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Over the summer the News & Record has spotlighted the work and the fun moments of youths such as these, who in many cases spent the past year raising money to be able to reach out to help someone else by living their faith. The series ends this week.

Upon landing in Haiti, we were stuffed into the back of a truck and jerked across the city of Port au Prince. I stared out the windows, flinching every time a car came barreling toward us. No lines marked street lanes. No rules guided the flow of traffic. It was every man for himself.

One boy hopped on the back of a bus, his feet on the back bumper and his hands clutching whatever was convenient. I gasped as I saw him fall off and roll out in front of an oncoming car that skillfully swerved around him. The boy calmly collected himself, adjusted his sandals, and sprinted back up to the bus to reclaim his previous position.

I would soon learn the motto that all foreigners must learn when visiting Haiti: TIH (This is Haiti). It's taken from the movie Blood Diamond and is a phrase used to describe the chaos, brutality and randomness of Africa - TIA - This is Africa.

When I walked out of our guest house after our first night and couldn't escape the smelly conglomeration of burning trash, marijuana smoke, and human excrement, I had to remind myself, TIH.

When I stood in the middle of the orphanage that we visited amid rooms of sick, sallow babies longing for physical touch and care, I questioned the existence of God and hissed, TIH. As we journeyed 100 miles in eight hours, viewed the squalor of the Haitian countryside and the sight of a grown man peeing on the side of the road, we nonchalantly thought, TIH.

Even as 22 of the 31 members of our team vomited and had diarrhea for 24 hours, we laughed at the situation and chimed, TIH.

Being in Haiti was truly like being in another world. The people have next to nothing. The nation's capital looks like the remains of an ancient city that fell to ruin in some devastating war. Maybe its inhabitants just stumbled upon the remains and crept into the skeletons of once functional edifices.

The streets are lined with sewage ditches, forcing the aroma of every citizen's past few meals into the nostrils of all. There is no garbage system in Haiti so if you find some trash not heaped in the large piles found on every street corner, it's probably being burned, adding to the already delightful scent of Haitian air.

But what I did not mention earlier in my description of Haiti was the gorgeously lush mountainside as we traveled from Port au Prince to Maissade. Or the words "Merci Jesus" - Thank you Jesus - that were painted above the doorway of one of the isolated shacks.

I also did not mention that everywhere we went we were greeted by smiling faces and friendly waves. On our first day of work, we journeyed to the Good Shepherd School, where we played with kids and began the foundation of a new kitchen. While we were there, kids would come out of nowhere and take a shovel from our hands in order to help us. One kid (who was wearing no shoes) gave me a necklace that bore the cross after finding out that I was a Christian too. He gave one of his few possessions...to me. I tried to refuse the gift but to no avail.

I also failed to mention the conviction of Jethro, the Young Life leader in Maissade. He is jobless, works only as a volunteer, and yet he is completely devoted to serving God and spreading his Word.

Bouzy, part of the local Haitian Young Life staff, expressed his desire to share to the whole world the love and grace of Jesus Christ. Noyo and Wadney, also Young Life staffers, grew up with a voodoo-practicing mother and discovered Christ by themselves and are now two of the five members of the Haiti Jenn Vi (Young Life in Haitian Creole) staff.

The other 10 men and women that accompanied us throughout our adventure were all volunteers. How many of us would work for free in a country where we have no money, water, air conditioning, or promise of a next meal. That's sacrifice.

So I have come away from Haiti with a stronger appreciation for what I have been given, where I live, and how easy my life is compared to the rest of the world. I have also learned to be more humble and content with my lot here on Earth.

Most importantly, I have lost my sense of pity for the people of Haiti, and replaced it with one of longing and admiration. Although Americans are perhaps unfairly blessed economically, religiously, and politically, we display far more want and complaint than the citizens of Haiti.

Seth Crawford is a senior at Northwest High School