Susan LaffertySomething new. Blank page of another year. Month. Day.
Unwritten. Unspoken. Unknown by me.
At the open door sits fresh, white snow as far as the eye can see. Waiting for the first footprint.
Looks like hope.
Leaves crunch beneath my feet. Cold front moved in. So the air is chilled. Still.
Inside I’m scattered.
Numb.
Not sure how to process what’s happening. The unexpected hard.
“In everything give thanks”? How?
The crowds follow the fragrance. Looking for bread. Multiplying in His hands.
Fresh bread from the Master draws them. Like hot loaves from the oven.
But then. He speaks. Hard words. Strange to their ears. Threatening their loyalties.
