Hard Sometimes

I am blessed to be able to call Africa home. I don’t know for how long, but for the time God has me there, I count it a blessing.

It is hard to live here when my heart is somewhere else.
May our hearts beat for them. For the hurting.  For the lost.
I am not complaining. And not pointing fingers. Really trying not to judge. Life in North America makes one complacent.  We see all the catastrophes on TV. Starving children. Hurricanes. Famines. AIDS. Death. But it all seems distant. Removed.These are our neighbours. Our world. Our responsibility. Even if they live across an ocean.

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