Mosquito bites on Halloween

I once spent Halloween night trick-or-treating in one of the biggest Minnesota blizzards of my lifetime. Having grown up accustomed to chilly Halloween nights, costumes hidden under layers of cold-weather gear, I never thought that I would spend a Halloween swatting mosquitoes.

I am writing this post from a hotel room in Houma, Louisiana, about 45 minutes southwest of New Orleans. My clothes and hair are still heavy with the smell of bonfire smoke, my stomach full of hot dogs roasted and marshmallows toasted over the fire. The people I met tonight - many of whom were instrumental in housing, feeding, and caring for this summer's YouthWorks staff and participants - were full of stories and laughter. There are a few precious communities where YouthWorks is so well-loved that anyone related to the organization is instantly welcomed as family. This is one of those places.

I spent a good bit of time tonight talking to a man named Javier. Javier is originally from Venezuela, and now works in banking in Miami. He is here visiting his daughter and her new husband. How strange and wonderful to find myself sitting under the Southern Louisiana moon, speaking Spanish to a Venezuelan, laughing together as a pirate, a cat, and Spiderman climb a flowering tree in the front yard.

New places. New stories. New sights and new adventures. New people - who somehow become old and familiar by the end of the evening. What a gift it is to be a part of this.

This is one of those nights that makes me love my job.