Susan LaffertyThe candle flame moves. Flickers. Casting large shadows on the walls. I sit in the edges of its light.
All the celebrations of last week give way to winter quiet. Time to remember and reflect. Looking towards the future.
In past seasons there was little time for this quiet space. A long one, anyway. The season of raising three young children comes to mind.
Even then, the hurry in my soul needed me to sit. Rest. Looking to the One who knows my days.
Mystery. Mysterion.
One summer night I stand on the porch.
Watching a mystery.
Heat lightning.
Light pulsating in silent, brilliant rhythm.
Illuminating massive white clouds in night sky.
I can’t tear my eyes away.
It’s early 2013. Delhi, India. And I’m standing at the bathroom sink. Crying out to the Father. Again.
I can see the marble counter. The dingy mirror. Remember the blur of anguish. Helplessness.
“What are we to do, Lord? How do we help our son?”
The Lord has already made two things clear to me in that season (as detailed in Prodigal, Part 1).
1. Wait. Wait on the Lord.
2. Devote yourself to prayer.
Now I’m standing on the tile floor, in evening shadows. Pleading.
