My high school boyfriend and I had to be the most frequent visitors of the Cartersville Sonic. I mean seriously, we probably paid for most of the building with how many late-night slushies we bought. Don’t ask me why we picked Sonic, but probably 2 or 3 nights of every week we would end up sitting in our cars at Sonic laughing and asking for extra ketchup. Starbucks was where we went to break up; Sonic was for smooth sailing. Needless to say, white chocolate mochas don’t taste nearly as good to me anymore—but I can always put down a good lemon-berry slush.

We were pulling out of Sonic on one of our routine nights and saw a man sitting by himself on the side of the curb. The sign in his hand read, “Hungry—could use any help.” The guy that I was dating was the kind of guy that wouldn’t pass him without helping—so we stopped. And that’s when we met Billy. Now, if you consider “meeting” a homeless person as putting twenty dollars in their hand, I had “met” a homeless person. But this was different. We sat and talked to Billy for probably thirty minutes, hearing his story—how he was looking for work here and was therefore forced to be separated from his wife and kids for the time being. How he felt like he had failed them. How he loved them so much and dreamed of the day that he could provide for them.

See, Billy was the first homeless person I had ever really seen.  Of course I had seen homeless people prior to our encounter at Sonic, but by “seen,” what I really mean is that I passed someone driving in a car, or handed someone a few dollars while rushing out of the Walmart parking lot. I had seen homeless people, but I hadn’t really seen them. I hadn’t heard their stories; I hadn’t prayed with them; I hadn’t carried their burdens or sat down on the side of the road and shared a meal with them. They were homeless people to me. They weren’t my brother or sister. They weren’t my mother or father. But Billy—I saw Billy. And for the first time in my life, I realized that the Billy’s of the world have something that the Haley’s won’t ever have.

I sat in my bed this very morning and prayed. I have a really hard time setting aside time to pray—I can go days and not even take a breath to notice. But this morning, I just started praying and I was amazed at what came out. “God, lead me to someone homeless or hungry or needy; please make our paths cross.” All of the sudden, something that hadn’t even really been on my heart blurted out of my mouth. I wish I could say that I pray this every day and that I pray it so that God would lead me to needy people to help. But that wasn’t really the case. I was praying this selfishly—I wanted to meet another Billy because Billy brought something out of my heart that no one else in the world had. He sat on the cold cement, having faith that someone, anyone, would bring him food. He was alone and away from everyone he loved. He hadn’t showered and he had no future plans. But he smiled and he looked at me with bright eyes and said, “God loves me. He’s taking care of me and there is nothing like having Him on your side.” And Billy believed that with all of his heart. Billy might look different to the world, but Billy was pure. He was hopeful and sure and he wasn’t defined by career or money or status. He didn’t own a home and he wasn’t a CEO and he didn’t make three figures. But he knew who his Dad was and that was enough for him. And this morning, all I wanted was to hug a Billy. To be so close to someone that knew my Father so well.

The Bible is full of commandments about taking care of the poor. And yes, I think that Jesus was telling us that, in part, because they need us. They need their brothers and sisters to step up and feed and clothe them. They need shelter and jobs and family. But honestly, more importantly, I think that Jesus said that because He knew that we needed them. We need their faith; we need their trust; we need their perspectives and their stories. Jesus points us to these brothers and sisters because I am convinced that they are some of His favorites. They know something that we don’t know. And by “we” I mean me—the girl that hasn’t ever been hungry a day in her life. The girl that never questioned if college was an option. The girl whose parents wouldn’t stop loving her if she slapped them in the face and ran the other way. I need Billy. We need Billy.

And we won’t ever know Billy if we don’t share meals and stories and houses and churches. We don’t see people when we crumple dollar bills into their hand or pretend to look past them when they’re standing at the stop sign. Take time. See them.

Because I have a feeling we’re really, really going to miss out if we don’t get to know the Billy’s.

All I can think about is Mary.

When I close my eyes on this rainy, seemingly hopeless, somehow perfect night, all I can see is her sweet face.

Can you imagine watching your baby boy be nailed to a cross? Your baby boy. You aren’t watching someone kill a stranger. You are watching soldiers take your son and spit in His face. The same little boy that you fell in love with the first moment you laid eyes on Him in that stable thirty-three years ago. Oh, and to watch that whip. Every time that whip hits your little boy you cringe. You want to yell, “don’t do it again!” and right then you catch a glimpse of the scar on his leg. And you remember how he got that scar when He was playing with His Daddy outside twenty-five years ago. How you wish that was the only scar on His body. And then you watch them take a hammer and hit the nails into your perfect little boy. Your stomach sinks and your heart is torn in half because you love those hands. You had those tiny warm hands touch your cheeks and lean in close for a bedtime kiss. You’ve watched those hands hug and hold and heal as your baby has turned into a sinless, selfless, perfect man. And now, those perfect, sweet little hands that you have grown to love are being crushed in front of your eyes. And all you can do is just fall to your face and cry. And every once in a while, only when you have the strength, you raise up on your knees and kiss your precious little boys feet. You press your lips up to those feet and you squeeze your eyes shut and you pray for God to take this pain away quickly. You pray that it happens fast and you can take your precious one down from that rugged cross and hold Him in your arms where He should be. And just as you ask for that, you watch Him breathe in one last time, and you hear the words, “It is finished,” and you let out one more sob as you press His still-warm feet to your cheek.

And there is no understanding in that moment. There are no cliché comments made like “You’ll get through it,” or “It all happens for a reason,” because for heaven’s sake, this woman just watched her little boy die. Die on a public, humiliating, disgraceful cross at that.  And she knows, deep down, that this was supposed to happen…that it was His will. But it still hurts. She knows there is purpose but she just can’t think of that right now. It just still hurts. It’s her little boy.

Tonight, when I close my eyes and think about that night thousands of years ago when my Savior hung on a cross, I can’t help but wonder who was at His feet. I try to imagine myself 2,000 years ago and wonder where I would have been. Would I have been shouting with the crowds to “Crucify Him?” Would I have been at home cleaning the house because I didn’t believe that He was the One? Would I have been sitting right next to Mary? Would I have put my chin on her shoulder and my arms around her and held her as she watched her little boy die? Would I have stayed the whole day, right at His feet? Would I have cried until there were just no more tears? Would I have run up and hugged his feet and tried to wipe the blood stains off of my blameless Savior whose feet were not worthy of blood?

God, I hope so.

God, let me have a heart like your Momma’s. Let my heart break like hers.

What I would have given to see her smile on Sunday morning when she got to see her little boy. Her perfect little boy, restored. What I would given to have seen that hug—that joyful, thankful, heart-wrenching hug that her son was alive, and even more so, that her God was faithful.

Oh, God, help me love you like your Momma did. 

For those of you who have read my blog before, you probably remember Becky. I am absolutely in love with every child at the orphanage I have been visiting for the past three years and will do everything in my power to show them that are loved beyond belief, but I feel a special call to take care of this sick little three-year-old girl. My college years have been incredible and I have met people that I will call my best friends for my entire life, but I also miss this little one every single day. My dream is to be "Mommy" to orphaned children, and I write these blogs so that they are able to look back and realize that God placed them in my heart far before they ever realized.

  For Becky, The 15 Things I Hope You Do Better Than I Have 

1.     Always look people in the eye when you’re talking to them. Not at your phone, and definitely not at your watch. Let people know that you are genuinely interested in what they have to say.

2.     No one has it together. I promise, no one. Don’t live to please everyone else. You be you, all the time, whether that means being the most innovative surgeon in the nation or waitressing down the street.

3.     Don’t grow up too fast. Be a little girl as long as you can. Don’t wear make-up or shave your legs too soon. Trust me, it’s all overrated.

4.     People like to get hung up on the details of things. My advice: stick to the big picture. It really isn’t our job to choose what is right and what is wrong. Focus on loving God with all of your heart and loving others with all of your heart and that should be enough work to last a lifetime.

5.     Let your dating years be fun. I overheard a girl talking yesterday about how her boyfriend is so “wise” and “intentional.” Those are great things, but also remember that laughing until two in the morning is just as important.

6.     And when it comes time to find Mr. Right, make sure he loves you more than he loves being in a relationship with you.

7.     Start tithing when you get your first job. If you’re faithful with the small, it will be so much easier to be faithful with the big.

8.     This is so silly and I still don’t understand it, but politics can cause a lot of fights around here. My advice: don’t get into arguments over them. You aren’t going to change their mind and they aren’t going to change yours. Believe what you believe and don’t post about it on Facebook.

9.     Try and treat everyone like you would treat Jesus. Your best friends, the girl alone at lunch, the homeless man outside of Walmart, the girl that says mean things about you behind your back. Everyone. 

10. It’s good to love people that are different from you. Sometimes the world tells us to run away from differences; I say run towards them. If you don’t get to know all of God’s children, you’re missing out on a huge part of who He really is.

11. Always bring a fun game in the car. Your Mommy is the world’s worst at directions. I promise we’ll get where we’re going eventually, but it may take three hours when it’s supposed to take an hour and a half. And on that note, I may be the world’s worst at a lot of things at first (or my whole life), but know that I’ll never stop trying to be the best I can be for you. Never. So be patient with me.

12. Write hand-written thank you notes. And it doesn’t have to just be for gifts. Thank the people that got you where you are.

13. When you do start to wonder how you ended up with me, know that I will be there to hold your hand. Also know that if I had the choice, I would take back every hurtful thing that brought you to me. But on that same note, you are my angel on earth. I have never been so thankful that God brought someone in my life.

14. A lot of people don’t understand adoption. Kids may ask mean questions. But always know this: God took a clueless, sheltered, small-town loving girl 5, 048 miles away from her home, and then 5 hours out into a tiny village to find you. He has raised thousands of dollars to get me to you. He has worked out timelines and moved relationships so that I get to you. Never doubt we were brought together for a purpose.

15. Know I’ll always be your biggest fan. Always. 

If we’re being completely honest, sometimes I’m really frustrated with the way my life is turning out.

I’ve always wanted to do something out of the ordinary. I think that we all want to feel like we’ve done something significant with our lives. I think that there is the slightest fear in all of us that we will fail, that we will miss our cue, or waste the perfect moment to do something great. Even when I was thirteen, I remember thinking that I wanted to do something different…something that would leave the world a better place. And it all seemed a lot easier when my Mom was making me dinner every day and “credit history” and “bills” were words that were never in my vocabulary. If we’re being honest, when I was that thirteen-year- old little girl, I thought that my life at twenty-one would look a lot different than it actually does.

I was supposed to know exactly where my life was going. I was supposed to have a boyfriend. I was supposed to be a lot more patient with my brothers and know at least five recipes off of the top of my head. I was supposed to wake up early every morning to exercise. I wanted to have a good bit of money in my savings. I wanted to be the girl that had it all figured out.

And in my most frustrated moments like today, when my bank account is practically empty and I can’t remember the last time that I exercised, when I burn (literally) everything I cook, and thinking about what I’m supposed to do after graduation absolutely terrifies me, I can hear God’s voice saying, “Sweetie, your life has to go differently than expected so that it can be better than you ever expected.”  

Isn’t that the scary truth? I’m so quick to become frustrated with God because the new and unknown is so scary. When everything you planned is crumbling, it feels like He is abandoning. But He’s doing the exact opposite. He’s taking things away so He can give us something so much better. We ask time and time again for Him to do something extraordinary through us. To make our lives stand out—to make our lives significant. But yet we still want to be comfortable. We were made to be different, and sometimes being different brings hurt.

So when we’re terrified of what is in front of us, when it’s new and scary and lonely and people are disapproving and discouraging, He isn’t walking away. He’s just giving us what we’ve prayed for time and time again.

I’m so guilty of thinking that “having it all together” makes me closer to God. The only thing that brings us closer to Him is to be at His feet. And that never requires us to be perfect. It doesn’t mean we have to have our hair brushed and our tears wiped and our plans set in stone. It means that we realize we are nothing in comparison to Him. We are weak and broken and so unbelievably flawed, but that He is our Dad and He will lead us and guide us and use us and most importantly, love us.

He doesn’t just want us when we’re clean and perfect and pure.

He’s our Dad, and Dads want their children even when they’re dirty and guilty and scared.

People ask me a lot of the time, what made you want to go across the world to help orphaned children? Can't you just use the money and help here? Do you enjoy riding 15 hours on a plane and landing in a place where you have to sleep with a mosquito net and buy bottled water so you don't get sick? I've had people ask these questions from a genuine place of curiosity, and in those cases, I love to explain why every bit of inconvenience is totally worth it to me. But many times, I've had people ask those very same questions with different undertones. Many times, people think that I'm too "extreme" and that spending $2,000 on a plane ticket is simply ridiculous. I've heard people that I love the most call it "excessive" and "weird." And I'll be honest, sometimes, in the middle of fundraisers and logistics and raising money to get back on that plane, I have to sit down and remember the little faces that make it all so worth it.

Recently, though, something happened all too close to home that reminded me of why I choose to say, "Yes, I'll fight for them," even when that's the hard answer. Even when I'm tired. Even when it's been nine months and I can't even remember their little hands or the way they smell or what it was like to hold a sick baby in my arms. Even then, in the hardest of times, I know that as a follower of Christ, I was made to fight for these children. Convenient or not.

"The test results were abnormal," my Mom said over the phone as my heart broke for someone I love more than I could ever explain. "She's going back for more testing in the next few weeks." I'll never forget the weeks that followed that phone call. Even though I tried to think positive, my mind raced with the possibilities of the devastation a sickness like this could bring. It was the last thing in the world I wanted this family to go through. And then I thought about that families little girl. What if she had to watch her Mom go through this? Who would be there to help her with her make-up before her first homecoming? Who would be there to hear about her first dates and cook for her friends when they came over? It was crazy--all of the sudden, I became such a fighter. There were no measures that seemed too extreme. No distance that seemed too far. I had already decided, if the worst happened, I would move to where they lived, and be the best mother-figure I could ever hope to be. Quitting school was an after thought, and my own "plans" quickly became to seem nonexistent when compared to the importance of taking care of this little girl. Because I loved this person so much, it didn't seem like sacrifice--it just made sense. I know that if I were in this mother's position, I would want someone to do whatever it took to make sure that my little girl was taken care of, so why would I not do that for her?

I still thank God today that, after many follow-up doctor's appointments, she was told that it was nothing to be concerned about. Although I feared the worst in that situation, I learned one lesson I will never forget: You will do immeasurable things for the people you love.

And then it hit me--this "worst case scenario" has happened to millions of children around the world. 13 million children to be exact. 13 million children have had both parents die and left with no one to care for them. These kids are referred to as "double orphans." That means that there were 26 million parents in the world that were forced to leave their children before they were supposed to. Mothers that were laying on their death bed suffering from AIDS as they wished that they would make it to see their first born graduate from high school. Fathers who woke up and kissed their children goodbye before leaving for work and never came home because they were killed innocently due to an unstable government that caused civil war. This happens. It isn't just a worst nightmare to some people.

And I can guarantee you one thing. If those Mothers and Fathers were still here, they would be begging us, "Please, do whatever it takes. Those are my children." Because wouldn't you do the same thing? When it comes to saving your children, deadlines and degrees and status and money and reputation don't matter. They're your children.

These kids that I work with, they were all someone's child. Some of their stories I'll never know. And in those situations, I have the choice to fill in the blank. I will always choose to believe that their parents did everything they could. That they fought until they had no more fight in them. And I will love them and fight for them as if I were that mother. Because that mother is my sister in Christ, and one day when I see her in heaven, I hope that I can honestly say to her, "I did everything I could for your child."

Because wouldn't you want the same thing for your kids?

I remember sitting in a tiny hotel room halfway across the world two years ago, my heart broken and my eyes opened, when one of the members of our trip said, "Don't be surprised when you go back home and people don't want to listen to your stories over and over again. It isn't that they don't feel bad for these kids. They do. It's just that they don't know Henry. They haven't held little Christian's hand. They haven't seen Smallma's precious smile. It's a lot easier to fall in love with someone when you can hold their little hands and look into their eyes and see the need for love."

Since I've been back from Liberia, I've learned that numbers don't cut it. There are 300,000 kids in a country with half the population of Georgia. While I know this number is informative, it just doesn't have the ability to break your heart. Numbers don't have that effect. Faces do.

I want to introduce you to Josie. Josie is a seven-year old little girl whose story of redemption reminds me of God's faithfulness every single time I think of that sweet smile. Josie spent the first part of her life in a baby home in Uganda. During this time, she suffered malaria, a disease that can have a drastic effect on little bodies like Josie's. Although she overcame the malaria, Josie was continually sick and running high fevers.

Halfway across the world in Nashville, Tennessee, a family of eight, already passionate about loving orphans, decided to make a trip to Uganda. Suzanne and Mike would take their two oldest children to visit a dear friend who was serving there. During this trip, they visited the baby home where Josie was living. Josie couldn't walk, and when they arrived to the baby home each day her little body was sitting out in the hot sun, her head burning with a fever. Although they showered Josie with as much love as any family can give, the time to go home was approaching quickly, and they knew they had to get back to care for the other four kids at home. Once they returned, however, home didn't seem the same. Grace, their oldest daughter, continued to beg for Josie to be her little sister, and finally, after a lot of prayer, the Mayernick family decided that Josie's home was their family. This decision came with another trip to Uganda, and this trip held devastating news: Josie was positive for TB and HIV. Although this news stunned the Mayernick's, after 24 hours of desperate researching, they were assured that they could provide Josie with the proper treatment in Nashville, and soon, she would be able to live a normal life, just the same as any of their other children. After prayer, love, and a lot of commitment, the Mayernick's took Josie home.

Today, Josie is a precious, outgoing little bundle of joy who is, most definitely, a Mayernick at heart. Her precious Mom, Suzanne, allowed me to come visit their house in Nashville several months ago, and I'll never forget the love I saw in that family. And, yes, they were real people! A real family with fast food on the table, and friends over, and Josie begging, "Pllllllease Mommy, let me go to Chuckie Cheese!" But amidst all the "normal," there was something holy about this family. I got to see a Dad of seven kids watch and laugh at the craziness, greeting me with, "Welcome to our house. This is our life!" I met a lady who is so passionate about giving the 147 million orphans in our world a home, that she sacrificed time (on her oldest daughter's prom day!) to talk with me about what it means to love. I watched Josie, a little girl who, for months, had to have a nurse come into her house every day, run up to me and read a book in my lap. I watched brothers and sisters playing basketball and not realize the color of skin. I saw a family who was willing to commit to the difficult moments, the counseling, the craziness, the tears, and the questions, because they know that Josie, and Grace, and Michael, and Annabelle, and Miller Anne, and Joshua, and Caleb are ALL children of God. Each one of them is precious and irreplaceable and no matter where they came from or what happens in their life, they will fight for them. Because that is what love is.

I'm telling you this story because, tomorrow, a man named Daryl Roberts from my home town will start his venture to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. He is hiking "from the ground up," in order to rebuild our kids in Liberia, "from the ground up," and at the end of the day, he isn't hiking for the 300,000. He is hiking for the Josie's, and the Becky's, and the Henry's, and the Christian's. He is hiking so that every little mouth of the 300,000 is fed and every tummy healthy and every hand held, so that, eventually, every child will have a story like Josie's.

Join Orphan Aid Liberia in the climb by liking our Facebook Page or visiting our website: www.orphanaidliberia.com

If you would like to hear more about Josie's story, you can check out her amazing mom's blog: www.joiningthejourney.blogspot.com