As I turned to leave Ibondo village, I realized I’d forgotten to pray for the interns I was entrusting to Matayo for the weekend. So I turned to the preacher and said (in Swahili), “I want to pray for these guys before I head back to Geita.”
Then, as the four of us bowed our heads, I thought I’d warn Matayo the prayer was going to be in English.
To which he responded, “God even understands that language.*”
You post today makes me remember the time I was given a great revelation: God is not American. ;O)
The only language that we have in common with god,is SMILE!!^_^