Susan Lafferty“Now I belong to Jesus…”
As a child, learning to the play the piano, I’m drawn to the song’s chords and movement.
Crescendos and decrescendos communicate the message musically.
But lyrics repeated, settle in my heart. Comforting me with truth.
“Now I belong to Jesus.” And even at that young age I believe. There is security and safety in the arms of my Savior.
The paved path I walk most mornings is shifting.
Lifted. Moved. Broken.
By earthquake, flood, or foot traffic?
No. Roots of nearby trees travel underneath. Moving asphalt. Breaking through brick and stone.
Revealing their power and hold. Eventually breaking through from underneath the surface. Disrupting my steps.
Last year, I saw a random ad for a writers conference called HopeWords. In Bluefield, West Virginia.
Glancing at familiar and not-so-familiar names of presenters, I somehow knew—I’d be there in April 2024.
I recruited my friend and fellow writer to sign up. It’s not like other writers conferences, we were told. But then, having never been to one before—what did I know?
This past week, I’ve been reflecting on those 24 hours of HopeWords Writers Conference 2024. Remembering Bluefield’s generosity: homemade desserts, excellent musicians, rides on the trolley. Considering the words of Travis Lowe, Daniel Nayeri, Mitali Perkins, Jackie Hill Perry, Hannah Anderson, and more.
And feeling thankful for that not-so-random ad.
