I was worried about traveling alone.
I wasn’t afraid of being abducted by strangers or having my belongings stolen. Airports are big and intimidating and I was mostly just worried about getting lost.
I get lost easily and have begged and pleaded with God until I have cried, for a better sense of direction. I once got lost in the middle of nowhere. The night was pitch black making the street signs impossible to read in the dark. After 30 minutes of driving around in circles I called my dad crying, hysterically. He asked me where I was and all I could say through sobs was “I don’t know….”
Although I have made the trip to Haiti a number of times, it has always been with a group of people; I have always tagged along, often towards the back of the pack, happy just to follow. But this time was going to be different. I was going to have to do it, alone. I had been told stories of divine encounters with strangers, angels, some might say. I was praying for an angel of my own.