On more than one occasion during the week while Mike and Becky were gone, I found reason to walk into the kitchen and turn on the light after dark -- something I have never done previously. Each time, I was greeted by half a dozen cockroaches scurrying across the dining room table. (Ugh. Sometimes I'd just prefer not to know. Oh well.) The problem is not slovenliness in the cleaning department, but the shoddy craftsmanship of the table (sadly typical in carpentry here) so that the ravages of a family of 6 on a table already suffering from pocks, holes and cracks creates happy hunting ground for creepy crawlies. Surviving in Cameroon requires a phlegmatic approach to insects.
I met Jesus in Israel-Palestine a few years ago. I found him not in the rocky, desert ground he trod, nor in the ancient stones of the towns and cities he visited; not in the subterranean grotto in the Church of the Nativity, nor in the mammoth Church of the Holy Sepulchre, encompassing the traditional site of his death and resurrection. No, I met him in the lives of Palestinians who incarnate his spirit, in humble, passionate people who are convinced that love is the only way. I met Jesus in people who spoke like this: “We need to be soaked in the love of Christ. Love is not a hug and a kiss. Love is to seek the life of the other that the cost of one’s own.” --Labib Madanat, coordinator of the Palestinian and Israeli Bible Societies “Love is not an opportunity to overlook justice. Love is an opportunity to pursue justice…. [But] we want to resist any form of evil with the heart and mind of Jesus Christ.… There is no love without justice. And there is no true justice without lov...
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