I am writing to you from a wobbling round wooden table over looking the Pacific Ocean coastline of Baja Mexico. There are chickens pecking around my feet at the remains of last night's celebration dinner with the newsboys and the completion of the 2007 Baja missions adventure.

It is early morning and the waves are breaking right in front of me as fast and solid as a newsboy's encore. There is a surfer taking advantage of a deserted sunrise set breaking along the sandy shoreline. Peter riding his new trifin 6'8” wave rider, perhaps he is working on a song or planning the next move for the newsboys crew, who are sleeping like a plate of enchiladas in the thatch roofed cabanas down the beach from where we speak.

This has been by far my most exciting and most challenging trip to Baja since I first came down with the boys some 10 years ago or so. In order to properly share my tail with you, I will need to take you back across the dried lake beds and sandy canyons of time to the show at Spirit West Coast in Del Mar, just north the border where it all begins.

The boys have just finished an amazing show in front of some 25,000+ fans. The atmosphere is electric as I look across the multi balconied venue. Huge TV screens illuminate the night and the faces of the cheering fans as smoke drifts from the stage and the sugar dust of millions of pieces of Captain Crunch find themselves sticking to the sweat dripping from cheering faces in this ocean of fans.

It has been an amazing night not only for me, but also for a boy whom I shall call David (because he got to dance before the Lord with newsboys). The encore has begun and the drum war is over, Peter leads the lads into “I am free” with the force of a raging Khamseen sand storm over the Sahara. Out on the B stage, down the runway from the main stage, Peter is hitting 65 mph in a 15 mph school zone (no children present of course). I watch as Peter circles the small stage like a great white in final attack stage. He swoops down and gives his hand to David. The young rock warrior accepts. Peter pulls him up and they begin to dance, not a slow dance, but one of those cool PF kinda ska dances. The crowd goes crazy as they realize that worship comes in many forms. Don't let David know, but I kinda wish I was up there too! Later that night as the maintainence crew sweeps away the captain's remains, I sneak up on the B stage and relive the night in my mind, trying to figure out the steps to that dance.

Back stage the guys are chatting with the Delirious? lads who have just played moments before the newsboys took the stage and are rushing to catch their flight back to London. I chase Peter as he runs with his rolling travel case, the black one that has that little hand written book of song ideas and an assortment of rock clothes in various shades of black. His destination is the tour bus that will take us to the hotel and the massive yellow bikes that will carry us across deserts and canyons and deep into Baja Mexico.

Several years ago there was a huge storm that hit the US and Mexico called El Nino. Masses were rendered homeless by the destructive power of the storm. The Mexican government gave new land for people to settle on and rebuild their lives. Soon this area become one of great economic need. Around this time the Newsboys came to know a living angel affectionately called Baja Bob and his wife, whom God called to minister in this barrio called El Nino, named after the storm, not the famous Luchadore. The Newsboys felt lead to partner with Baja Bob and his ministry dedicated to building homes for the needy. 100 homes later, the boys are headed back to build more.

We make our pilgrimage to the In and Out Burger in National City to eat before heading across the border. I order the famous number two, the guys order theirs without the bun and wrapped in lettuce. I don't know why, but you don't mess with tradition, now do you…? On my fourth free refill at the soda fountain, I feel hydrated and ready to rock. I decide to start a tradition of my own and place my last salty French fry behind my ear, I quickly decide to remove it before I even make it to the door, what would the guys think, and worse, what if it came back to haunt me in a song . . .

We drive across the border and then into the heart of the Barrio. The road feels like it was carpet-bombed and then I realize that it was never finished, in fact, it was never started! We pull up to a group of gringos working as hard as the crew of Pimp my Ride. I look through the window of the van and notice Anthony Walton, International President of Global Tribe and a team of Newsboys fans, are busy building this new home. Anthony has enough natural energy and charisma to motivate a team of teenagers as well as half the power tools being used on the site! We exit the van and start shaking hands. Within seconds the lads are grabbing tools and asking how they could best serve. We all know the guys can rock but can they build?

Jeff heads for the putty and paint, adding artistic layers much like he does with his keyboard sounds. Paul, used to rocking the frets, climbs a ladder and tucks into work on the ceiling and the attic with some of the other volunteers. Duncan, who is used to dishing out rock steady beats, grabs a hammer and sinks nails like a well-trained sniper, one shot, one kill.

I stumble through the work site, avoiding collisions with volunteers of all ages. There are kids with hammers and paintbrushes, parents with power tools, and there alongside two locals is Peter using a skill saw, cutting wood that will become the trim on the walls above dinner tonight. The whole goal is to build a new home for a desperate family in one day, start to finish, ending with the handing over of keys with hugs and a prayer by sunset.

Baja Bob calls Peter, Peter calls Habibi, and I call upon the Lord, as we head off to take a look around the site. There are tons of scrap wood and metal, the remains of the old house surrounding the walls of the new house. We are joined by Summer, Peter's wife as we move through the tight passageways of the construction site. Baja Bob shares with us how the Lord is blessing the fruits of all this rock and roll labor, how families have been blessed and lives changed because people who love music followed the voice of the God they serve. As we walk, Peter tries on a pair of mirrored sunnies and does his impression of “Bad Cop”. Summer and I laugh as we dodge sheets of corrugated metal and lumber studded with hundreds of rusty nails, following Peter and Bob carefully around the open septic tank, carved out of the earth and now full to capacity. These are some of the dangers that make a life of missions such an adventure! I catch myself reminding me not to get to close to that open septic tank.

I am summoned by Diana, CEO of Global Tribe, to meet the family that will receive the new home. I try to use my broken Spanish, las palabras that I learned in high school in Egypt, to build a small rickety language bridge of communication between the two tribes. I think they notice our accents are not the typical Tex-Mex-Surfer Dude-Gringo type they are used to hearing! There are lots of hugs, and communication comes from the heart through smiles and tears on both sides. Global Tribe and Newsboys fans have purchased a complete set of basic necessities for the family from soap and dishes to clothes in various shades of black . . . I wonder where those came from?

There is great excitement in the camp as the team realizes that they are closing in on completion of this new home. Last minute touches are applied, nailed, stapled, swept and dusted. There is a screwdriver stuck in the wall directly across from the power outlet, indicating in Newsboys style, that the outlet has been tested and certified to contain electricity. I peak in the front window and find Peter and Summer adding another final layer of putty to the wall which will be the children's bedroom. Anthony Walton, President of Global Tribe is in the next room making sure that his putty work is as perfect as can be. Outside, Wes Campbell, newsboy's supreme field marshal of management, as well as US President of Global Tribe, is helping his youngest daughter finish her part of the house project.

As we gather the entire crew in front of the new house, I am asked by Peter to climb up on top of the roof of the neighbor's home and take a group picture. Habibi is getting up in age, the glow of the golden years can be seen on the horizon and yet I find myself eagerly scaling the wall. In my mind I am a Ninja running up the wall bouncing from side to side. In reality someone in the crowd reminds me that they need to dedicate the house before sunset, a full two and a half hours from now!

Once on top of the neighbor's house, I grab my camera and shoot the group surrounding the family and the new house we have just built. Peter shouts from amongst the group and asks me to pray over the house. I am honored to do this and bow my now sunburnt head. What do you say in your prayer at a time like this in front of your favorite band and a savage bunch of house building commandos? Should I pray like Billy Graham, or with the power of German evangelist Reinhart Bonnke, who I traveled with for years across afrika? I decide to pray like I always do, from my heart to my heavenly father thanking him for this group of dedicated rock n roll builders and this precious family, that this home would be a light and a blessing to everyone who passes by it. I pray that the Lord would keep his hand of blessing and protection upon it, especially the bits that the newsboys have built! We all say amen and the turn to look at the beautiful new house!

Since I am up on the roof already, I decide (yes, I have made better decisions in my life) to cruise along the rickety wobbling old walls, and as the newsboys say, “Have a Sniff” at what lays just beyond the crowd at the front. I have always wanted to be an explorer and this rush of adrenalin fuels my footsteps. I am in full Ninja mode again as I shimmy sham my way round back.

I am rewarded with an amazing view to my right of El Nino, the neighbors rabid dog who is watching my every move trying to decide weather I am friend or foe, and to the left, El Nino, the barrio, as it spreads for miles and miles in every direction. Below and behind me is the open septic tank, full of what looks like oatmeal, raisins and all. My guardian angel reminds me to not go near, lest I fall. I shoot and shoot and then I hear the sounds of motors starting and people moving. Next on the agenda is a full on fiesta with Mexican food and a piñata stuffed with candies to celebrate the completion of several new homes.

In my excitement and in sticking to my rule of never keeping the Newsboys waiting, I swing my camera around my chest and neck facing backward. Camera bag around my waist, sweat streaming down my face, I start to Ninja down the wall. Half way down the wall I realize that half or more of what makes a good Ninja is trick photography. I leap forward to cross the open septic tank and as my foot lands on the other side, the ground gives way. Everything goes into slow motion from this point forward as I fall for what seems like hours down into the bubbling oatmeal.

On the way down I grab for a wooden post in hopes it will save me and instead I slice my finger open on a rusty nail. Down, down, down I fall, until my Nikes pierce the pudding, cargo pants auto filling each and every pocket as I sink deeper and deeper. I find my self waist deep, an inch deeper and the Nikon dangling on my back would become scuba gear. What do you do in a sticky situation like this? Diana is standing at the top of the mound and laughing. I look around for answers, realizing that my legs are getting warmer and warmer. I just start to laugh! It really was a funny sight. There is no way that a petit woman like Diana, paint roller still in hand, camera in the other, can pull me out. I am stuck!

Our cries for help summon a male teammate who comes over and sacrifices his hand to take mine and pull me out. There is a loud suction sound like a Jell-O fart, you know the sound, the kind when you use a spoon to take a scoop of Jell-O from the Jell-O mold at Thanksgiving! I crawl my way up the septic tank wall and rejoice in laughter with Diana and the kind man who just rescued me. I offer him a hug and am denied, understood! Clear! Move on!

I quickly make my way through the site, the smell 100 yards ahead of my every step. I am actually trying to hide from the Newsboys and quickly get to a hose. I am hoping to find an exploding fire hydrant bursting with fresh water, instead the Lord provides a character building trickling garden hose. I abandon my shoes and a new friend from the Cruising for Jesus hot rod club hands me a pair of shorts to wear. I run back into the new house and slide out of the old cargos, wiping a full bottle of anti-septic from head to toe, and then quickly slide into the fresh shorts! The fiesta is beginning and I don't want to be late… As I hobble down the street barefoot, I look back at my shoes, slowly being consumed by the oatmeal lava. A gargling digesting sound echoes behind me for two blocks. I look back one last time, the only thing left of my Nikes is a bit of shoelace. I think it was from the right shoe. I am not sure though.

I get to the Fiesta just in time to find Peter and Paul saying a prayer of dedication over another family and another new house! How awesome is that! I look down at the hands of the mother as she holds the shiny new keys for the first time. She is filled with so much emotion and appreciation. We have changed a family and a community simply by being willing to follow the Lords leading. I am reminded that we don't always have to have the most amazing solutions to massive problems, God just wants to know if we are willing to rock with him or not!

Paul has lead los ninos (named after the Luchadore not the storm) over to the pink paper donkey piñata who is waiting to be beaten to bits by the super excited children. Some how I feel like I should be setting the little burro free, helping him escape his piñata destiny.

Paul gives the little pink paper donkey a royal stick flogging as Miguelito Eduardo Jose Gonzales (named after his uncle) watches for flying candy. The little donkey spins and spins as candy showers down on los ninos who have run in to collect as many treats as possible. I make eye contact with the little pink burro one last time. A piece of white paper rolls from his eye and lands on the ground by my feet. Then I turn and hobble away. Habibi can only take so much . . .

There are games for the children that go on and on into the night. Los hombres of the village come and man the taco making stations as Jeff shakes hands and chats with local pastors. The smell of carne asada on the barbie, cebollas, cilantro, pico de gallo, salsa picante, queso, and corn tortillas de mais made from corn and maise into tasty tortillas, fills the air with a rich succulent festive aroma as children play and families move there belongings into new homes for the first time. The sun has set and the stars are shining bright tonight over El Nino.

Rockers and fans climb into vans and we are off, a job well done in Baja, again.

To be continued . . .