Enjoy the video of the Sierra Service Trip intergenerational service trip that was held August 1-8, 2026.
For decades, First United Methodist Church of Santa Monica (FUMC) has answered the call to serve communities across the country.
We partnered with the Sierra Service Project (SSP), for a week-long intergenerational service trip from August 1-8, 2026, sending a dedicated work team to the Teec Nos Pos Chapter of the Navajo Nation in Arizona. SSP is a trusted partner working with local communities to provide essential home repairs.
This year was special as they participated in SSP’s intergenerational program, creating an opportunity for all ages in our church family to serve side-by-side, sharing faith and building community.
Our team concentrated on high-impact projects that directly improve quality of life and safety for community members.
- Safety & Maintenance: Erecting sheds for storing heating wood and performing general, critical home maintenance tasks.
- Accessibility: Construction of accessibility ramps and stairs.
- Weather Protection: Building protective porches and awnings for snow and weather protection.
Reflections of an August Adventure in the Navajo Nation
By Kendra Gorlitsky
September 2026
Why would a doctor who works with LA unhoused and asylum seekers choose to vacation on land that regularly bakes its participants under 100 degree skies?
Would I assuage some sense of ‘white guilt’ for what happened at Wounded Knee, which I learned about at 19? Might I gain some knowledge of native healing practices? Would I be refreshed by new friends and closer ties with people from my church for whom I already had some fondness? Did I want to test my body’s endurance as I challenged it with work under super arid conditions?
Whatever the reason I signed up.
What did I learn? Gain?
Road trips are best taken with a myriad of characters. Our car had, among others, an ancient languages specialist and a progressive architect, both of whom kept us all entertained if somewhat intimidated by their storehouse of knowledge that left our meager familiarity with The Odyssey (thanks Hollywood) and Frank Lloyd Wright–in the dust.
Our first pit stop was Needles, where temperatures were above 110, giving us all pause to reconsider what we had gotten ourselves into. But the roadside cafe was kitsch and fun. Very ‘Route 66.’
My first roommate in the hotel we stayed at for one night only was a fearless pastor who had service experiences like this and drove her own truck to join us from Northern California. She shared my ongoing avoidance of Walmart as we sought other venues for batteries and personal fans.
The next day, as we approached our destination on Navajo land, I was struck by how far apart most natives live. The number of cars surrounding humble homes and trailers signaled perhaps multiple generations and families living together.
I bought a local newspaper and learned of the importance of reclaiming language to a group from which much has been taken. Their politicians rise and fall on their familiarity with their mother tongue. Other hot topics included how to develop or not be exploited by those who would mine their remaining natural resources.
Finally we arrived at the chapter house, the central gathering building for the tribe which was graciously sharing the building with our work party. Each of us staked a claim to floor space in the clean wide hall.
After we settled in we were invited to eat at picnic tables as the relief of shade started to spread over our outdoor eating area. Dinner was an opportunity to meet others apart from our own already bonded groups.
Bedtime was a delightful stroll down memory lane as the staff read us a bedtime story after the lights went out firmly at 9 pm. A lifelong happy insomniac, I thought I’d never endure such a curfew, but the surprising lack of snoring facilitated a quick and deep sleep, to become even deeper as the week progressed and we engaged in physical work to which many of us were unaccustomed.
The first morning we were introduced to power tools by young women much less muscled than Rosie the Riveter, but no less competent. We each took brave if apprehensive turns at saws and drills before we were asked what task we wished to receive as an additional assignment. I picked “hydration sargeant” as I feared I would be the one to be called anyway if one of the workers collapsed from heat stroke. I intended to prevent that with my recently purchased hand mister and ample cold water sent to our various scattered work sites which I was not above pouring on someone’s hot head.
On entering our work area–a trailer in need of a wheelchair ramp for one of its residents–I scouted out the property. Perhaps the most significant thing I did all week was locate a patch of shade at the corner of a storage shed that seemed to garner any breeze
that passed over the dry scrub brush adorned landscape. I insisted we varnish the planks in that shady corner which we all inhabited at lunch and during water breaks.
Luckily, one in our group of 10 was an engineer and an all around handyman. Without him and the occasional “Rosie” directing our amateur efforts, we would have been lost indeed, creating more of a hazard than a help to a mobility challenged individual. But as it stood, some of us (Dave comes to mind) were quick studies, others– like Char, drew on their experience refurbishing old domiciles in their young adulthood. She knew her way around a power sander, impressing and teaching as she tackled the long boards.
We fell into a comfortable rhythm which I did my best to disrupt, irritating the most determined workers with my mister–ready or not! Occasionally we were delighted by the site of wild horses running in a group along the dry landscape, like a bunch of free spirited teenagers.
Lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwich and fruit with food for the soul furnished by the young staff women that happened by to make sure we were appreciating the poetry in the moment of this camaraderie.
Enhancing the experience, particularly for the painters, was the Navajo resident who joined them in the scant shade while Ann and Jill peppered him with queries about his life and culture.
When the work day ended, showers in a trailer furnished for that purpose were enjoyed more than any fancy hotel could have provided, given how sandy and grimy we were by the time we got back to home base. Evening brought program, group tooth brushing regimen, sing alongs (no showing off would be tolerated or attempted).
Jim Dodd managed to climb up on a roof for repairs at his site so we didn’t see him during the day. The other equally charming and helpful Dodd brother, Art, supplied me with a nightly dinner napkin which were in short supply at the tables. He must have noticed my need for refinement and I appreciated the gesture.
The most impressive evening offering came in the form of a 17 year old Navajo youth who honored his grandfather by wearing his dance costume and performing traditional dances while his sisters coached him nearby. Many of us who are grandparents particularly appreciated this reverence for “los mayores” and were touched by his skill and sensitivity.
Our group was asked to provide a closing number one evening. I found a Navajo blessing, “I Walk In Beauty” which we all hurriedly learned a part of and presented as the sun was setting and we stood in the center of our group of workers. Miraculously none of us missed a word. Even more miraculously, a Navajo man who had joined us for many of our dinners, spontaneously recited that same blessing of which he was familiar, singing in his beautiful tongue.
The last workday we really pushed to finish. A swimming adventure in a muddy river was to be our reward, and I was the only one on our team eager to jump in. But first, the engineer was crazed to finish our ramp, and so was I. I reminded him the last bit of drilling required more than his skillful effort and insisted he teach us and let us help. He did, and we finished! But too late for me to get aboard the van headed to the river. One on our team from a different church saw my disappointment and told me to hop in her car. She would find the watering hole. We never did, but I was touched by her hour-long effort, as much as the engineer revealed later that he was touched by my desire to finish”our” ramp. As Pastor Greg told us in a recent sermon, it’s not always ability that counts. It’s also AVAILABILITY.
The last morning on the res I watched the soon to be unrelenting sun gently rise and felt grateful that we still had some adventures ahead. We drove to Monument Valley, to be blown away by the stark beauty of the stone formations. The main tourist center held a pictorial display of the Navajo Code Talkers who helped break the Axis stronghold during World War 2, facilitated by the natives’ ability to relay messages in their indecipherable language. I wondered why many of the Navajos we encountered seemed so proud of their association with the Marines. That was explained when I read the words of an officer addressing the boot camp graduating class composed of natives during the war. The officer described them as amazingly physically fit, motivated, uncomplaining and truly the “first Americans” whom our country was lucky to have on its side.
The last night we were together was hosted by a welcoming church in Flagstaff. There was a street fair going on that night, usually one of my favorite venues. But I was bone tired when one of us suggested we check out an historic saloon to admire the architecture.
I dragged myself along with my equally weary buddies and we soon found ourselves in front of a rousing Irish band. None of us had an urge to imbibe but surprisingly most of us started to dance. We reeled and jigged and the band was thrilled with our participation even if the bartender was a little disappointed. It was the last gasp of our wondrous adventure before we once again curled up on our sleeping spaces on a hard unfamiliar floor.
What did I learn? Surely we could have paid a skilled and needing Navajo crew to construct the roofs and ramps our motley amateur crew worked on. They would have done it better! But we would have lost the opportunity for community. Jim Dodd imagined inviting such a native crew to join and help direct these efforts in the future. That way we would have the best of both worlds.
That’s the beauty of such an adventure. We learn our capacity for work, play, friendship and even are inspired to find new ways to broaden community. I’d do it again in a heartbeat (as long as my eager heart beats …and my hands can hold a power drill steady.)