Susan LaffertyThis past week, I sit numb. Shaken. Shocked by sheer brutality.
And cry out for the ones who can’t breathe.
Weep for those with necks slammed against asphalt under the knee of racism. Relentless, insidious racism. Again and again.
The snake slithers. Just beneath the surface of society. Often hidden in the dark. Feeding pride and arrogance. Fear. Prejudice.
Injustice.
The candle flame moves. Flickers. Casting large shadows on the walls. I sit in the edges of its light.
All the celebrations of last week give way to winter quiet. Time to remember and reflect. Looking towards the future.
In past seasons there was little time for this quiet space. A long one, anyway. The season of raising three young children comes to mind.
Even then, the hurry in my soul needed me to sit. Rest. Looking to the One who knows my days.
The realtors come to look at our house. Consider its selling features. Advise on what we must do as we get ready to place it on the market.
We know we need to clear the clutter. But their first comment? “You sure have a lot of books.”
Why, yes. Yes we do.
Then comes the directive.
“Clear out this bookcase and that one and that one. Go ahead and pack those books. Store them out of sight.”