The Evening was everyday. The scent of daal and freshly baked roti crammed the tiny, two-room dwelling exactly where Anwar Masih lived along with his wife and two little ones. Laughter echoed as his youngest daughter, Sara, recounted a story from university. It was a simple, sacred minute of peace—a https://thirstyforgodchurch.blogspot.com/
A Loved Ones's Cry: The Human Cost of Blasphemy Laws in Pakistan
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