When I was a small boy, my Dad became a
missionary.
As a five-year-old, I saw my Dad ran up
to the house, legs flying faster than I had ever seen. “Joy!” he called to my
Mom, his voice charged with excitement, “we’ve got our visa!”
He wasn’t celebrating a new credit card.
We had been stuck for months waiting for the nation of Nigeria to decide
whether they would issue our family entry visas to come live in their…