This is only a book for grown ups, and Frank Schaeffer is wrong about the nature of revelation in the Old and New Testaments (not to mention many details about sex and politics in my opinion). Still, there is much of profound value in the brutally honest contents of this loving autobiographical effort.
Mom’s energy was something like the sun, wonderful—unless you got too close or were her typewriter (I’ll explain the typewriter’s misfortune). Back when Mom and Dad were still missionaries touring Europe and conducting Bible studies, my sisters (none of whom would have ever led a demonstration in downtown Atlanta if they could help it) loved our mother, but they were just plain exhausted trying to keep up with her, as were all her fellow workers, from the L’Abri staff to her editors, who in later years would stagger out of eighteen-hour meetings about some manuscript looking as if they’d been simultaneously drugged and thrown under a bus.
The word “strong” doesn’t come close to describing Edith Schaeffer as she was until her mideighties. When I was a child, my mother occupied a category in my mind right up there with the Alps, God, the sun, and the ocean as representing everything that is permanent, beyond frailty or weakness or even time. Mom was never sick. Mom was up before anyone else every day. I never once saw my mother asleep. She went to bed last and rose before dawn and made Dad look terribly mortal—he slept! Her very presence was an assurance of eternal life: Here was one person death would surely never dare tangle with!
From Sex, Mom, and God: How the Bible’s Strange Take on Sex Led to Crazy Politics–and How I Learned to Love Women (and Jesus) Anyway by Frank Schaeffer (pp. 188-189).