The cold and dull aches fill my tired bones. The flimsy tent in which I have just awoken has thankfully kept my family safe the previous night from the passing storms. Even at 4 a.m., the sky is already bright, and the sun is about to show its first warming rays.
I cringe at the term missionary. When I was younger I pictured missionaries as large, wholesome families dressed like a blast from the past with awkward kids who had crazy experiences with witch doctors. And bad haircuts.