Being a Christian missionary to a Third World country was never supposed to be on my life itinerary. At least I didn't think so. However, due to prodding of a daughter and a tugging on my heart, God had a detour planned. In this journal, the entire process unfolds and a trip to rural Cambodia ensues.Here's what's on the back cover!To me, missionaries were old people. Missionaries were young people. Missionaries were people who went to remote parts of the world and got killed or, at least, had to survive a plane crash - maybe by eating fellow missionaries. Missionaries drank goat's blood and got tropical diseases. Missionaries were dirt poor and constantly pestering others for contributions. Missionaries gave boring slide shows in order to keep their support.I was never going to be a missionary. It was decided via stereotypes I had formed as well as a secret, non-verbalized agreement I had with God. But then everything changed. One of my own children betrayed me and became a missionary. As if that wasn't enough, she prodded me to sign up. She'd go with me, she said. But then, at the last moment, she backed out. What the...'
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