Tell me how its good and maybe help me with my conclusion.
It's in bold but I feel its lackluster
Thank you jsp


Changing a Life One Hour At a Time

Growing up in my pre-teens, I lived in a single parent household, which was composed of mom and my younger brother and sister. Due to financial troubles of being a single mother with no english skills nor work skills, we often struggled to pay bills even without accounting for food. During that period of time, our meals consisted mostly of fried rice and eggs, since it was dirt cheap. On special occasions like sunday, we would have a $5 pizza from Little Caesar, and boy, did I savor each cheesy bite and every pepperoni. Often once a week, when my family went to church, we would stay behind a few hours to help around with small tasks and tedious chores. In return, the church provided hot meals, for all the families that helped around. This was our community, a community that provided when we needed, a community called church.

Even with being deeply instilled within the church community, there were many times where we could only rely on ourselves, as my mother would like to call it,”God is testing our faith.” There were good times and there were bad times during the week, however, there is one story that my mother always reminisce, as she has always given the same speech of this story countless times. I distinctly remember it was an ordinary Saturday during the cruel arctic winter ten years ago. Instead of staying at home playing video games or watching tv, which was all I wanted I felt obligated to help my mother with her nail salon. During the day, I would do various tasks such as take out the trash, scrub peoples feet, and sometimes even keeping the customers busy with small talk so they wouldn't leave. On this particular Saturday was insanely busy. By the time we closed the shop, my mother was famished since she had not eaten anything throughout the day. There was only one thing my mom craved that night, Chinese Buffet. While half falling asleep on the car ride home, and waking up every so often, I found ourselves in front of her favorite buffet. Apparently, she had been contemplating to herself the past ten minutes whether or not to indulge in succulent crab legs, which was her favorite food, or save the money earned and pay bills. Even though I was only ten years old, I could tell she wanted to go in. Without hesitation, I insisted saying, “Just go in and eat mom, and I’ll wait in the car.” These twelve words during that time had no real significance to me, but to my mother they were heartwrenching. After taking in what I said, she started to weep. Softly she murmured, “ What kind of mother am I if I’m able to eat, but my child sits in the car and starves?” I replied with a smile,”You’re the best kind of mother.”

As I each year passes and passes, I slowly unpeeled each layer of meaning which happened that night more than a decade ago. I understood what my mother sacrificed for us to be where we are now. She always reminded me to help the unfortunate, pray to God and one day that good karma will come back to me. Since then, instead of being the ones that seek food and shelter, my family are now providers. Giving back to the church community which helped us physically and mentally. Although mostly, I just wanted to help kids in poverty locally and globally, since I felt like I’ve been in their shoes to some degree. I might not have been in any life or death situations, but I do how going to sleep hungry few times a week feels. So when I turned sixteen I decided to volunteer on a church mission trip to Mexico to help rebuild a torn down orphanage.

In total there were about fifty volunteers with five mentors, so each group consisted of ten volunteers and one mentor. Our groups mentor’s name was Biet Vu, and all I knew was that he’s a short sixty year old vietnamese man. Upon arrival in a small town on the outskirts of Mexico City we were eagerly greeted by a handful of orphans along with our mentors and the person in charge of the orphanage. After we dropped off our baggage we sought out our mentor which wasn’t hard. Biet, our mentor had such striking features that separated him from everyone else; His thin snow white combed over hair, his dark tan skin that was almost leather like and that prominent smile he had which never left his face. No matter what he was doing he did it happily, but his attitude and dedication towards helping orphanages was exemplary. As soon as we greeted him and shared our names he instantly put us to work, with a smile.

First thing assigned to us was rebuilding the food pantry that seemed to me made from four flimsy sheets of metal with rusty nails holding it together. Within a few strikes using a sledgehammer the poorly built pantry collapsed. With night coming along we called it a day and prepared for dinner, but right before we entered the dining hall Biet stopped us, then in his orotund voice he said,”We are here to help these kids who have nothing compared to us back in the states, we are guests here, be polite with your food portions.” With a smile on his face he lead us to the dining hall, and when we entered we were blown away by the celebration taking place. There were so many happy faces, claps and cheers and delicious looking foods. As we found a place to sit a small boy approached us, and asked if he could sit down with us, as our grouped agreed we all got to know him better. He went by the name Jesus. Being ten years old instead of playing with toys or enjoying family time, instead his days consisted of walking one or two miles each day to catch a bus to work for his uncle. Jesus would often push around a heavy wooden food cart around tourist attractions, and in the afternoon he would use a large wood pole to push colorful large rafts across murky rivers. By the end of the night he would catch the bus back to his town and prepare food for his “family” at the orphanage. One question that came up was why he didn’t just live with us uncle, although we were too shy to ask,so no one will ever know. As the days passed buildings were risien, the once mud colored buildings was now covered in paint it was a night and day difference. At the end of the trip it was a bittersweet farewell. I was homesick and tired of hours of manual labor. My back ached from sleeping on the ground, and my stomach yearned for my grandmas homemade pho, yet I felt accomplished for what my church group and I did for this small community.

Volunteering doesn't require one to travel across the world. There are countless local charities and homeless shelters that can't get enough helping hands. Imagine if everyone just devoted one day a year to help. While some individuals believe that volunteering a few hours here and there won't change the world, which is somewhat true, but I believe that you can change one person’s world. That only makes it worth.