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.
We walk. Blue-skied afternoon. Fallen leaves swirling on the path. Picked up and scattered by the wind.
An after-Thanksgiving-dinner tradition, this walk takes us through shade and cold. To places in the sun. Beside the lake. Where water moves, reflecting rays.
Conversations and laughter accompany this walk. As we breathe cool air in the shifting light.
The evidence of God’s creation and Presence is all around us on that restful stroll through the neighborhood. And I think about the ways God speaks. Breathes. And moves.
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.
