I pause in front of my kitchen window, spring daylight pouring in. Birds chirping happily at the feeder. The backyard sandbox awaiting my grandkids. I stand and peacefully enjoy the scenes from this one of many windows I have throughout my house. Such a simple thing-a pane of glass, some wooden trim. So easily taken for granted. I don’t recall the last time I gave thanks for ...
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30 hours away... a vast canyon sprawls deep and wide... ...and the tiniest of details blossom. 30 hours away... a mama scrubs her laundry on a stone... ...while her daughter's toy is a tire. 30 hours away... a playground is just feet from a cliff... ...and thirst is satisfied from ground water. 30 hours away... there is cactus so sharp... ...and pools of ...
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It wasn’t where I had expected to hear from God. Sure, I had been praying. Asking. And I had hoped that sometime, somewhere, I would get an answer. But I sure wasn’t expecting it then. And definitely not there, of all places. For years I have read the Bible and sought to put its words into practice. But recently I had been finding a theme popping up all over the Scriptures that I ...
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“Four days without food…how much longer can I survive?”  Lying quietly on a thin mat, Nancy watched as the monsoon rains forced their way thru cracks and holes in the tin roof of her small hut. The leaks were by far the least of her problems. The hunger was ever present, gnawing away at the void in her stomach, from dawn to dusk. The ache for food pounded through her body like her heart working ...
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The music was loud.  The atmosphere seedy.  She sat at a table, waiting for her turn.   Her turn to dance on the counter, scantily dressed, with a number on her back like some commodity to be bought and sold.   Why?  What was her reason for being employed in this manner? Her answer: she has two small children to feed and care for.   This young woman in the Bangkok Red Light district is there ...
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India 2016--Part 3 of 3 Her jaw is set as she looks out across the field onto the small village in the rural region of Murshidibad in eastern India. “M” is a small woman, no more than 5 feet tall with her dark hair pulled up into a tight bun and her petite frame wrapped in a golden sari. But her strength of character, her unwavering vision are towering. “There was a family in this village,” ...
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