Where did my help come from?
A white-haired man, from somewhere up in the heavens, called down to me.
God?
(No, it was Jim Ingram.)
He stood on the third-story balcony of a fairy-tale-esque Swiss chalet.
My tired ears remembered to strain again towards the indecipherable vowels of the French language, but then I realized he had said something to me in English!
A moment's silence.
Then again, there it was -
"Are you looking for L'Abri?"
"Yes!" I shouted through the haze of a sudden fog spilling upon the mountain. It was nearly dusk, and I was still on the bus stop platform. Squinting, I saw the man push back from his leaning on the carved balcony's banister, and disappear into what I guessed to be his home. Sensing his resolve to rescue me, I made myself ready. I looked to my right, whispered a prayer to my left, clutched my rebellious suitcase, my familiar guitar, and ran!
Finding a normal-looking cadence to your jog while carrying heavy objects is impossible for other people, too, right? Whenever one object seems to catch the rhythm of your run from your hip socket - and threatens to whack you in the face - the other awkward object will commit to the rhythm of your opposing calf and behave like an unruly third leg.
Thankfully no one witnessed this little agility exercise. No cars came. I made it safely to the other side and simultaneously heard the crunch of footsteps on snow and gravel headed in my direction. Up an ascending driveway, with fence-like bushes on my left, hiding the perils of that mountain road, and a slightly landscaped hill on my right, my hero appeared. His smile filled his whole face. His wool pullover said, "I've lived here a long time," and his proper hiking boots promised that my belongings would make it safely to their destination.
But he said nothing.
The cursed handle of my old suitcase exerted its will on this stranger. He smacked it, too, but wound up submitting and picked up the whole darn thing. No sense trying to roll it up ice anyways, I thought. I chattered and apologized, nervous but thrilled. I had made it!
With only my guitar swinging at my side now, I followed him, still ceaselessly talking. My crocheted sweater hung well below my knees. I felt like Fräulein Maria! I wanted to sing: "I have confidence in sunshine!"
Though I felt like clicking my heels, I (sort of) contained my wild excitement, and walked on like a normal person, behind this silent savior. We approached the side entrance of a monstrous wooden chalet. My bell-bottoms swooshed against each other with the last few steps. A warming, yellow light welcomed me into the foyer.
...
This is the second part of a story I began with the post titled "11 Years Ago." It is the re-telling of my first moments at L'Abri Fellowship in Switzerland back in 2003. Being part of my Lent commitments this year, I plan to keep telling the story of that transformative wilderness season of my life.
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