We’re walking to the car. I take a deep breath. There’s nothing to worry about; There’s no reason to stress. I sit down, put on my belt. “I’m okay” I breathe in. “I’m okay” I breathe out. We’re on the road. We’re all fine; he’s driving well. But it’s swelling up inside of me. I … More Coping

We Worship

When I rise in the morning, I worship. When I write or sing, or play my strings, I worship. When the quiet old man works hard with his hands, he worships. When she teaches children day in and day out, without recognition, without pay, without, she worships. When they stay up late to read and … More We Worship

He has a Plan

I grew up in Carrefour, Haiti, a metropolis about 15 miles south of the Port-au-Prince airport. My community is a very vibrant, friendly place. We have the vendor down the road that sells the best macaroni you can imagine, the voodoo priest next door who, despite the intimidating title, is a very kind man, there … More He has a Plan

Jesus, the refugee

My Savior himself was a Middle-Eastern refugee. Even before his first breath, he had no place to lay his head. The innkeeper wouldn’t give his pregnant mom a bed. His family had to flee from a madman name Herod, who was so insecure that he wanted Jesus, a baby, dead. He was even kicked out of Nazareth, … More Jesus, the refugee