Susan LaffertyOur 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.
The question lingers through the centuries. Around the world. In religious gatherings. And institutions of learning. City streets. Local hangouts.
And I read it in the Scriptures. The unnamed someone asks Jesus. “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?” (Luke 13:23)
Only a few? We hear the concern in our day. Are you saying not everyone goes to heaven? Isn’t that narrow-minded? How can a God of love do that?
The house was bright and airy. The back door opened to a lovely garden.
A year after we moved our family to Indonesia, we were looking for a house to rent. This one seemed just right. We moved in. And slowly put things in order.
Then Jenna came to me one evening. Afraid. She was 10 years old.
“Every time I go into a dark room at this house, I see the outline of a man. He has two red eyes. I’m scared to go in the dark rooms.”
This was not the first time she had mentioned the red eyes. And it wouldn’t be the last.