I am not sure we can teach our children what it means to trust God by simply telling them. Trust is learned when your body, your mind, and your heart are pushed past what they can handle – and God has to take over. That is why missionary work matters. Not only because we serve the poor, but because of everything else we learn along the way.

After nearly four days of traveling – long flights and sleeping upright on buses – a group of new friends and I from St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Millis arrived in Calcutta around one in the morning. My roommates and I unlocked our room and stared at three metal bed frames, thin mattresses, one sheet, and one pillow. That was it. Our home for the next three weeks. We took cold showers because the hot water would not work (and never did), lay down exhausted, and slept for maybe four hours that night.

At five a.m., we were awake again – sleep-deprived, but excited to go “make a difference”. We joined our group for morning prayer and walked right next door to the Mother House. This was Mother Teresa’s home, where the incredible Missionaries of Charity live, and where she lived when she was in Calcutta. Her bedroom remains just as it was, and her tomb sits above ground in a small, simple concrete chapel, open to all who want to spend time with her. And you feel her there, you really do.

We knelt by her tomb and prayed with her, placing our intentions there, before moving quietly into the upstairs chapel to join the sisters for Mass. After Mass, we were given a simple breakfast: a piece of white bread and a small cup of chai tea. That was it. Our tea break later in the morning was the same. Water was something you had to be intentional about—there were few chances to refill, and in the heat and humidity, you sweat constantly. Staying hydrated took effort, and many of us were already behind before the day even began.

Outside, everything collided at once. Our senses were sent into overdrive. The honking never stopped. Streets were packed with cars, buses, motorbikes, people, animals—every inch of space filled. Every few meters, you encountered a soul in a state of poverty that took the air out of your lungs. There are images I cannot put into words here, but I can say this: we were constantly aware of how fragile life was, even right outside our door.

People cooked, worked, slept, and waited right there on the sidewalk. Children ran barefoot beside us. Your heart and your senses never got a break. After a while, your brain stopped trying to make sense of it all. You just kept walking.

I want to say this carefully. I grew up in South Africa, and I have seen poverty before. I have worked in places where need is real and daily. This was different. This felt like another level entirely – constant, inescapable, pressing in on every sense, every hour of the day.

Each of us was assigned to a different house run by the Missionaries of Charity. I worked in a home for women with severe physical and mental disabilities. The moment I stepped through the blue doors of our house, the noise dropped. It felt like a relief, like an oasis in the middle of the chaos. And then the work began: cleaning beds from the night before,  washing laundry by hand in large tubs we had to step into, carrying dripping sheets up multiple flights of stairs to hang them on the roof, and working until our hands burned from chemicals our skin was not used to. Within days, many of us had blisters and open cuts.

By the third or fourth day, our bodies started to break down. People were dehydrated. Some got sick. We were hot, tired, hungry, and emotionally overwhelmed. That was when the real shift happened. We finally realized how small we were. We wanted to fix everything – to bring better supplies, better systems – but they did not need rescuers. The Sisters had a good system. What they needed were extra hands, patience, and love. Someone to sit. Someone to stay.

And honestly, what saved me was Eucharistic Adoration.

Every afternoon and evening, we returned to the chapel for Adoration. At first, I prayed the way I always had – spending time with God, praying for those around me, and asking for specific outcomes. Then one day, I had nothing left to ask for. I remember sitting there thinking, I cannot do tomorrow on my own. So I stopped trying.

I started praying differently. I told God, You take over. I release control. Use me however you want. And something changed. He took over.

Days began to fly by. I had strength in moments where I should have had none. I was placed in situations where I somehow knew exactly what to do. Things that should have overwhelmed me did not. Later, when we watched videos from those days, there were things I did not even remember seeing – things that would have been too much. It was as if God had filtered what I could handle, only showing me what he needed me to see. 

The longer I stayed in Adoration, the lighter everything became. With very little food, very little rest, lots of sweat, dirt, pain, and constant noise, I felt freer than I ever had. I saw small miracles everywhere. A smile at the right moment. A hand to hold. Peace in places that should have felt unbearable. I began to get to know the most amazing group of people! Tougher and kinder than anyone else I had ever met.

My experience in Calcutta those few days changed my prayer life forever. I stopped asking so many questions and started surrendering. And in that surrender, God worked. In many ways, I went to Calcutta thinking I was going to serve those who had less. Instead, I realized how poor I was. The people we encountered relied so fully on God’s grace that, in many ways, they seemed freer than I felt. Their lives were not easy, but their trust was deep. That reliance reset something in me.

Every mission trip teaches me something different. This one was a reminder of how much control I try to hold onto, and how heavy that control can be. It was an invitation to let go, to return to the basics, and to remember that faith grows when we stop managing everything ourselves. In that sense, this trip was an incredible reset.

Calcutta is not only a place on the other side of the world. We all have our own Calcutta. There is mission work to be done right here – in our homes, our schools, our neighborhoods. At the same time, I believe there is something deeply important about stepping outside our cultural norms and comforts. Each time I do, my relationship with God strengthens. It is hard to reach that place of surrender when life feels comfortable, and distractions are constant.

My hope in sharing this small piece of my experience is not simply to tell a story, but to invite reflection. To ask how much control we are holding onto. To remember that serving the poor – both spiritually and physically – is essential. And to recognize that for some of us, encountering new places and unfamiliar ways of living is what helps us see most clearly where God is already at work.

AUTHOR: Alice Mackay, Early Learning & Lower Elementary Assistant Teacher

Some of the group are praying at Mother Theresa’s Tomb in Calcutta.