Susan LaffertyThe journals come in all sizes. Most have survived extremes. Dust and drought. Mold and humidity. It shows.
They hold my life records. The common, daily occurrences of a cross-cultural life. The ongoing spiritual battle.
And the struggles of our children in the midst of it all.
Constant illnesses. Anxieties. Hurt. Fears.
In dust and drought. Mold and humidity.
This spring we looked for a car. A reliable used car. It’s been years since our last search. Integrity matters. In the car—and the car salesman. It did then. It does today.
But car-shopping has changed.
Now you can shop online and find a fairly detailed history of the vehicle you’re interested in.
The number of owners. Where it’s been registered. If it’s been in any accidents or had any recalls.
Hidden behind clothes and toys, I giggled when I heard my mother calling and calling my name. I was around 4 years old. And I’d discovered a secret place in the depths of our walk-in closet. She called my name again. And again.
This was so much fun.
No one knew where I was.
As you can imagine, the end of that story was not funny at all. My mother was in tears and panicking. She thought I had wandered outside the gate of our home in Surabaya and been lost forever. This was a surprise to me. And the discipline that followed was, shall we say, memorable. The next time I listened when my parents called.