Here is something I think you will get a kick out of.

Many years ago, John and I spent a year at English L’Abri with our then family of two boys – Andrew and Baby John’s sister was also with us during several months of that time.

English L’Abri, at least then, had a different ‘personality’ than Swiss L’Abri. There were many, many young people at Greatham Manor House who had been on drugs, or were counter-cultural and artsy in one way or another…Not as many strictly intellectual seekers as at Huemoz…

We became friendly with a young couple who were part of the extended L’Abri family, but lived separately in a little caravan in the woods. I don’t remember much about their circumstances, but I do remember he had changed his last name to ‘Leaf’, which shows you they were definitely of the hippie persuasion.

One day, they asked us over for dinner and we were free to go as we had built-in babysitting through Peggy. Hooray! What does a young mom appreciate more than having a meal cooked for her?

We talked long and deeply of many things throughout our time together. The penultimate event of the evening was having Bridget play her violin for us – she was a talented musician. And the final event? Well, that was:

Jim praising me lavishly as we stood by the door saying good-night. I was so wise and so insightful, so articulate and so on…

As I listened uncomfortably, but also with that nice little sensation of “Wow, I guess I am pretty wonderful”, the door that I was leaning against opened and I fell out of the caravan.

On my head.

“Pride comes before a fall”…Yes, indeed….I don’t think Jim ever saw me as a great sage again. How could he, with the vivid picture of me face-planted in his garden?

By the time you are in your sixties, you truly don’t struggle with pride the way you do when you are younger.

Life – and God – have seen to that.

A good thing, too.