My wife, Robin, and I lived in the country of Mali in West Africa for three years.
One of our best friends was Momadu.
He was a cook, farmer and pastor in our neighborhood.
He is one of the most humble, beautiful human beings I’ve ever met.
I remember his dirty, worn flip-flops on the ground in front of the door of our community house.
In Mali, flip-flops cost less than a dollar.
That doesn't seem like much money.
If my flip-flops were like his flip-flops, I would throw them away and buy a new pair.
But in Mali, one dollar can buy three days of vegetables to put into a family's supper, so when Momadu's flip-flop straps break, he repairs them and keeps on wearing them until they become dust.
In the same way, Momadu keep on living and loving until his heart becomes dust.
One day, on my birthday on May 13, Momadu met me at the door of the kitchen with a smile on his face.
"Close your eyes," he said.
He took my hand and led me to the table.
"Open your eyes," he said again.
I looked.
There, on the table, was acheddar cheese meatloaf and a French apple pie, my favorite meal!
He searched all over for the ingredients, found them, used recipes from some old Southern Living magazines, and made a birthday meal for me.
I want to be a friend like that.
I want to be a human being like that.
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