They arrived with few possessions but hearts full of purpose. What they lacked in resources, they made up for in faith and resilience. They learned quickly that ministry wasn’t just about preaching—it was about living among people, sharing meals, celebrating milestones, and walking through life together. The friendships they built became family, and the laughter and love they shared still echo through the memories of those they served.

Over the years, their work touched countless lives—through church services under mango trees, through songs and Sunday school lessons, and through the quiet consistency of showing up day after day. Their example taught me that ministry isn’t measured by numbers or buildings, but by the lives changed and the seeds planted along the way.

Their first ministry was in a little country church — the very place where my father now rests. From that small beginning, a family began to grow: my oldest brother, then my twin and me, and finally my little brother a few years later. As they learned the rhythms of the island, they also learned how to build a family, how to serve faithfully, and how to leave a lasting legacy.