I'm swallowing capsules of Typhoid to prepare for a trip to Cambodia. Liz and I are going to visit friends who are on mission. We are on mission, too. Every Christian should be. Mission in America, though, requires you to consume pop culture trivia and marketing techniques.
We fly out of Chicago early Monday morning, one day after I complete the Columbus Marathon. Months ago I planned these events; it sounded adventurous then. Now it sounds murderous. If I don't die of Typhoid, jet lag or blood clots could kill me.
Death does not discriminate. But God knows our days. I heard a pastor from my fellowship was killed last night riding a bike. I grieve for his family.