Capturing Clouds In A Glass..

When I was a boy, I would sit on the back porch with a little glass jar in my hand observing the movement of gray skies when storm clouds would usher in. I would try and jump as high as I could to catch and save the clouds in my jar because they were closer to the earth when rains would build. In Haiti, my motorbike driver referred to me as a missionary the very first day we met. I immediately rejected the notion in my mind, as missionaries to me often brought more harm than good. To him, however, simply being there present and aware for journalistic purposes, was mission enough.  

After more than a week together venturing the northern capital and hinterlands, my mind eventually slowed, taking pause of him continually referring to me as a missionary to anyone we encountered. It had begun to land in my heart as an accurate portrayal - paved in dust, debris, transition, purpose, and renewal. My spirit changed; his words then felt like a large stone dropped into the sea of my chest.
I am that I am. At that moment it became very real. 

This week I was invited to a church in Slavic Village to be a guest speaker and share my work. Over time they seek to have me speak before other congregations in their network, that they too may find a call to international action.

I agreed to speak before their assembly tomorrow. There were once clouds I would endeavor to leap high enough to capture in a little glass jar. Little did I know, it would be clouds of dirt and dust on the back of a decaying motorbike in a faraway land that would instead capture me.