Finding the Connection

by NaNhi Hodge

Why do so many of us return to work camp year after year?

“Isn’t it the same thing, just a different location?”

At its core, maybe. But like the school we’re building, the truth reveals itself in countless layers, each one richer and more personal than the last.

Everyone has their own reason for joining work camp—a unique moment that turns the trip into something unforgettable. Last year, my reason was sharing this experience with my husband. It gave him a window into my culture and helped him understand why I choose to travel over 27 hours every summer to the mountains and beaches of Vietnam.

This year, the connection did not arrive all at once like it had in the past.

There were many fulfilling moments. Watching the children in freshly painted classrooms joyfully shout, “Màu Đỏ is Red!” Seeing the playground team push through the scorching sun to build something incredible. Admiring the library team as they carefully brought their project to life with care and love. And of course, my mom—steadily guiding and nurturing all of us. She kept us on track while still encouraging us to soak in the experience. (Thank you, Mom.)

But I found myself still waiting for something deeper. I realized I needed a moment that was just mine. A quiet experience to reconnect with the community and myself. So I went out to meet some local families.

With Anh Thủy, I visited three homes. Each one was in disrepair. The families were facing many challenges—from old age and chronic illness to financial hardship. Some homes were small and stifling, others were on the verge of collapse. Even so, the people welcomed us with warmth. They opened their homes and hearts, happy to have someone listen.

One elderly woman, her teeth stained black in the old rural tradition, cared for her mute and deaf daughter and grandchild. Her back was so hunched her chest nearly touched her knees. Yet she slowly made her way over to offer us tea. Her dialect was hard to understand, but I did not need to grasp every word to feel her joy. Her laughter, her shaking hands, the way she held mine—that said everything.

The final home we visited was built on stilts. The ladder was narrow and cracked, and the gaps between the floorboards made it hard to feel steady. As I stepped inside, I smiled. The grandmother beamed and told us she was bringing out the good mat for us to sit on. We talked with her and her son about life and struggle. Then we turned our conversation to the small joys they experience each day. We chose to focus on gratitude and hope.

They thanked us deeply for being there and shared how much it meant to know that their community was being invested in. That something better was being built.

That was the moment the connection clicked for me.

That was my reason this year. A reminder that our work is about more than just buildings. It is about possibility. It is about the feeling that a brighter future is within reach.

And for me, it was also about pride. Not pity. A deep, quiet pride that I come from people who are strong and resilient. That blood runs through me. Through my siblings who are here discovering their own reasons. Through my brother, now helping lead the SEEDS group I helped start. Through my sister and cousin, laughing and connecting with the people around them. Through my mom, whose heart and countless late nights have helped build this organization and this work camp from the ground up.

That is the connection.

There is a reason we say “Mình đi về Việt Nam”—you go home to Vietnam—even if you were not born here. This is where my roots are. My story. My culture.

As I sit on this bus, surrounded by the sound of laughter and gentle snores, taking in the smell of the day’s hard work and the peaceful landscape outside, I feel it in my soul.

I am home.

And I am ready for the next connection.

What will it be?

Thank you, Sunflower Mission, for this opportunity. Thank you to all who volunteer, donate, and support this work. And thank you, Mother Vietnam, for accepting my love.