The Evening was normal. The odor of daal and freshly baked roti loaded the small, two-place residence in which Anwar Masih lived along with his spouse and two small children. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a story from school. It was an easy, sacred moment of peace—a https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Loved Ones's Cry: The Human Expense of Blasphemy Guidelines in Pakistan
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