Susan LaffertyPhrases from other cultures land in our sentences and frequent our conversations.
One of those? “Same same, but different.”
We are the same. But different.
In our trek across oceans and sojourns in other lands, we see this.
Face to face. While talking about family. Life. Hopes. Dreams. Pain. Struggle.
Same same, but different.
Wordless. I don’t know what to say. How to pray.
But longing stirs. Hunger to hear Your voice. See Your lamp shining in the dark.
I try to look ahead. Nearsighted vision blurs the future. Shapes without edges loom. Nothing is clear.
So I open the Scriptures. Hold Your Word close. And read in black and white, words on the page.
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.