Susan LaffertyThe one who speaks truth finds himself walled in. Weighed down. Worn out.
No hope. Only the crooked path. And a deep pit. Face in the gravel.
Affliction. With no end in sight.
This. When he’s fearlessly made known God’s ways. And wept over the judgment of a disobedient people.
Jeremiah laments.
Little stacks of memories. On the floor.
Newspaper clippings browned with age. Aerogramme letters, typed full-length and on the flaps. Magazine articles. Journal entries.
There’s no time to read every word.
So we glance. Skim. Scan for tidbits of life history.
And laugh over stories long forgotten.
Winter trees. In crisp air at dawn. Stark. Branches bare. Empty.
The fog drifts in.
As I walk in fading darkness, I think about friends and family members who are suffering.
Standing weary. In the fog of impossible circumstances. Living with ongoing crisis. Conflict. Some with never-ending pain.
Cold and unrelenting winds whip through the lives of these loved ones.
And I ask how to pray.
What is His way for trees in winter?
