Susan LaffertyNight watch. Our God neither slumbers nor sleeps (Psalm 121).
And sometimes He wakes us in the night. To watch and pray.
I remember when the two emails arrived. One after the other. To our inbox in Karachi.
Same time. Same message. Traveling across the world. From opposite sides of the United States.
The psalmist cries out to the Lord. And God hears his cry, inclining His ear toward a desperate appeal. For mercy.
In the telling of his story, the psalmist goes back and forth.
Between relief and alarm. Death and rescue.
The way we often do.
In the context of crisis.
Refuge. In the tropical afternoons of my childhood.
I’m sitting on soft dirt. Amid twisted roots. Under a canopy of thick, intertwined bougainvillea branches growing by the backyard fence.
Shelter. From unrelenting sun.
Shade. For afternoon play with plastic teacups and bowls. A plentiful supply of leaves and blossoms within reach.
The secret place where I can rest. And just be.
