If I had to describe this trip in two words, it would be this: beautifully difficult.
I was filled with excitement at the thought of taking my family on a grand
adventure—walking alongside them as they experienced something so few people ever
do. If you had told me ten years ago that this is where our family of four would be, I
probably would have laughed and said, “No way.” And yet, here we are.
This trip didn’t just impact us in the moment—it changed us. Not only as a family, but as
individuals. I’m deeply grateful that God pursued us with His grace and mercy years
ago, redeeming our lives and leading us into a story far greater than anything I could
have imagined.
Traveling to El Salvador with Jason, Ryan, and Samuel stretched me in ways I didn’t
expect. I wrestled with fear and quietly wondered if they would fall in love with what God
is doing there the way I had. On paper, it didn’t make much sense—two full days of
travel for just two days on the ground with the staff, pastors, and children. Many would
have said it wasn’t worth it. But God had a different plan—one that left me in awe.
He knew long before we packed our bags that we would be returning in March. He also
knew the weight this trip would carry—for each of us— the culture shock, the grief, the
humbling moments, and even the physical strain of the heat. What I didn’t realize then
was that this wasn’t just a short trip; it was preparation. Not only for the boys, but for
Candace and me as well. God knew the heartbreak and the questions that would come,
and as always, His plan was exactly what we needed.
Before we left, Jason was already carrying deep grief. He had been visiting his
stepfather in hospice, knowing the end was near. As we boarded the plane, he carried
the quiet understanding that when we returned home, the man who raised him would
likely be in the arms of Jesus. There was peace in knowing his suffering would end—but
that didn’t make the loss any lighter.
So Jason arrived in El Salvador with a heart full of both love and sorrow. For the first
two days, he sat with the children, looking into their eyes, completely humbled—and yet
struggling to connect. He wrestled with a painful tension: how could he grieve the loss of
a father when so many of the children before him had never had one at all? That
question weighed heavily on him. And so, in those first days, he was quiet, distant at
times, and deeply grieving.
Ryan, on the other hand, stepped into El Salvador and immediately began to thrive.
Every child he met became a humbling and transformative moment for him. He
connected quickly, loving without hesitation or reserve. As I watched him, I knew almost
instantly—this place felt like home to him. God began using him right away as he sat
with the children, engaging in meaningful conversations. They responded with
remarkable openness—walls came down, trust was built, and connections formed with
ease.

Samuel is an adventure waiting to happen. Fearless and eager, he embraces anything
new. The greatest challenge he faced was the intense equatorial heat—but even that
couldn’t slow him down. He connected in his own way—through soccer games, coloring
side by side, and, of course, a lively round of Uno. Just like with Ryan, I could see it
clearly as I watched him—this place felt like home to him, too.
When I arrived at Remar, I was filled with hope and anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see
the children again—to hug them and simply be with them. But as we got closer, a
heaviness for Jason settled in my heart and refused to lift. For the first two days, I felt
weighed down—emotionally and physically.
Then came the second night, and everything began to shift.
The pastors were coming for an evening of food and fellowship. I felt both excitement
and a bit of hesitation, unsure of how the night would unfold. But the moment Pastor
David arrived and shook Jason’s hand, it was as if something broke open. The
atmosphere changed. What followed was a night of genuine connection—stories
shared, testimonies spoken, and hearts laid bare. The pastors shared their journeys and
their deep desire to serve their communities and church families. Jason and I were able
to share more about Aliyah Ministry and the vision God has given us for March. It was a
beautiful, unforced time of fellowship—one that felt clearly guided by the Lord.
At the same time, Ryan, Samuel, and Candace were back with the children and staff,
fully immersed in their own moments of connection. They gathered in the kitchen
making pupusas, laughing, talking, and building relationships. Later, they hosted a
movie night, creating space for even more joy and connection.
By the time we all returned to the house that night, something had shifted in each of us.
Our debrief was filled with stories—clear evidence of God moving in ways both big and
small. You could feel it. It was undeniable.
The next day, Candace and I spent intentional time with the girls—time that felt both
gentle and deeply significant. We took them swimming, laughed together, and watched
as conversations slowly turned from lighthearted to meaningful. With the help of
Delmi—our “Mama” and translator—walls began to come down. Story by story, prayer
by prayer, we witnessed God meeting each girl right where she was. Candace and I
could only sit in awe as He pursued each heart so personally.
At the same time, Jason, Ryan, and Samuel were with the boys, building connections in
their own way. Their day was filled with swimming, soccer, and shared moments that
opened the door for deeper conversations. It wasn’t just play—it was trust being built
and relationships taking root.
The night before, Jason had connected with Pastor Jesus and was invited to preach at
his church. What took place there was more than just a message—it was a powerful
encounter with the Lord that marked him in a way words can hardly describe.

That same night, we gathered all of the children together for a Bible study centered on 2
Corinthians 5:17. Using the image of a butterfly, I shared how transformation takes
place—how something becomes entirely new. In the same way, when we come to know
Christ, the old is gone and new life begins. You could see it in their eyes—curiosity,
wonder, and for some, a quiet understanding taking root.
Our final day was filled with both deep joy and quiet sorrow. Goodbyes are never easy,
especially when your heart feels so connected in such a short time. And yet, there was
peace. We held onto the hope of returning in March, if it is the Lord’s will, and that
softened the weight of leaving.
We only had two hours with the children that day, but in those two hours, something
lasting was formed—a bond that distance cannot break. A connection that stays with
you
As we left El Salvador, we carried more than memories—we carried changed hearts.
What began as a short, uncertain trip became a sacred reminder that God is always at
work, even in the stretching, the grief, and the unknown. He met each of us in deep
personal ways, weaving together joy and sorrow into something meaningful and lasting.
This journey was never just about the days we spent there, but about what God began
in us and through us. And as we look ahead to returning, we do so with open hands and
expectant hearts, trusting that the story He is writing is far from over.