I taste it on my lips after a long car ride. I feel it in the pores of my skin at the end of the day. I resign that no matter how much I scrub, my feet with never be free of it. I brush it from my children’s hair at night and from my husband’s boots in the morning.
It is the dust of this place where we live, where we serve. It is the dust of the mission field...Read the rest at A Life Overseas today and join the conversation.