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I washed the feet of a former child soldier today. They were scarred and scraped and dirty and beautiful. In every way. Beautiful because of the story they told. Not a story of hopelessness. Not a story of pity. They told the story of strength. They told the story of newness… “What is your name?”…

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Things here seem to be triple in size. The massive loads of charcoal that I have seen on the backs of the women in Congo seem to be three times the size of other places in Africa. But it’s more than that. They don’t just carry them around on their backs or on top of…

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What does a heart breaking sound like? What about the sounds of a spirit so overwhelmed with awe that it seems to be rushing like a waterfall? I wonder. I wonder these things. I also wonder to what detail I should share these stories. How much is too much for others to hear or read?…

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For the most part, I am strong – but I am not afraid of crying. If you know me well – you know that. Somehow I keep it together when hearing stories, when sitting across from a wounded spirit in my office, when being in the midst of pain in Africa. In the middle of…

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I was sitting at Hotel Rwanda just yesterday. Yes – the One. Sitting with Jen, Adria, and Helge before my flight out of the country. Sitting in the sun. Sitting in anticipation of what was to come. Sitting in thought of what came to pass. It’s been a long month – a good month. And…

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