Susan LaffertyLight falls. Through the archway. Across timeworn stones.
We sit in cool shade. Island breeze, soft. The old city, silent.
Footsteps echo in narrow passageways. Against ancient walls. In Malta.
Climbing uneven steps, we look out across a valley. Small villages scattered here and there. White houses. Flat roofs.
These stretch out to a defined edge. On the Mediterranean Sea.
Notes in the margin of my Bible. Next to Psalm 40:8-10. And words penned carefully on a back page.
Detailing an impression of His instruction.
“A calling to speak, proclaim, communicate, write. About Your righteousness, faithfulness, salvation, love, truth.”
Later, I express it in a succinct mission statement.
“To communicate Your glory in spoken or written word.”
Soul exhaustion sets in. Unexpected.
Byproduct from observing those who scorn the cross. And reject the gospel.
Stone heart resistance catches my breath.
So, I pray.
