Susan LaffertyRemember. Somedays the forgotten pieces of life surface. In old journals. Handwritten letters. Conversations.
Pointing out one experience. Leading to memories of another.
Recalling things hidden. Lost in the pace and race of living life on this planet.
Finding stories lodged beneath the years.
Wilderness. When the voice of the Beloved is silent. And the Word—so full of rivers and streams—feels like desert.
I remember thirst. And crying out. In a dark night of the soul. Longing for His instruction.
In the mornings, I waited. Asking.
Are You there? Can You hear me?
We walk this path. Step by step. A path marked by altars along the way. Holding significant stories of surrender. Set in certain places, at particular times.
Personal experiences. Where God settles the question lingering in the thick of things. Opens eyes to see. Moves hearts to know.
He is enough.
One such altar on my faith journey took place mid-day. In a Karachi summer.
