God is working
I’ll be honest, running in Cotacachi, Ecuador is not my favorite activity. It’s not just that my lungs protest the altitude (almost 8,000 ft). It’s also that the sidewalks are minefields—chock-full of unruly plants, dangerously varied bricks, and furry vagabonds (okay, stray dogs). And if the sun doesn’t kill you, the rush-hour traffic exhaust will. Hyperbole aside, sometimes it’s very hard to peel off the blankets early enough to beat the sun in time for a comfortable jog. Saturday, December 26, 2020 was one of those mornings. We had snoozed the alarm too many times, only to have responsibilities yank us out of bed and right past the running shoes. My husband and I postponed our jog to about 5:30 pm — an hour before sunset, and an hour and a half before our pre-Sunday church worship practice. It seemed like it was all working out. But we only made it about a mile and a half. Gratefully chugging down a hill on the main street, I glimpsed an upset young woman at the bottom, stand...