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.

It’s Friday night, March 8th and I’m tucked away in my small boat cabin, shared with two other ministry partners who are hard at work in the sweltering heat of the Bolivia Amazon Tributaries.

There is one fan blowing down on me, and I am in deep gratitude for the air circulating around me

This fan will only last until 10pm when the boat generator shuts down and all goes silent and still. At that moment I’ll  let out a complaint in the form of a childish groan.

Nothing could have prepared me for