Susan LaffertyA dense fog settled over me for several years. Like the fog slowing urban streets where we lived during part of that time.
Nearing 50, I joked about brain overload. How pieces of my mind were escaping. Slipping away.
But this was disorienting.
The thick fog outside our urban apartment hid the sun. Birds stopped singing.
I struggled to sing too. During the season I was menopaused.
Dawn. And I’m walking on a path interrupted by roots. Stumbling on acorns hidden beneath fallen leaves.
The way feels uneven.
Unpredictable.
I can’t look up. In the grey. Before full light reveals.
In cross-cultural living over the years, daily conversations provide interesting entry points. For the gospel.
Asking the Spirit for wisdom, I watch and listen. Then see opportunities to share truth. Relating stories from Scripture.
In South and Southeast Asia, I notice one particular account often comes up. Addressing fears–named and unnamed. Pointing to our Savior.
That time Jesus said, “Peace. Be still.”
