Proof The Bible Is True

December 1974. The road ahead was dark and winding, lined by pine trees. I was 18, on my way home to Wisconsin for the holidays after my first semester at college in Minnesota. Legally I was an adult. Yet thinking of the future I felt like a lost child. Did God have a plan for me?

 

Six months earlier, in a tiny hospital chapel, I’d felt his presence in a way I never had before. A feeling that didn’t go away. But in a busy world of classes, friends, and a career path to figure out, sometimes it was hard to hear his voice. I wanted to be sure I was headed in the right direction.

 

Christmas morning, Mom handed me a book, wrapped with just a thin strip of paper concealing the title. Books were treasured in my family and Mom had a knack for choosing exactly the right ones for me. The cover of this one, by someone named Edith Schaeffer, was illustrat­ed with a collage of photographs: mountains, a chapel, red flowers, a woman in prayer. I read the title.

 

“L’Abri? What’s that?”

 

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