His hand curls back on itself. One foot is entirely missing. The other leg curls unnaturally and is useless. Only one arm and hand still serve him. The other limbs were destroyed by polio and persecution. But Pastor Jo sparks both fire and peace from his wheelchair. Today the small living room was packed as we prayed. The needs were desperate; and those who ask receive. Dora is asking God for help. She has had to leave the man she was living with since she realized that it was not ok for him to beat her and their son and then go out on the town. Where should she go, though? Aysha was also abandoned. She lives in an unpainted hovel, cold and damp. Both women have small sons. Pastor Jo prays with passion. God's mercy, compassion and justice hang tangible in the air. This dimension is the place to abide. Sojourners, all of us. The world sticks on labels like 'refugee' and 'asylum seeker', but simple plodding in the daily lives of real people is more tangible. The living room flows in Arabic, Amharic, Tegrine, and several local languages. Earthly possessions are held lightly. The wheelchair, as prized as it is for usefulness, is second hand and more appreciated than most vehicles parked in western garages. But even its loss did not rock Jo's boat when it splintered some time ago and he was left in a basement for three month. He used the chance to fast, pray, and write a book. And then, plod on, when the wheels resurfaced.

We're on the floor, the rest of us, naturally. We share tea, and we work together, but today the main focus was comprehending "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." And we got to interesting tangents. Dora was raised in a Russian orphanage. "God has seven sons, right? Buddha, Krishna, Muhammed, Jesus, what are the others?" The questions are like stepping stones. Soon Aysha has done the thought pattern on her own. You know a tree by its fruit. If you are looking for good fruit, just check out the way each one of those guys treated women. And how their religion says women should be treated. Choose by what fruit you see. She has reason to be astute. Her father has three wives, and none of his daughters went to school past the fifth grade. Her Arabic explanation is poignant. She knows what her father's religion's fruit is like.

Like Dora, she followed a man here, only to be abandoned. How awesome that in this sea of lostness, there are Soujourners, like Pastor Jo, who's heart is set on pilgrimage. He is bringing living water to those who languish in the wilderness of not-knowing-Truth. It is no mistake that Dora and Aysha are here today. God's Providence added them to our number.

We wind up our hand work. Each woman has her work for the week; and with it, food for thought, as well as body. Kukou asks for prayer for a place to stay. Ezip asks for health for her son. Raita praises God that her cancer is almost gone now; healed by prayer in this circle, week after week. Asmaras has been assigned asylum in America and should leave us soon, but most likely won't be able to go, as she does not have the $4,000 overstay fine for being a refugee here while the UN filed her papers. But she has learned to let go of little things like her future. We pray and trust this also to God.

As we end Pastor Jo lifts his voice in worship and we all join in. I think in heaven we will all know Amharic, or is it Tegrine, or Arabic? I can't tell. It doesn't matter; somehow we all know the words without being told. It's a Sojourner trait; a little run-off from those streams of living water. Yes, here I pitch my tent in gladness. There's no place I'd rather be.