My first trip on Jet Blue. In Atlanta we got delayed waiting on the pilot to show up. In Ft. Lauderdale we got delayed because the flight attendants for our flight were working another inbound flight, and we were reassured that we’d be boarding as soon as those two could run from their concourse to our gate.

I was hoping that they were not short-handed on flight mechanics.

As I sit in row 15, seat E on flight 1380, somewhere out over the deep blue waters of the Gulf of America, or Mexico, or whatever I’m supposed to be calling it these days, I get the feeling that I am headed off into the unknown.

I mean, I know that I’m headed to Guatemala. I know that we’re going there to build houses for a group of deserving families. I know that this is an extraordinary kind of mission trip as far as mission trips go.

But I have this distinct feeling that I have no idea what’s really going to happen this week.

A lot of people think that a mission trip is about the defined task at hand. Some organizations build houses, some drill wells, and some set up medical clinics. In fact, while onboard flight 1380 I met the lady who occupied seat D right next to me on the aisle.

“I’m from Connecticut,” she says.

“Where are you from?” she asks.

I told her that we were from Georgia, a little south of Atlanta. Marion spoke from the window seat, telling our new friend that she (Marion) was born in Connecticut. The other lady got excited and asked something about what part. Marion said the name of some town I can’t remember. They both gave grand gestures of acknowledgement without having any idea what the other one was saying.

This is how airplane conversations go.

Our new friend did ask us if we were traveling with a group on a service trip of some kind. This was observant of her, since everyone one in our group on this plane was wearing the same exact blue T-shirt that says in big, bold letters on the back, “MISSION TEAM.”

So, I told her what we were doing and where we were going. She asked a lot of questions. Then she told us that she also was going to Guatemala on a service project with the Rotary Club. She and a few of her friends on the plane were making the trip to participate in the drilling of two wells for communities that had no clean water.

“I just think that doing something for others is the best way to give back from all that we’ve been given in our own country.”

The conversation died down not long after that. She went on to read her book. Marion was reading. I was drooling on my chest and snoring enough that every now and then Marion would give me the elbow.

It wasn’t a horribly long flight. Even with all the delays starting back in Atlanta, travel time was about eight hours from “wheels up to wheels down.”

The captain’s voice comes over the intercom letting us know that we were about to begin our descent into Guatemala City. Out the window I can see layers and layers of mountain peaks and deep valleys. The roof tops of small houses linked together like a chain across the steep slopes. Small dirt roads are visible through the treetops.

“Somewhere down there,” I thought, “maybe right on top of that hill over there, we’re gonna build a house.”

This is the goal. In fact, we have enough people on this trip to build five houses this week. We have five teams of about 15 each. You do the math. Getting that many people down to Guatemala in one piece and at one time on three different airlines is pretty much a miracle in itself.

But my point is, we came to build houses. That’s what this trip is all about. From the outside looking in, that’s what you see.

A lot of people in our group think of me as the new guy because I’ve never made this trip with them to Guatemala before. Which is true. They’ve been building houses down here for a lot of years. And I’ve never been to Guatemala until now.

But this is not my first mission trip to build houses. And I know something. Building houses, while that is the clear and indisputable objective of this trip, does not account for everything that will happen while in Guatemala. These trips are always about more than nails, lumber, and concrete.

They are first and foremost about people.

Meet Cynthia. This little lady spends every waking hour of her day working in the kitchen so that we, the team, can have breakfast and supper to eat. I specifically asked her name because I didn’t want the entire week to go by with that smile being attached to a nameless face. She greets us behind the big window at every meal. She speaks polite English. She serves every one of us with dignity.

Then there’s Luis (Loo – eece). I didn’t really meet Luis, but he was our bus driver who took us out to the job site in the hills about and hour outside San Raymundo. Luis drives a short-body Bluebird bus for a living. Imagine a sawed off school bus back home in Georgia, trick it out with chrome over the top of the windshield and down the side where the blinkers are, and you’ve got his bus.

So, this is what Luis is up against as he takes us up into the hills to build for the day. Tomorrow, I will introduce myself and thank Luis profusely for his excellent driving.

I have decided that there are no driving laws in Guatemala. Anything goes. If there are painted lines, they exist only to suggest how traffic might flow from one side of the city to the other. If you feel like stopping in the middle of the road for any reason, that seems to be fine. Also, motorcycles outnumber cars on the roads down here at least 10 to 1, and they definitely have no legal restraints on how they can be driven.

Finally, there is Alfonzo. He is the grandpa for whom our team is building our house. His daughter, Esther, lives with him, with two small boys. Our leader is introducing us all to Alfonzo and his family, when Alfonzo asks if he can say something to us.

Alfonzo is a man small in stature but big in heart. I don’t know his language. Our group leader interprets for us.

But I can tell you this. Alfonzo is grateful to God for everything he has, which is not much. He knows that this house we are about to build is not just a gift from his new friends from America, it’s a gift from the Lord himself.

I stood there and listened to this humble man talking, and I knew, right then, that we might be the ones changed this week.

Which is exactly why I have no idea what’s about to happen.