He had made that walk countless times, yet as he passed through the streets of Wittenberg, his pace was slower than usual. He seemed to be lost in thought, as if he were debating some great issue in his own mind.

I can either let this nag my blood pressure to unhealthy heights, I thought, or I can try to make the best of it. I lifted a prayer asking for an extra dose of grace.

The flight from Los Angeles was overbooked. Not one spare seat. When I got to my assigned seat, 24-D, it was already taken. There were three seats in the row. A mother and two children were already filling them.

I fished for my ticket stub, “Did I read this wrong?” I asked loudly enough for the mom to hear. “No, it says 24-D.”

I don’t even remember her name, but I’ll never forget what she said. It happened at the conclusion of a Nazarene church service. People were streaming out of the house church in a city southeast of Havana, Cuba. The crowd seemed to be everywhere. The people had filled the house, and there were probably as many outside, looking in the windows and doors at the fortunate ones who had arrived early enough to occupy a chair inside. It was hot! As soon as the benediction had been prayed, I had made my way out the back of the house and around to the front of the building.