Gate D24 was just ahead. Gate D24, it’s where our plane was parked. Gate D24, it’s where I’d meet 23 strangers for the first time.

I passed Gate D24 and fled to the bathroom which equated to one part actually using the bathroom, and the other part hiding away praying to God, Lord Jesus, that He would be with me every step of the way. He assured me – I’ve prepared the way, I’m here, you’re more than prepared for this trip.

I opened the door to that bathroom intentionally, knowing once I walked out, there was no other choice but to go meet those strangers at Gate D24 and embark on this life-changing trip. I washed my hands, grabbed ahold of my overstuffed carry-on suitcase, and started walking.

It was strangely beautiful, stepping into this risk I’d chosen, this risk He’d chosen for me. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed a little crazy.

She was the only one I could see as I approached. She was engaging others from the group, and she looked warm and welcoming and before I even met her, I knew we’d get along. It was comforting, this knowing, this feeling before I even walked into Gate D24, that there’d be at least one person I’d mesh with instantaneously.

I approached. Tonya, the woman I noted before I entered Gate24, introduced herself immediately. She was just as great as I thought she’d be. Marcia and her daughter Gaelyn were there, and Jenna and Kayla too.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of strangers gathered together for a singular purpose, to love on the people of Haiti and specifically, those served and blessed by Compassion International.

A woman approached. “Are you Jillian’s friend,” she said? “Yes!” I exclaimed! The woman introduced herself. Joy was her name. She was friends with Jillian, our family friend who’s adopting two children from an orphanage in Haiti. Ya, the Jillian I told you about a couple weeks ago, the Jillian that got me going on this whole Haiti thing in the first place. And the odd thing was? I knew already Joy’s last name, because I’d seen it pop up through Jillians’ Faceboook feed and on the orphanage Facebook page I’ve follow faithfully since we sent those gifts.

Joy was on her way to visit the two children she’s in the process of adopting from Haiti, a 2-year-old and a 9-year-old. I asked her if she was traveling by herself. She noted casually, “I’ve been to Haiti gazillions of times. When you’ve been here that many times you kind of know your way around.” (or something like that) I shared with Joy that I’m traveling with Compassion, that I’m not exactly sure the name of the city we’re going to first.

Conversation between the two of us was brilliant, so natural. Like I wanted to be Joy’s best friend right now. I shared how I’m already fairly confident this won’t be my last trip to Haiti. “Ya,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once.”

Ya. Perhaps it’s best we don’t even talk about that quite yet.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of Joy at Gate D24. And I couldn’t help but think as we parted ways, how equally beautiful it would be to hop on a taxi with Joy to the orphanage, as it’s going to be to spend this week with Compassion. Pretty sure my heart could be pulled a whole host of places in Haiti and find a place.

“I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once,” she said.

Strangely beautiful.

I got on the plane and found myself seated, once again, in-between two grown men my dad and father-in-law’s age. So what’s the deal with me being plopped in-between two men on this trip, God? Yesterday AND today? One thing I knew for sure, my dad and father-in-law would be happy I was in good company. They were gentlemanly Alabama men with long drawled out accents. They spoke of their trip to Haiti where they’ll be building a school and desks. Just men on the trip, 15 to be exact. They even brought nails, because apparently when a group of them came last year, the nails made in Haiti split right in two. So they brought their own “American-made nails” this time around. Our conversation was blessed, natural, filled with the Spirit. We parted ways as the flight landed, saying good-bye three, four, five times to these strangers I’d just met. But they felt like family.

Strangely beautiful.

Groups gathered just outside the gangway in Haiti, as in, the most group travel I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. It seemed everybody was traveling with a group. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like community. It felt purposeful, life-filling, it felt like this is the way all of life is supposed to be.

Strangely, strangely beautiful.

A sea of ebony faces were waiting just outside the airport exit. It nearly took my breath away. I held back tears as I walked forward with my overstuffed carry-on. As I peered to my right, the first vehicle I noticed was open air, “tap tap” they call those vehicles here in Haiti. Painted on the creme canvas was UN. It was all like a movie. Only this time, I was in the movie.

Strangely beautiful. Strangely, strangely beautiful.

We got in the van. Some men threw the extra luggage on top of the van next to us. My red suitcase, filled-up to 48 pounds, was one that landed on the top of the van. And we thought that was crazy until another van piled high with suitcases on top passed on the other side.

And as we drove to our final destination for today, one they said would take an hour and a half but I have no idea how long it took, we saw the real Haiti I’d been called to, the real Haiti I’d been longing to see.

People bathed in streams. Laundry hung from lines. Cows and goats roamed free. Shanty houses salt and peppered the barren mountainside. Men sold big piles of bananas on street corners. And women carried big pots of fruit and supplies in buckets on their heads. There were tent communities and broken down buses right aside palm trees and scenic ocean fronts. I wanted to step right in to it all, the same way I want to step into the wetlands when I take summer runs in the evening back home. I wanted to jump right out, immerse myself, be right in the middle of it.

They say there’s a honeymoon period when you travel to developing countries. So be it. Bring on the honeymoon, God. And let me stay right in the middle of that honeymoon. Because these feel like my people, this feels like my place.

And it’s strangely, strangely beautiful.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Apparently the guy in front of me in the security line at the airport knew the guy behind me. They talked through me, as if I wasn’t even there. And I didn’t even care.

“What’s new?” said the middle-aged man in front of me, his hair bleached blonde, skin tan and wrinkled a bit.

The man behind me responded promptly, “Same old, same old.” His hair was dark, clean cut, his presentation professional, business-like. “Money. Money. Money.” He paused a bit before adding “the recession hit me really hard.”

“I stepped out of the rat race four years ago,” exclaimed the blonde. “It’s kind of fun traveling around and all that.”

“On a golfing trip?” asked the business man.

“Ya, I’m going to Orlando for a tournament.” replied the blonde, smiling with ease.

The business man stated what might be an obvious downfall to the blonde man’s lifestyle. “The only problem with being a ‘professional golfer’ is that you have to pay for it all yourself.”

And with that, an airport official yelled to the crowd. Security line two only had an 8-minute wait, and ours was bound to be a 25-minute wait. The whole lot of us fled the scene, speed walking to line two.

I never did get to hear the end of that story, how the blonde man would respond to this questioning, these challenges about leaving the rat race and “paying for it all yourself.” I wasn’t engaging in that conversation other than to overhear, so I might’ve never learned why the blonde man left the rat race, or how he used to earn a living, or how he earns a living now, or anything else about his old life compared to his new life as a “professional golfer.” Speaking of, was he really a professional golfer? Or was he a “professional golfer?” And I never did get to delve deeper with the business man to determine exactly how the recession hit him hard, how he knew this blonde man in the first place, or what he’d do if he left the rat race. But those guys got me thinking.

An hour later, I boarded the plane.

As we ascended, I noted the ground blanketed in white snow. Squares, rectangles and L-shapes divided most of the land into some sort of box. It was, of course, a sight I’d seen before. But this time, I saw those boxes in a new light.

Perhaps we box ourselves in.

Perhaps we’ve divided up God’s land so perfectly, pristinely and professionally, we don’t even realize how boxed in our lives have become.

Could it be that we move from our boxed in home, to our boxed in car, to our boxed in workplace, to our boxed in cubicle, and then back to our boxed in home again? In our free time we go to boxed in churches, boxed in restaurants, boxed in coffee shops, boxed in museums, boxed in movie theaters and boxed in hotels. When we’re sick we go to boxed in hospitals, and when it’s time to learn we go to boxed in schools. And just about everything we do happens on some piece of square or rectangular boxed in piece of land, and we don’t even know we’re living that way until we see it from above.

Could I be exaggerating to make a point? Sure.

Of course, there are roads that wind, curve. They’re paved and they’re pretty, but they’re headed to a particular planned out destination. There are cul-de-sacs, cloverleaves, and turn-abouts, baseball diamonds, open-air football stadiums, and rough and rural areas that don’t have shape.

But really, how much of your life is spent in a box? How much of my life has been spent in a box?

Time passed. And before I knew it, I looked down and the blanket of white snow was gone. But the boxes remained. All I could see were boxes. Boxes everywhere. Big boxes, little boxes, boxes within boxes. And now, box-shaped pools.

So it’s true. This boxing in isn’t an isolated phenomenon.

I felt uncomfortable in my window seat as I tried to find the right time to take my camera out of the case and take a picture to remember this realization about our boxed in lives. Body language experts claim you exhibit insecurity when you rest your hand on your neck. Ya. My left hand was all over my neck, my right hand all over the camera as I brought it up just long enough to capture these boxes a little closer.

As I sat eating Chick-Fil-A, waiting for my connecting flight to Miami, I found myself uncomfortable, insecure again. There I sat in my sweatshirt, black jeans, white socks, and old black tennis shoes I haven’t worn for a couple years. A woman sat down next to me. Her outfit sparkled and it was classy and she was put together. I felt like a frump and knew on any other trip than this one to Haiti, I’d be dressed much more like her. And in that moment, I became painfully aware of how much I care about my appearance.

Ya. Appearances. My safe little box. I do care what I look like. And I want it to appear, to you, that I’m doing the right thing, making the right decision, behaving the way I should. I don’t want to appear as if I’m stepping out of my safe little box. If I suddenly disappear and appear outside of my safe little box, what will you say?

But you know what I had to realize? I am stepping out of my safe little box.

This sweatshirt and black jeans (they’re sparkled on the butt, by the way), and the white socks with the black tennis shoes? So horrible. It’s kind of geeky. And I’d never wear this anywhere important in real life.

But this is my real life. And it’s important, really important. And I’m still me. In fact, it’s possible this trip to Haiti might force me to be and become me more than I’ve ever been before.

The seat belts in the shuttle squeaked loudly on the way to the hotel. The woman in front of me grabbed her seatbelt and pulled it tight. I let mine squeak.

It was Saturday afternoon, but Miami traffic was painfully slow. The driver shared with us – there’d been a big accident. Two fatalities.

And I couldn’t help but think about the blonde golfer guy and the dark-haired professional. It hit home for me and all of us, really. If you were to die today, would you die in the box or out of the box? Do you find yourself trapped in the Americanized rat race of ought to, should, totally could? Or do you secretly long to jump out of the box, running wild and free after God’s unique dream for you?

As for me? I choose, in faith, to step out.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

It couldn’t be any more official. I’m going to Haiti, and soon.

Before I go, I thought it would be a good time to look back, and also look forward with anticipation.

I spent all of February sharing my journey to Haiti. I shared the heart I had for child sponsorship since I was a child myself. I let you in on the moment when the rubber hit the road, when our family was able to meet some of the physical needs of children living in an orphanage in Haiti. I edited and republished a post that’s near and dear to my heart, the post in which I tell the unforgettable story about my ONE day in Haiti 16+ months ago. And I shared a little insight into my heart’s journey – the crazy feelings, the quiet reflections, and the certainty with which I’ve been called to go.

As I reflect on all that’s happened and make my final preparations, I realize I haven’t shared much about this trip to Haiti. While I can’t share every detail because I wish to maintain a certain level of privacy and ensure safety along the way, I’m excited to share these 10 nitty gritty details about my trip to Haiti!

1) I’m traveling with Compassion International. According to the Compassion website, “Compassion International is a Christian child development organization dedicated to releasing children from poverty. Our ministry is twofold: We work through local churches to provide child development programs to deliver children from economic, physical, social and spiritual poverty, enabling them to become responsible, fulfilled Christian adults. And we speak out for children in poverty – informing, motivating and equipping others to become advocates for children.”

2) I received my first email about Compassion’s sponsor trips last winter. I knew immediately it was an opportunity I wanted to take. On July 1, 2013, I completed the online registration and clicked the button that meant I’d be traveling to Haiti in February 2014.

3) In November 2013, I received a box from Compassion which included some basic supplies I’d need for the trip, as well as an information packet with details about our trip and preparations we’d need to make before leaving. Approximately two weeks ago, we received a final mailing from Compassion, which included our itinerary for the six-day trip, emergency contact information, and list of fellow travelers.

4) My journey will be shared with 22 individuals from across the United States. I don’t know anyone else going on the trip! Does this make me a little nervous? Yes. But remember, I’m the person who has absolutely no problem going to a restaurant or movie theater by myself, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be just fine.

5) While in Haiti, we’ll be visiting two Compassion child development centers. Hundreds of children receive care at each child development center, so it’s bound to be an exciting and moving experience. We’ll observe the staff at work, and will also have plenty of opportunity to engage with the children one-on-one and in small groups. Ya, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be in my element.

6) Two days, we’ll have the opportunity to visit the homes of families and children assisted by Compassion. We’ll visit homes of moms and babies enrolled in Compassion’s Child Survival Program, and we’ll visit homes of children registered in the Child Sponsorship Program. It’s going to be an absolute honor and delight to visit families’ homes in Haiti. I’ll have more to say about these home visits in future posts. Guaranteed.

7) I’ll be spending ONE FULL day with our TWO sponsored children! I just received notice five days ago that each sponsor will have their own translator assigned for that day so our communication with the children will be completely unhindered. I’m pretty sure each child will be accompanied by one significant other, so I’ll be spending that day with 1 sweet boy, 1 sweet girl, and 2 significant adults. As you might imagine, I’m really excited about this day.

8) We’ll be spending one day in Port-au-Prince, where we’ll visit the Compassion Haiti country office and spend some time on the ground perusing the markets and engaging locals. This day will wrap up with a unique opportunity to meet with graduates of Compassion’s Child Development Program who are now enrolled in Compassion’s Leadership Development Program. It’s going to be compelling to hear, first hand, how Compassion has changed the lives of these young adults.

9) Five days ago, I received word that the wi-fi at the location we’ll be staying at in Haiti is great. So if all goes well, wi-fi continues to be great, and time allows, I plan to blog every day I’m in Haiti. If you don’t hear from me one day, know I’ve hand-written something in a journal and will post later as time and/or internet connection allows.

10) And last, but definitely not least, I wanted to introduce you to our Compassion children. Bethchaida, our sponsored child, is 5-years-old and will be turning six in April! We’ve been sponsoring her since August 2012. And Djino, our correspondent child, just turned 12-years-old at the end of January. We’ve been corresponding with him since December 2012. So excited to meet these children and show them just how much they are loved.

Blessed to share this journey with you.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

There’s a quiet here, in this waiting before the story.

It’s a feeling I’ve had before.

This waiting, nesting, preparing, quieting the spirit and mind before birth, before the arrival of new life, it’s familiar.

I wonder – what’s the purpose?

I know – there’s a purpose.

I believe – He has a plan.

I dream – it’ll make perfect sense.

I trust – believing He’s prepared the way.

I rest – knowing He’s called.

This story and that story, they’ll be my best.

My heart’s prepared to do its work.

My eye’s prepared to see.

To go, to let go, it’s all He wants now.

So I surrender to the call.

I pack.

I prepare.

And I wait.

I quiet.

It’s the quiet before the story.

New birth, for me.

Amy

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.  Isaiah 42:16

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Crazy.

It’s the word I use to describe this feeling I’ve had more than once this past year.

When you find yourself thinking about things that might throw average Joe completely off his rocker?

Crazy.

When average Joe might actually call you crazy, call you a dreamer, if you told him about those things you were thinking?

Crazy.

When you find yourself believing this or that or just about anything could actually happen?

Crazy.

When it’s no longer your plan but God’s plan you’re believing?

Crazy.

When you find yourself talking and suddenly you’ve crossed over into the realm of the unknown, that other-world feeling, when you just have to say out loud – I know this is crazy, far-fetched, hard to believe it could ever be possible, but…

Crazy.

When you’re tired of thinking, tired of just believing, tired of talking and know there’s something else you’re supposed to do?

Crazy.

When you just have to start acting, living this life differently?

Crazy.

When you want to jump out of your skin thinking about living another day in this boxed in American dream?

Crazy.

When you realize the American Dream has very little to do with the living out of God’s God-sized dream for you?

Crazy.

When thinking and thinking and thinking some more brings you back to the same answer every time?

Crazy.

When praying and praying and praying some more brings you back to the same answer every time?

Crazy.

When you decide, after all that thinking and praying and talking, to start believing it might just be true?

Crazy.

When He’s calling you to Go somewhere that wasn’t even on your radar five, ten, fifteen years ago?

Crazy.

When you know with all your heart that going might finally, once and for all, decimate your fears, your long held beliefs about what’s right and wrong, good and bad, your wanting to do what’s best in the eyes of people instead of God?

Crazy.

When Going means it’s time to take that leap of faith and start doing, living out God’s God-sized dream for you?

Crazy.

When it’s almost time to go and you realize all that preparing and packing added up to a 50-pound suitcase of things for people you really don’t know?

Crazy.

And ya, because nothing in that 50-pound suitcase is for you, it means you’re going to be packing the absolute lightest you’ve ever packed in your life?

Crazy.

When you show your spouse the suitcase you spent all afternoon packing, and a part of you can barely breathe and barely be contained, and you wonder if he can see a little bit of the excited, outlandish craziness in your eyes?

Crazy.

When the way he looks at you tells you – yep – he thinks I’m a little crazy right now. But he loves you and frees you to go anyway?

Crazy.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.