The moment seemed surreal. Here I was with a handful of Pakistani Christians whom I'd just met, sipping freshly-brewed tea, enjoying the hospitality of a pint-sized woman named Haquri—all while sitting together on the barren ground of an open plain. It was like a tea party on the moon. Haquri served us eagerly, and joyfully told us the story of how God had rescued her people from the flooding that devastated Pakistan.

Riding through the rough streets of Port-au-Prince, Haiti, seven months after the devastating earthquake, I had hoped to see more recovery, fewer tents. Disappointment swept through me. I could see little evidence of change in the capital city. Where had the two-billion dollars of international aid gone? The look of desperation was still etched on so many faces. I drew some comfort, however, knowing that I would soon arrive at a place where visible progress was being made.