All of the following can induce panic on their own: graduate school finals, board exams, and international travel. Yet, I considered enduring all of the above in the same twenty-four hour period a method for controlling my panic. With a myriad of what could be life-altering events on my plate, I could not stop long enough to consider any one stressor before the pressure of the next agenda item was upon me. After I carted my fifty pound piece of luggage through check-in and made my way through the web of security, finally sitting in my aisle seat, I realized there were no more agenda items before me. This was it - the final item. Unfortunately, I now had the time to think about what was ahead. In less than eight hours I would be deplaning in a country where I knew no one and did not speak the language. I looked at the people around me, my traveling companions, hoping that their presence would ease the panic, but the fear was beyond alleviation. I closed my eyes and awaited our landing.

Our landing onto the island was a smooth one, but I had not anticipated the next incredibly bumpy trek of navigating through the non-air-conditioned island airport, dense with porters who all desired to carry our luggage. Indicating that they each knew our driver and would take our group directly to him, we politely used the one local lingual phrase we knew meaning, "No thank you," continuing quickly, but cautiously onward. Once we had actually located our driver (it wasn't as easy as holding a sign donned with his name at baggage claim), I thought the panic would finally subside. Though the dread seemed to lessen, I was moving rapidly toward becoming overwhelmed by my new surroundings.

While I had never considered myself naive, my life of privilege did not prepare me for the sensory experience I was about to have. Visually I could not internalize what I was seeing: colossal piles of garbage, naked children playing in the streets, mounds of rotten produce discarded and set on fire, the irony of internet cafés smattered among open-air markets, concrete block assembled into half finished buildings, crater-sized holes in the streets, and the traffic of misfit vehicles deemed useless by others - now serving as oversized SUVs. As the sights engulfed me, the miscellany of sounds and smells combined with the visuals to create my state of anxious disbelief. Riding deeper into the countryside, I wondered whether my American rearing and culture had numbed me to the types of global conditions within which I just been immersed, or had strategically hidden me from them. Was I less naive than ignorant?

As we continued to drive into the more rural regions of the island, my episodes of panic subsided. Instead of being preoccupied with my own anxiety, the innumerable host of new sensory experiences captivated my mind and my heart. I engaged myself in heart wrenching inner dialogue that would continue within my soul long after I departed the island. My perspective began to shift from onlooker to participant and I gave thanks for the newness of experience I shared with my fellow travelers that day. I drifted further from finals and board exams though they had been less than twenty-four hours earlier.

Our first full day on the island fell on the Sabbath. While I felt guilty for resting on a day that had not been preceded by work, I was grateful for the time to acclimate to new surroundings and to the intensity of soaring, humid temperatures. The quiescence of the day gave the opportunity to interact with some of the local leaders with whom we would be working, and with the children, who would be in school Monday morning. The day's tranquil nature disguised the urgency with which people spoke of the work to be done on the project we had come to see. Still the urgency was always balanced by a peacefulness of soul emerging from the sheer passion that came from being a part of the developing program. It was that passion that excited our group for the upcoming work.

The original goal of our group may have been to work alongside our new friends as partners, but we quickly came to realize that the majority of the physical labor would be beyond our capacities. We would sweat with sincerity alongside our fellow workers, but we recognized that our real work was going to be gaining a greater understanding of the scope of the project's work. Toward this goal, our first task was hiking through some of the mountainous territory integrated into the operation. A simple concept, workers planted and maintained eucalyptus trees, in whose shallow but firm root system fruit and coffee trees could be planted into the previously barren ground. Workers earned cisterns and houses through planting and nurturing trees to maturity. Harvested mangos and coffee could be consumed by the workers as well as sold as cash crops. Tilapia from project designed ponds provided revenue in the market place as well as supplemental nourishment in a diet mostly absent of protein. Each individual component of the work took simple concepts that added to the project's total and complex integrated nature.

A massive project that employed hundreds of local workers, nearly all the residents we encountered had become a part of the vision of rejuvenating the land, the economy, and the lives of those who were a part of the community. As we hiked miles of rugged terrain, through the hundreds of feet of elevation change, we could see where portions of the project began and ended. Lush green pieces of land flourishing with eucalyptus, mango and coffee trees boarded parched sterile ground. The eye could draw lines down the mountainside indicating where the project ground boarded the land whose owners had not yet acquired the project's contagious, purposeful design for their territories.

The tiny green patch that we had been hiking toward finally began to look less like a miniature diorama and more like a life sized forest. As the scorching sun beat down, the glistening, emerald, wooded area ahead gave the impression of a mirage in the midst of the desert. Now straight ahead, the green mirage was clearly not fabricated by my tired body, but was wholly existent. I could feel a slight cool breeze wisp against my face that had not been present before we approached the trees. Upon entering the woodland our guide stopped and reconstructed for us the nine years of labor it had taken to conceptualize and help create the impressive wood surrounding us. While I could not understand the language, the eyes full of pride spoke to me. Many did not believe such a full restoration of the earth could happen, but the man who stood before us had dedicated his entire life to being a steward of the planet through this project. The value of his achievement was expounded by his simple words, "Now you have entered paradise." Over the next several days our group began to more fully comprehend what it meant to enter paradise.

Exploring the wooded areas allowed us to see the scale of rejuvenation that had taken place on the land. Inside the forest there was the melody of birds that did not exist on the outside. There were tall sturdy trees filled with fruit - trees that would help sustain and nourish the people who cared for them. There were soft, almost ruffled looking ferns that had never been planted among the trees, but had sprung up as the land became reinvigorated with new growth. There were even signs of fresh water within the forest unobservable elsewhere. As far as the eye could see there were areas of land we acknowledged as spaces where the project had taken hold. Every hillside that contained trees was a project area. Scattered among the trees were the cement-foundation houses, identifiable as the homes of those who have been leaders within the project by cultivating at least two thousand trees to maturity.

A blueprint for revitalization, the project incorporated entire communities into a new vision of sustainable agriculture and education that valued the resources the people already possessed, while seeking to expand those resources through the intrinsic design of the project. Where there were once small houses constructed out of banana leaves there were now homes made of concrete blocks with cisterns to hold fresh water. In ravines that would have been previously void of life, there were now nurseries where literally hundreds of trees were sprouting to life, watered and nurtured by dozens of workers. In the schools there were gardens with seedlings assigned to all of the children, and plots where vegetables had come to replace rocks. As we hiked throughout the project, we became increasingly focused on the monumental changes in the land and in the community that had taken place.

In moments of spare time, I befriended the children. With them, the language barrier was inconsequential because laughter and play is a universal language. There was also novelty in becoming the toy, as little hands stroked my odd-looking blonde hair and pale skin. The thrill in the children's discovery that I also had ten fingers and ten toes was contagious and I spent countless hours counting to ten in my broken attempt at their native tongue and then in English. We communicated mostly with smiles, giggles and pointing, but I found splashing in the water to also be an effective form of communication. I had not blown bubbles in years, but I was reminded just how exciting watching soapy bubbles float into the sky can be. When I wasn't counting, splashing or blowing bubbles, I was usually just sitting, surrounded by meager little souls all hoping to be given a hand, a hug or a smile. The longer we spent with the children, the more attached to them I became. Somehow I had come to identify this new community partly as my own.

It was leaving the loving little spirits of the children behind that was most difficult. As we departed, at least a dozen of our new young friends lined the fence of the project's grounds, waving vigorously. Tears streamed down my face as we rolled away from the place we had come to think of as home. I wasn't sure why the tears were spilling down my cheeks. Were they for the people and children, or for their socioeconomic positions on the ladder of the global market? Were they for the uncertainties that they faced in the living out of their lives? Or were they for me? Were the tears a sign to me of the impact of the people whose humble existence allowed a passion for their work and lives, which I had never before experienced? Were they for my own disappointment in leaving behind a project full of so much meaning? Or were they more because of the fear I had of returning to my own life?

Returning home was not a return to normalcy. To the contrary, home felt anything but normal. School felt somewhat unimportant in the larger scheme of life, and I forced myself to drone on in the hope that graduation would allow me the opportunity to share my newfound excitement in the workplace. While some interpreted my experience as tree hugging and were unable to endure the countless photographs of more trees, there were others who realized the project's capacity for change. More then merely being a "sandals and granola" way of life, this project envisioned a new way of living for an entire community. With concern for the environment, the economy and the education of every individual who participated, the work being done went well beyond social activism for better jobs or better education. It was a more holistic way of thinking about what the human soul needs for a fuller, more complete existence. The tremendous scale and latitude of what was happening in the community witnessed to the comprehensive nature of the project's strategy.

Observing the project's broad and distinctive range, I became conscious that I sought an outlet for the same kind of creativity in whatever career I invested my time and energy. I also longed to be able to share with others the firsthand experience of seeing such a venture in action. I was both lucky and driven enough to accept a job where a creative vision for work and life was already a part of the operating agenda. The rewarding nature of my new work was beyond comparison to any other employment, but I felt consistently pulled back toward the tiny village and the shining eyes of the hopeful children who called me "friend." The creative energy present within my workplace allowed my experiences to become the experiences of the larger community. Within my first year of work I developed a plan to return with a new group of people who cared to gain a wider perspective of the planet and life together.

With this second group of courageous and enthusiastic friends, we embarked on the journey of exploring a new place together. Unavoidable circumstances left our departure on Christmas day. While my husband and I had an unconventional morning, the hustle and bustle of preparing for international travel allowed us to overlook the inconvenience of missing a celebration to travel on a holiday. Before we could hesitate, we were deplaning in the same humidity that had greeted me just over a year earlier. My second trip through the city into the countryside was not nearly as jolting as the first one, but as I looked around at the rest of my group I could see in their eyes the anxiety that I had experienced. Rapidly, the group's anxiety faded, as they were encompassed into the vastness of the project.

My reward for the immense amount of work it took to prepare a group for complicated travel, culture shock and a physically, mentally and spiritually draining journey was to see the project through their fresh eyes. I knew both the sorrow and the elation they felt as they encountered the new people and places of life in a foreign land. While they looked to me as leader during their preparation, I was no longer leader as much as I was partner, walking beside them as they each struggled with the difficult realities they were experiencing. I anguished in their pain and I took delight in their joy. I was especially energized by the profound personal growth I observed taking place within every individual who accompanied me on this journey. To see the evolution of consciousness of those around me served to challenge my own psyche further. Indisputably, all of us called into question our own strength of self at some point along the peregrination. Conversely, we all experienced moments that humbled our spirits, extended our compassion and brought wonderment beyond what we could have anticipated for such an odyssey.

For my husband and me, life beyond this expedition has become a balancing act. Compelled to live more simply and pare down our massive collection of stuff, we work to clean and glean our lives of material things more frequently. While purging treasured possessions is never free of stress, it has become surprisingly, a bit easier. Our freedom from the burden of collection is certainly not complete. The chore of clearing is somewhat constant, but nevertheless also a reminder of how immeasurably enjoyable a truly simple life can be. The task is a memento of the perspective broadening experience we have had - knowing how many others live with so little. It is important that we do not cleanse simply out of guilt because we have much and others have little. It is far more advantageous for the soul to both acquire and let go of possessions knowing that being blessed with much brings the responsibility to use our resources wisely. Undoubtedly this outlook moves others into the forefront of one's heart and selfishness fades.

Shared with my husband, this point of view shift brings a unique foundational element to the ever-evolving marital relationship. It carries to the table an ability to clear a jumbled path. Traveling this avenue together vibrantly reflects the love and hope that you have for each other and for the future. Nonetheless, our clutter can still ensnare us. We repeatedly see the impact of our experiences in our darkest moments. Even bounded by life's shadows, it is remarkable to know that we have somehow been molded by something that is unwaveringly hopeful. Ultimately, my inner dialogue is still, at times, heart wrenching. I cannot fully comprehend how there can be such suffering in so many corners of the global neighborhood, when I enjoy such advantage. With heads, hearts, and hands together, my husband and I wrestle with that reality. Moreover we hope that we take on the responsibility of those who do benefit from opportunity.

As someone whose vocation is defined by accompanying people through the intersections of life, I know that I have been given a gift by my experiences in the tiny village of L'Acul, Haiti. I know how greatly my love for someone who is utterly and completely unlike me can expand through working, laughing, and living beside that person. I can also better understand the magnitude of life's precious intersections through the faces of despair and hope that I keep in my memory. Because I know that there is much more to life than my ordinary problems and daily annoyances, I yearn to demonstrate the joy that can come with the contentment of living life for today.

My new approach to living is not without impediments, but then again, there is no life defining experience if it does not continue to shape and challenge. The greatest obstacle I now face is that so much of daily life begins to fall into the realm of ordinary, and I find myself discontent with living into mundane bureaucracy. I am aware that with a certain amount of privilege comes a certain amount of officialism; therefore, I believe that positive change can come from within our existing systems and structures. Subsequently it becomes crucial to work with energy, intelligence, imagination and love, through any amount of red tape. I work in the hope that a broader perspective of life and love will produce positive changes for a global community. In my eyes, the journey towards making a positive impact on this world happens one person, one constructive action at a time. Really, the journey does not end. If I have done my job, I have passed the journey on.