The ship breaks apart on the rocks, and everyone washes ashore on Malta, an island neither Paul nor his companions had planned to visit. All 276 people survive. Shipwrecked but alive. The island becomes a place of refuge, a place to gather strength before the final leg of the journey to Rome.
I've spent three months in countries I never planned to visit. My work in international development is heavy. Conflict zones, failed governments, systems breaking down. And when the systems break, when the planning fails, when you end up on an island you didn't expect, something unexpected happens. The people on that island become your neighbors. The landscape becomes familiar. The detour becomes the story.
Malta saved everyone. It fed them. It gave them healing. Publius, the chief of the island, offered hospitality. Paul healed Publius' father and others. What was supposed to be a delay in the journey became a moment of ministry. Sometimes God shipwrecks us not to destroy us but to redirect us toward the people we're supposed to meet and the work we're supposed to do. I'm trying to see my detours this way.
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