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Keeping the forest fire resistant is synonymous with keeping a forest healthy, and we do that through planting more than we harvest and mitigate those risks through active management. It's a long-term commitment. Visit WorkingForestsInitiative.com to learn more. Then the space hamster flew his hot air balloon all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Where did that story come from?
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Hey, Bowen, it's gift season. Ugh, stressing me out. Why are the people I love so hard to shop for? Probably because they only make boring gift guides that are totally uninspired. Except for the guide we made.
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Stephen Resiniak, one of our regular contributors, has a special piece for us today. This story was written by his daughter. and is being read by his niece, Sandy. This story is entitled Please don't leave. 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 on my boots, a hole 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, 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 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 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 home's dirt driveway when I saw an excited little girl, no more than five or six years old. standing in the doorway of the family's temporary trailer home. Shoeless and wearing dirty clothes and the biggest smile I'd 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.
Okay. Behind Dakota was a woman in a wheelchair. Her grandmother, we'd learn. I also 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 a fast pace. 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 our fifth 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'd begged to sleep in it the previous night, even though it wasn't quite ready just yet. As we talked, I 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 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 crayons on the back of an old colouring 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. 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 time to get to know my newest friend. Sitting under a tree 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 reality television series?
now seems 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 the wisdom 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 little butterfly with the big smile and that dirty face. And in the end. I pray that she'll never forget me either.
And a special thanks to Stephen Resiniak's niece, Sandy. for reading Stephen's Daughters. 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 really came. And please don't leave.
You can picture it in your hands and I know you're crying listening. that story. It's a beautiful story about love, about sacrifice, about gratitude. Stephen Resiniak's Daughters 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 story. Lee 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 story you missed or want to hear again can be found there daily. Again, please subscribe to the Our American Stories podcast on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, or anywhere you get your podcasts. It helps us keep these great American stories coming.
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Mm-hmm.
