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He sat at our kitchen table and told us a story about bread.
“There was a severe drought in my country. I traveled to the hardest hit regions—to the people who were starving—and everywhere I looked I saw hungry people. So many had already died. They had no bread to eat,” he said with a deep sigh. “I left the drought-affected area, and the same day I got on a plane to the USA. When I arrived my host took me from the airport to a grocery store and led me to an aisle filled with fresh-baked bread. He asked me to choose the kind of bread I wanted to have with the dinner his wife was preparing. There were so many loaves—row after row of loaves of bread. I stood there for several minutes, and then I told him I could not choose. I was no longer hungry because when I closed my eyes, I could still see the starving.”
Name - Show - Picture - Identity - Parts
I can’t tell you his name or show you his picture because revealing his identity could endanger him in other parts of the world. But I can tell you that the man who sat at my kitchen table risks his life daily in dangerous places to make disciples who make disciples. Years before we met our friend, we read miraculous stories in disciple-making books of his work among Muslims and how God was using him to spread the gospel to unreached people. I cannot describe the honor it was to feed him, provide transportation while he visited our city, and listen to his stories with our kids.
It was humbling to have him sit at my kitchen table in my middle-class neighborhood where we eat all the bread we want.
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