Pam from my friends over at Blood:Water Mission has entered a contest which will essentially award B:WM $15,000 if she gets the most votes. Not only has she just entered to get this money for B:WM, she shares an incredible story you’ve got to read.

You can vote every day and it takes a total of 10 seconds to vote.

$15,000 gives 15,000 Africans clean water for a year.

So, please…take a moment to vote.

Click here and use the widget on her blog to vote.

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Also, I’m off to a land far, far away with no internet or mobile coverage…Not even a smidge of it. I’ll be back next week.

Behave!

After a long van ride from Minneapolis, The Ride:Well tour leaders arrived safely into San Diego Wednesday night and slowly, the cyclists are arriving today. We’re being hosted by the fabulous Faith Chapel church who have generously allowed us to take over their campus with our bikes, sleeping bags, and spandex.

It’s been great getting to know each person as they come in and hear why they’ve decided to donate their summer to riding bikes for Blood:Water Mission. There are definitely some serious cyclists on our team (the south team) as well as some newbies, like me.

We’ll be spending pretty much every minute for the next two months with each other, and with that comes cooking for each other, cleaning up after each other, and doing each others’ laundry. We rely on the generosity of host churches and homes, and sometimes with that, surprises abound.

That’s where the part about the janitor and the wake up call comes in.

One of the other leaders, Erin, and I volunteered to do laundry last night for the people who needed it (we have a very limited amount of clothes with us so laundry is almost a daily task). The church has a laundry area — it just happens to be pretty far from the area we were sleeping. We decided it would be easier for us to sleep in the classroom next to the laundry area so we could keep the laundry going into the night and first thing in the morning.

We planned on waking up around 6:30a to finish the last load, but at about 5:45a, the door to the classroom opens, and a very sweet, older man walks in the room. He turns on the light, sees us passed out in our sleeping bags, apologizes, and leaves.

I bet he wasn’t expecting that.

We went back to sleep and five minutes later, he returns with another man — a tall, muscular, Harley-Davidson looking guy with a big beard and bigger biceps.

“Are you ladies supposed to be sleeping in here?”

Oh crap. We are so busted.

“Well…” (I said, stammering)… “We thought it would be easier for us to keep the laundry going if we were in here…” (I continued, trying to dig my way out and wondering how crazy my bed-head looked.)

“It’s no problem,” the Harley guy continued. “I just feel bad for you guys sleeping on the floor when you could have been in the Bridal Suite down the hall. It’s so much more comfortable in there.”

So, our Harley guy ended up being a very sweet teddy-bear of a guy and even as I walked by later with our sleeping bags, he explained how badly he felt that we were sleeping on the floor.

And so begins the journey.

We’ll have a few days of training and cycling here in San Diego, and then Sunday, we’ll be leaving from Faith Chapel church (time is yet to be determined, but if you’re in the area, I’d love for you to see us off and will update my Twitter and Facebook Page with the details when I know).

Thank you so much for all your prayers. This is going to be an amazing journey for an amazing cause!

Oh, and just because you’re not doing a bike ride, did you know there are some easy and super fun ways to help support Blood:Water? Make a “lemon:aid” stand, coordinate a water walk, or….click here for some more awesome ideas.

Yesterday, you found out about my trip to Moldova and Russia. So, as you’re reading this on Tuesday, I’m probably still traveling or getting settled somewhere. Knowing that I’d be away from the internet ahead of time, I asked my friend Josh Maisner to guest blog today.

First, a little history lesson on Josh.

In January, I was speaking at Belmont University. After my talk, I had an amazing conversation with a senior named Josh. He knew I was going to Haiti, and he was going to be going shortly after I was, so we talked a bit about it. In February, I returned from Haiti, and in March, Josh returned from Haiti. A week ago, over frozen yogurt, for two hours we talked about a million different things. Things like Haiti, and…well, things like pancakes.

Josh told me about an experience he had one night here in Nashville last winter – the night before first semester finals. And I told him you guys had to hear it.

So here’s Josh. And here’s a story about what happens when you stuff a jeep full of pancakes.

—–

Nashville had an uncharacteristically cold winter this year, and the night before finals was no exception.

Every year at my university we take a break from studying on ‘Dead Day’ and head to the cafeteria and enjoy some golden pancakes; for free! You spend all day cramming and stressing over those first few finals, but there’s something about pancakes that just makes the world a little better.

For a few moments, as that sweet, buttery piece of joy touches your lips; you can stop and forget about tomorrow’s problems.

As the event wrapped up, I found myself one of the last people still there talking away, when something caught my eye.

Bags and bags of hot pancakes were being taken out of the warmer and thrown away. Hundreds of pancakes were about to go to pancake heaven in a dumpster, and all I could think of was how many people were shivering in the cold on the streets of our city wishing they had a hot meal.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the women throwing them away. You can imagine the look on her face as a 22 year old asks her to let him have ALL the pancakes! I told her I wanted to make some deliveries to those fighting the cold tonight on our streets…the homeless.

Maybe some hot pancakes would afford them a momentary sweet escape from the cold.

Due to the crunch time of finals nobody was around to help me hand out these pancakes, so I set off rogue, in my Jeep full of pancakes, to the streets of downtown Nashville.

Within minutes I was out of my Jeep walking around to those huddled by bus stops, in doorways, and wandering the streets…bags of pancakes in hand. I’d give what I had in my hands away, hop back in the new “pancake mobile” and get on with my mission. If they were walking as I was driving, with windows rolled down and said yes when I asked if they were hungry, I was pulled over in a second and brought them some pancakes!

That night as I listened to so many different stories I began to experience something incredible. Jesus says, “What you do unto the least of these, you do unto Me.”

Looking into the eyes of each person as I gave them away I began to see with a new perspective. It was incredibly simple, but beautiful at the same time; as I handed out food to these strangers…

I realized I was handing out pancakes to Jesus.

On July 1, 2010,  I’m leaving the streets of Nashville with everything that I own held in a 50lb backpack to meet Jesus around the world. I will be a full time missionary on The World Race traveling to eleven different countries over eleven months working with impoverished children, human trafficking victims, and those who have been cast aside.

My travels will take me back to Haiti, to once again work with those devastated by the earthquake, then on to The Dominican Republic, Romania, Turkey, Mozambique, Malawi, another country in Africa, China, Thailand, Cambodia, and the Philippines.

It’s a life I never imagined for myself and only God could have planned; but then again, what do I know anyway?

I invite you to follow my journey on my blog where you can read the stories and see the faces of those I meet who are need around the world.

—

So, you can see why I think Josh is my new hero.

What Josh doesn’t say that I will say is that for him to do this trip costs $15,000. That covers his travel and meals and all his expenses for the trip. Also what Josh doesn’t say is he needs to raise $11,885 to have his trip covered. And the dude leaves in a couple of months. From talking to Josh, it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to raise support. Trust me. He’s been working his freaking tail off both at work and doing fund raising.

And you know what? He didn’t ask me to do this for him.

But here’s my schtick.

Because it’s my blog and I’m allowed to have a schtick.

Help Josh raise they money he needs for this trip.

You just gotta click here.

I look at Josh and see a guy who is eight years (gasp) younger than I am.

When I was 22, I was getting sober and trying to start my life over. I didn’t give a second thought to poverty…I just wanted to keep my sports car from getting repossessed.

If this is Josh at 22…who will Josh be when he’s 30? What will eight years of growth do to an already open, adventurous, compassionate heart?

Invest in him.

We have.

I can honestly say the return will be immeasurable.

I know it’s going to be a rough day when, within five minutes of leaving my house, I see a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am.

It’s a rather odd thing to say, I realize, as I’m sure if you see a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am you probably don’t give it a second thought.

For me, a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am reminds me of him.

The one I trusted.

The one I loved.

The one, who I thought, loved me.

But it wasn’t a real love, the way he loved me.

It was a twisted “love” that made me believe it was okay for a man – a pastor – of his age, nearly ten years my senior, to love a girl like me…a sixteen year old.

He drove a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am.

Fortunately, many American cars don’t make it past their tenth birthday, so a blue, mid-nineties Grand Am sighting is a rare occurrence, but when I caught a glimpse of one as I pulled onto I-65 yesterday morning, I knew it was going to be a bad day.

Instantly, I was pulled back into a time warp of my heart. I was 16 again. And 17. And I found myself innocently in love, and at the same time, unknowingly losing my innocence.

—

I steered my car mindlessly to the mall. A distraction.

I needed socks.

Wandering into Eddie Bauer, I ended up in a rather long conversation with a chatty salesman. He wasn’t trying to sell me anything. He was just really nice. And really conversational. I welcomed the distraction, but felt badly for not being fully present.

Most of me was still back in 1996.

I lost an hour in the mall, and popped over to Target. For what? I don’t remember, but I walked out with a cheap T-shirt.

More distraction.

I managed to swing by the post office, make it home, and get ready for a meeting with my manager about my new book’s release.

Still, I was only half-present.

That damned Grand Am.

How can it still take me back?

Back there…with him?

I felt sick to my stomach.

After my meeting, I drove back to Target.

Cat litter. I forgot the cat litter.

With my iPod on shuffle, I got lost in the winding roads of rural Franklin. An hour passed. Maybe two.

I couldn’t find myself.

Back to my house.

I attempted to make myself look presentable.

—

Honestly, I wanted to bail so badly.

I wanted to throw on some sweats and stare mindlessly at the television for hours until I fell asleep and it was a new day. But I had committed myself, and my husband, to doing the Blood:Water Mission Water Walk.

I love Blood:Water.

You guys know that.

But I didn’t want to go.

I didn’t want my half-present, half-missing self to go.

Selfishly, of course.

I didn’t want anyone to know anything was wrong.

I didn’t want anyone to realize I wasn’t really there.

I didn’t want anyone to look too deeply into my eyes and see the vulnerable, ashamed, naive sixteen year old who was currently inhabiting my insides.

But…I needed to go.

I needed to pull what was left of me out of my head and just do something outside of my own self-consuming and destructive introspection.

Chris drove. I don’t even remember the ride. We took our buckets, ran into some friends, and shared some good stories as we walked a mile down to the river to fill them up.

More distractions. It was good.

At the river, after everyone had filled their containers with river water, Dan told us for our walk back, to try and keep silent.

“Silence? No…anything but that, please,” I pleaded in my head.

And, he added, we should try and keep the water inside since if we were really African, every drop of water that’s carried is a drop of precious life.

The first fifty steps or so were easier than I imagined.

With each step though, the bucket became heavier.

The wind, colder.

Keeping balance in order to not spill the water, more difficult.

I stared down at my bucket, watching the water float back and forth and side to side.

Finally…

The weight of the water – this small act I was doing simply to represent a necessary and daily time consuming task for so many people around the world – had transported me back from 1996.

I became present again.

Me.

Here and now.

And my bucket felt so much heavier.

I lost track of where my friends went. I took off my mittens to experience the sharp pain of the cold wind.

I wanted to feel the pain.

It wasn’t fair what these women and children had to do every single day.

I tried to imagine carrying a bucket ten times heavier than mine for ten times longer than I carried it.

How?

How do they do it?

It wasn’t fair.

It’s water.

Why is it so difficult for hundreds of millions of people to access it?

I realize the goal of these events isn’t about what they can do for me. It’s about what we can do for others. And I don’t know what it was about the mile back carrying a small bucket of Tennessee water but something inside me healed.

Something inside me was restored.

Just a little bit.

But that little bit was just enough.

—

Was it the community around me? A blend of friends, acquaintances and strangers coming together in such a powerful way?

Was it simply pushing myself to pull out of the selfish cycle of negativity I had been dwelling in all day?

Was it realizing a common, broken thread of humanity and a same common need for rescue?

I don’t know.

Maybe it was all of those things, and things I didn’t even see or feel or realize.

But something happened underneath the weight of it all.

The weight of my past and the most broken part of my soul.

The weight of poverty and the most broken part of the world.

Redemption only can be recognized when the broken is let out.

And it can happen unexpectedly.

And I am grateful.

—

The reality is 325 million Africans don’t have access to clean water. That is more than the population of the US. $25 provides an African clean water for life. Please take a moment and consider making a donation here.
—

Two years ago, a trip to Uganda with Compassion International changed my life. It didn’t happen immediately. I wrestled with what I saw, and what I knew the Bible said, and how I loved living my own comfortable life.

My friend (and the designer of this blog) Brad is on a trip right now with Compassion and I’ve asked him to share some of his thoughts with you.

—–

“When African Eyes Are Watching”

Those of you who have followed Anne for a while may remember her trip to Uganda with Compassion in February of 2008. She was part of the very first Compassion Bloggers trip. It was her posts from Africa that gave me my first inside look at how Compassion works. I gained a deeper appreciation for Compassion as an organization by seeing what they did through her eyes.

Never would I have imagined when I read the posts from that first blogging trip that I would be in Africa myself with Compassion just over two years later. And yet here I am.

I’ve only been in Kenya for four days now but already Africa has melted my heart. I’ll be leaving on Thursday but I’m leaving part of my heart here when I go.

The thing that has just rocked me to the core are the eyes of the children I see.

They’re absolutely riveting.

Like this little Maasai girl I saw when we visited a Compassion Project on Saturday…

Or this precious little girl I met at the Kabuku Compassion project on Friday…

or these adorable children who kept peeking back at me when we attended a Kenyan church on Sunday (seriously…how can you pay attention in church when you’ve got adorable faces like that staring at you?)

The reason I love looking into their faces is because I can see the power of child sponsorship in their eyes. Every face you see in those pictures represents a sponsor who has stepped forward to release that child from poverty.

For only $38/month (less than the cost of eating out once a month) you can ensure a child has access to education, medicine, nutritious meals and vocational training. You can read some of my first-hand accounts (and those of the other bloggers who are on this trip with me) of real people I’ve encountered who are being pulled out of the worst kinds of poverty through Compassion intervention and sponsoring relationships.

Anne has already done such an amazing job of telling Compassion’s story through this blog but perhaps there are some of you who haven’t yet taken the leap.

Can I encourage you to step up and make a difference in the life of a child? A small monthly investment from you means the difference between poverty and hope for these children.

Compassion is a one-to-one sponsorship organization which means you’ll be connected with your sponsored child through more than just a monthly check. You’ll be able to write letters to and receive letters from your sponsored child (here’s an example of a letter I recently received). You may even one day be able to meet your sponsored child like I did this week.

These beautiful African eyes have melted my heart this week…

…when they’re watching, I just can’t look away.

Click here to see Kenyan children waiting for sponsors right now.