“So what brings you out here?” Abby looked across the lake. A mother duck was leading her ducklings toward them, looking for a handout.

“I like being close to nature. I mean, VR is okay. But I feel…a spirit connection when I’m in nature. I feel one with the universe.”

The statement caught Abby’s attention. “A spirit connection? Do you mean a connection to God? Nature makes me feel that way too.”

The woman tossed a small piece of tortilla into the lake; the ducklings dove for it. “I don’t really use the word God. I’m not even sure what it would mean to me. But if you’re equating God with all of existence, then, yes, that’s what I feel.”

Abby leaned a bit closer. “Well, that’s not quite what I mean. By God, I mean the Creator of the universe, a personal spirit being in whom we live and move and have our being, as Paul said.”

“Paul who?”

“The apostle Paul.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“Well, no.” Abby smiled. “Not yet, anyway.”

How could she bridge the gap between herself and this woman? In the jungle Abby knew what she would say to a person about Jesus. But here in America.

“Where I come from,” Abby began, “the people are very much in touch with nature. Their whole lives revolve around nature—what it provides, what it takes away.”

The young woman looked at Abby. “That must be amazing. Where are you from?”

“The Papua New Guinea jungle. I miss almost everything about it.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

“I will. When the time is right. I have something to accomplish here first.”

The woman gazed intently at her. “What’s that?”

“Well…to talk to people like you, I suppose.”

I turned in the journal to just after Abby’s village died.

May 5. Three days since Kate and I left the village behind. Since I buried Miraba. Miraba! I miss you terribly. I know you are in a better place. But how I wish that you were still in my arms at night, that I could see you running and playing and learning at our table. There is a hole in my heart that will never be filled.

I flipped several pages.

May 13. God, who seemed so close in the village, is distant here in America. I try to draw near to him for a sense of closeness, but it doesn’t come. I have no sense of peace here.