My years as a “missionary” were fascinating, filled with sorrow, challenge, and, at times, unexpected laughter. If you’ve read my writings, you know they often involve sad stories and moral dilemmas. Yet there were also moments when I couldn’t help but laugh at myself… or at the way my co‑workers and I interacted with the…
This is a piece I first wrote years ago, but its meaning has only deepened with time. It is not easy to revisit, nor is it easy to share. Yet silence—my silence—has shaped too much of the world around me. I am reposting this confession not to seek sympathy, but to remind myself and others…
There were times when my life felt suspended, as if the world itself had pressed “Pause,” just moments before disaster loomed and I could do nothing to stop it. One such moment came on May 17, 1968, as a Navy Corpsman with the Marines in South Vietnam during Operation Allen Brook. We walked into an…
We are born into stories—some whispered by parents, some sung in churches, some carried by nations. They shape us, but they do not define us. With time, we learn that truth is not fixed in the words of others, but discovered in the choices we make, in the compassion we extend, and in the responsibility…
Honduras is a Catholic nation, although it has many Christian missions as well. Most Hondurans are born Catholic and prefer to die Catholic; however, in between, they may take advantage of the Christian missionaries who make their money from converts by giving away free items in exchange for attendance. The priests, however, tend to be…
In the year 2000, I was working with an HIV and AIDS prevention organization in Cambodia. The epidemic was accelerating, and the solution seemed straightforward: distribute condoms and teach people how to use them. Teams fanned across the countryside with boxes of condoms, demonstrating their use on bananas. We returned home satisfied with our work.…
As a species, we have repeatedly acted on inherited prejudices, convincing ourselves that certain groups are somehow less human, less deserving of dignity—or even of life itself. In doing so, we have committed atrocities while telling ourselves they were necessary, justified, or deserved. The dehumanization that precedes genocide, the racial hatred that fuels violence, the…
From childhood magic to religious belief and finally to lived compassion, this reflection asks a simple question: what remains when illusion falls away—and love stays? When I was a child, I loved watching magic shows on television. The idea that someone possessed powers I did not, fascinated me. I was especially taken by the magician who…
While sorting through old boxes of memorabilia, I was struck by how easily forgotten moments can still shape who we become. Reading old letters and names from my childhood reopened memories that helped explain some of my long-held attitudes. One of those memories involves Eddie, a neighborhood boy I once played with on Bluebird Street.…
For several years, I worked as a counselor at a Youth Center in the southwestern United States. While the work had its rewards, it also had its drawbacks. I primarily worked with disadvantaged Navajo and Zuni youth, and ran a center for the Spanish youth who lived on the wrong side of the railroad tracks…
I didn’t climb too far up on the educational ladder in life, but I have had a few good teachers, the best one by far being Experience. When I was 4 years old, I was taught by my parents and Dutch community leaders that it was alright to tell a lie to the police about…
Most of us can remember singing Oh, Be Careful Little Ones What You Do as children. Maybe it was Sunday school, or maybe kindergarten. If you’re like me, you can probably still remember most of the hand motions. I didn’t realize it then, but that simple song would later echo in my mind when temptation…
A few days ago, we were visiting Prey Veng, Province of Cambodia, and on our way back to the city, we picked up a man and his pet duck. The duck was not all that comfortable being in the van at first. It started squawking loudly and thrashing its wings, making the ride difficult for…
I can still remember that first time I bowed to the Buddha… such a simple act, and yet perhaps the most defiant and difficult thing I have ever done. I have not lived the life of a saint. I’ve been a rebel from as far back as I can remember—fired from every job, court-martialed in…
“There is a Wine that flows from the vineyards of the Lord, Its sweetness aged in jars of clay, its price none can afford.And wise men say that he who tastes its sweetness on his tongueWill understand the Mind of God and evil overcome.” With tear-filled eyes, a dying father passed these words on to…
