Susan LaffertyDuring those first years in Karachi, I struggled to find a place of morning quiet. With the Lord.
We were navigating the muddle of culture shock and power breakdowns. Learning a language with completely new sounds and an unfamiliar alphabet.
Trying to establish a rhythm for preparing clean water to drink. For getting food on the table. Daily.
And figuring out how to parent our children. I gave birth to our first child at the age of 33. And soon experienced what I now refer to as “mother shock.”
This past week, the stories surface. Continually. Through emails. Personal posts. Press releases.
Believers holding on to the confession of our hope.
I’m watching for this. The declaration. The profession. The holding fast of Hebrews 10:23. “Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, since He who promised is faithful.”
And all week long, I hear them.
Their confessions affirm what is real. True. We are sure of what we hope for. Certain of what we do not see.
New Delhi, 2012. The electricity goes off. Right after a loud explosion. Most likely a transformer that’s blown in the neighborhood.
It’s late afternoon when shadows lengthen and shade our second floor flat. I sit in the dark. And wait.
The mental checklist forms automatically. Honed by long experience. If it’s an extended interruption of power, there are things to do.
