Yesterday I was rudely awakened by the doorbell.  I briefly wondered who it was, but decided to go back to sleep.  Then my sister started freaking out over by the window.  I went to see who it was.  He was a little man, only a bit taller than me, and he was dressed rather strangely.  He held a cup in front of him, asking my dad for something.  We thought maybe he was homeless of something. 

    By the time we got downstairs, he was gone.  And guess what he had come for?  Sugar.  Mom said he is a refugee from Afganistan.  He moved in the apartment across the street.

      Later in the day, he came back with his sister and her two children.  They came just to thank us for the sugar.  They are very nice, but I can't pronounce his name, let alone spell it!  Asaddooluh?  Esetdulah?  His sister doesn't speak English, and he has such a thick accent, it is hard to understand him.  Anyway, my whole family is thinking this could be a great gospel oppurtunity. 

    In the future, I think I'll just call him Bob.