Sorry there’s not much in the way of updates from the tour. We really have had Internet access about once a week and sometimes when we do, we are so ready for bed the laptop doesn’t get cracked open. Right now I’m writing this from the road on my phone. Fat thumbs are proving to be a handicap.

We are about a week out from finishing the cross-country cycling tour…something that will probably take me months to digest. After I return home in early August, I can’t believe it’s time to get back into the swing of normal life.

Part of that swing is the traveling and speaking I do for Compassion International. I’m open the weekends of August 29 and September 5 so if your church would like for me to share about how we can respond to God’s call to care for children living in poverty, I’d love to come out and do just that.

I don’t charge a fee when I speak on behalf of Compassion. The only financial commitment you have is to cover my travel expenses. I can even stay at a host home (after sleeping on floors of churches for the last two months, I think I can sleep just about anywhere…)

If this sounds interesting to you, shoot me an email at info@flowerdust.net and we can work out details from there.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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“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.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to share about Compassion International at a church in Virginia. The Sunday I spoke was just three days after I returned from Haiti. One of the things I shared was about how we can’t wait for the government to help Haiti. We have to help now.

When we were there, the relief effort we saw happening was minimum. I can count on one — maybe two — hands how many relief trucks we saw.

And I can count on one finger how many UN food lines we encountered.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I realize there is relief work happening in Haiti. And yes, even some via various government agencies.

However, I can tell you from my firsthand (yet admittedly unprofessional) experience the most efficient way aid is getting to the people who need it the most is through organizations that don’t have to work their way through the mysterious and convoluted bureaucracy that’s at the airport, where aid is being delegated.

That is where Compassion International comes in. If you’ve been around my blog any given length you’ll know my heart beats for the mission of Compassion.

Because Compassion was on the ground, assisting children, families, and communities through local churches in Haiti before the earthquake happened, they already have the infrastructure in place that guarantees the money that is being donated is going directly where it needs to go, without it taking a long detour around various government and non-government organizations.

It goes from your wallet, to their headquarters in Colorado Springs, to their national office in Haiti, where it is then distributed through a time-tested and culturally proven system to help release children from poverty.

Why am I pushing this now?

Because there is an amazing event called Help Haiti Live in Nashville tonight (Saturday, February 27) benefiting Compassion’s work in Haiti. It’s at 7:30 pm CST and if you can make it, you can still get tickets for the actual concert.

If you can’t make it, you can watch it online for free here.

Yes, watch it online for free.

But be generous in your donation.

Be confident with it also. Because I can personally assure you that it won’t get tied up in red tape.

We can’t wait for the government to fix Haiti. We can’t wait for the millions of dollars of supplies to reach people who haven’t eaten for a month and a half. We are charged both Scripturally (and morally, if you don’t subscribe to a Christian faith) to care for mankind.

Don’t wait.

I’ve seen it with my own eyes and touched it with my own two hands.

Haiti can’t afford for you to not step up now.

I have a terrible habit of not finishing beverages. Size doesn?t matter. Whether it?s a 16 oz bottle of water or an 8 oz tiny can of Diet Coke, I don?t finish it.

Bottled water for some reason takes the brunt of my compulsion. It?s embarrassing to admit but there are times where I?ll just take a sip or two of a bottle of water and never touch it again.

Such was the case with the bottle of water in my car. It was the middle of August and on this particular day I grabbed a bottle of water on my way out to run errands. I took two sips and it had been boiling in my car ever since.

On my way home from visiting a friend a few days later, I realized I was extremely thirsty. I hadn?t had a bit of water all day.

Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper?

Yes.

Lots of sips.

Water?

No.

As I looked around my car, this forlorn bottle of water sat in my passenger seat. It was the only relief in sight and my forty-five minute drive began to feel like six hours as the sun began to burn my left arm.

?It?s not like it?s contaminated,? I reassured myself. ?It?s just really, really warm. That?s all. You can drink it. It?s okay??

I unscrewed the blue cap, letting a bit of the air out of the bottle and took a gulp.

Warm and plasticky.

Delightful.

I began wondering how healthy this water could actually be if all I tasted was plastic. I thought about the segment on The Today Show where they compared the different numbers of the different plastics and I tried to remember which ones were toxic. Because I?m sure whatever it was I was drinking was not safe for consumption.

The heat of the water I was drinking, the droplets of sweat forming in the small of my back, and the sun being magnified by my untinted windows took me back to my trip to India earlier this year.

And this hot little bottle of water made me think of a little boy I met named Tushar.

***

Tushar is a five year old who lives three hours outside of Kolkata. A few months ago, my husband and I began sponsoring him through an organization called Compassion International.

When I was in India, a few days before I left, I had the chance to meet Tushar and his father. They took a train from their village into the city. The translator introduced us and I realized Tushar?s dad was holding a bag and would occasionally take out a bottle of water for his son.

The bottle of water wasn?t like anything you or I would see, much less drink from, here in the States. There was no label. The outside was scratched.

Yet what was most surprising was what kind of water the bottle contained.

If I didn?t know better, I would think it was sun tea with lemon. It was a light brown, with little pieces of something floating in it.

But it was Tushar?s water. His drinking water. Water that was so precious, his father helped him ration it throughout their trip.

After a visit to Science City, a museum that would be considered totally odd and possibly unsafe by Western standards, we went to a building that would be parallel to a Western mall. It had stores and a food court.

And it was lunch time.

Our host went to some of the restaurants to get us all something to drink. She came back with ice-cold bottled water.

Clean, never opened, cold bottled water.

Tushar?s dad reached across the table to open his bottle. Tushar leaned forward to take his first sip and when he grabbed the bottle for the first time, he immediately dropped it back on the table like it had bit him, almost spilling it. He pulled away and giggled.

I was a little confused but very much intrigued by his reaction. He wiped the condensation off his hand and reached forward for the bottle of water again. This time he didn?t grab it. He merely touched it with a couple of his fingers.

And Tushar giggled again.

Finally I realized something. He?s never touched anything cold before.

The area of India that he lives in rarely sees temperatures below 60 degrees.

The cold surprised him.

But in a good way.

Playfully, I poured cold water from my bottle into the tiny blue cap and splashed him with it.

He.

Freaked.

Out.

We continued our little water fight until his dad moved his bottle closer to him, as to say ?this is for drinking and not for playing,? and Tushar sat up, knowing his dad was serious, and took a sip.

His eyes got wide as he felt the cold water slide down the back of his throat. When it reached his stomach, he grabbed his belly and grinned and giggled.

Drinking cold water was such a new experience for this little boy.

***

So, here I was, between Nashville and Franklin, Tennessee on I-65 contemplating the level of “poison” in my completely safe water and I wondered about Tushar and what he’s doing today. I wondered about his bottle of water. I doubt he was drinking anything nearly as clean or as available as I was. In fact, I doubt he had tasted water as cold or as clean since our time in the food court.

I held back the tears that so wanted to escape and travel down my face because of the unfairness of it all.

I wonder how many bottles of water I?ve carelessly and needlessly thrown away when a little boy and his family are grateful to have their dirty water in a bottle they found and probably share and hold dear.

For Pete’s sake. Even my cat has access to cleaner water than Tushar.

I can?t send Tushar clean water in the mail. I can?t take it to him or even make sure that he can access it.

It?s a helpless feeling.

And it?s easy to ignore because it is so overwhelming.

What can I do? I can give Tushar a voice. I can speak for him by telling his story. You?re reading about him now. Maybe you?ll want to share his story too.

We may not be able to fix every problem we see, but we can allow the stories we hear to remind us of the incredible responsibility we have to share the needs of a broken world.

These stories can awaken us and inspire us to act. To donate money to a water charity or go on a trip to build a well or to take some clean water to the homeless in our own cities and towns.

***

So, now that you know, what will you do?

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