I am home from Hana, albeit briefly. I leave on Tuesday for a reunion with college friends in Maine. It is hard to leave Hana behind. It has become a part of my heart. These words come so easily, can sound so cliché, but they are also true. In many ways it is a town very similar to my own – small, rural, a place where everyone knows everyone. On a lush green summer day or blanketed beneath large white flakes of snow, Vermont has its own beauty, although Hana gleams with flowers, fruits, water and sun. I walk the roads there and stumble upon plumeria and hibiscus. Here, it is wildflowers – black-eyed susans and husks of growing corn. The name of my town is Bethel, House of God. They call Hana “Heavenly Hana” and a black cross of lava stares down on the town. It is difficult not to draw symbolism from this while on a mission’s trip there. I inhale Hana’s beauty there until it has become a part of me: Hana Church, which has sprung from the work we’ve done, the young men playing in the band and leading worship, the young children, embracing me and calling my name. Our Hawaiian Ohana we call them, but this time as I greet them and am swallowed by their arms and cries, I make no such distinction. They are simply family. We are one church, one heart. Toward the end of our week in Hana we rose early to watch the sunrise over the town from the Hana Cross. Below is a video of our drive to the cross.