A few months ago I was sitting on a lovely patio in a staff meeting, enjoying a little sunshine, good company and good food. I'm a Sr High volunteer at my church, and hanging out with other adults who love teens is one of my favorite things to do. Shawn (our fearless and crazy leader) had just finished going over some upcoming events, and moved on to the next thing on the agenda: an upcoming summer missions trip to Haiti.
So... I did what I always do when Shawn starts talking about something that doesn't pertain to me; I tuned him out. I'm really good at it, actually. I got up and grabbed a cup of coffee and settled back in my seat, thinking about pedicures and grocery lists and weekend plans.
Suddenly, my heart started pounding. 'Wow', I thought. 'This is some strong coffee.'
But over the next several minutes I realized that it wasn't the coffee. You know that feeling you get when you know you're supposed to do something, or say something, or talk to someone? And it's unavoidable and uncomfortable? In that moment, I knew God wanted me in Haiti. Oh snap.
Now let me back up. My son Ellis had signed up for this trip. I did not. I've never been on a missions trip, and this one sounded pretty hard core. The construction team would essentially be camping out, and bring all of their own food, and building a church. We're talking raw sewage, wearing skirts with work boots and working in 98 degrees with rain. Oh, and mosquitos the size of Kim Kardashian's engagement ring. Seriously. Can you see me with a hammer and work gloves? I think not.
I even tried to ignore the feeling for a few days, hoping it would just go away. It didn't. It wasn't that I wanted to go, it was that I felt this overwhelming sense that I had to go.
So here I am. I leave tomorrow. By Friday I'll be slapping mosquitos and learning how to swear in Haitian Creole.
But seriously, I have no idea what to expect. I just know that I have to go.
I'm told I might have internet access in Haiti, so check back here for pics and updates.
Mèsi pou fè lekti!