Susan LaffertyThis 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.
It’s one of those days. Weeks. Seasons. In various places and spaces of our life. And I struggle with restlessness. Discontentment. Distraction.
Hungry for something I can’t quite put my finger on.
In the middle of such a season, I read John 4. During morning time in His Word. And pause on the verses that come after the woman at the well heads back to her village.
The conversation between Jesus and His disciples.
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.
