I just walked out my kitchen door and into a story, a story about a woman sitting at a well. Her name is Rose. My heart breaks for her. She is a single mum of two. I so want to know her. She has a tin bucket with no handle, and waits while water pours
Saturday morning at 10 a.m. we climbed onto the already loaded flat bed truck. Lauren (a friend who has been visiting this month) and I (Jo) were on an adventure, an overnight choir trip up to Mulanje Mountain. The choir was already singing as we piled in, and found a space. This was my first
Jesus came to seek and to save the lost. I (Jo) have been struck by how many are clearly lost, not sure what to do, how to continue, where to turn. Rose has been coming here daily to get a bottle of milk, plus oil, plus sugar (as many calories as I can cram into
That is the question that came from Daniel, as we drove towards a very cloudy sky, earlier today. In Africa, the sky is always changing and you can see the weather miles away. You can see the ‘edge’ to the rain. ‘Can you see out of the rain to where there is no rain, if
Two themes have surfaced for me this Christmas, waiting and creating….waiting, because we continue to wait for rain with longing, and expectancy; and creating, because we have had to create everything with simple materials and yet we have found joy in so doing. My (Jo’s) parents arrived on Dec.13th, the day after Patrick broke his