Mission Trip Roy Min

I walked up to the first of many homes to visit during our missionary trip to Montana. At first glance, the house looked dusted and worn, as though the paint had worn off and nature decided to take matters into its own hands. A bronze, rusted truck sat next to the house, I noticed, as I avoided the cracked glass scattered sporadically throughout the yard. Moving to the steps, the side railings were torn of its hinges, as the spiked and rusted metal hung off the sides. After I knocked on the paint-chipped door, a family of three looked at me with curious eyes. As I began to speak to the mother about our daycare center, her eyes changed from ones of curiosity to excitement. Behind the mother, I watched two little heads peek out at me inquisitively, wondering who the new face was. As they went from hiding behind their mother to standing next to her, I noticed they were dressed in worn and oversized clothes.

Once I stepped into the house, a blast of heat hit me, showing me a glimpse of a disorganized room: trash scattered across the floor and only windows to relieve them of the boiling day. However, despite this, the family greeted me with a warmness that instantly put me at ease. I began to hand the mother a flyer, going into more...