Susan LaffertyEmptiness grows. In the stained-glass halls of deluded prophets and shepherds.
Those who speak visions from their own minds. Of their own making.
Instead of delivering the true and unchanging Word of God.
Reading Jeremiah, I see this.
And watch how truth interrupts compromise.
The 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.
Ancient paths. The image fixed in my mind is a smooth clay trail in the bamboo forest. A path of my childhood. Worn by years of feet traveling from one ridge to the next. Winding through the valley. Around boulders and past simple thatch homes.
It’s an old path. A good path. That takes me where I need to go.