Susan LaffertyEveryday conversations. On the road. In the store. Are my words seasoned with salt?
Flavored with the gospel? Purified with truth?
Salt caught my attention when we were living in a dry and thirsty land. On the way to the beach, we passed white fields of sea salt.
Harvested from the Arabian Sea.
Loss.
The memory comes back. Distinct. Clear. From 1972. One hot, humid afternoon in Kediri, Indonesia.
I’m just arriving at our home. After being away for high school a couple of months. In Jakarta.
Standing outside. Reaching for the handle of the screen door. And suddenly a subconscious map surfaces. One I never knew was there.
A map of presence. Home and those who belong in it.
Without warning, the realization of deep loss hits. Full force. There’s an empty space on that map.
The place where my sister Ann has always been.
Grief. Tangible.
Wordless. I don’t know what to say. How to pray.
But longing stirs. Hunger to hear Your voice. See Your lamp shining in the dark.
I try to look ahead. Nearsighted vision blurs the future. Shapes without edges loom. Nothing is clear.
So I open the Scriptures. Hold Your Word close. And read in black and white, words on the page.
