Folks. Tomorrow I hop on one of those fancy jet planes and jump the pond over to Ol' England. I'm headed to L'Abri, a place started by Francis Schaeffer and his wife Edith back in 1955. L'Abri is a place very difficult to explain, so instead I'll leave you a link if you're a little more interested and have a few minutes to kill.
I'm going to Greatham, England. About 50 miles southwest of London. To be honest, I'm still a little confused about what I'm doing there. I just felt like I was supposed to go. I heard about it and thought, "Mmm... maybe this will help me get my head on a little straighter" and bought a plane ticket. Maybe I'm being dumb. Or irrational. Or just silly. But my chart and compass comes from One who knows me better than myself. The date has come, so here I go. Off, by my lonesome, to a place I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of what it'll do to me. I'm afraid of scraping off scabs and reopening wounds. I'm afraid of breaking carefully built boundaries to pieces and tearing apart haphazardly held together beliefs. And now, I'm sitting here wondering what I've gotten myself into. But I don't think there's any turning back now.
So, pray.
Pray pray pray.
Pray that I'll be safe traveling internationally with just little me.
Pray that the Spirit will work mightily with my stubborn heart in these short two weeks.
Aaaaaaand deep breath. Here goes.
When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
"Fear not, I will pilot thee."
