the fish that fell from the sky

The word came to me from out of the blue: “fishbowl.” I didn’t know what to make of it. We were on a church mission trip with our five kids, and I was sitting in a rickety bus bouncing along the streets of Belize City in Central America. We’d been welcomed here with open arms, and everybody in the local congregation seemed to find it easy to talk about their faith.

I was musing, as I often do, on why it was so hard for me to talk about mine. Why did I clam up in most situations? I loved God, loved reading the Bible. I even, I thought. Not a chance.