A Memorable Mission Trip

Growing up in a small town called Clayton, NC, a mission trip to Fort Walton Beach, Florida seemed like the trip of a lifetime for me. I was like any other thirteen year old male growing up ready to go, go, go all the time and as wild as kids my age came. My church at the time, Fellowship Baptist in Garner, NC had a tradition that every year the youth group would take a mission trip somewhere around the state and sometimes even around the country. Our work consisted of helping disabled or elderly people who were no longer able to re-shingle their roofs, or repaint their houses. Unlike past trips to Durham, Raleigh, and Chapel Hill, our church was going all out this year. This year we had finally landed a marquee destination, however, little did I know that this trip was not going to be all fun in the sun.
Our group left North Carolina around 5 a.m. on a Monday, about eleven hours later we arrived at the high school in Florida where we would be staying for the week. Upon arriving our youth group was asked to drop off our things in the rooms that we would be staying in and then report to the cafeteria so that we could be sorted in to other smaller groups to begin work on the houses. The first two days passed like clockwork, the group I had been placed in was re-roofing houses and so far our pace was setting the bar high for everyone since we had re-roofed two houses in two days. As a whole our youth group was out working most of the other groups we had been placed with so our group leaders decided that we could have Thursday off to go to the beach.
Thursday arrived and as our youth group set off for the beach everyone payed little mind to the small hurricane that was not far off the coast. Although the hurricane was too far away to cause any real rain or wind threat, it was causing rip tides to be very severe and waves to be a lot larger than normal. When we arrived at the pristine Florida beaches some people wanted to play beach volleyball, some wanted to go to the beach bar and grill, and others like me we just wanted to get in the water. Walking onto the beach, I was greeted by a single red flag an ominous reminder of the havoc that the storm was causing to the currents.
Jumping into the cool ocean water, I payed no mind to the larger than normal waves that kept crashing into me. Soon after getting in the water did I start to regret it, I could now feel the rip current dragging me ever so closer to the pier. At the time I was not such a great swimmer, so like any normal thirteen year old I panicked, this would be my undoing. In a last ditch effort to avoid being swept under the pier I frantically swam towards the coast, only to continually be dragged under. Turning to my right to see if I could see someone, anyone to help me get out of this abysmal mess that I had gotten myself into. Alas, all I could see was wave, a wave so humongous that it through me under the pier and slammed me into the barnacle covered concrete pillar. I blacked out for about 10 seconds, upon surfacing I raced for the beach this time making it ashore. I walked onto the beach and was greeted by screams of, "Oh my God, are you ok?" Looking down I saw what all the fuss was about I was covered in blood and cuts from the chest down. My youth leader rushed me back to the high school to get me cleaned up, however this meant laying around the last 3 days while everyone else worked.
The pain those last three days was excruciating. The cuts were not deep enough for stitches, so every movement that I took reopened the lacerations. Although painful, I finally talked my group leader to let me work on the last day only because their is no greater feeling than to see the smiling faces of someone whose life you just changed. After finishing the last house we packed up our gear and headed home, in only seven days my group had re-roofed three houses and repainted three more. Still to this day do I have the scars from that trip, a reminder of some pleasant memories and a couple of dumb mistakes.

Matt Duncan