The Dancing Lamb: The Rest of the Story

Abigail Faye taught me about flooring, sign language, oil rigs, the tribe of Benjamin, constellations, Irish dancing, gelatin, insulation, the importance of transmission fluid, gypsy princes, the contents of pepperoni, goats who like to bite people, and faith.

I met this dancing lamb on Mississippi's gulf coast, during a week-long trip to aid in post-Hurricane Katrina reconstruction. We met on a Friday night, and before sunset the next day had been told that "it sure seems like you two have known each other a long time." And it did. For the rest of the week, we worked side-by-side, laying down new floors for damaged houses, trading lists of favorite movies, hanging up insulation, discussing political issues, repairing roofs and getting pulled over because her truck's tag had expired. (She didn't get any tickets -- the officers were reluctant to fine a reconstruction volunteer.)

Abby described us as brother and sister, separated at birth.

I have a confession to make: I am not very skilled in construction or repair of any sort. How I convinced myself that I was qualified to participate in rebuilding the coast, I'll never know. Fortunately, Abby has been involved in such things for most of her life, and was able to teach me what I needed to know. From tile floors to shingles, she patiently guided me through so that I could help, rather than hurt, the relief effort.

One of the things that Abby feels strongly about is that our generation has been misled regarding the value of formal education. It's not that college isn't important, she says; after all, she is pursuing multiple majors at her university. However, many young people are taught that if they are sufficiently successful in the academic world, they won't need the kinds of practical skills that were being put to use on the coast -- the hammer and saw, the nail and board. As demonstrated by my predicament, such ideas simply aren't correct. Abby brings together the old and the new, pursuing both experience in construction work and knowledge in academic fields like astrophysics, applying both to the glory of God.

Although she would modestly deny it, Abigail also brings to modern times another trait which I thought had become a relic of the past: radical faith.

I really try to believe that everything in the Bible, ancient though it may be, is relevant to my life today. Some things test the limits of that belief. Take Abraham for example: God told him to get up and go, without even providing a destination. God simply said that when Abraham got there, He would show the place to him. How far away was this place? How long would the journey take? What would it cost him? He didn't know.

He went anyway.

If you had asked me a few weeks ago, I would have told you that such faith doesn't happen these days. In a time of commercial airplanes, online maps and cellular phones, what does it even mean to leave home anymore? You're rarely more than fifty cents away from a friendly and familiar voice. But that isn't even the point, really. The point is, even if such faith had a place in today's world, who would live it out? No one. Or so I thought.

Abigail had just parked her truck, when she heard a radio commercial for Eight Days of Hope, the reconstruction trip. She immediately turned off her radio, because the idea of driving for two days to do such a thing was insane. The next time she climbed into her truck, however, her radio inexplicably turned itself back on and began playing the same commercial she had interrupted before.

How much would it cost her? Could she even make it there in her truck? Could she make a meaningful impact in a mere eight days? She didn't know.

She went anyway.

Abby left her home with just enough money for gasoline on the way to the coast, in an old and battered truck (affectionately dubbed "The Jolly Roger") that had left the mechanic's shop only the night before. She slept in her truck when she was too tired to drive, because she couldn't afford to stay in a hotel. During her time at the coast, she had to repair the defroster on the Jolly Roger because we were experiencing record low temperatures for the area. Fortunately, there were mechanics who had also volunteered there who were able to do some rewiring for her, free of charge.

In the course of this rewiring, however, they saw enough that they were able to tell her she would need the entirety of the truck's electrical systems replaced before long. Later in the week, due to other mechanical issues, she was also told that she would need her transmission replaced within the month. In total, the work she needed done came to several thousand dollars' worth. I don't tell you all of these things to make you feel sorry for her, but rather so that you'll fully understand the importance of the following fact.

Abby worked joyfully the entire week. And when it came time for her to drive north, she did so confidently, singing praises to God along the way. I know, because she took me with her.

Abraham heard the call of God, and believed, and it was credited to him as righteousness. Thousands of years and half a world away, Abigail Faye heard that same call. In a mere eight days, she taught me that Abraham's kind of faith still lives, breathes, and even dances for joy at the beauty of God. I hope that some day, I will learn to clothe myself with such trust in my Father.