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.
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.
“Lord, you are my portion and my cup of blessing; You hold my future. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance” (Psalm 16:5-6).
Beauty? Our first year of living in Karachi, my eyes saw the sand and dirt. Trash along the roads. The walls and buildings that matched the browns of a desert landscape.
Nothing seemed pleasant. Or beautiful.
I decided “pleasant places” must refer to the believer’s spiritual condition. Certainly not physical surroundings. Not this desert megacity, anyway.