The conversation was one we had several times.
“People have black hearts,” she would say. “People have rotten hearts.”
She used the word that describes rotting fruit. Busuk.
Categories
Matters of the heart
Category: Crossing Cultures
Categories
International fellowship
Our third move in Karachi was to a grand house called Swiss Villa. The name itself shouted wishful thinking in that desert megacity on the Arabian Sea.
It only took a walk out the gate or a glance off the second-floor balcony to see the irony. Clouds of dust and sand were stirred up by vehicles ambling down the road. Goats and cows feasted on the garbage pile across the street.
And frequent power outages in the extreme heat of summer meant temperatures over 100 degrees inside our living room.
But the house itself was well-built and had a lovely front yard with grass and bougainvillea. In the desert, this was no small thing. Watching our children run and play in the grass was not something I took for granted.
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Sand between my toes
This week I’ve walked on the soft, white sand of Pensacola Beach and stared out at the deep blue and aqua waters of the Gulf.
I’ve relaxed, breathed in the ocean breezes.
Watched sandpipers race the tide.
