Expectations . .

27th November

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here. I've not been abducted and I have a handbook to tell me what to do but my stomach is a little ball of nerves- a mix of apprehension, insecurity and just the unknown. It's a familiar feeling - I have a habit of throwing myself headlong into situations  with my ever present 'yes!' mentality only to spend the next few weeks or months second guessing myself.

As the plane takes off, i'm thinking about my kids, my husband. Wondering what they are doing without me, wondering if they miss me. This is the part of growing up that is annoying. When I was young, travel was adventure without looking back, now it's opportunity with sacrifice; that pervading fear that my plane will crash and the girls will have to finally learn to plait their own hair- the determination I have to get home to kiss them all good night again.  It's  not just me anymore- I have responsibilities, people to provide for, people to love. So I'm worried about what I have left behind.

And I'm wondering about what I am going to. What will I see? How will I react? what am I going to do? I'm sifting through the places Ive already been and mentally comparing it: I've seen poverty before in Kenya, but I've not got immersed in it. I've driven through slums but not talked to the people living there, not stopped in to visit. I was always a bit removed, a bit distant. I think this is going to be different - more up close and personal.

I've visited orphanages in Bulgaria that broke my heart: I wanted to pack the children up and take them home with me. I remember stifling sobs at the bedside of a girl so sick she couldn't get up and was in constant pain, stifling them because my tears felt selfish and she didn't need to see them, they couldn't help her. I remember the frustration of being in a place which was so broken and where hope seemed like a pipe dream.

I think this trip will be different. This trip is all about hope, its about no ceiling to hope, it's about projects where the brokenness is being addressed, the pain is being healed, the situation is not being accepted and there is a new day coming.  I'm excited about that and really quite honoured to be witnessing it, to feel part of it.

I think I may get sad, I suspect I will want to take children home with me and that I will see things and meet people who will stay with me long  after I have left, but I plan to hold on to that hope with no ceiling, that hope that says I will not accept that this situation can't be changed and I have the faith to believe that as a church we can see that achieved.

I'll let you know how I get on.