. . .and my God shall meet all your [chocolate] needs . .
It was early May 2002. We had been in Brazil for a year and a half and, after a heavenly year of language school, surrounded by fellow missionaries and wonderfully supportive Brazilians, we had been shipped off to the back side of nowhere. We had been there for about 7 months and I hit a crisis point. My dear mother-in-law sends me books and at this particular time I was reading what is referred to as a "culinary mystery"--a Miss-Marple-type mystery wherein the starring sleuth happens to be a chef who provides detailed descriptions of wonderful gastronomic creations. These should be read sparingly, because you always want to eat when you read them. Anyway, this particular sleuth was a chocolate confectioner. Day after day, I read descriptions of these amazing chocolate creations that, eventually, would aid in the capture of a murderer. A week or so into my reading, it became time to shop for Mother's Day presents. I had waited too long to send anything from Brazil and so ...