It’s a sweltering humid day as we pull up in the street amid piles of rubble. The homeowners, an older Hispanic couple, approach us with shy friendly smiles and greet us in their best faltering English. Their front door sits wide open, inviting us to enter their North-East Houston home.
We pulled our rental car into the parking lot of this sleepy property in the rolling green hills of rural New Zealand. My four kids and I tumbled out with our pile of suitcases and looked around. It was 2013, and we had arrived to begin a Family Discipleship Training School (DTS), our first step into the big wide world of missions.