do not see.