I thought of Mozambique, and how cold my last two weeks were there. Bitter cold. I remembered the old vovos (grandparents) I visited one cold, windy evening; they told my accompanying missionary that their one fleece blanket wasn't sufficient for sleeping on the wicker mat on the concrete floor, and that they were praying we would bring another. How I wished I could offer each of their frail, aged bodies a warm soft blanket of my own.
I laid in my bed, and I cried.
Isak, Nandoro, Luis, Casimiro, and myself