Susan LaffertyMy earliest memory of waiting? “Wait a minute. Just hold your horses.”
And the minute is never a minute.
From childhood I push for immediate fulfillment of desires. Quick resolution of problems and struggles. Longing for what’s just out of my reach. The future.
I want it now.
So I hurry up! And wait.
Here’s a little light reading for Thanksgiving week. True story. From the archives. And the attic.
Todd arrived home late one night. After a long trip. When he opened the front door, the first thing he saw was me. Standing at the top of the stairs, on the second floor. Gripping a cricket bat with both hands.
What?
I silently pointed to the air vent in the ceiling. One little paw was reaching down, clawing at the air. I whacked the ceiling and it retreated.
I had no idea what “it” was. But I wasn’t about to let it just waltz down into our home.
Our firstborn was 14 weeks old when we moved overseas. En route to Pakistan.
The week before we left America, I held her close and wept. Quietly. With the door shut. In the bedroom at my in-laws’ home.
I asked the Lord, “What are we doing to our little girl?”
The weight of leaving what we knew and going to the unknown hit me hard that day as I rocked Becca in my arms.
But we finished packing our trunks and suitcases. Then boarded the Thai Airways flight across the ocean.
