Susan LaffertyMorning exercise at sunrise. Walking at a fast clip, tuned in to a podcast. Suddenly, there it is. Fragrance.
Distinct. Sweet. I don’t even have to look.
Honeysuckle.
Stopping, I turn and see. Down the the slope. A riot of honeysuckle blooms. Taking over the thicket.
Nothing can separate us from His love. Nothing.
Death begs to differ. Disease and pain try to write a different story. The troubles in this world whisper hopelessness.
Loss. Division. Fracture. All attempting to question or deny His love, compassion, and care.
And yet. We dare to hope. Because of our Savior.
He writes the true story.
Motionless. I sit. In sunlight. Stilled by loss and grief spilling across screens and down streets. Through personal stories of friends and strangers. Hard and sad.
Bitter wounds. Raw pain rooted deep. Laid bare.
Motionless. I wait. Stilled by the scale of it. What are we to do? Hands rest, palms up.
Eyes lifted to open sky between tall trees.
Wordless cry to the One I trust.
