Glued – like tissue paper on a preschool art project, the five of us were glued to his every word. He painted a picture none of us ever had the imagination to conjure much less consider. As I listened to his recall of China and the underground church I found myself in a battle for my heart, a battle that was waging in each of us there whether we recognized it or not. I’m only so aware of it because of the phonographic design of my ear regarding all things “missions”. Each time someone mentions some other continent I suddenly perk up like Sparky at the highchair. And every time I walk away with this tension…this paper weight strategically placed on the softest spot of my heart; the compassion chamber.
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