Susan LaffertyMotionless. I sit. In sunlight. Stilled by loss and grief spilling across screens and down streets. Through personal stories of friends and strangers. Hard and sad.
Bitter wounds. Raw pain rooted deep. Laid bare.
Motionless. I wait. Stilled by the scale of it. What are we to do? Hands rest, palms up.
Eyes lifted to open sky between tall trees.
Wordless cry to the One I trust.
The slow but certain flood of a tsunami moves across the globe today.
I’ve watched videos from the one that marked our lives in 2004. The wave that advanced silently. Powerfully. Into Aceh. The water just kept coming. Pushing further inland. One bright, blue-skied day.
And then, as waves do, it pulled back out to sea. Leaving devastation. Empty communities. Unimaginable loss.
Today. The other tsunami. Changing the topic of our daily conversations. To quarantines and lockdowns. Limiting spread to flatten the curve. Shortages of medical supplies. Death counts.
And I remember the Scripture verses that gave hope to the inexperienced. In the December 2004 tsunami and the year that followed.
The journals come in all sizes. Most have survived extremes. Dust and drought. Mold and humidity. It shows.
They hold my life records. The common, daily occurrences of a cross-cultural life. The ongoing spiritual battle.
And the struggles of our children in the midst of it all.
Constant illnesses. Anxieties. Hurt. Fears.
In dust and drought. Mold and humidity.
