2018 - November

The voices of the world and the lies about mission life plagued me over the past few weeks. I should be doing more. I should be giving them more money and meeting more material needs. Who do I think I am to do this work?

Once we got to our destination, each of us were handed an envelope which contained the information we were anxiously anticipating for the past few weeks: which country we were getting sent to. The boys were praying for jungles and mountains for the past few months. Our oldest son, Robert, had been hoping and praying specifically for Peru. We eagerly took our envelope and make a short hike to an area where we could lay out blankets to eat lunch and pray.

After the formal gathering ended, and while were were still chatting with the participants, one of the missionary kids asked me to help her communicate to a young Spanish-speaking girl that she wanted to race with her. Before long, almost all of the kids (and some adults), English- and Spanish-speaking alike, were taking part in the game. At the count of uno, dos, tres, another group would run competitively across the dusty field. Even one of the dads carrying a toddler on his shoulders joined in on the fun.