Susan LaffertyPages torn out of old journals rest in my hands. Stapled together. Written by my father at 28 and 29. Newly arrived on the field overseas.
Entries penned in precise style. Possibly with the Parker ink pen I can picture in my mind. Dad’s writing instrument of choice for years.
He turns 90 this month. And this window into his thoughts over 60 years ago reveal the foundation of a life wholeheartedly committed to his Lord.
No ordinary life.
My parents are cleaning out cabinets. And bookshelves.
They’ve done this before. Purging. For moves across states and across the world.
But this is different. A time for downsizing. Studying space. Deciding what will fit in the next spot.
They’ll move to a smaller place. One of these days. So now they are paring down. Letting go.
They push things into my hands when I express interest in a painting. A book. “Take it.”
Altars marked the path of Abraham. God said go and he obeyed. He moved his tent to the next place, built an altar and worshiped. Altars marked his encounters with a holy God, a covenant-making God. Some marked sacrifice and absolute surrender—holding nothing back from the One who called his name.
As we moved our “tent” across the world and established home in the temporary place, I thought of Abraham and Sarah. I drew strength from their journey to a place they did not know.