Susan LaffertyThe wilderness soundtrack sounds like desert thirst. Barren field. Little fruit.
We sit in a conference with workers from some of those fields. Where the gospel has been sung. Refrain after refrain.
To no response.
Their voices strain at the chords. Lament in the place of veiled hearts. Where darkness is palpable.
I remember. The struggle to keep singing in the land where captives remained captive. Hearts closed to the One and Only.
The house was bright and airy. The back door opened to a lovely garden.
A year after we moved our family to Indonesia, we were looking for a house to rent. This one seemed just right. We moved in. And slowly put things in order.
Then Jenna came to me one evening. Afraid. She was 10 years old.
“Every time I go into a dark room at this house, I see the outline of a man. He has two red eyes. I’m scared to go in the dark rooms.”
This was not the first time she had mentioned the red eyes. And it wouldn’t be the last.
“Momma. Momma.” I woke from a deep sleep. In the middle of the night.
Jenna, 6 or 7 years old at the time, was standing next to the bed. Pressing my arm.
Yes?
“I heard a voice. Like this…” her voice changed from sweet innocence to a guttural growl. “‘Jenna, I’m going to get you.’ And there were two red eyes. And he laughed like this…” It was an evil laugh.
I sat up straight in bed. On high alert. Heart pounding. Wide awake.
