The far-reaching line wrapped around the brick building as people waited anxiously. Bars on the windows kept out intruders, but the doors would soon open to allow all to enter. The faded blue banner hung across the building and flapped methodically in the light breeze as it read, “Hope.” The frenzy of people was a familiar sight, even at 6 o’clock on a Tuesday morning. Different ethnicities, religions, and genders separated individuals in the assembled mass, yet they were united by one thing. Food.

Last July, I was blessed with the opportunity to take part in a mission trip to Washington, D.C., our nation’s capital. Over the course of six days, I learned more about the world and myself than I could have learned in six years. My eyes were opened to poverty, hunger, homelessness, violence, and more global problems than I ever could have imagined from the comfort of my home in Chadds Ford. Twenty-six people, ages five to 67, left Westminster Presbyterian Church on Sunday evening ready to begin a grueling schedule of community service.

Within just a few hours of being in Washington, D.C., our group experienced a collision of cultures as we walked to the ice cream store past dozens of homeless men and women begging for change. How could we be enjoying an expensive ice cream cone when people around us could not even afford the bare necessities? Still grappling with this question, the next morning I headed to the metro with the rest of our intrepid church group and rode to the outskirts of Washington. A local explained to us that these neighborhoods were notorious for poverty and violence, and that people had easier access to alcohol and drugs than to fresh vegetables. Just imagine a group of white people, all wearing matching church T-shirts and some even sporting expensive watches, walking through the garbage-filled streets in a community where 95% of the population is African-American… Even the walk from the metro station to our first cleanup site was an adventure! We met Isaiah, a young man who worked for a non-profit organization called “Parks and People,” at a community garden that he explained used to be a hotspot for illicit drugs. Isaiah and other volunteers dedicated endless time and effort into transforming the drug-ridden park into a bountiful garden, where community members not only enjoy safe outdoor space, but also have access to fresh vegetables. Isaiah told our group, “If we plant tomatoes where the drugs are dealt, then the dealers have no choice but to move. When the other volunteers and I first started this park cleanup, we found over 130 needles each month. Now we find about three.” Isaiah showed me that even one person can impact a community and sometimes it is as easy as planting a few vegetables.

Isaiah was not the only person working to help others. During my time in D.C., I witnessed many people’s motivation to help those less fortunate. My amazement at the dedication of others continued as I volunteered at the soup kitchen named “Hope” on Tuesday morning. Brianna, a college student who dedicated her summer to volunteering at the soup kitchen, gave us a tour of the church basement that had been transformed to serve hundreds of people. My job was to greet visitors at the soup kitchen for breakfast, like welcoming guests to my home for a party. Only this was not a party, it was the grim reality that 300 people had no better option to obtain food than to go a soup kitchen. Brianna had warned me that approximately 80% of the people needing services at “Hope” suffered from some sort of mental disability. But as I continued acknowledging the crowd, I was astonished at the variety of people who needed help. I will never forget the white, blue-eyed girl, who was probably about my age, wearing an oversized T-shirt and tattered tennis shoes waiting in line with her mom. When I smiled and asked for the girl’s name, she could not even make eye contact with me as she muttered something towards the floor. At that moment, for the first time in my life, child poverty became a reality. Watching shows and reading books about kids who struggle daily just isn’t the same as seeing the embarrassment on a teenager’s face because she need food from a soup kitchen.

From never talking to a homeless person in my life to happily greeting about three hundred people lining up for breakfast, I had been changed dramatically and began to truly think about social injustice. After volunteering at “Parks and People” and “Hope”, I felt extremely overwhelmed by the reality that millions of people undergo severe hardships daily, even steps away from our nation’s capital. During my trip, I saw the striking contrast of homeless people sleeping on benches just feet away from foot-long rats and the government workers who can afford luxurious high-rise apartments safely above the foraging rodents. But what was also startling was the number of individuals who dedicate their lives to improve those of people around them. Both Isaiah and Brianna are now role-models for me, and I will continue to strive to improve the lives of people in need. Although I have no answers to my internal struggle with the unfairness of social injustice, my trip to D.C. changed my perspective on the world and has shaped me into the person I am today.