On the day of the announcement that Kevin would soon become the CEO of Feed the Children, a reporter asked him "You are not going to do any more of those commercials with African children starving with flies on their faces are you?" Looking a little taken aback by the directness of the question, Kevin replied: "No I don't think so" to which I as an onlooker smiled. Emotional manipulation-- my perception of such ads-- is not something I am a fan of and I am glad my husband wasn't either.

Fast forward three months: a work trip was planned for Kevin to see the field sites of what Feed the Children is up to for the first time overseas. I tagged along for the journey. Having already been to Africa twice, I wanted to see Kevin in this kind of environment-- a environment that had helped to shape my becoming as a young adult. Boarding our plane in DC on Sunday for Malawi by way of Ethiopia, I was game for anything. But had no idea what this adventure would entail.

Once we arrived and had a night to get some rest, we rose early on Wednesday morning to make a visit to a village where Feed the Children leads the way in making transformational change. Most of the inhabitants of the community are substance farmers who if they were lucky grew enough sweet potatoes, maize or tobacco to sell with some or any profits.

As we visited with crowds gathered to welcome us, we soon learned about how the great partnership between Feed the Children and Nu Skin helps to feed children at the most critical stages of development (ages 2-5years) with a supplemented porridge called Vitameal. We watched the distribution of the meal as the trained mothers from within the community gave it to all the children in the early learning program (over 70 of them) as they gathered under a temporary shelter made of straw.

I saw faces of smiling kids eating porridge that I knew was saving their lives.

I saw fathers full of hope for their children's future because how well they were eating prior to what it had been before the coming of Feed the Children to their village.

I saw mothers, young children themselves, openly nursing their babies with contentment.

I felt welcomed into this village straight out of a National Geographic photo shoot as we were given a tour of the other initiatives Feed the Children has brought to the community including health and sanitation education, clean water, and a village savings and loan for business development.

Later in the afternoon, we visited a preschool for kids with disabilities and the malnourished where Feed the Children provides Vitameal. This was one of Lilongwe's poorest districts whose centers are thriving based on the kindness of private donations from well wishers.

I saw mothers, sisters, and aunts wiping drooling mouths of older toddlers unable to sit alone.

I saw children deemed unfit to attend school working on their fine motor skills by working puzzles.

I saw teachers making the best of their inadequate resources as they sought to inspire kids with catchy songs with shapes and colors in them.

Over the course of the afternoon, along with the rest of the group (6 of us in all), I spent time with these kids and then got to feed some of them their porridge as part of their pre-home ritual.

In reflection later of the day, I realized how naive my resistance to "starving children in Africa with flies on their faces" truly was. It is in fact real. I met these kids. I held these kids. And though Feed the Children is doing great work, there is still so much more to do. And there are even children involved in their sites that have a long way to go in terms of actually being healthy and their parents being able to take care of them without a complete dependence on the Vitameal.

Yes, we have kids in need in our country. There is hunger everywhere. But for this week, I am glad I got to experience both the joys and the deep challenges of the faces of poverty in Africa.

Though I may still roll my eyes at the sappy commercials as they play on late night TV, after my trip this week I will give testimony that childhood hunger is real. It's a cause that needs more advocates, more funding and more compassionate laborers to attend to the work.

When is the last time you were really searching for something? Can you remember the last knock out, drag out all of the couch cushions, search every cranny of all of the drawers, crawl under the bed, call lost and retrace your steps until you are exhausted—all in pursuit of something meaningful to you that you simply cannot find anymore?

Yesterday, I was on one of these crazy all-consuming searches that gave the meaning of "coming home" for homecoming an all new meaning. After a week off for vacation, I needed to get home for church this morning.

For those of you who travel a lot, you know that the goal is to always be prepared for anything and to have your plans flexible at all times for you never know what might happen to you. And, as Kevin and I boarded the shuttle that took us from our hotel to the airport at 5:30 am, we were believed we’d  be home from our week of vacation in Curacao (an island next door to Aruba) by late lunchtime and all would go as planned.

However, soon after we got through the long line at the ticket counter, through security and immigration and were patiently waiting for our plane to board at the gate, we got those dreaded five words that any traveler hates to hear: “Your flight has been canceled.”

We were crushed with frustration especially as we learned the only reason our jet would not board was because a flight attendant was not feeling well and they couldn’t fly without her. We were told to go get our bags, leave the terminal and go stand back in line to re-book our tickets for flights that were seemingly non-existent. (American Airlines is not my friend).

I had homecoming on my mind and how important this day in the life of our church was, I couldn’t be stuck on the island, I kept saying to Kevin. . . So, I dashed back to the ticket counter to stand in the long line already forming, hoping God might smile on my travel karma just a little.  Even as tech savvy travelers around me crumbled while looking at their blackberries and I said, “I bet we won’t get out of here for a couple of days, the next couple flights back to Miami are booked” I was determined to search—to find a way to get off the island and at church in the morning.

The series of events in this search were nerve-racking from the beginning.  From Kevin calling the airline only to get the news that we were re-booked to arrive home on Sunday night (not cool), to moving our hopes to  the local airline which boasted of a flight to the US in a couple of hours, to standing in their new long and disorderly lines, to being told by one ticket agent when I finally got to the front of the line that there was one seat on a flight out-of-town for the morning, but  . . . with the catch that I couldn’t buy it there.

I was told that: I’d have to find the airline rental car shed ½ mile away, only to arrive out of breath (I was running in jeans) with the message of: the seat on the flight I was promised was taken.

BUT I could be on stand-by if I walked back a mile and a half back to the ticket counter for another 30 minutes, to then learn finally that there was a seat available (yes, finally some good news in the search!), but then to be told, I would have to go back to the rental car shed (1/2 mile a way but felt more like 2).

There I finally did buy the ticket to the USA to then be told to go back and stand in the ticket line (again) so that the boarding pass could be printed. Only to learn when I got back to the ticket counter that the flight was getting ready to take off and wanted to leave me. Luckily, with some persuasion by Kevin, “Sir, my wife is a pastor she has to get home today (though in this Roman Catholic country I know he was confused as to how I could be a pastor)” the search to get off the island ended as I ran like a crazy woman through customs again. Thank you Jesus that I was on a flight that I hoped would bring me home (though Kevin wasn’t as lucky will probably arrive home later on tonight with his own version of his “In search of” story).

I still think it is a miracle I got off the island. . .

Looking forward to a less eventful week than has this one began.

As many of you know, I am going to be gone for 10 days this January on a trip to the Holy Land with another Christian pastor from Reston, an Imam from the Adams Center in Sterling, an Imam from a mosque in DC, and the former Rabbi of Northern Virginia Hebrew Congregation who now serves a synagogue in Ohio.

The idea for this adventure was first mentioned at a Reston Ministerium meeting I was attending in the spring of 2009 (a good reason to remember to go to meetings-- good things can come out of them). The Rabbi  told the group about his desire to travel to Israel with a local Imam and asked the group if any Christian pastors would be interested in attending. The goal would be to travel over the course of the Martin Luther King holiday in the spirit of King’s vision of peace, reconciliation and non-violence together as clergy of three of the world’s largest faiths showing through our going together that indeed people with differing opinions, even religious ones don’t have to hate each other, in fact they can respectfully learn from one another and encourage others to do the same.  And soon as I heard this, I was sold on my being part of this courageous group if I could.  I found my heart moved in support of my colleagues that I didn’t know very well yet and began imagining what an impact our friendship and travel experiences would have not only on our own spiritual journeys but on the larger religious community of Reston and beyond. It was a moment of imagining as the Apostle Paul prescribed to long ago, “With God’s power working in us, we can do more than we could ever ask for or imagine.”

As details of the trip emerged through the careful planning of George Mason’s center for Conflict Resolution, I knew it would be an experience like none other—not only for scholarship purposes to be and see and learn in the sacred spaces of faith for many—but to be a part of the fresh wind of the Spirit’s movement in such a time as this. That indeed, yes, God is present when we break down barriers of race, creed and tradition that keep us from one another for no other reason that lack of information and fear.

So, now that all the details are finalized, and soon I’ll be boarding a plane for Israel, what are my hopes? How can you pray for not only me, but Kevin who will be participating in the group as well?

In spite of our busy meeting schedule, I pray for a sense of peace and rest to come over us—that will be able to embody the gifts that this journey has for us and not have any worries about what awaits us at home.

I hope for safety in travel. Though I have complete confidence in the leaders of our delegation and their expertise in traveling in this region, I know that our group will be an usual one which might face special challenges. I pray for our unity as a team and for our peacemaking spirit to shine in all that we do.

I pray for an open mind and heart to receive all of the information that I know we’ll be taking in through site visits to places of religious significance to each of us, visits to settlement camps and prayer sites where conflict has ruled. I pray for an open mind to receive the unique perspectives of each of my colleagues as we travel and spend time with one another.

Because ultimately this trip is not about me. It’s not about Kevin or any of the other group members—it is about how we can be a part of how God longs to lead both our congregation and our community in the future. Know I’m so glad to have your support and partnership in this effort. I could not go with knowing you, Washington Plaza, were behind me and all that this trip represents.