I grew up in what kids around here call "the bubble:- they typical American suburb, with the protective PTA moms and the fashionable "trendsetters of America."" For all I knew, the worst thing that could ever happen to me was that my hair dryer wouldn't turn on in the morning. This nave outlook on my life changed during the summer between freshman and sophomore years of high school. Not always the most active member of my church's youth group, I was dragged out of bed on Sunday mornings to go to Sunday school and bribed by my parents to attend the weekly youth group as well as listening to my parents lecture, I was taught that I should believe that God and his son Jesus Christ exist, and that yes, Jesus did dies for us on the cross. It wasn't until that humid morning in July, when I began the journey that would open up my eyes to the harsh realities of this world, and personally accept God into my life.
Harlan, Kentucky, the once rich coal mining area in Appalachia, with a population a little over 2,700, gave me this opportunity. The sheltered and self absorbed little princess image I was know for, was, for the first time in my life was going to be altered on my first mission trip. During our week say in Harlan, our group was assigned to frame up the already layered foundation on a house. After eight-hour days in the scorching Kentucky sun, gallons of water, numerous boxes or bandages, and hundreds of bent nails, our portion of the project was finally complete.