Aloha friends!

Our experience in ‘paradise’—the one most people rave about when they return from Hawaii—turned out to be… well, not quite that. Rather a place God used to teach us, stretch us, and remind us that His love shows up even in the rainiest seasons. This is the story of our month in Kauai—miracles, miscommunications, muddy shoes, and all.

Getting there was an adventure all on its own. For reasons still unknown to us, our flights were overbooked, and although we had reservations, we apparently didn’t have actual tickets attached to our names. That was a fun surprise. We were bumped to standby with the promise that at least four of us would make the flight. At the gate, four seats opened up and Phil volunteered to stay behind so the kids and I could board. Then, just as we were about to walk on, the airline realized two of our kids had been assigned to the emergency row and pulled us aside to reshuffle everything. In the middle of that chaos, another seat opened up and Phil was able to join us after all. We thought the drama was over, but our layover in Los Angeles had other plans. Once again—reservations, but no tickets. Standby, round two. And then—miracle number two—as exactly five seats opened up. We boarded together, grateful, relieved, and a little stunned that no one was left behind.

Our first night on Kauai felt like the welcome we’d hoped for. We stayed at a hotel about twenty minutes from the airport with a beautiful view, a pool, and freely roaming peacocks and “Hehe” roosters roaming freely. The kids were in heaven. With a late checkout, we let them soak in every minute. At breakfast, we were handed a tray of local flowers to tuck into our hair—a sweet little moment that made us feel like we’d officially stepped into the Aloha spirit.

The next day we headed north to join a Workaway community just past Hanalei. Our host was a single father homeschooling his three kids—close in age to ours—and we were excited for another cultural exchange. Our group included two women from Germany, a man from Italy (who we later learned is actually from Israel), and two young adults from Minnesota and Oklahoma. The draw for us was the chance to serve, learn, and contribute to a shared home, much like our experience in Poland. We arrived hopeful and ready to jump in.

Hawaii itself is breathtaking. It’s easy to see why people call it paradise. But we quickly learned that the island’s history and present‑day tensions are complicated. Our host explained that many locals on Kauai are descendants of the original settlers and have been pushed out by tourism. Since their Queen was captured and imprisoned, the native people have felt forced to let go of their culture, language, and heritage. With the lack of respect they often receive from tourists, some locals don’t want to see or hear visitors at all. The very street we stayed on we weren’t allowed to walk, so our host could maintain good relationships with the neighbors. It was a strange contrast—lush mountains, tropical flowers, and ocean breezes outside, but a sense of being hidden away inside. Paradise with a side of “please don’t be seen.”

And then there was the community dynamic. We were told this would be a place to contribute ideas, lead out, and collaborate. Instead, we found ourselves in a rigid routine with constant corrections and conflicting instructions. It felt more like a micromanaged dictatorship than a shared community. It was stressful. As much as we loved the people we lived with and the friendships our kids formed, the environment itself was draining and started to feel like a “paradise prison.” Beautiful on the outside, emotionally claustrophobic on the inside.

Weekends quickly became our saving grace. Even in the rainy season—muddy hikes, flooded roads, consistent rain showers—we made it a point to get out. We played in big storm waves, watched Phil catch a few seconds of real surfing, and found our weekly treat at Pinks ice cream in Hanalei. In a fun twist, we learned the soon‑to‑be owner of Pinks is the daughter of a family Phil and I both knew growing up in Indiana. Only in the LDS world do you run into someone you know across the ocean. We didn’t make this connection on our own though—it was our mutual Sunday school teacher from the same ward who recognized her while they visited us. That visit and connection became a highlight of our stay.

Our ward—an hour away—became our refuge. It was the first time church truly felt like a “home away from home” in the sense of emotional safety. The love, kindness, and testimonies of faith shared each week helped bring us back to the peace we were needing each week. While we’ve often been told we are needed wherever we go, this experience opened my eyes to see that being “needed” doesn’t always apply to what you can do for others, but sometimes means being in a place where God can give you what you need through others. And with all the triggers this experience brought up for me personally, the need to feel more of that love was a reminder that challenges and trials are invitations to let more of God’s love into our lives.

While our living situation was stressful, God has a way of helping us see the good we can take away from the experience. We were humbled as we learned about the struggles of German government from one friend, hearing our Italian/Israeli friend’s perspective on growing up in Israel and the challenges his family faces today, then watching our girls bond with the local girl through makeovers, baking, and sleepovers. We connected really well with the majority of our community and found purpose in being there, even supporting some of them through their rough transition as well. It was heartbreaking to watch one of our new friends go from feeling confident to questioning everything about herself in a matter of days as she was criticized and talked down to often. It reminded me how important emotional safety is for anyone to thrive, and it left me thinking about creating our own communal place of refuge, healing, and growth for people coming out of situations like this.

After four weeks of watching our situation shift from uncomfortable to unsustainable, we knew we needed to make a decision: stay the remaining ten weeks or change our plans. Weighing all our highlights against the stress and frustrations made the decision harder. We tried to talk with our host about the discontent we were feeling to see if improvements could be made, but every attempt was brushed off or ignored. Eventually, after one more dismissal, we knew we had our answer. We told the kids we were likely to leave, and the tears were heavy—because despite everything, they loved it there. But once the decision was made, the peace we needed settled in.

Our final weekend here we had the opportunity to help out in a community service project. Many of the coconut trees are being infected by large beetles and it was our job to dig through the mulch and look for any sign of them or their nest of eggs. After an hour of searching, no one found anything- great news. Afterwards we planted some trees and the kids got to play on the zipline before we enjoyed a local lunch of chicken and papaya soup.

Even though this wasn’t the paradise we imagined, we’re genuinely grateful for what it gave us. The miracles that got us there, the people who crossed our path, the lessons tucked into the hard moments, and the clarity that finally settled in — all of it shaped us in ways we didn’t expect. Hawaii reminded us that even the most beautiful places can stretch you, surprise you, and teach you things you didn’t know you needed to learn.

We also found ourselves practicing more grace — for ourselves, for others, and for the parts of the journey that didn’t look the way we hoped. God’s love showed up in small but steady ways: in the kindness of our ward, in the friendships that formed quickly, in the conversations that opened our eyes, and in the peace that came once we made our decision.

So we’re taking the good memories with us — the laughter, the connections, the little miracles — and letting the rest become wisdom for the road ahead. As we head back to Texas to regroup and prepare for the next places we feel prompted to go, we’re carrying a clearer sense of what our family needs, what we value, and how we want to show up in the world.

Paradise didn’t look the way we expected, but it still gave us exactly what we needed. And we’ll be back again soon to experience more of what this beautiful island has to offer. ‘Aloha Oe’.