Raucous laughter and pulsating music resounded through the crowded, chaotic street. Eric tried to keep his fellow missionaries in sight as hundreds of drunken revelers surged around them on all sides. Eric (who later became my husband) was 23, and this was one of his first missionary assignments — doing street evangelism on Bourbon Street in New Orleans during Mardi Gras — and he was not at all comfortable being there.
It was a moonless night. Our group shuffled through patches of crusted snow, trying not to slide on the slipshod shoveled walkways up to the front door. The row of tiny apartments located on the sadder side of town stood unfriendly and unwelcoming. There was no warm glow coming from inside; no festive Christmas wreath or light-up reindeer stood on the front lawn. They just looked empty, barren, bereft. But there was still a reason to sing.
When I was about 13 years old, I attended a worship service that included a powerful song about the love of God. As the words of the song echoed through the church, I suddenly had the clear realization that God could have chosen to let humanity go and never have tried to redeem them.
Several decades ago at a gathering of Christian believers in Ethiopia, hundreds of believers were challenged to send someone from among them to reach the unreached tribes in their country with the Gospel; tribes where nobody else had been able to go for generations.
The sound of humming lawnmowers and the carefree laughter of children playing could be heard throughout the neighborhood on that summer afternoon as I excitedly cut through backyards in an effort to reach my house as quickly as possible
Several months ago, I was asked a very unusual question as a room full of eyes were laid on me, awaiting my answer. “What quality instantly makes you dislike someone?”