I just landed in Miami and am about to venture over to E7 to meet a bunch of people I’ve never met before to get on a plane and go to a country I’ve never been to before to help in a disaster I’ve never experienced before.

On the flight from Nashville I began writing about the fear of the unknown, as that is currently front and center on my mind.

After pages of journaling, I think I landed here:

“The unknown is deep and vast and empty. It seems as bottomless as a blackhole, but it’s not. The unknown is finite. What is unknown will eventually be revealed.

When we are face to face with the unknown, will we choose to fill it with our fear and worry? Or do pour endless amounts of faith and hope into it?”

When the unknown is revealed, what we have put into it will also be exposed.

To faith and hope,
Anne

Although logistics, distribution, and communication are a huge part of our trip to Haiti next week, we know that your intercession and prayers for us while we are away are vital to this trip. Personally, I request prayer for health – I have a super weak stomach and a speaking engagement in the DC area a couple of days after I return and I want to stay well to serve in Haiti, and to share about it the weekend after in DC.

There are many other things for which you can pray, and I ask you to leave those things in the comments on this post so we can read (and re-read) them as we travel and serve in Haiti. Below is a form that simply asks if you can commit to praying for us one (or more) days of our trip. Please pass this on to any of your friends who may be burdened for Haiti or are people of prayer.

Thanks for your commitment to prayer for us while we’re gone and for your words and reminders of God’s faithfulness. I’ll be sharing more about the trip and the details next week.

EDIT:

Because of some of the questions raised in the comments, I thought I’d clarify a few things.

I am going with a respected organization that has been on the ground in many countries, including on the island of Hispaniola prior to the earthquake, for many years.

This organization has a track record of responding holistically to crises like this.

There is a strategy and there are specific things we will be doing that are needed, otherwise we would not have been invited.

There is intention behind each person who is going on this trip at the time we are going.

I will share more details next week as we finalize the trip.

Thanks.

———

A couple of days ago, I was driving somewhere and thinking about Haiti.

It may have been around the same time they released the “estimated 200,000 dead” statistic because I remember thinking how impossible it would be to imagine what 200,000 dead actually looks like in person. And my mind just couldn’t go there.

One reason is because I’ve never quite seen a real dead body before. I did see my aunt in her casket at her funeral but that doesn’t really count. Every other funeral I’ve attended has been closed-casket or the body had been cremated.

I saw a picture of a mass grave in Haiti (it’s graphic but it’s here if you choose to click it) that gave me a taste of what 50 bodies looked like. I sat and stared at it for a good five minutes with tears rolling down my face.

And as I was staring at this picture I simply felt the nudge:

Go.

I laughed a little bit because surely God knows that February is really busy and I have to raise $5000 for my Ride:Well trip and he knows I’ve never slept anywhere but my bed or a bed in a hotel room and my sense of smell is really overactive so there’s no way I could possibly handle what Haiti must smell like, and oh yeah, did you see all the pictures of random people with guns?

That’s funny. Real funny.

Go.

Maybe God meant “go to Starbucks to get a skinny latte.”

A couple of hours later, I got an email from a friend of mine who asked me if I’d like to go to Haiti with his organization in a few weeks.

Without hesitation, I responded “100% yes.”

And so I’m going to Haiti.

I tweeted this yesterday, and it’s been interesting to see the variety of responses. Some people say they’re flat out jealous. They want to go to Haiti and please hear me when I say I understand your heart and your desire to help in such a desperate time. I really, really do.

But jealous?

Frankly, I have to say I would side with the other group of people that are saying, “I”m so glad it’s you going and not me.”

A week and a half ago I had no idea I’d be spending the last week of my 20’s (I turn 30 on February 19) in a country that wasn’t exactly safe to visit before the earthquake. And now I know I’m supposed to go and help and share with you what is happening and how, long term, Haiti is going to need our help.

Here’s the thing I want to leave you with:

I tend to believe that when fear, or comfort, or some other little obstacle pops in our head the correct response is to do the exact opposite.

Fear says, “Haiti is dangerous. You have to take those malaria pills that make your stomach hurt and what if there’s another earthquake while you’re there? What if you get shot at? ”

Comfort says, “You won’t have your choice of firm or soft pillows and it very well will smell like the rotting stench of death. You might be sleeping in a tent on the ground.”

Some people have said going to Haiti right now is like entering into a war zone. A war zone without any knowledge about what may or may not happen from one moment to the next. I am positive the moment my mother reads this post she will be calling me and likely ordering me to stay home.

I love you mom, but I’m sorry. I have to go.

You know what? I don’t have to go. I could email my friend and pull out right now.

A phrase my friend Jamie likes to use is “I get to.”

I get to go.

I don’t know what’s going to happen on this trip. I have no idea what to expect and I even asked the trip organizers to leave out most of the details except the things I simply need to know. Don’t tell me how we’re driving to Haiti or where we’ll sleep or what we’ll eat.

I don’t think I can fully process that yet.

I get to go. And I’m sticking with that.

The people of Haiti didn’t plan to have their lives interrupted (or ended) a week ago.

This is a whole new part of their story.

As I spoke to my friend a couple of days ago when we were working on some of the details, we realized Haiti is never going to be restored.

Haiti is going to be reborn.

We all get to be a part of that story – whether it’s by donating money or supplies or by taking a couple of Valium and getting on a plane.

I’m grateful that it’s not only Haiti’s story, and it’s not only yours and mine, either.

I’m grateful there’s a sovereign God who has a plan and purpose beyond anything we can imagine. And I’m grateful his breath is woven through each and every letter of each and every word of this new story as it is being written.

(To make sure you get my updates from Haiti, you can subscribe to my blog via RSS, get updates by email, or follow me on Twitter.)

This past weekend I had the chance to hang out with my friends from Women of Faith in Sacramento. I had some extra AAdvantage miles and Nashville had not seen the sun in years days. Just a couple of weeks ago, my doctor said my Vitamin D levels were half of what they should be (it happens every winter) and that I needed to get some sun.

So, off to California I went.

This is my third Women of Faith conference this year, and I typically sit in an area with some of the staff and crew. They’re so hospitable, they let me share in their snack bags they keep around in their section.

Being on my diet, however, led me to a battle.

Do I snack?

Do I have even a little?

I dig through the snack bag, looking for an answer.

And I found one.

Inside, they had SUGAR FREE Dove chocolates! Over the course of the two day event, I probably ate ten of those little guys. They tasted SO good and they’re practically guilt free.

Something that’s whimsical about Dove’s chocolates are their “Promises.” You open up a Dove chocolate and you’re likely to read something like this.

Awww, how precious!

Right?

During one of the breaks, I decided to take a look at the wrappers from my sugar free Dove chocolates. They weren’t packaged like the regular ones, so I wondered if a “Promise” was printed somewhere on the outside.

And indeed, it was.

It was not, however, the promise I was hoping for.

“Excess consumption may have a laxative effect.”

Oh.

Crap.

Today is my monthly contribution over at inCourage. Below is a sneak peek. You have to visit over there to read the full article. Enjoy!

—

It had been a really long day.

6 am came too soon, and as usual, I was running late to the airport. Due to the extra few minutes I spent taming my hair, I was unable to stop by Sonic for my habitual Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper.

The tragedy.

The flight from Nashville to Houston was one of the bumpiest I’ve ever been on. And I fly. A lot. This year alone, it’s somewhere around 45,000 miles. No kidding.

Several people on our plane threw up and one even passed out on our descent into the stormy city of Houston.

Once in the terminal, I checked my next flight on the screens.

My 12 pm flight to Dallas was delayed until 1 pm.

Then 2 pm.

Then 3:15 pm.

4:15 pm.

Canceled.

(click here to read more…)

I’m staying at a hotel where they have a duck ceremony twice a day. It’s pretty posh, at least by Arkansas standards (I kid, I kid.) It is a really lovely place to stay.

Tonight after dinner, my friend and I stood underneath a well-lit driveway with large columns and doormen, waiting for the valet to bring my rental car so we could head back to the conference we are speaking at. The valet attendant closed my door, and I adjusted the seat to fit my ridiculously abnormal 34″-inseam-long-legs.

I’m not even 5′5″, so this leg length could easily be considered a freak show by some.

I began to pull out of the driveway slowly, narrowly missing a man who was walking on the left side of my car. As I pushed on the brake pedal, I noticed he was homeless, glassy-eyed, and had literally wet himself, the dark stain of urine soaking through his thread-bare pants from his crotch all the way down to the middle of his right shin.

Quickly I shifted my eyes back to the driveway, then glanced down at the green LED lights telling me it was 7:02 pm and that I needed to hurry back to the venue. I took my foot off the brake and under the lights, we drove away.

The one word that has reverberated inside the folds of my brain tonight is dignity.

Dignity.

It’s something we feel we must hold so tightly to, and also something we don’t know how to give to others who need it, whether they realize it or not.

Watch the video below for some big news about how I’m spending my summer vacation!

*Even though the crazy-eyed freeze frame implies it, I will not eat you.

Or, if you’re lazy and don’t watch videos…

3100 miles + 2 months in the Summer + Bike + Raising $$ for Water in Africa = Me on the Ride:Well 2010 Tour.

Learn more or come on the trip with me.

I’ve been in New York City over the weekend…a last minute trip to meet with some amazing people and hopefully share a very powerful story in Permission to Speak Freely. It was a spur of the moment trip, sans The Hubs. Thankfully, we were just here a couple of weeks ago, so the subway maps and schedules were fresh in my mind.

My flight got in after dark on Saturday night because of some delays, and being on my own plus the torrential rain storm that hit the Northeast, I decided that paying a little more for a cab instead of taking two trains and two subways would be a safer way to get to my hotel.

I’ve ridden in cabs in pretty much every major US city (and Delhi, India for that matter) and each experience is remarkable in some way.

This trip was no exception. After hearing I looked like a movie star (it must have been my no-make up face and airplane-frizzed hair), the driver asked if I was married.

“Yes. Six and a half years. To a very good, very protective man.”

“That is a long time,” he said. “You must get bored of him. Do you ever cheat?”

“No. He’s a very funny guy, so I don’t get bored. Plus I love him. Are you married?”

“Yes. Three years. We just had a newborn. We don’t have the sex now. So I cheat on her with a customer. I am bored. I have no choice.”

Oh. Expletive.

“You don’t have a choice?”

“No. Men are different. We see a beautiful woman and we have to have the sex. Even if we watch the movie with a beautiful woman. It warms us up and we need to have the sex. I don’t want to cheat, but I can’t stop myself.”

Oh. Expletive. Expletive.

“How long have you been driving a cab?” I ask, changing the subject and wondering if I jumped out of the cab if I could run to the 34th street station without him chasing me.

“Five years. That is how I met the girlfriend. She knows I’m married but she doesn’t care. She’s 42. I’m only 29. I like the older women. She says they are called cougars.”

“I’ve heard that. How did you meet your wife?”

“It was arranged marriage.”

“Do you love her?”

“Oh very much. She is very beautiful. But I am bored.”

“Does she know you cheat on her?”

“No,” he laughs. “She would get very mad. So you never cheat. Your husband, does he cheat?”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t.”

“All men cheat. They just lie about it. They keep their actions the same so you don’t know. Even priests.”

“Really?”

“All the time.”

I glanced around to see where we were.

Madison and 34th.

We still had a long. Way. To. Go.

I tried to redirect the conversation several times, but this guy had his mind set on one thing. Even though it was extremely inappropriate and unprofessional, I still felt safe. But more than that I felt heartbroken for him.

I mean after all, he said he didn’t want to cheat.

He felt like he didn’t have the strength to say no.

Somehow we got on the topic of smoking. He said he smoked. I asked him if he ever wanted to quit and he said he did. Sometimes for months, but he’d always go back. I told him that if he had enough will power to stop smoking, maybe he was strong enough to not cheat too, if he really didn’t want to.

“I believe you can be strong.”

He didn’t believe me.

“The sex is different,” he said.

And I know smoking and sex - the sex – are different. I don’t work in a church anymore, and I try to spend more time now in conversations with people who don’t go to church much (or at all) or that go to different types of churches than I do.

I thought I was out of the bubble, but the truth of the matter is these ninety minutes in a cab showed me how much I still live a very sheltered, very southern, very bubbled life.

My cab driver is the world outside of my safe little sanctuary.

My cab driver needs hope.

And faith.

And strength.

And truth.

We arrived at my hotel. I gave him a huge tip and thanked him for driving me in the rain so safely. He told me I looked like a movie star again and then he drove off.

Saturday night, the ninety minutes outside the bubble had a profound effect on me.

Just how much am I open to serving in uncomfortable, awkward and maybe even unsafe situations? How many times do I pretend I’m doing good simply by being good or protect myself by keeping to the same, safe people all the time?

From my hotel window, I keep staring out at the galaxy of city lights & feeling so very tiny yet so very determined to make every moment & every word count for love, regardless of where I am, or who I’m with, or how uncomfortable it may be.

—–

Sorry it’s been quiet here lately.

Really quiet.

The manuscript for Permission to Speak Freely is due in a couple of weeks, and I’m traveling to six cities (from San Diego to NYC and everything in between) and speaking while trying to finish writing the book…so…it’s been a bit hectic, but wonderful and stretching at the same time. I am looking forward to some much needed down time over the holidays!

Last night I spoke at The Walk, which is the college & young adults ministry at Sevier Heights Baptist Church in Knoxville, TN. It was an honor to hang out with these students (have I told you lately how much I love college students? It’s a lot.) and share with them a bit about what God has shown me during my trips to Uganda and India and what the Bible says is our responsibility for caring for the poor as an act of worship and transformation.

Something very cool they did to launch the series last night (It’s called A Message that Sticks), was make a mural out of post-it notes. This mural has around 30,000 post-its on it (each post-it representing one of the 30,000 children that die daily from starvation), and the little boy is named Moises and he lives in Haiti.

—

—

I never knew that so many random, seemingly trivial things could be put together to make something so beautiful.

Or, wait.

Maybe I did.

First thing’s first. I got a face lift. Well, my blog did anyway. So if you read this via email or RSS, hop on over and check it out. Many thanks to Brad Ruggles for his amazing design work on figuring out “if Anne Jackson was a website, she’d look like….”

I’m in Atlanta for the Catalyst Conference this week. On Wednesday, I’m doing a Lab with Los and Jon about blogging (more or less, really about things off the blogs), and then Los and I are hosting Catalyst Backstage on Thursday and Friday.

This year, there’s gonna be live video feed from the main room of music, speakers, and some surprises too, as well as exclusive interviews with most of the speakers including Malcolm Gladwell and Rob Bell, which I am super psyched about.

So if you didn’t make it to Catalyst this year, tune in to CatalystBackstage.com. Before you know it, we’ll be the new Regis and Kelly.