Emily Niehoff - Blog 2

               I remember complaining to my mother. I did not want to go to some foreign place with a group of people that I barely knew. I said that I felt sick, that I would be isolated if I went, and if she did make me go I would have a miserable time and come back unfulfilled and upset. I was totally and completely wrong.

              The summer before my freshman year was one of the best times of my life and not because I went to some far away country and lounged in a beach side chair or because I went to an amusement park and enjoyed the playful atmosphere. No, instead, I went to the small area of Schuylkill County, Pennsylvania. It was a desolate and impoverished town known for its crime and drug scene, and yet that town taught me more than any pink sand beach ever could. 

              The church that my family and I have attended since I was born is forty-five minutes away from my house. So, for obvious reasons, I did not know many people in the youth ministries because I was only there once a week and most of the kids, who lived close to the church, went to the same school had already formed their tight impenetrable clusters of giggling girls.