Far distant from the slain Goliath of our history, now we battle with scars, old injuries that never healed quite right and achy joints brought on by the passing of time. But time, it doesn’t bring us to peaceful fields to rest does it? Where are the still waters, the green pasture? Indeed it can seem time instead brings us to yet again, another battle with another

There is no routine, no blueprint really, no specific “guidelines” for and in my missionary-life.

David’s face was etched with hints of the thirty one years on the mission field but he carried it with such grace I marveled at how much he still resembled the youthful photographs I had discovered back in our home office in Illinois tucked away in an old shoebox with a note that simply read—remember.