CHAD
The
Blessing I
n the past few months, I’ve seen starving children and dirty hospital floors. I’ve tasted rice every single day. I’ve felt my head pounding and stomach clenching from malaria-induced fevers. I’ve heard French greetings, babies crying, and roosters crowing at 4:00 a.m. But of all the senses, today it was the smells that most captured my attention. I can still detect the faint scents of
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bleach and soap on my hands as I sit down to write about the unforgettable events of this day. I don’t recall her name. It might have been in the local language. What I do remember is how terribly thin and old she looked. Cataracts had nearly blinded her eyes, and she could barely walk. She used to visit my missionary mom, Tammy 2
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