How I Was Changed by My Short-Term Mission Trip

On this episode of Our American Stories, a short-term mission trip can feel predictable—until the moment it is not. Stephen Rusiniak shares a story written by his daughter, who traveled to West Virginia expecting hard work and good memories, nothing more. What she found instead was a barefoot child standing in a doorway and a reminder of how acts of kindness can reshape our sense of what matters.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:20):
This is Lee Habiv, and this is our American Stories,
and we tell stories about everything here on this show.
Stephen Raciniac, one of our regular contributors, has a special
piece for us today. This story was written by his
daughter and he's being read by his niece Sandy. This
story is entitled Please Don't Leave.

Speaker 2 (00:40):
I had done it before, and so I had no
reason to believe that this time would be any different.
I was sure that when I returned home from my
mission trip, as always, I would bring back nothing more
than some mud of my boots, a whole or two
in my jeans, and of course a lot of great memories.
Little did I know that this time it was going
to be different. The summer before my high school graduation,

(01:04):
I went to West Virginia with others from my church
as members of the Appalachia Service Project. Our goals included
refurbishing the homes of those in need, and where we
were heading there was no shortage of need. Along with
volunteers from many churches, we arrived at our destination much
like an invading army in miniature, and we arrived ready

(01:26):
to do battle. The tools that we brought from home
would serve as our weapons. As we prepared to wage
war against an all too familiar enemy, substandard living conditions.
Our mission was to make the homes of those we
served warmer, safer, and drier, and with only five days
to accomplish as much as we could, we were anxious

(01:48):
to get started. My group was assigned the task of
rebuilding sections of a home that had been damaged by fire.
No sooner had we parked on the homes dirt driveway
when I saw a nick excited little girl no more
than five or six years old, standing in the doorway
of the family's temporary trailer home, shoelas and wearing dirty

(02:09):
clothes and the biggest smile I had ever seen. She yelled, Ma, Ma,
They really came. I didn't know it then, but her
name was Dakota, and four more days would pass before
she'd say another word. Near me, behind Dakota was a
woman in a wheelchair, her grandmother, we'd learn. I also

(02:29):
learned that my job this week would be to help
convert a fire damaged dining room into a bedroom for
this little girl. After meeting several more family members, we
got down to the business of making a difference in
their lives. Grabbing our tools. We went to work. Walls
were torn down and replaced, hammers and nails, saws and
electric screw guns, drywall prepping, and painting. We moved at

(02:53):
a fast piece Over the following days. I noticed Dakota
peeking at us every now and then as we worked.
A few times I tried talking with her, but she
remained shy and aloft, always fluttering around us like a
tiny butterfly, always there but staying just out of reach,
watching us intently, but keeping to herself. By her fifth

(03:14):
and final day, however, this would change. Before I went
to work on her home. On that last morning, I
spoke for a moment or two with the grandmother. I
was especially pleased when she told me how much Dakota
loved her new room, so much, in fact, that she
begged to sleep in it the previous night, even though
it wasn't quite ready just yet. As we talked, I

(03:37):
noticed something I hadn't seen before. Dakota was hiding behind
her grandmother. Cautiously, she stepped into view, and I could
see that, just like her clothes, her face was still dirty,
but no amount of soil could hide those bright blue
eyes and her big smile. She was simply adorable. I

(03:58):
wanted to hug her, but respecting her shyness, I kept
my distance. Slowly, she began walking towards me, and it
wasn't until she was inches away that I noticed the
folded piece of paper in her tiny hand. Silently, she
reached up and handed it to me. Once unfolded, I
looked at the drawing she'd made with her broken crans

(04:20):
on the back of an old coloring book cover. It
was of two girls, one much taller than the other,
and they were holding hands. She told me that it
was supposed to be me and her, and scrawled on
the bottom of the paper were three little words that
instantly broke my heart. Please don't leave now. Almost in tears,

(04:42):
I surrendered to the impulse that I'd suppressed only moments before.
I bent down and hugged her. She hugged me too,
and for the longest time, neither one of us could
let go. By early afternoon, we finished Dakota's bedroom, and
so I gladly used the rare free to time to
get to know my newest friend. Sitting under a tree

(05:04):
away from the others, we shared a few apples while
she told me about her life in the hollow. As
I listened to her stories about the struggles she and
her family endured daily, I began to realize how frivolous
various aspects of my own life were. Suddenly, things like
deciding what to wear when I went out on a
Friday night, or which wannabe celebrity was starring the latest

(05:25):
reality television series now seemed so trivial in comparison. Thoughts
like this and others quickly took a back seat to
what really mattered most to me, my friends, my family,
and my faith. And maybe more surprisingly, all it took
for me to reaffirm these important truths was a wisdom

(05:46):
of one special little girl living somewhere in the mountains
of West Virginia. I left for home early the next morning,
and of course I returned with muddy boots and holes
in my jeans. But because of Dakota, I brought back
with me something else too, a greater appreciation for all
the blessings of my life. I'll never forget that barefooted

(06:08):
little butterfly with the big smile and that dirty face,
and in the end, I pray that she'll never forget
me either.

Speaker 1 (06:18):
And a special thanks to Stephen Resinniac's niece Sandy, for
reading Stephen's daughter's words about a simple mission trip. And
by the way we tell these stories because so many
people of faith around this country, what they do with
their families is remarkable. They don't just go to the
beach and eat. They go and they serve. Mama, they

(06:40):
really came and please don't leave. You can picture it
in your hands, and I know you're crying listening to
that story. It's a beautiful story about love, about sacrifice,
about gratitude. Stephen Resinniac's daughter's mission in West Virginia, the
story of her connection with a young girl named Dakota,
and the people around Dakota's life. Here on Our American

(07:03):
Stories lieh Habib here, and I'd like to encourage you
to subscribe to Our American Stories on Apple podcasts, the
iHeartRadio app, Spotify, or wherever you get our podcasts. Any

(07:26):
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