Hawaii On My Mind
I fell in love with Hawaii while we were still in the airplane, watching a little speck grow by the minute on the horizon. We were five-thousand miles from home, six hours behind, and all tingly from sitting down on the non-stop flight from Atlanta. The thirty- minute car ride from the airport was stunning. Mountains, with vertical ridges and hollows, lined the road on our left until we dove under them in the longest tunnel I’ve ever experienced. The church lent us three minivans, and we acquired a fourth before arriving at our homes for the week in Kahalu’u. Three houses stood on a hill, side by side, with a single drive going up on the left and around back. The first and closest to this driveway was one room, an old church building. The middle one was the associate pastor's and his family’s: seven rooms, un-air conditioned, but homey and thoughtful. The last was by far the largest, but we had it only for the last half of the week. Until then, all twenty-five of us shared one shower.
We spent our first day fighting to stay awake to compensate for the time change. The second we spent at Pearl Harbor and a luau, and at home fighting a swarm of flying termites. We spent the third at the beach, and at home having dinner with the church.
On Sunday, our fourth day there, we bought decorations and suppliers for VBS before heading over to Honolulu for church. The service was held in English, with songs that we recognized, but the associate pastor translated into Chuukese for those who needed the clarification. The prayers were translated line by line, and I soon fell in love with the language. Directly after church, we went with the church to the beach for a baptism in the ocean. It was a powerful experience.
Monday morning dawned bright and beautiful, and by nine o’clock, our youth pastor had us in groups in nearby neighborhoods to pray over the people, that they would come to the church soon to be planted by Pastor Harlan in the left house we were using. I’ve never been in a state of prayer like that for so long before. It really touched me.
After a quick lunch of sandwiches, we rushed over to Wahipahu to set up and prep before VBS started. Our adult leaders took the vans around to pick up the kids, and soon we were playing all sorts of ball games with little black-haired, brown-eyed islander children. They didn’t say terribly much at first, but after a couple slam dunks and crazy catches, we won them over.
Things were crazy that first day. Bekah and I were the music team, and we quickly learned how hard it is to keep children of any age, let alone highschoolers, interested in doing VBS music. Even the contemporary songs we brought for the older kids returned some blank stares.
By Samantha Morgan