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(GH) War and Bread

This is what I wrote last year around 9/11. It’s still on my heart. Originally posted on livejournal on 9/11/11.

I’ve shared my story in the past. So this isn’t a story directly related to 9/11, but it is a story that’s been on my heart all week. Three stories, actually.

We–my mom, sister and I–were sitting in a nice restaurant in Central Asia, with native people, and we had just finished a fantastic traditional meal. My sister asked our friends to share one bit of their culture that they would like Westerners to know. They thought for a few minutes, and then began to go around the table. Most of them talked about women’s rights and…Continue Reading

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(Old) Big Guns and Big Snakes

(Originally posted on July 6, 2011)

Another part of an update about my trip.

Many people have asked me if I was afraid during the trip. As I mentioned earlier, I had a lot of nervousness coming into the country—but once I was there, I can think of only two or three times when I was afraid.

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(Old) From My Journal: Arrival in the Country

(Originally posted on June 17, 2011)

Mom and I are waiting at the gate of our guest house to catch a taxi to the airport. The taxi should get us just before 2:00 a.m. It’s 1:30 a.m. now. Time ticks by. I stand with the gate opened a crack, staring out into the surprisingly busy street. I feel jumpy. I feel like I’m staring into something significant, but don’t know what. I feel like my next move will change everything. I memorize the twisty design of the gate, the handle, the shadows. Time passes. 2:00 a.m. comes and goes. I convince Mom to leave me by the gate while she calls for another cab. It is…Continue Reading

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(Old) A Snapshot: The Boy and the Rose

(Originally posted on June 8, 2011)

The streets of this city are thick with dust—dust underfoot and in the air, on your skin and in your lungs and eyes. It’s almost impossible to escape the dust.

But there are roses, too. They bloom out of the hard brown earth and burst into beautiful colors—pinks and reds and purples. They are bold and vibrant and laughing, even when the dust tries to mute them.

There is a boy, about fifteen, on his bike. His hair is dark and close cropped, his clothes old Western hand-me-downs. He is about to turn onto the street clogged with dust, and he squints his eyes in protection as he watches for cars.

He has…Continue Reading

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(Old) God’s Glory

(Originally posted on June 7, 2011)

So, I’m going to be posting some about my trip. I won’t go into a lot of detail about the place, but I think you guys would enjoy hearing some of the stories.

God’s glory is a concept I’m only just beginning to understand. All my life, when someone used that phrase in a prayer or at the pulpit, I’d inwardly roll my eyes. For me, “God’s glory” was a stamp people used on their speeches to make themselves sound spiritual. “We need to raise money for this church so that with a new building we can further show God’s glory,” etc.

But in the last few months, God’s glory has taken…Continue Reading

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(Old) Culture Shock

(Originally posted on May 22, 2011)

I’m in Dubai now. I wasn’t a couple of days ago but now we’re here resting on the way home. For the past two weeks I’ve been working in a third world country, and it’s been less intense than I expected but still quite intense.

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(GH) broken hands

(Originally posted on April 12, 2011)

Her fingers closed over the ticket, curling it into a small cone, tighter and tighter, smaller and smaller as she twisted. The others couldn’t see that she wasn’t breathing. She didn’t notice.

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