L'Abri - Then and Now

I first read L'Abri, which is a French word that means "The Shelter", as a newly married woman without children. It is a great book by Edith Schaeffer about the early years of foreign ministry with her husband Francis and their children. I remember vividly how I thrilled to the ministry possibilities and warmed to the idea of having children in that atmosphere! How I dreamed the dreams of international travel and experiences, the dreams of influencing nations for the Kingdom of God! The dreams of my writing having some purpose besides personal therapy, and our children - who were at that time mere misty hopes - seeing the workings of Christianity first hand, being born into a vital, living work that we would have part in. That now seems like a million years ago, instead of the twenty-plus that it has been.

I picked it up last night as a diversion from some personal battles I am fighting. Of course, in the last Twenty-seven or so years, I have returned to it at different times to revisit those dreams, but it eventually gained the status of "favorite, but show book", and then removed to - "to be kept handy, just in case" but, eventually became a subconscious, "book to be avoided at all costs", as the dreams alternately came into being - looking different than I hoped, or died stark and untimely deaths, one at a time.

Some of the poignant dreams of family did come to pass, even the wonder of home birthing, and the preciousness of teaching them at home. But the dreams of ministry on a vivid, real, intensive level still has not come. I keep telling myself that Joseph was kept from his dream for 13 years, that Abraham was kept from his for 25, that Moses did not get fulfillment until a very old age, and then never saw his beloved promised land! And yet pleased God! But somehow those realities can not seem to quell the ever rising panic that we are running out of time, that we are not ever going to do anything pivotal for the Kingdom of God, that God is not ever going to recoup His investment in us, that the things He has so carefully cultivated in us are going to go to seed, and may never bear any real or lasting fruit!

Reopening the book last evening was like visiting an older cherished friend at first. But then the sentimental longings rushed in and eclipsed the comfort, reversing the warmth. Suddenly I was engulfed in the fearful whispers of the enemy of my soul! I suddenly found myself frozen in cold regrets, and completely overwhelmed with horrific torrents of icy grief - much like the avalanche torrents that Edith described, that came against their Chalet when the snow melted from the Swiss Alps, threatening to end all they had worked for if God had not delivered them.

I was suddenly overtaken with an overwhelming sense of failure, and grief for all the fondly cultivated dreams that have been either maimed or outright slaughtered! Suddenly aware that we missed that opportunity of raising our children in an atmosphere of active ministry. Fearing that we have wasted our talents, hiding them in the "ground", in the "unfruitful soil" of organized, stone yard, religion, instead of breaking from that system, as Edith and Francis did.

I suddenly grieved, with a fresh wound, the children being little. I was again enveloped, nearly smothered in longing for those first days of wonder and fresh life, the joys of childhood discovery and development. I grieve them because they are gone, of course, but more-so because I did not I use them to the best advantage, and that is an understatement of gross proportions.

You see, I was not at my best when that time came to me, and so, I missed much of it because of the whirlwind of persistent, vastly consuming, personal issues that chose those precious moments to bully their way out of my tormented soul. I grieve because, unlike Francis and Edith Schaeffer, I was not a "second or third generation Christian", not the product of successful ministers, but a "product" or "victim" or maybe I should say "survivor" of many crazed former generations that couldn't have been more evil! Whereas they began their family life mostly whole, I couldn't have been more broken, and the man I married certainly had his own share of emotional dysfunction to overcome! So, two and a half chapters in I succumbed to grief and laid the book aside, and then I grieved myself into a sleep of despondent depression, the type where sleep is really the only option other than death.

I, not too surprisingly, had the usual tornado type dreams, confusing, twisted, chaotic - but, somewhere in that dark fierce storm Yeshua came walking to me on the waters - and this morning I find that I am still here. Somewhat battered perhaps, but none too worse for wear. This morning, as usual, my faithful God met me to soothe my sorrows and wipe away my tears, to redirect my vivid imagination back to some less horrific realities, to guide my misdirected, very temporal, very limited perspective back to His eternally grand scheme of things.

I am reminded that despite their brave exploits all was not glory and success that man would count as victory! That, like all good soldiers, they had their share of casualties as well! Losses to cut, griefs to overcome, etc. That their path, while glamorous in writing, perhaps, still had its own bumps, warts and demons to deal with. I am reminded that the whole "grass is greener" thing is not to be a part of our existence, that comparison and compromise are tools of the enemy and that I am only responsible for giving MY best, and that I am not qualified to judge it!

I am reminded that God is the God of my yesterdays as well as my tomorrows and that He is the only One who can restore the years that the Locusts have eaten and that the canker-worms may have destroyed - in my generation or those before me. I am reminded that though Solomon's calling was different, and less war-like than David's, that he had an easier ride of things, still, he could not have - had David not done the warfare! Which says to me, that though my story is not as pretty perhaps it is no less necessary than that of those years at L'Abri.

They walked the path laid before them, but I have done the same. If anything mine perhaps took even more courage, even more faith - though the results may not be as visible or immediate or what I hoped for or dreamed of - yet. I am reminded that I am not my own to judge. That I am to use righteous judgment for myself as well as for others and to apply the same grace.

A funny little irony is that it snowed last night while I was reading about their adventures in the snow peaked mountains. I awoke this morning with the ground white and clean and brilliant sunshine pouring in my windows for the first time all week. It was as if nature itself was saying, "Come on kid, shake it off, its all new. We all get another chance. God has this. It isn't over yet!" I guess a live - if a bit bedraggled - tabby is better than a dead lion after all. I guess I will just cut my losses and fight on. I just have to push the obvious aside and know that God knows what He is doing, and focus on hearing and obeying Him to the best of my ability as always. That is the strategy that has got me this far against unbeatable odds, and it is the strategy that will get me the rest of the way home!

So, though it may be awhile before I pick up that book again, maybe the next time there will be even more dreams realized. One can hope. As long as there is life one can, and should, always hope.

Wishing you all a great weekend, and a life of realized hopes.

Shabbot Shalom Chavarim!