Susan LaffertyRefuge. In the tropical afternoons of my childhood.
I’m sitting on soft dirt. Amid twisted roots. Under a canopy of thick, intertwined bougainvillea branches growing by the backyard fence.
Shelter. From unrelenting sun.
Shade. For afternoon play with plastic teacups and bowls. A plentiful supply of leaves and blossoms within reach.
The secret place where I can rest. And just be.
Over the holidays, we watch old movies together.
“Wait for it….”
Expecting the coming punchline. Dialogue already in our heads. And on our lips. Story summoning memory.
We anticipate what we’ve already seen.
2020. And the pandemic spreads to the ends of the earth. We wait. And walk in constant change. Cancellations. Upheaval.
Those serving around the world are affected. Some caught in months of lockdown. Stopped at borders. Forced to leave. Or forced to stay in their home countries.
At times it feels overwhelming. As we grieve unexpected losses.
In the middle of it all, I’m drawn back to a familiar psalm of deliverance. Psalm 18. Detailing the sure and powerful rescue by the Almighty.
This time I read the first verse. Stop. And can’t move past it.
I’m compelled in that moment. To reach beyond grief. And dwell on the deep, deep love of my King. Lover of my soul.
