From January 7 – 13, 2012, I participated in my first mission trip to Mandeville, Jamaica. Today I feel blessed to have been included on this trip. It was a “game changer” for me.

Craig Buffkin, Nathan Brandon, and Darryl Thompson have been harassing me for about two years to go on the Jamaica mission trip. Like most of us, I had a list of readymade excuses, including work, family, pro-football, and most importantly, duck hunting. I finally capitulated in 2010. I agreed to go on the mission until my Auburn Tigers made it to the National Championship in January 2010. I bailed on the Jamaica trip and watched Auburn win their first National Championship in 50 years. At that time I thought I made the right decision. Later I realized how skewed my priorities actually are.

On January 7, 2012, my alarm went off very early at 3:00 a.m. At that moment, I thought I had lost my mind. I was sick with a sinus infection and was wondering if it was too late to bail on the trip. At 4:00 a.m. I picked up my “new best friend” J.T. Martin. He got in the car and said, “Man you’re going to love it!” He told me that he was an avid duck hunter and was also missing a week of hunting. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

We took off at 6:00 a.m. for Charlotte, NC and left Charlotte at approximately 12:00 p.m. headed for Montego Bay, Jamaica. We arrived in Jamaica at approximately 2:30 p.m. We cleared customs, met Craig, Nathan and Darryl, loaded the vans and embarked on our two and a half hour trip through the mountains to the Moorlands Camp in Mandeville.

After a long, hot ride over largely unpaved and pot holed riddled roads, we arrived at the camp. Everyone appeared to be excited to be there but me. I was tired and exhausted and began to seriously question my decision to go on the trip. I began to revisit all the reasons why I was reluctant to go. Craig Bufkin sensed my frustration and asked if I was sorry that I had made the trip. I told him I was just tired. We both knew that I was not being honest.

The next morning we attended the services at the Andrews Memorial United Church. The entire congregation welcomed us with open arms. Immediately my tensions began to ease. The service began with an hour of energized singing which was just what the doctor ordered. Pastor Edmund Reid delivered a one hour spiritual, evangelical sermon on redemption. Unfortunately, the language barrier prevented me from understanding most of the sermon.

Although English is the native language, Jamaicans speak a dialect called Patwa, a mixture of African, English and slang. The faster he spoke the less I understood. However, his energetic delivery was impressive. After church, the real purpose of the trip began to sink in.

The food in Jamaica was good, for the most part. Melba, our camp cook, served up Jamaican pork and chicken, as well as Ackee and salt fish, the national food. If I ever eat Ackee again it will be too soon. It was simply awful. On Sunday evening we travelled to a beachfront resort called Little Ochie, the Jamaican version of a mountain seaside resort. Mr. Blackie, the owner of the restaurant, served an amazing concoction of grilled Lobster, Grouper, and Snapper with jerk sauces. The meal was delicious, and more than made up for the Ackee.

On Monday morning we left the camp, walked approximately a quarter of a mile to the Ebenezer Elementary School. Our job was to paint the exterior and interior of the school, as well as build a room to house a computer lab. Jamaican volunteers Cliff Mitchell and his son, Richard, partnered with Jim Wall and J.T. Martin to complete the construction projects. The other newbie, Matt Simpson, joined Nathan Brandon, Darryl Thompson and me for the painting project. We all worked at a frenzied pace to complete our projects before noon on Thursday. The school was extremely grateful for our work. They gave us all gift bags, presented by the student who each made an individual presentation to us. This was a special moment for all of us.

I was shocked when we arrived at the Ebenezer School. There was no indoor plumbing, running water, heating, air conditioning, doors, windows, or computers. Despite the lack of facilities, the teacher and the children exhibited a great attitude. I immediately wished that my twin daughters were there to witness their facilities. It would have left an impression on them of just how blessed we all are.

I began my work on Monday morning operating a skill saw, something I had never done. Measuring and cutting 20 foot two by fours became routine. The most memorable part of the morning occurred when Darryl Thompson dropped a 20 foot two by four on my left foot. The steel toed boots I did not buy would have come in handy. Nevertheless, my foot ached for the rest of the trip.

After lunch, I spent several hours scraping and painting the exterior of the school. I closed up my first work day with a new realization. I just spent my entire day performing strenuous manual labor that I would never do at home. I would hire someone to do this. The work I performed helped me understand that Christ was working in my life. This was much more important than where I work, where I live, what I drive, and what I earn. I shared this with Matt Simpson during the evening devotional and he said he felt the same way.

A handful of Jamaicans left a lasting impression on me. On Monday morning, Mr. Rickets showed up at the school. He was clearly disabled from being struck by a car at age 4. He was blind in one eye and had no sense of taste or smell. He had only two teeth but he still managed a brilliant smile. He wore the same clothes and showed up hungry every day. It was apparent that he was volunteering simply to be fed. We made sure he had plenty to eat and gave him food to take home at night. When I left I gave him all of my work clothes and all of my remaining food. Mr. Rickets was more than just grateful. Despite his disabilities he sang to himself most days in an intelligible voice. Regardless of the language barriers, I was able to decipher the word “joy” over and over. I realized that despite the shortcomings of his life, he was joyful for what we had given him. This struck me to my core. With all I had been blessed with, my attitude was nowhere near as positive as his. I realized it was time for me to realign my priorities and focus on what really matters in life.

LaToya Azan is a thirty-five year old attractive female who showed up to work on the first day. She is a member of the Andrews Church where we worshiped on Sunday. I had the pleasure of working by her side for much of the trip. We talked about history, politics, the Bible, and social issues. I asked her why she never married or had children and she replied that her faith was her priority and if she married her husband and her children may become her first priority. She was a true saint of a person. We also talked at length about the social issues that plague Jamaica. To my astonishment the teenage pregnancy rate is close to 70%. Ninety percent of all children are born illegitimate. Only 20% of couples marry. Sixty-five percent of women and only 20% of men actually attend college. Gonja (Jamaican marijuana) is a major problem. Until the social issues are addressed, Jamaica will remain a country mired in poverty, drugs, and violence. Unfortunately, most of these children are stuck with no ticket out. LaToya wanted to make a difference in these children lives, especially the girls. I shared with her my belief that women must be self-sufficient since divorce is so prevalent. She agreed and she utilized her role in the church to lead the teens down the right path. Her commitment is commendable.

After work on Wednesday, LaToya invited us to attend a “revival” her church was sponsoring in town. We were all tired and none of us wanted to attend. We finally agreed that we would stay for thirty minutes because we didn’t want to disappoint LaToya. We all boarded the van and drove to 14th Street. This was a dangerous part of town but we never felt threatened. As soon as we arrived we knew that no one would leave early. Loud speakers were blaring spiritual hymns. The meeting was transformed into a revival, unlike anything I have ever witnessed. The music was great but the testimonials were stunning. LaToya offered a riveting testimonial about her journey with the Lord. She invited everyone there to dedicate their lives to the Lord. We were all moved beyond words. It was truly a God moment.

The highlight of my week was meeting a six year old girl named Demoya Tobas. She is a petite girl with a radiant smile. As soon as she saw me she ran and jumped in my arms and said, “Hey big daddy.” From that point on I was hooked. Every time she saw me during the trip she jumped into my arms and called me big daddy. Wednesday morning she waited for me and I walked up the hill with her holding my hand. I told her to study hard and she would do well in life.

I actually dreaded leaving Demoya there. Thursday weighed heavily on my heart. How would I say goodbye to that little jewel. We arrived at approximately 8:00 a.m. to finish our projects. She was not at school. 8:15 and 8:30 came and went. I began checking the door every few minutes. I could not bear the thought of not telling this little angel goodbye. At 8:45 she ran in the front door, spotted me and jumped in my arms, saying hey big daddy. You could see the relief on my face.

As we began to leave, I saw Demoya and she jumped into my arms. I told her that I had to leave but that I would return to see her. She told me she did not have a big daddy and asked if I would always be her big daddy. Fighting back tears I told her I would always be her big daddy and I would visit her soon. She seemed relieved and we embraced one last time.

I think of Demoya often. I told my wife and children I would have brought her home if I could have. My girls loved the idea of having a younger sister.

The mission trip changed me. We have all heard the cliché that mission trips will dramatically change your life. I’m here to say that that is true. Once God’s grace touches you in this way, it matters not where you live, what you drive, or what you make. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and appreciation for all the many gifts that God has bestowed upon me and my family. What really matters when you take your last breath is who is holding your hand, not what you have. What I thought was important in life is really meaningless. That tiny mustard seed of faith I had before the trip has grown substantially in a very short period of time. For that I will always be grateful.

In Christ's Name,
John Hollins, Jr.