Susan Lafferty“There’s a song in the air. There’s a star in the sky.”
It was always my favorite carol as a kid. At Christmas.
Years later. In a country with only a small percentage of believers. I was walking through a department store one day and suddenly stopped. Listened.
Christmas music was in the air. Playing over the sound system. Lyrics and all.
“…O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord!”
Colorful skeins of thread surround him. And neutral strings on the loom show no pattern to follow. As far as I can see.
But the old carpet maker knows.
Thread by thread. Hour by hour. Day by day.
He works the loom, creating a rich pattern. A map of threads he already had in mind when he started.
The 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.
