Susan Lafferty“Momma. Momma.” I woke from a deep sleep. In the middle of the night.
Jenna, 6 or 7 years old at the time, was standing next to the bed. Pressing my arm.
Yes?
“I heard a voice. Like this…” her voice changed from sweet innocence to a guttural growl. “‘Jenna, I’m going to get you.’ And there were two red eyes. And he laughed like this…” It was an evil laugh.
I sat up straight in bed. On high alert. Heart pounding. Wide awake.
Inside the cover of a 1995 journal, I find these words: In case of evacuation.
And underneath, a simple list. What I hoped to take.
Bible. Journals. Baby books. Two baby quilts Mom embroidered. Photos. Recipe book.
Packing up our lives every few years. Crossing oceans and borders. Figuring out friendships and fellowships and schools.
Navigating the spiritual landscapes that we land in.
How do we pray for our children in this cross-cultural life? Specifically and strategically?
Along the way I see the need for strong roots and movable tents. Stability and flexibility.
