Fascinating, isn’t it, how two can walk the same path and yet experience it differently? Here’s wisdom for me and for you, coming from my little sister. She has let Psalm 23 steep in her heart for three months, and this is how she spins the familiar psalm out for us today.
Despite all the good intentions of keeping everyone a bit cool in the shade of the ngara [1], the sun still filtered through into little puddles on people’s laps. Everyone was sweating in the hot Congo sun. After the singing, dancing, praying, and scripture readings on this humid Easter Sunday morning, everyone settled down to hear the sermon. I grabbed my journal and flipped it open. I had long ago made a habit of writing in my journal during the several hour long makutano [2] services. It started when we had just arrived and I couldn’t understand a word they said until now, seven years later, when I took advantage of the time to catch up in my journal only paying half attention to the sermon. This is probably my last makutano for a while. I have been telling some good friends that I have been struggling with giving up…
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A broken tulip 
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