The afternoon was hot, and I welcomed a seat in the shade under a tree. I was in Myebon, a riverside town in southwest Myanmar, bringing relief to victims of Cyclone Giri with one of Heaven's Family's Burmese ministry partners, M.B. Thang. We had just helped a widow and her four children with funds that would enable them to rebuild their flattened home, and the rare sighting of a white guy in this remote area attracted about thirty curious neighbors. M.B. and I took advantage of our captivated audience to share the gospel—and they were very hungry to hear about the Lord. I also told them about Jesus' followers from far away who had sent me to help them.

When I told her the news, San Kyi could not stop her flow of tears, which she quickly wiped away as they streamed down her face. I was glad that they were tears of joy, but as I rejoiced with her, I could not help but think of the untold tears of grief she had wept in the months prior to our meeting.

Six months ago, Cyclone Giri swept across the western coast of Myanmar with 155-mph winds, claiming several thousand lives. Now, as our weathered 40-foot cargo boat chugged slowly up the Laymyo River, I was witnessing the cyclone's devastation with my own eyes. Hills, once blanketed with lush tropical vegetation, were scoured clean except for a few battered, solitary trees. The skeletal frames of former homes stood as silent reminders of the storm's raging fury.

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.