On November 6, 2011, I posted this on Facebook.

“YES! I have been carrying a huge burden of STUFF for a few years now. Tired of managing stuff, too much stuff, especially burdened seeing our unused kids stuff. As we were cleaning out the basement yesterday, I just told my husband again how I would LOVE to be able to send off some of this kids stuff DIRECTLY to kids far away that have nothing and would appreciate and use it so much. Today, I see a post from Jillian on Facebook who is adopting two children from Haiti, requesting specific Chistmas gifts for children at the orphanage. She tells me they are bringing 12-15 suitcases next visit & lists specific needs of children. LOVE how God has provided me with the opportunity to serve others in the exact way I have been yearning for.”

Jillian responded later that day.

“I love how God works like that! His timing is perfect!”

I couldn’t agree more. His timing is perfect.

I’d watched the TV commercials about child sponsorship. I’d committed to reading every post from Compassion International, Help One Now, and World Help blogging trips from all over the world. And I’d been a loyal follower of my brother’s friend, Jillian, on Facebook as she and her husband have been in the process of adopting two children from Haiti. But the rubber had never hit the road for me until that day, November 6, 2011, when Jillian reached out on Facebook, indicating help was needed to purchase Christmas gifts for children at the orphanage in Haiti.

I felt strongly that this was the best opportunity I’d ever had to jump in and make a difference in the life of a real child in need, so I sent Jillian a message asking for gift ideas and “anything else [she] thought might be helpful at the orphanage.” She sent me a list of five children who still needed a gift for Christmas. Djondarly wanted a Transformer. And Valencia wanted rise-and-shine breakfast play set. Jillian included pictures of the little ones who still needed a Christmas gift. Who could resist these sweet faces? Wouldn’t we all be more generous if we could see the faces impacted by our giving?

So Djondarly and Valencia it was!

I ordered the Transformer and rise-and-shine breakfast set online and packed two apple boxes with clothing, shoes, receiving blankets, toys, and books. I sent the boxes with my mom who brought them to Jillian, and Jillian packed all of my stuff in suitcases she brought to the orphanage later that month.

It was a blessing to provide for children in need. The rubber met the road that November 2011. And for that, I am forever grateful.

God’s timing was and is truly perfect. Everything that happened between then and now? It came together like clockwork. It’s hard to deny God’s hand in every step.

Because Jillian diligently posted updates about their soon-to-be adopted children, I developed a special heart for the people of Haiti.

Because Jillian reached out for help, indicating there were still children who needed a Christmas gift at the orphanage, I had the opportunity to set my childhood dreams into action. The rubber had finally hit the road.

Because of Jillian, I’d developed such a love for Haiti, that when we began planning a family vacation five months later, we had no hesitation considering and booking a cruise that stopped at Haiti for one single day – even if it wasn’t your typical cruise destination.

Because of Jillian, I thought just maybe we’d get the chance to spend our one day in Haiti visiting the orphanage, including her two adoptive children-to-be. And when I discovered there was no way that was going to happen, we thought maybe we’d sponsor a child and spend our one day in Haiti visiting him or her. But when I discovered there was no way that was going to happen either, we decided we’d sponsor a child anyway.

So we did.

My daughter and I chose little Bethchaida from the Compassion International website that August 2012. She was sweet with her mint green dress and white ribboned hair. The longings of my little girl heart had finally been fulfilled.

I didn’t know then, that I’d be visiting Bethchaida and another little boy now. But Jillian? She had a hunch way back in November 2011 that I’d want to Go.

I was pregnant, in fact, about to deliver, when I purchased those Christmas gifts and packed the apple boxes for Haiti. When I sent my final message to Jillian letting her know my mom had the gifts and apple boxes and would be delivering them to her house, she responded with this, just days before she was scheduled to leave for Haiti.

“Awesome!!! Thank you so much! If you weren’t having a baby I would say you should come with us!”

I was just a girl.

I watched shows like Brady Bunch and Little House on the Prairie like they were going out of style. Chips and dip and pink frosted cupcakes were my after-school vices of choice.

But God was at work in my little girl heart, even though I had no history of hearing His still small voice, even though I had no knowledge of what was to come.

Because He knew.

He was molding my heart, making it His. He was placing in me the deepest desire to see, to help, to understand need when I saw it.

So what does any of this have to do with Brady Bunch and Little House on the Prairie? Let me explain.

Marcia Brady was kind and witty, a leader at home and at school, she wasn’t afraid to light the fire in her bones. And Laura Ingalls Wilder captivated my heart like no other – when she battled mean old Nellie on the playground, when she was desperate for Manly to call her Beth, and when she became mama to sweet baby Rose. But it was the moments in-between Marcia and Laura that stole my little girl heart for a lifetime.

Yes, this is what I watched in the in-between.

I was just a girl. No credit cards. No financial means to make a monthly payment. No independence to make that phone call. And didn’t even think to engage my parents about this tug on my heart to sponsor a child.

Those were the earliest days, the earliest recollections of this calling that’s come full circle.

Through the years, time and time again, this commercial and countless others like it, stopped me dead in my tracks. There was something about the children that called out the depths of my little girl heart.

Time passed. Lots of time passed.

Christian Children’s Fund television commercials morphed into Compassion International blog posts from Guatemala, Tanzania, Haiti, and elsewhere.

Blog posts morphed into Facebook posts from my brother’s friend adopting children from an orphanage in Haiti.

Facebook posts morphed into a seemingly random opportunity to impact real children from that orphanage in Haiti.

One random opportunity to impact children in a Haitian orphanage morphed into planning a family vacation which included a one-day stop in Haiti.

Planning a one-day stop in Haiti morphed into sponsorship of a little girl in Haiti.

One day on the ground in Haiti morphed into correspondence with a little boy in Haiti.

And sponsorship of ONE little girl and correspondence with ONE little boy in Haiti morphed into the clicking of ONE little button that meant – yes, it’s time to GO. I’m beyond ready.

I’ve been dying to tell you, jumping out of my skin with excitement since I quietly clicked that button July 1, 2013.

I’m going to Haiti.

The dream, the calling, it never went away. In fact, it only became stronger, clearer with time.

So I’m going, and soon.

I’ll be visiting our little girl and little boy in Haiti on a sponsor trip with Compassion International. And blessings will be sure to flow when I get to meet their families, extended families, friends, and communities they do life with on a daily basis.

I already know what you’re going to ask…this isn’t so much a mission trip as it is a love mission. I won’t be building water wells, houses, schools or bridges. But I will be flying thousands of miles to let people from the poorest country in the western hemisphere know – they are loved, cared for, worthy of absolutely anything and everything. I’m prepared to face the brutal realities of poverty like never before. But I’m also prepared to receive incomprehensible gifts of joy, peace, hope and love like I’ve never known.

Before I go, I’m hoping you’ll join me as I review the steps I’ve already traveled to get to this place. As I get closer to leaving, I’ll share insight into the little and big ways I’ve prepared to go, what I’m excited about, what I’m scared about, what I’m hoping for and believing in. Because retracing the paths God’s had you on, and preparing to walk down them even further – is pretty cool. It makes His plans evident, and gives us hope that He’s ordained every day in advance.

He’s prepared a table, a place for each one of us.

I’m confident he’s set this table for me.

And I’m ready to go. So join me, will you?

As with my #31Days series, I’ll put a graphic for this series on the blog home page. Find the graphic and click to link back here where I’ll include links to every post I write between now and when I return from Haiti. Whether you’re joining me live, in real time, or after the fact when I’m home and settled back into everyday life as I know it, it’s an honor to have you be a part of this life-changing journey.

Amy

Other posts in this month-long series:

When Rubber Hit the Road

Meet Our Brothers and Sisters in Haiti

Crazy

The Quiet Before the Story

10 Nitty Gritty Details About My Trip to Haiti

Will You Stay In Or Step Out of the Box?

Strangely Beautiful

When A Mama’s Beautiful Baby Boy Is Going To Be Your Sponsored Child

How to Empower Girls

Why We First Need to Feed Those Who Are Hungry

Why We Can’t Just Pass by Poverty

Re-Entry

The Boy Who Stole My Heart

With and Without Translation

Journey to Haiti (slideshow with music)

Haiti. Where My Heart Longs to Linger.

I found them hidden away, in a dusty old lockbox that hadn’t been opened for years. I knew they were somewhere, but I had no idea where. A month-long clean out of my closet revealed great treasures, among them, five diaries I’d kept from 7th through 12th grade.

Long before Facebook or Twitter, long before any blogging platform was conceived, there were these old fashioned things called diaries where crazy sentimental people documented every day events. Their deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings were revealed in the forever locked-up recesses of pages for no one to view but themselves. Ya, believe it or not, I was one of those crazy diary keepers.

I didn’t read every word of those five diaries. That would take a day or two. But I learned a lot about myself from what I did read. So how would I summarize my discoveries? The person I am today is fundamentally the same person I was 20-30 years ago. When I step back and make broad sweeping generalizations, it’s pretty remarkable how much I HAVEN’T changed. And it’s phenomenal to see how my past reflected my present.

Curious? Here’s what I found…

So ya, let’s just get that out there. I’ve always been an overachiever, striving to do my personal best. I have to ask myself, why would a 7th grader feel the need to document her grades in her diary if it weren’t internally driven? My only answer is, it’s just who I am, I guess. I want to do well, I’ve always wanted to do well, so be it. Looks like I’ll have to accept that as something that was in me from the start.

I’ve always been detail oriented. In this entry, which I vividly recall keeping for weeks, maybe months, I documented every single shirt a boy-crush of mine owned. What was the point of documenting every single shirt a human being owned, I’m not sure except pure teenage infatuation. The only other explanation is that I am and always have been a detail oriented person. I notice everything, and my brain documents it all, whether I write it down or not. Yep, edging on obsessive, that’s the real, hard truth of who I am.

I like to share my insights, if nothing else for my future self to remember and reflect on. There’s something about the way my brain was wired from the start – I make observations about life, and then I write them down for future reference. In this case, hey, maybe that advice from my teenage self will become valuable four years from now?!

Apparently, I’ve always needed an outlet for processing and documenting my days. The simplicity of this entry tells it all. (And no, I have no idea what the 3 days refers to! Apparently it was important.)

These emotionally charged entries really got me. While the details of what I’d say today would be different, the general feeling is still the same. Ya, still wish people would say what they really think. Ya, still wish people would stop putting off all the things they should do today instead of tomorrow. Yep, still hate it when people are judged by their cover. And yep, still believe the world would be a much better place if people accepted themselves and one another for who they truly are.

This was a power packed page! Where to start? Let’s just forget that first paragraph – complicated, awkward?! And did you note the number one New Year’s resolution from that year? “To be myself (which covers a lot).” Um. Ya. Didn’t I just kick off this month, January 2014, indicating that same desire (re-read When Becoming Yourself Means More Than Just  Bit of Bling)? Maybe it’s time I actually met that goal! And what about the “I really want to be friendly to everybody and make them feel their best. Not that I didn’t do that before, but I really want to do it now.” Interesting. For some reason, this sentence stopped me dead in my tracks when I read it the first time. It tells me there’s something about the way God made me that makes me want to help others feel their best, help them see what’s unique and beautiful about themselves. It’s part of the big-picture goal for my work here on the blog.

OK. I’m a little embarrassed to share this one because it’s a little high and mighty, as if I’m SOOOO beyond high school I can’t stand it. But it provides insight into something I’ve felt most of my grown up life, and that is, I’ve always felt much older than my real age (and LOOKED much younger than my real age). My mom recently reminded me I was walking by 9 months and completely potty trained by 18 months. So I’ve battled this “old soul” feeling for a long time. Perhaps I’ve been given this old soul for a reason?

Fascinating. This is probably the most eye opening diary entry I read. My blog vision page is due for a MAJOR re-vamp, but if you read it as-is today, you will discover the basic vision for this blog is what I wrote in my diary entry 20 years ago. Now if that isn’t telling of God’s working over time in one individual’s heart, I don’t know what is. Why did I have such a strong desire to write that article about lonely, separated, ignored people? I have absolutely no recollection. And why, today, would I state the main purpose of my blog is to provide a voice for people and stories that would otherwise go unheard, untold? These are the little things that make me believe God is real, His desires for my life, unwavering.

So thank you for joining me on this scavenger hunt of a diary discovery! It was a little random, a little kooky, and a little unexpected, but I’m hoping it was as interesting for you as it was fun for me. If you were one of those crazy diary keepers back when, maybe you, too, will take a second look at the words you kept secret. I pray you’ll find hidden treasures that’ll help uncover more of the real you.

Amy

Four days turned into 11 days of the most peace and joy I’d experienced in a long, long time.

But inevitably, things went south on day 12.

It’s not like day 12 came and BAM, everything was bad. That would definitely be exaggerating! Reality was, not-so-fun things kept popping up one after the other, and all combined together, they set me back more than I would have guessed.

On Wednesday, I got a flat tire. The baby was with me, it was 1 degree outside, and since I didn’t know how to install a spare, I had to wait 1 hour and 40 minutes for a tow truck to bring me to the tire station.

On Thursday, my husband left for a 4-day business trip after having already worked 7 weeks straight like a MAD MAN.

On Thursday night, baby was up nearly all night long with a cough and runny nose, crying her eyes out next to me in bed.

On Friday night, I found crusty, dried-up yellow stuff in baby’s ear.

On Saturday, I gave baby a bath only to discover blood and puss coming out of that same ear as I was drying her. A double ear infection is what she had, one of the eardrums ruptured.

On Sunday, I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to get myself and three kids ready to leave the house by 6:20 a.m. to get to a 5th grade boys basketball tournament one hour away by 7:30 a.m. Games 1 and 2 were fine, manageable, tolerable. By game 3, ya, baby and I were on the verge of losing it. The mobile phone car charger we’d bought cheap on eBay wasn’t working. Without GPS, I took the least efficient route home, making it a 1 hour 20-minute drive through snow-blustery winds. And oh ya, I forgot, I’d officially become sick, so everything about me was wearing thin.

On Monday, school was called off for the 4th day this winter due to dangerously cold temperatures, and school was already called off again for Tuesday. All three kids were at home, all day, inside, with nothing to do, and I was sick and completely worn out.

After the two oldest had gotten in a fight, chasing each other around the house yelling stuff and grabbing at each other continuously, I yelled from the couch “STOP IT! YOU NEED TO STOP IT NOW, OR YOU’RE GOING DOWNSTAIRS TO FIGHT BY YOURSELVES! I DON’T FEEL WELL. YOU NEED TO BE QUIET RIGHT NOW!”

Where the Wild Things Are played in the background. Ya, it was pretty much just me watching the movie at that point. Baby was sleeping and the Wild Things were, well, being Wild Things.

They calmed down and I continued my on again, off again watching of the movie while trying to get a little much needed rest.

A half hour later, my daughter approached with a box of tea I’d purchased while life was feeling more peaceful and joyful. “Can I make you some tea, mom? It’s for stress and tension.” (Ya, I knew I’d need that sooner or later.) “Yes,” I said. “That would be awesome. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

I continued to lie on the couch, all snuggled in tight with the last afghan ever knit by my late grandmother, and waited for my tea.

A couple minutes later, after a little direction from a distance, she arrived with the cup I needed more desperately than I knew. I took the cup, tested a sip, and gave that Wild Thing a big hug. “Thank you, that was so kind. You’re such a sweet girl.”

She let me rest in quiet while I drank.

The Wild Things agreed amongst themselves “Mom’s stressed today.” I explained, “it’s not so much stress as it is I’m not feeling well at all, and I really need some rest and quiet.”

Husband was home from his business trip, and I’d planned on isolating myself in the bedroom all night long when he got home from work. I’d planned on making myself a cup of that tea, but realized – receiving that cup as a heart-felt gift from my daughter was much more fulfilling than serving it up to myself.

When daddy came home and I was once again on the couch, he knew “If mom’s on the couch, that means she’s really not feeling well.” So I let him take all three kids to McDonalds. The Wild Thing that gave me tea took my order on a cartoon notepad before she left. Grilled chicken sandwich. Fries. Diet Dr. Pepper.

I got myself a hot shower, lay down in bed under the big fuzzy blanket, and waited in peace and silence until they came back home.

McDonalds was accompanied by the Bachelor wedding of Sean and Catherine, which was followed by another cup of hot tea delivered by the Wild Thing that was.

I glanced again at the tag attached to the tea bag.

The power of love is infinite.

When she delivered the tea, I’d told her this Bachelor wasn’t appropriate for kids, that she needed to go downstairs and spend some time with daddy. But she came back an hour later, “I just wanna spend some time with you.” “Lie down,” I said. “Lie down right here next to me.”

The cares of the day washed away in the moments before she fell asleep. It was in the slowing down, the caring for one another, the receiving of gifts unexpected, where peace and joy were found again.

Amy

I’d found myself there on that couch a couple hours prior. The two oldest were still at school, the barely-a-baby-anymore was napping. There was an hour, at best, before the noise would drown out the quiet again. So I plopped myself on the couch with my laptop. The screen was blank. Time stood still. I looked up, around, pondered many things. Deep questions about the meaning of life surfaced in those moments of quiet. What is the purpose of my life? How can I strip away the excess, the clutter, the unnecessary? How do I go about freeing space and time to make room for the filling of my soul? Why have I been given all this while others live in pieced-together mud, metal and sticks? My eyes were open as wide as they’d been, and I knew, it’s possible to live fully alive, receive without question every beautiful thing under the big, bright sun.

Two hours later, sunlight streamed in on that same spot. The 11-year-old tween played Minecraft to my left, the 8-year-old had gone to play with a friend, which left me and barely-a-baby-anymore with nothing to do but listen to her favorite song, “Mahna Mahna,” on my iPhone.

I sat her in my lap sideways so I could see her still-baby face. Sun came through the window behind her. Her hair glistened, glowed. Snot ran down her button nose and I could see every fuzzy baby hair on her face.

I looked down. Her baby feet were right at my hands. I grabbed them one at a time, one for each hand. She didn’t seem to notice, she didn’t seem to mind. I kissed those still-baby toes, breathed in the unforgettable fragrance of baby feet that’d been in socks all day. A tiny chip of pink nail polish on her big toe reminded me she’s not going to be this little for long. A mama of three knows truth the third time around.

I watched her push the buttons, she’d found a new song. Away went the phone, hidden forever behind my back.

I lifted her in one little swoop and laid her on my legs. Her whole baby body still fit comfortably between my knees and my waist. She bent at the hips, lifted her legs like an infant-baby, and there at my hands were her feet. I grabbed those feet, used them to cover my face, and peered through to the sliver of her baby face that remained. My eye met hers. I broke her feet open wide and we played peek-a-boo many times ’round. A mama of three knows peek-a-boo feet is for babies, babies alone.

We giggled and wiggled in joy and delight. I had triple my fair share of kissing baby toes in the sunlight.

I knew this game would only last so long. So I turned her again, cradled her tight like a baby, tickled up her belly, all the way to her neck. She giggled. I rocked her in tight. It was a beautiful dance, this tickling, giggling, rocking, tightening all close.

Before I released her baby body, I cradled her tight, rocked her like I did 12-15-18-24 months ago. And I saw the baby, the toddler, the big girl. I saw myself, my husband, I saw the woman she’ll be. I took it all in, this holding tight, cradling my barely-a-baby-anymore girl. Because a mama of three knows, it won’t be long before that baby body’ll turn big – the lifting, carrying, cradling will be all but a memory captured in the recesses of her heart.

Six hours later, I find myself on that same spot on the couch, alone. The questions, the ponderings about life remain. The light no longer shines in. The night is dark and the wind howls in the polar vortex of the outdoors. But this mama of three knows – kissing baby toes in the sunlight was a gift, a moment received by her soul, given to be shared, so ALL would know – life is fleeting, grab the moment, every moment, the purpose of your life is here, now.

Amy