Susan LaffertyIt’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.
“Last word, His Word.” It was a game my college roommate and I played.
After lights were out, our conversation slowed. And one of us would say this phrase. When we remembered.
The other had to share a verse. From memory.
