For the past couple of weeks I’ve been living out of my suitcases. Holed up in my temporary living quarters — the second floor of a spacious and comfortable home in the suburbs outside San Antonio. Not exactly the life of a missionary.
Nor is life in American suburbia the life I want. But I won’t be here much longer. And my hosts have been so gracious and kind to take me in for the month of November. So I deal with the inconvenience of having to dig under piles of once folded, packed clothing to find clean underwear. Or try to remember if I stuffed those shoes I now need in a tote bag I brought into the house or in a box still hiding in the back of my Subaru.
In truth, none of this matters. It’s a small price I’m choosing to pay for following my heart…
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