Susan LaffertyOver the holidays, we watch old movies together.
“Wait for it….”
Expecting the coming punchline. Dialogue already in our heads. And on our lips. Story summoning memory.
We anticipate what we’ve already seen.
2020. And the pandemic spreads to the ends of the earth. We wait. And walk in constant change. Cancellations. Upheaval.
Those serving around the world are affected. Some caught in months of lockdown. Stopped at borders. Forced to leave. Or forced to stay in their home countries.
At times it feels overwhelming. As we grieve unexpected losses.
In the middle of it all, I’m drawn back to a familiar psalm of deliverance. Psalm 18. Detailing the sure and powerful rescue by the Almighty.
This time I read the first verse. Stop. And can’t move past it.
I’m compelled in that moment. To reach beyond grief. And dwell on the deep, deep love of my King. Lover of my soul.
Loss.
The memory comes back. Distinct. Clear. From 1972. One hot, humid afternoon in Kediri, Indonesia.
I’m just arriving at our home. After being away for high school a couple of months. In Jakarta.
Standing outside. Reaching for the handle of the screen door. And suddenly a subconscious map surfaces. One I never knew was there.
A map of presence. Home and those who belong in it.
Without warning, the realization of deep loss hits. Full force. There’s an empty space on that map.
The place where my sister Ann has always been.
Grief. Tangible.
