Susan LaffertyIt’s one of those days. Weeks. Seasons. In various places and spaces of our life. And I struggle with restlessness. Discontentment. Distraction.
Hungry for something I can’t quite put my finger on.
In the middle of such a season, I read John 4. During morning time in His Word. And pause on the verses that come after the woman at the well heads back to her village.
The conversation between Jesus and His disciples.
New Delhi, 2012. The electricity goes off. Right after a loud explosion. Most likely a transformer that’s blown in the neighborhood.
It’s late afternoon when shadows lengthen and shade our second floor flat. I sit in the dark. And wait.
The mental checklist forms automatically. Honed by long experience. If it’s an extended interruption of power, there are things to do.
Resurrection Day 2011. In Delhi, India. We gathered with a body of believers from different nations and people groups.
We came to Christ out of a variety of religions and cultural traditions and family backgrounds. Some repented and believed as children. Others turned and followed Him in adulthood.
Each one’s testimony detailing a unique journey to salvation.
On that Resurrection Day we worshiped together as one, in Spirit and in truth. Brothers and sisters in the Lord.
“Christ the Lord is risen!”
“He is risen indeed!”
The next morning I retrieved and dusted off The Times of India newspaper that landed everyday on the balcony of our second-floor flat. I opened it to the front page. And a striking headline.
