No Small Snakes by Gordon Dalbey

Author:Gordon Dalbey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-03-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

SABBATICAL REST— OR BOOT CAMP?

Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it. For we also had the gospel preached to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value to them, because those who heard did not combine it with faith.

—HEBREWS 4:1–2 NIV

Early in the summer of 1983, beginning the seventh year of my pastorate, I sensed a special need for rest and for perspective on my warrior calling. I requested a three-month sabbatical to begin in January 1984. Fearful that the church might reject my request, I dutifully offered in my proposal that I would take a seminary course in church administration and pursue other opportunities to increase my ministry skills.

The church agreed to the sabbatical—with a sobering one-fourth voting against it.

As the New Year’s beginning date approached, I reread the seminary catalog. To my dismay, I realized that the administration course met two days a week at 8:00 a.m. in Pasadena. That meant at least two to three hours on the freeway at rush hour, twice a week! Hopeful that the course work might justify such an effort, I looked again at the syllabus. In a terrifying bolt of truth, I knew that I had absolutely no desire to take that course. Desperately, I asked myself if, in fact, there was any course I wanted to take, and in that moment I knew there was—but it would not be offered in seminary. My spirit cried out the answer, the response to my need for understanding God’s purpose in my life: I wanted to study the Norwegian language as the root of my warrior calling and identity.

Hoping that somehow I could manage it among a growing list of other promised sabbatical commitments, I decided to seek out such a course. I recalled an instance perhaps a year earlier, when a Lutheran pastor in our renewal pastors’ group had introduced a visitor with a good-natured laugh as “my Norwegian-speaking Lutheran brother.” I called that pastor and was referred to Rev. Don Brendtro, then pastoring in Costa Mesa, about an hour’s drive south of me.

A third-generation Norwegian American and married to a native Norwegian, Don directed me to a language course at the Sons of Norway hall in San Pedro, about fifteen miles from me. As we chatted in his office, he mentioned “Fredensbolig”—literally “house of peace”—a Spirit-filled retreat center outside Oslo that he and his wife, Astrid, had helped to organize several years earlier. I offhandedly remarked that I would like to go to Norway someday and especially to be with Spirit-filled Norwegian Christians in a place like Fredensbolig. Don told me that the center did not receive visitors except during the summer; in dismay, I explained that my sabbatical was in the winter and my promised schedule would not permit such a visit anyway.

Before leaving, I asked Don to pray for me. As we were about to begin, suddenly his office door opened and a blond, blue-eyed woman stepped in.

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