Suntanned and sleep-deprived, my 14-year-old son Kostik recently returned from Tijuana, Mexico where he spent his Christmas break. He wasn't tanned from visiting beaches, nor was he tired from late-night parties. No, he spent his vacation catching cross-country flights at odd hours and building a house for a Mexican family with a youth team from Global Expeditions.

The teams built the pink and green houses on the right

I hadn't spoken to Kostik the entire time he was gone so I was eager to hear about his trip.

"We slept in tents with our clothes on inside our sleeping bags. We had no mattresses, and the tents had vents on top - even though the temperature was in the 30s every night! The water coming out of the faucets was so cold that I didn't shower the whole time I was gone. Water in our faucets at home never gets that cold!"

It was a real mission trip, and not one for sissies. I smiled as he went on.

"We stayed on a cattle ranch. There were about 90 of us. The girls' tents were in one area, the boys' tents in another. The girls had it good! They only got the smell of the cattle if the wind blew from the south, which it rarely did. It usually blew from the west, which meant that we boys got the smell of the latrines. If it blew from the south, we got the smell of the cattle and a dog kennel."

Nothing like a bit of hardship to build camaraderie.

"The latrines were drafty. If it was 39 degrees outside, it was 39 in the latrine. Two of the four outhouses didn't have roofs. They were the ones to use at night because the moon lit them inside."

Hm, saves on flashlight batteries.

A co-leader who had also been on the summer Mexico trip with me filled me in on more details during a phone call. "This trip took the kids out of their comfort zone," he said. "But it was really good for them. I heard one of the kids say, 'When I get home, I'm just going to sit in the toilet for a couple of hours.' Makes them appreciate what they have at home."

But the trip wasn't all hardship and "eating nasty beans," as Kostik put it. On the contrary, Kostik came back elated, already planning his next trip.

Each of the three teams spent the days (which were warm, in the 70s) framing a house, putting up drywall, cutting out windows, putting in door frames, nailing plywood sheets to the studs on the roof, nailing shingles, and painting. And when Kostik wasn't doing one of those tasks, he was playing soccer with neighborhood kids, performing dramas, or teaching children. He especially enjoyed seeing the kids get happy "over nothing," as he put it - just a trinket or the attention that they got from the visitors.

Kostik learned firsthand that it's better to give than to receive. What a sense of accomplishment to build a house. What a great reward to know that you did something for someone.

Oh, and Kostik even found a sports car he could afford.

"You should have been there, Mom! You would have loved it!"

I'm sure I would have - hard ground, cold tent, and all.

NOTE: Since Kostik was instructed to pack only things that he didn't mind losing (or having stolen), I lent Kostik my old Kodak DC4800 digital camera whose LCD burned out a year ago - after I had taken over 16,000 photos with it. Kostik took all these pictures with that favorite old camera of mine. Although you can't see the pictures as you take them, they still turn out great.

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As Christmas approaches, my house is filled with the smell of baking cookies. Year after year, I spend December evenings baking with my children -- traditional sugar cookies, rugelach, chocolate-dipped melting moments, pecan balls, stained glass cookies, hazelnut shortbread, regular shortbread... Our family's tradition is to set aside one day before Christmas and invite friends over, bake and decorate with them, and give them each a plate of cookies to take home. And then we give away the rest.

But this year is different.

Oh, I'm still baking, still inviting friends, and still giving away much of what I bake. But as I spend time in the kitchen, I can't stop thinking about some of the people I met over the last year who cannot bake. Some don't have an oven. Others don't even have the flour to bake with. Still others are bedridden. Or crippled.

In Mexico, I met a couple devoted to helping the destitute. Paul and Tere chose to live in a small plywood house like that of the poor with whom they work. They run three soup kitchens and have built over 200 homes for the destitute. Their house has no running water, no toilet, and no electricity, yet they live there by choice.

Perhaps they do have an oven. But I think of them when I bake my cookies.

In a Mexican dump, I met people who dig through the trash for their food. I returned to the dump day after day, drawn there by the openness and warmth of the individuals I met and befriended in that squalor.

I think of these people when I bake cookies.

In Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, tens of thousands of street children earn their living in the streets by begging. When we were caught in traffic, I saw them swarming around stopped cars. We handed out bread or granola bars when they came to our window.

I think of them when I bake, and ache inside.

In the Mother Teresa AIDS Orphanage, I saw 400 HIV-positive children playing, reaching for my hand, clinging to me, wanting to be held and loved. Since they are orphans, they will never bake with their mothers.

I think of them when I bake with my children.

Last year on a grey Rochester day just before Christmas, I visited an acquaintance in a hospital, thinking I might cheer her up. She suffered with rheumatoid arthritis for 50 years and was about to have her leg amputated. Although she would soon be wheelchair bound for life and her hands are twisted to the point of being almost useless, she exuded joy and optimism. I came away humbled. She cheered me up.

She will never be able to bake cookies. I think I'll bring her some.

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My 14-year-old son Kostik is obsessed with sports cars -- virtual sports cars, since my husband and I both drive minivans. But as Kostik approaches driving age, I've grown more concerned about his obsession. So I decided my son needed a reality check: I signed us both up for a trip to build homes for the destitute living on a Mexico dump. After all, 2.7 billion people -- that is almost half the world's population -- live on less than $2 per day. Sports car? They would consider themselves fortunate to own a bicycle!

In July, Kostik and I joined 110 youth and 14 leaders headed by overnight bus from Garden Valley, Texas to the border town of Matamoros, Mexico. I was assigned the task of documenting the trip and posting daily web updates for the parents.

We partnered with Paul Gonzalez, head of S.O.S. Ministries, not only to build homes, but also to give the youth a taste of ultimate deprivation: Paul took us to the city dump to distribute lemonade to those who rummage through the pungent trash to make a living. These people not only find and resell recyclable plastic, cardboard, and metal; sometimes they dig up lunch. Children often help their parents increase their meager earnings by foraging with them. Thus these children are discouraged from going to school, and with no education, they perpetuate the cycle of poverty.

Although walking through heaps of putrid trash to get photos is not the way my coworkers spend their vacations, I felt blessed to be there. While they didn't offer me any food, the people in the dump were welcoming, and I learned yet again to be thankful for my privileged life in a home with running water, electricity, and a flushing toilet, plus a pantry stocked with food -- luxuries these people don't have.

The teens were deeply affected, too. On the bus back to our hotel, they were quiet, lost in thought.

"This could have been any one of us," noted Josh, "but by the grace of God, we were born elsewhere. We could have been the ones going to the dump every day!"

Jessica spoke up. "I feel so spoiled. I don't even want to go back to America with all its materialism. People there complain over the littlest stuff. These people get excited about trash coming!"

Team leader Brad shared, "Your friends and family won't completely understand what you experienced here today. We've been ungrateful for the simple things that we have. Lock this in your memory and return to it often."

How did all this affect my son?

He signed up to build homes for the needy in Tijuana over Christmas break.

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"Buy a collapsible bucket. That will be your bath."

Karen, my travel partner, has been to Africa 14 times, so I did as she said.

"And I'll bring you a bug hut," she offered.

"A what?"

"A bug hut. To keep off the insects and rodents," she explained.

Rodents?! Do rodents assault sleeping humans in eastern Africa? Will I be fending off attacking mice in the middle of the night? I'm beginning to wonder what I've gotten myself into. With instructions to bring a water purification bottle, sheet and pillow, toilet paper, peanut butter and packets of oatmeal, my upcoming trip (which I mentioned in my previous post) to Kenya, Ethiopia, and Sudan is starting to sound like a backpacking trip -- backpacking while wearing a long skirt and head covering. It's a good thing I like backpacking. I'm going to bring my own spoon, too, so I don't have to eat with my hands. Perhaps I should also buy that collapsible bowl I saw on the Internet...

My task will be to document the places and people we visit for Sisters in Service. We'll be going to a health clinic, refugee camp, street children rehabilitation center, and the site of a new school that does not force Sudanese children to study militancy. On a trip like this, our plans may change like shifting sand; we are dependent on local transportation, weather, and various unforeseen factors. The key is to remain flexible. Since Karen lives in another city and we have never met, we'll have lots of time to get to know one another during overnight flights, layovers, and bumpy rides. So far I've learned that she loves Starbucks coffee as much as I do and is packing a French press and espresso. Can't be a bad trip with a companion like that!

A lot of preparation goes into a trip like ours: Applying for visas. Getting immunizations. Obtaining medication - malaria prophylaxis, antibiotics, anti-diarrhea medicine... And doing background reading - lots and lots of reading.

But for me, the major headache is getting together my camera gear.

I always carry a spare camera. I learned my lesson the hard way during my college days when my camera died in the middle of the Grand Teton Mountains. Subsequent time spent in those gorgeous mountains was wasted on me; I just pined over every potential untaken picture. So on this trip, I'll be taking three cameras: a Kodak P880 for its wide-angle lens, the Z7590 for its telephoto range, and a V570 for its panoramic mode and tiny size.

Then there's the issue of batteries. I just ordered four more batteries -- in lieu of buying a phenomenally expensive solar power source to recharge batteries in the bush. I'm bringing a voltage converter -- actually, two -- so I can recharge while we're in cities. And I'm collecting SD cards, borrowing from anyone who'll lend me one, and getting some more as late birthday presents. I figure I'll need at least ten 1 GB cards. Currently I own two.

My camera gear, notebooks, and other must-have-with-me-at-all-times items are going in a messenger bag, which I'll carry on the plane. I dare not take a camera bag; it draws too much attention, especially in areas where journalists aren't welcomed. But should I pack the rest of my gear in a wheeled duffle bag? A backpack? A wheeled backpack? I went crazy with the choices! Fortunately, I have a few more weeks to decide...

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When our church sent its first medical team into the bush of Senegal, West Africa, for the first time in my life I regretted I hadn't gone to medical school. I wanted to go to Senegal, too, but how could I, a writer and photographer, possibly help on a medical mission trip?

The answer came a year later after the second team returned, but they still had no pictures of Senegalese village life or what they did on their trips. After all, the doctors and nurses were busy with patients -- how could they get pictures when there were ailing crowds waiting to be treated? I would go on the following trip as their journalist and bring back to our congregation the story of a medical team's work.

In 2003, after being jabbed with an assortment of vaccinations, I packed all my personal belongings into one carry-on bag (at a time when we could still take toothpaste on board). It was all the baggage we were allowed. Each of our two suitcases was crammed with donated medicine. Giddy as children going to summer camp, the team of ten headed into sub-Saharan villages with no electricity or running water. Medical care is unavailable in the villages, except during rare visits by teams like ours. People typically go to doctors only when severely ill, and then they have to travel many miles across sand to a town or city. Most people consult a witch doctor before they go to a medical doctor, so by the time they seek medical help, it's often too late. It struck me that our pets get better medical care than the people we were treating for Kwashiorkor, worms, fungus, anemia, as well as strep throat (which can develop into scarlet fever) and headaches (they don't have ibuprofen in the bush).

When we returned, I gave a presentation to the congregation about Senegal and the work our medical team did. Because I had little time to prepare, I decided to use EasyShare software to deliver my slide show; PowerPoint requires resizing every picture, which is time-consuming. With EasyShare, I just clicked through my 1700 pictures and marked as Favorites the ones I wanted to show. Then I rearranged them into the order I wanted.

Through the pictures I showed, people experienced what it was like to take a two-week mission trip to Senegal. To my delight, many more have gone on mission trips to Senegal because of my pictures.

That Senegal trip opened another door for me: in November, I'll be going to Kenya, Ethiopia, and Sudan to document other mission work. Stay tuned.

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Rather than lug around a large photo album, I discovered that a great way to share my travel tales is to create an online album at the EasyShare Gallery. I write the captions as if I were telling the story, and then send the link to my family, friends, even coworkers. I don't have to reiterate the same stories ad nauseam and I can write really long captions to tell my story. I’m not cut off at 120 or 248 characters like I’ve found on some websites.

One summer, my family of five drove cross-country from Rochester, New York to the Grand Canyon in two weeks. Since we will probably never take another trip like that again, I wanted to preserve every moment. I didn't just photograph the grand vistas and the family lined up in front of famous landmarks; I also took pictures of the little things that made up the trip -- the kids playing in the car, our breakdown, the campsites, even signs along the way. I documented the little moments of the trip -- our countless picnic lunches, rest stops, even pumping gasoline. Come to think of it, I should have photographed the price of gasoline back then. That price is just a happy memory now. So are all the precious moments of that trip.

I was happy to be able to tell the story, the WHOLE story, in my album. You can check out our Trip West here.

Later on, I will share some of my extreme international travels through the pictures I take.

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