It was a Sunday night in high school. And even though I was sitting in the back pew with my buddies, it was a day that would change my life forever. We had chosen these seats, the farthest possible away from the action because there was a guest speaker from out of town. A missionary who had asked if he could come preach in Chicago because they happened to be in town, even though most of his supporters were out West. My dad had offered his pulpit. I knew the missionary sermon all too well. Matthew 28… Great Commission… pictures of the mission field… challenge to pray, give, or go. I probably could have stepped in if he’d gotten a sore throat and needed me to. But then, I saw it – the picture of his family – and heard him talking about his daughter, Sara. I had just returned from a mission trip to Honduras the week before and perked up. (She was cute.) As her dad talked about some of the dangers they had faced as a family – including hiding her in a hidden compartment when soldiers came through the neighborhood – my buddies and I all… Continue reading