Sometimes you know you're living in a holy space, a divine milieu where Jesus lives. Sometimes you see the world as it is, not forsaken but glowing — lit up from within by the Spirit of the Resurrected Christ who calls, cries and labors in everything to give life to the world — and you.
Several years ago I traveled dirt roads amid the crushing hunger and chaos of southern Sudan. Our jeep arrived at Ame — a camp teeming with refugees — a few days ahead of a food convoy. The scene begs description. People wandered in a daze. They no longer looked human, their ribs and pelvises shrink-wrapped as if by some brutal machine that had sucked every drop of moisture from their bodies.
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