My years in Uganda were pockmarked with many “aha” moments–those moments when everything clicked.
Usually, I wished everything had clicked sooner.
Picture with me for a moment some soggy, Middle Eastern men on an ancient boat in the middle of the night. Their arms are slick with seaspray, jellied from bailing water and rowing against the wind.
They’ll argue about who saw it first, but unmistakably, something was silhouetted on the crests and peaks of the waves. And it sure looked a whole lot like a person.
But because people can’t really float upright on water–as fishermen, they’re confident of this–their minds vault to the supernatural: A ghost.
The cushions on our new couch were still stiff as we sat in the living room of our apartment with our team months after our family landed in Egypt. Cups of herbal tea steamed on the coffee table.
Our friends asked us how we were doing in our transition and I shared about the ups and downs, attempting some humor about a meltdown I had over burned chickpeas.
A global-worker friend from Nepal sent me a Marco Polo recently. She described a day of local handymen installing appliances in her family’s new apartment–with methods much to her chagrin.
My mind immediately tumbled back to the painter who striped our house different shades of pink and orange on the outside, so it resembled a box of rainbow sherbet.
My family and I served six years in Guatemala when I became aware nearly all the songs sung in churches were translations of hymns and worship songs written in the U.S. or elsewhere.
Guatemalans are creative and musical. I’m a composer. So I thought I’d help them write original music for their worship services.
Both the Qur‘an and Islamic tradition erect barriers which inhibit Muslims from considering who Jesus is and what He’s done for them.
Muslims are often taught