I’ve spent most of my professional life balancing budgets, forecasting enrollment and managing the financial health of an independent school. As a CFO, I am no stranger to long hours, complex logistics and high-stakes decisions. But nothing in my career fully prepared me for what it would feel like to wake up at 4:30 a.m., tie on a hairnet and start cooking breakfast for 600 people aboard a floating hospital off the coast of West Africa.
And yet — strangely, beautifully — I realized that everything in my life had prepared me for this.
I had the extraordinary opportunity to take a three-month sabbatical from my school beginning October 2024 and lasting through January 2025. The sabbatical was made possible through a generous gift of time and trust from the institution I’ve served for 37 years.
I chose to spend my sabbatical volunteering with Mercy Ships, an organization I’d long admired for its mission: delivering free, life-changing surgeries to people in some of the world’s poorest nations aboard a state-of-the-art hospital ship. What I didn’t fully understand until I arrived was that this mission required not just surgeons and nurses but also cooks, cleaners, engineers, teachers and administrators. The ship runs on more than medical expertise; it runs on the hands and hearts of everyday volunteers who keep life moving for patients and crew.
That’s how I found myself in the galley — the ship’s enormous kitchen — surrounded by industrial ovens, 50-pound bags of rice and a multicultural team of volunteers from around the world. It was humbling, exhilarating and, frankly, exhausting. But what surprised me most was how deeply my life experiences, both personal and professional, prepared me for this very different kind of leadership and service.
At Home in Hospitality
My connection to food service didn’t begin on the Mercy ship. Growing up in New Hampshire, I worked in a family friend’s country inn, where cooking and hospitality were woven into the fabric of daily life. I learned early how to chop fast, season confidently and get breakfast on the table for 30 guests before the coffee finished brewing.
Later, in my professional life, I helped manage our school’s food service program: overseeing budgets, vendor relationships and kitchen staffing. I’ve always had a love of cooking, often planning meals for large gatherings or hosting dinner parties just for the joy of it. So, when the opportunity came to serve aboard the Global Mercy, the galley felt like a natural, if intense, fit. I understood food operations. I respected what it took to run a smooth kitchen. And I have a genuine love for nourishing others, body and soul.
Kitchen on the Sea
Running a galley that feeds 600 people daily is no small feat. Food shipments arrive only twice a month, local produce is purchased from trusted vendors on shore, and every item, from eggs to onions, is logged, stored and rationed to make it last.
As a CFO, I was used to the language of scarcity. I’d learned to stretch a dollar, plan for contingencies and make decisions that balanced competing priorities. Those skills translated seamlessly into galley work. Whether I was estimating how much rice we’d need for dinner or troubleshooting why the potatoes hadn’t cooked through (someone forgot to set the right temperature — again), I was doing what I’d always done: solving problems with limited resources under tight deadlines. Only this time, instead of tuition revenue and faculty salaries, I was calculating pancake batter by the gallon and guessing how many loaves of garlic bread it would take to accompany 40 trays of lasagna.
Leading with Availability, Not Authority
Back home, leadership came with a title, a corner office and a calendar full of meetings. On the Global Mercy, there was no hierarchy in the galley. I was just one of many volunteers — some younger than my children — learning to wash lettuce with purified water and chop vegetables in bulk. But the core of leadership remained the same: Show up, stay calm, listen well and set the tone for the team.
I found that my experience in school leadership helped me support others through the chaos of lunch rush and the fatigue of back-to-back 12-hour shifts. I knew how to delegate, how to encourage and how to create systems to make things smoother for the next shift. And just like in school operations, the details mattered: which knives to use for the tough cassava, how to label leftovers, where to store the hot sauce so it wouldn’t go missing for dinner.
I learned to lead not with authority, but with availability. I had to earn trust, not assume it. And in doing so, I rediscovered the joy of collaboration stripped of titles and turf.
United in Purpose
There is a rare kind of energy aboard the Global Mercy. Imagine a community of over 600 people, from more than 60 nations, all united by a single purpose: to bring healing. That purpose infuses everything, even the mundane.
Scrubbing pans after lunch didn’t feel like grunt work when I knew the patients two decks below were recovering from cleft lip surgeries, burn contracture releases or tumor removals they’d waited years to receive. Each meal we prepared sustained not just patients, but the whole operation: medical staff, deckhands, electricians, teachers, translators and caregivers.
In my role as a CFO at St. Luke’s School, I often spoke about mission alignment, about making sure our budget reflected our values. On board, that concept came alive in a more immediate way. Every dish, every chore, every early morning was an act of service directly connected to someone’s transformation.
I saw this firsthand in the eyes of our patients, many of them children, who had come aboard disfigured, ashamed and in pain, and who left with new faces, new hope and the chance at a different life. One little girl, severely burned in a fire, had been hidden away for years before her family brought her to us. After multiple surgeries and months of recovery, she ran down the gangway with a rainbow bracelet on her arm and a sparkle in her eye. I’ll never forget her joy.
School Skills in a New Context
Though my main assignment was in the galley, I found time outside of shifts to share other parts of myself. I offered financial literacy sessions to the local day crew, who were young Sierra Leoneans working alongside the international volunteers to keep the ship running. We talked about savings, budgeting and how to plan for long-term goals in a context where financial systems can be limited. It was practical and empowering work, and the conversations were rich with curiosity and courage.
I also volunteered in the wards and education rooms, helping some of the pediatric patients learn how to read. We’d gather with picture books, flashcards and paper rainbows cut out by hand. These moments reminded me of my early days in education, and the simple, sacred act of helping a child discover their own voice.
Life Streamlined
Ship life is simple. My cabin was small and shared. My closet had room for only a few changes of clothes. My phone rarely worked. I was cut off from the conveniences of home and the constant buzz of daily life. And it was the freest I’ve felt in years.
You don’t need to be a doctor to heal, or a teacher to serve. You just need to show up, be willing and say yes to what’s needed.
With fewer distractions, I had more room for connection, for reflection, for faith. I joined trivia nights and worship services, formed fast friendships with people from vastly different backgrounds, and learned to laugh at my mistakes — like the day I mistook baking soda for flour. I also learned how much I still had to give, even in a season of life when I thought I’d already done my part.
Volunteering with Mercy Ships reminded me that our skills, no matter how specific, can be repurposed in ways that make a real difference. You don’t need to be a doctor to heal, or a teacher to serve. You just need to show up, be willing and say yes to what’s needed.
What I Brought Back Home
I’ve since returned to my school, changed in quiet but significant ways. I carry with me a deeper appreciation for teamwork, a renewed commitment to servant leadership, and a fresh understanding of how purpose can elevate even the most ordinary tasks.
I still spend my days working on budgets and board reports, but now I also know how to cook for 600 with joy, humility and a heart stretched by service. Mercy Ships didn’t take me off course; it expanded my course. It showed me how the skills I’ve developed in one setting can be a lifeline in another.
And it reminded me that transformation doesn’t only happen in the operating room. It can also happen in the galley — over soup pots, shared stories, alphabet games and the quiet miracle of showing up to serve.
