"Before we get out, let's figure out how we're going to do this," Headlee told the group as they arrived at the endless sea of tents where the homeless tsunami survivors now live. "I don't want to be mobbed," Headlee explained as Nielsen stacked the Ziplock bags full of the yarn necklaces and bracelets on the car seat.

"We won't give them out in the big groups, but instead when we see that it's right," Nielsen said while stuffing the bags in her pockets. "Let's make sure we don't make a scene," Headlee replied.

The group opened the doors of the vehicle and before each person set both feet on the ground they were surrounded by children. The young crowd had no idea what the women had brought with them but wanted to get as close as possible. Sharette pulled out her camera but struggled to free her arms to take any pictures.

"Picture, picture," several young voices yelled while bodies jumped in the air trying to get in any potential shot. "Hello, hello," Sharette responded back.

The group walked through the camp giving out bracelets and necklaces to the swelling crowd, which included adults seeking anything from the foreigners.

The residents of the camp seemed energized by the interaction and attention. Nielsen, Headlee and Sharette were clearly overwhelmed.

"Look at the smiles," Nielsen said to the others. "They are smiling, everyone is smiling," she said in amazement while shaking hands and hugging dozens of children who lost everything from homes to siblings to parents. "Their resiliency is unbelievable," she said.

When asked on the car ride back to the group's temporary home, what kind of difference the group felt they were making, Nielsen replied, "We may have only necklaces and beads for these people, but we also are offering an embrace. I cannot communicate in their language the hope I want them to have for the future, but I am confident they can feel through me why I am here and the hope I bring."

"Did you see them?" Sharette asked. "We could learn a lot from them. These people have lost everything. They are living in tents with no water, no sanitation, no electricity. They are surrounded by mud. They no longer have husbands or wives. Children have lost all their family and they can manage to smile. Did you see them smiling?" she asked.

After the group returned to their house, they collected their possessions and packed for the flight home. They hadn't showered, mosquitoes had covered everything, the heat had been unrelenting, and the smell of bodies and burning debris omnipresent, but the group felt reluctant to leave. "A piece of me will always be here," Nielsen said.

After the women retired late in the night, a man who walked up earlier in the day and volunteered to help assemble the family survival kits was still sitting under a porch light outside in the wet heat. He too was reluctant to go home, if he had a home.

"Tired," he managed to communicate in English. A translator asked him a question about the Americans asleep inside. His response was put into English. "We lost everything. Our city is ruined. Why did these women come? Why come to Banda Aceh?" he asks.

For the women, the answer was clear.