Susan LaffertyPicking up a pen. And opening my notebook to a fresh page. I keep writing.
Remembering times I’ve jotted down thoughts in Southeast Asia’s tropical humidity. Hands sticking to the paper. Ink smudging along the way.
Or cities on the subcontinent where I’ve huddled in a blanket. At my desk. On mornings when tile floors and no heat mean cold seeps into the bones.
Regardless, I keep writing.
Alarm sounds. Stumble out of bed. Half asleep.
Then, habit kicks in. First word, His Word.
Simple practice. Way of life. Necessary.
And not something I can take for granted. Because distraction is always at the door.
In the most unlikely places, a song of truth plays. Or Scripture is repeated. Even memorized. Without explanation.
And the words somehow settle in the brains of young ones. Not fully grasped or understood. Tucked in a corner.
Until one day, clarity comes. And the distant, vague memory is brought to life.
“Now it makes sense.”
