Susan LaffertyJesus knows roots.
Fig tree. On the road to Jerusalem. Cursed by Jesus for its fruitlessness. “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.”
Not even fig-bearing season, the disciples note. But they’re listening.
And we are too. Wondering. Pondering.
Exiles in Babylon.
God’s Word to them felt deeply personal to us. During a particularly violent and unsettling season.
People were leaving our city. Families sent back to their home countries. Anti-American sentiment had ramped up more than ever.
Should we leave?
At one point my dad—who never, ever tried to interfere or direct us in any way—wrote “In my daily Bible study I keep seeing the words, ‘Flee Babylon…flee Babylon.” (Jeremiah 49:30; 50:8,16; 51:6)
In December, a treasured necklace from Japan falls on the floor. Breaks.
And I get on my knees. Gathering broken pieces. Fragments.
Trying to put the puzzle back together. But it sits.
Incomplete.
So I place what remains in a bowl. Not ready to give up on it yet. Perhaps a shard or two skittered under a cabinet.
