Susan LaffertyTreasure. In my childhood, any mention of it fascinated me. Inspired imagination.
Treasure buried. Hidden. The historical findings of archaeological digs revealed in layer after layer.
The mystery, captivating. How various clues led to discovery. Of riches. And ancient civilizations.
In those days, I dreamed of becoming an archaeologist. But meanwhile, I was on the lookout. Tracing evidence that might lead to a prize.
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.
From a young age, I heard about Jesus and His love. Sang songs about Him. Listened as my parents read Bible stories. Our family prayed often. I was loved and cared for.
And yet.
And yet I was lost. Fearful. Felt the darkness. Something wasn’t right. And I knew it. “Do not lie” seemed to compel me toward that very thing. Lying.
