Most “Hope Matters” columns grow out of ordinary moments in life, conversations or observations here at home. This story is different. It is true, like the others I share, but it is also far more extreme than what most of us will ever experience. I do not share it because it is dramatic but because it reminds me that hope involves both thoughtful action and trust in God’s grace, especially when circumstances move beyond our control.
It was my first trip to the African continent. I arrived in Freetown, Sierra Leone, full of anticipation and energy, ready to begin a ministry assignment I had planned for months. I had arranged housing in advance and was told a friend of the family would meet me at the airport and take me to his home. Knowing I would be met was reassuring, since I had been told his address was difficult to locate and that he would simply meet me at the airport.
After clearing customs, I stepped outside the small airport and waited. The man who was supposed to meet me was not there. I told myself he must be running late and stayed put as taxi drivers and others offering rides approached me. “No, thank you. My ride is coming,” I repeated.
