Susan LaffertyIt’s 2013. I sit in the easy chair and contemplate upcoming travels. Across the ocean. Our way of life means moving back and forth.
And adjusting to changes between two different worlds. Parallel universes, really.
We are heading back into the intensity of culture and color and music that is South Asia. The constant calendar of religious festivals. The daily encounter with spiritual worship of every variety.
The relentless dust.
So he built an altar there, called on the name of the Lord, and pitched his tent there. Isaac’s servants also dug a well there. [Genesis 26:25]
When Abraham or Isaac or Jacob moved to a new place, they did the necessary. Built an altar and worshiped the Lord their God. Pitched a tent and dwelled in the temporary place.
And dug a well. Dug deep. To tap into a source of water hidden beneath the ground.
Hidden behind clothes and toys, I giggled when I heard my mother calling and calling my name. I was around 4 years old. And I’d discovered a secret place in the depths of our walk-in closet. She called my name again. And again.
This was so much fun.
No one knew where I was.
As you can imagine, the end of that story was not funny at all. My mother was in tears and panicking. She thought I had wandered outside the gate of our home in Surabaya and been lost forever. This was a surprise to me. And the discipline that followed was, shall we say, memorable. The next time I listened when my parents called.