Her eyes were bright and sparkled with the unrestrained excitement of a child.
“I have something for you,” she announced, beaming,
“But I want you to open it with your husband.”
I stood in the camp’s sunlit dining hall. The room hummed with conversation and movement—plates clinking, people saying goodbye, the last-minute bustle that comes at the end of an event.
It was the last meal
on the last day
of the very last camp of the summer—last year.
By then I was bone-tired. “Exhausted” hardly covered it.
I thanked the little girl and asked if she wanted me to open it then—right there, with everyone watching.
“Oh, sure,” she said, her voice all delight and anticipation.
I unrolled the carefully tied paper and moved through the crowd until I found my husband. The child stood nearby, her eyes dancing, waiting for our reaction.
Inside the neat bundle was a check and a beautifully written note signed by thirteen families. It read, in part, “This money is for you… to use… in Hawaii.”
I gasped, and then I cried—right there in the dining hall, in front of God and everyone.
We had long held a simple, shared hope: to travel to Hawaii someday. It was a quiet dream, a “someday” conversation between two people who did not expect it to change their lives overnight. That unassuming, generous gift made it possible.
We felt humbled and deeply grateful; more than that, we were overwhelmed with joy and anticipation. It is one thing to receive help when survival is at stake. It is another to receive an unexpected blessing that allows you to rest, to celebrate, and to experience beauty and peace. This gift was the latter.
There are moments I tuck in my heart and preserve like precious treasures. This was one of them: a tangible act of kindness—a miracle of community care and unexpected generosity.
food to eat,
a house to shelter us from pelting rain and howling winds,
peace, joy, and hope during sad, painful times,
And that day—
that day in the dining room with the little girl holding the note tied with string—
was an example of provision that felt “abundantly above” what we could ask or imagine. It was an expression of kindness that pointed us toward gratitude and faith: tangible proof that others were watching over us and celebrating with us.
We do not need Hawaii to survive. It is not a requirement for life. It is, instead, a gift—an opportunity to rest, to reconnect, and to enjoy time together in a beautiful place. That gift came straight from kind people in our community, and ultimately from a gracious God who provides in ways that are often unexpected.
We are now joyfully planning a week of warm trade winds and sandy beaches—a seven-day trip to Hawaii next month. With anticipation, we think about the slow mornings, the sound of waves, and the chance to make new memories that will nourish our hearts for years to come.
Small acts of generosity ripple outward. One child’s shy insistence—“open it with your husband”—and the love of thirteen families combined to turn a simple wish into a reality. That combination of community generosity and childlike joy created a memory that will remain with us forever.
We are thankful for every person who has supported us over time: for practical provisions, for prayers when times were hard, and for unexpected moments of celebration like this one. These are the stories that remind us how much good there is in human kindness and in the faithful care that surrounds us.
Many of you may have already noticed this little secret in an earlier conversation or interview with Barbara—well done for paying attention! We are grateful, humbled, and excited beyond words. We look forward to sharing memories and reflections when we return from the trip, but for now we carry this moment of generosity close to our hearts.
Thank you to the child with the sparkly eyes, to the families who signed the note, and to everyone who shows kindness in ways both large and small. Your generosity made a dream real, and it reminded us that hope and joy are shared gifts.
