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On an eroding and moving island in Brazil was a thriving church I was going to visit. To reach it and meet the believers, the national church leaders led us to a hollowed-out tree turned canoe. We stepped in and sat on the bottom—there were no seats. Only an inch or two of the canoe peaked above the water, barely separating us from unknown creatures in the deep. As darkness fell, a flashlight revealed pairs of eyes glowing back at us—gators we were told. That was only the beginning of a dangerous trip, but well worth the effort to see how God was working in this remote area