A couple of stories come to mind as I reflect on this parable.
The first was shared with me by my mother nearly two years ago, when she returned from her first mission trip to Venezuela. She shared many details of the trip, of how she was impacted by the people and the ministry. But one story that remains fresh in my mind was of a trash pile. Not like we would see on a street corner, but like the size of a small village. Mountains of trash, or as the Venezuelans knew it, their lifeblood. From these piles came their homes, their clothes, and their meals.
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