Hannah’s Hope. Paul H Boge

so much for this supper. Please bless this food. And Father, we ask that You would intervene in the lives of those who have nothing to eat. Amen.”

      As we ate, Uncle Raza talked to us about MCF. He told us about the opportunities for education. About rescue ministries in the slums. About MCF’s mission tours to other cities and countries. He explained about choirs we could join, even beginners like me. He also explained that MCF was a place where miracles happened. Many, many miracles. With every story he told and every aspect of MCF he shared, I fell more and more in love with all that was happening.

      I felt the way people feel when they are at the beginning of a great adventure.

      My uncle was about to tell us more about MCF when we heard a knock at the door.

      “Welcome,” my uncle said as he stood up. The door opened. A young boy slightly out of breath and beaming with excitement could hardly contain himself. His eyes lit up with joy.

      “We are all asked to go to the devotion area,” he said. “Daddy Mulli wants to meet with us.”

      CHAPTER

      eight

      We stepped onto a narrow wooden bridge spanning a shallow dry creek. It squeaked as we crossed over to the other side. We walked up a pathway, and to my left I caught a glimpse of a concrete structure similar in size to a small shed but not quite as tall. I saw the words Jacob’s Well printed on it in black ink.

      As we continued up the pathway, a sudden sea of children passed in front of me. The sheer number of children amazed me. I had seen groups of children before. Crowds even. Like at school. But not like this.