Nature’s Resilience

 

One of the first things I noticed this year was what wasn’t there. Montego Bay was strangely quiet without the usual birds you might expect—no seagulls at all, only a few herons and scattered songbirds. And yet, nature itself told a story of restoration. Trees that had been completely stripped bare during Hurricane Melissa in October were once again full of green leaves, with flowers beginning to return. It was a quiet but powerful testimony to resilience—life reemerging after devastation.

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A Storm Beyond Measure

 

Hurricane Melissa was officially classified as a Category 5 storm, the most severe level on the current scale. Yet those who lived through it—and those who serve these communities year-round—described something that felt beyond measurement. They spoke of winds so fierce they seemed to scream, of a force that stripped the land and left silence in its wake. And still, in the aftermath, people came. They came to church. They came to clinics. They came to serve, to worship, to love. With open hands and open hearts, praise and song rose even from places of loss, a quiet testimony to faith that endures.

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Serving Together

 

This year, we traveled with a team of about 80 people from churches across Minnesota, Iowa, and North Dakota. Mission Jamaica operates from January through April, with churches serving in one- or two-week stints, returning year after year to the same orphanage, clinics, and communities. This consistency is what makes the mission so impactful—real relationships are formed, not just projects completed.

 

Todd spent his days working with the construction team, rebuilding homes damaged by the hurricane. Normally, a small team can complete a home in about three days. This year, despite tireless work, we couldn’t quite finish both houses—not because of lack of effort, but because of limited building supplies available on the island. It was a tangible reminder of the reality of scarcity and how deeply resource limitations affect recovery.

 

Alex spent her days at the orphanage, where the North Dakota team had prepared an incredible VBS-style program for the children. Even in the midst of loss and uncertainty, the kids were surrounded by laughter, structure, creativity, and care—a gift that went far beyond any physical repair.

 

I served with the medical team, traveling to clinics in both urban and rural mountain communities. With a small group of providers, we saw dozens of patients each day—addressing acute medical needs, managing chronic conditions, providing medications, reader glasses, foot care, and referrals for urgent hospital care when needed. Medical teams from participating churches come about every four weeks during the season, providing continuity in places where access to care is otherwise very limited.

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Learning, Serving, Becoming Friends

 

One of the most beautiful parts of this year’s trip was the people who came together to serve. Our team included individuals from North Dakota, Minnesota, Iowa, and Colorado—many meeting for the very first time. Some had never held a paintbrush, swung a hammer, or set foot in a medical clinic before. Others brought skills honed over years of service. Side by side, everyone learned.

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There is something quietly powerful about watching people step into unfamiliar work with humility—learning how to mix paint, assist with patient flow, offer comfort, or simply show up where needed. In the process, strangers became teammates, and teammates became friends. Meals were shared, stories exchanged, laughter woven into long days of work. What began as service quickly grew into community.

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And while the work mattered deeply, the week was not only about labor. There was joy, too. A bubble party in the pool that dissolved stress into laughter. Paddle boarding out on the sea, where the horizon seemed to stretch endlessly. Moments of rest, conversation, and quiet reflection—reminders that mission also includes delight, renewal, and Sabbath.

These shared experiences—both the work and the rest—bound us together in ways that will last far beyond this trip.

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When It Rains, It Rains

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Jamaica has a way of teaching you contrasts. When it rains, it truly rains. Hard. Fast. Without apology. And the same is true of the people. They are proud, resilient, deeply loving, and generous with what they have—even when what they have feels painfully limited.

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Why This Matters to Our Clinic

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This trip reinforced what we believe at the core of our clinic: healing happens in the context of relationship. Whether in Colorado or Jamaica, real care means seeing the whole person, honoring dignity, and walking alongside people through both hardship and hope.We return home grateful, humbled, and deeply changed—carrying the stories, faces, and faith of the people of Jamaica with us. This work continues to shape how we practice medicine, how we show up for our patients, and how we understand true health.