1st Place Winner for Inspiring Learning Contest 2024
This summer I worked with the Hawai'i Youth Conservation Corps, a program for young adults to work on field projects in Hawai'i. For six weeks, I worked at host sites around O'ahu, doing work like cutting down invasive trees, lashing wood for fishponds, and nurturing native outplantings. Maka hana ka ‘ike is one of the first Hawaiian proverbs, or ‘olelo no'eau, that I learned and really remembered as a kid growing up in Hawai'i. It means to learn by doing. Sometimes we can really only learn and recognize things when we work hands-on in the field for eight hours a day. Certainly for me, the work I did this summer helped me learn and realize my values, and even more fully recognize God’s light in my life.
One experience in particular sticks out in my mind from this summer. In the third week of the program, my team went to Kawainui Marsh on the windward side of O'ahu. It is the largest remaining wetland in Hawai’i and was once a thriving fishpond, spanning 500 acres and providing fish for thousands of people in the ancient Hawaiian community. Our ultimate goal, that could take years to complete fully? Restore the marsh to a fishpond, which first meant clearing all the invasive vegetation that has grown since then.
We arrived at the marsh at 7 am, got our tabis and boots on, and squelched through the waist-deep mud to get to the mats of vegetation. We sawed the mats into smaller squares and then floated the squares to a small island to reinforce it. We formed a hali hali line, which means to transport in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, each of us pushing the mats to each other in the water until they floated to the island. People up on the island used hoes to hoist the mats up. We shared the marsh with lots of critters including a water centipede that bit me behind my ear, but we enjoyed the process, chatting while we sawed and pushed. After a few hours in the water, we walked back up the hill to rest and admire our hard work. We looked out at the view with makaluhi, a word we learned that means “tired eyes,” or the feeling of satisfaction and pride that comes from working your hardest, for giving your best to the ʻāina. The verdant mountains, the vivid blue sky, and the sun’s reflection on the water seemed to thank us for our diligence. We all held our breath a little as we watched an 'alae 'ula wade through the water and check out the island we built. The 'alae 'ula is a native endangered moorhen whose population is likely only in the hundreds. There was something special and symbolic about this bird. Like the rainbow after the flood, the manna in the wilderness, or the dove after Jesus’s baptism, I saw that something divine had touched our work. I think that God often grants us grace through his creations. To see our hard work being appreciated by such a special bird reminded me how to see God.
I’ve thought a lot about grace since I took a class last semester called Studies in Literature. My professor was obsessed with the concept of grace and basically shaped our entire class around it. Every text we read had a climax or a moment of grace. When a character realizes that they have received a gift that is given freely, without explanation or reciprocation, that is the turning point. The small gifts of mercy that we receive from God remind us that God’s love is not a finite resource. They are small to someone else but large to the beholder. When 500 acres seems too much to ever even try to clear, an 'alae 'ula reminds us that it is not impossible and that native ecosystems are much less fragile and more resilient than we think. It is worth it to invest time and energy into preserving the land and restoring it to its full potential as an ecosystem, as an ancestral land, as a resource that takes care of us when we take care of it in turn. I think a lot of people have lost hope when it comes to environmental conservation and climate change and land degradation. What’s the point? I’ve felt that way too, but I also know that when there is nothing else to hope for, grace is sufficient.
When I think about God’s light, I think about grace. I think about how I keep my hope and how I keep believing when I’m not sure how. The 'alae 'ulas in my life give me reassurance that God is always present and patient. His creations are likewise present and patient. I hope to be that way as well and to keep my eyes open to the tender mercies that God is always going to give us.