Walk With Me (27 page)

They soon discovered the forest trail was not an easy stroll. The rugged path twisted like a corkscrew up and down steep ravines. For every two steps forward, they seemed to take three steps back. They became discouraged, and before long they were back to their noisy arguments and using their clubs again. When they weren’t fighting, they lapsed into cold silence with quick drinks from the chalice. Meanwhile, the forest became so thick, the sun could barely shine through, making the air chilly.

But some mornings Celeste would remember that the Servant had told His followers to give without expecting anything in return. She made a radical vow to try to love Peter like that. She helped Peter with the bags and asked him how he was doing. Still, she found herself waiting for him to say a few words of appreciation or a simple thanks. But her acts of kindness seemed
to make no difference to him, and he said nothing. By lunch, she was angry again and determined to tightly guard her love. Peter was not worthy of such a gift.

One day, as they struggled up a particularly hard trail, Celeste stumbled over a root and fell with a sharp cry. Peter walked on as if nothing had happened. As Celeste lay on the ground and watched him stride on, the last feeble flame of hope in her heart was extinguished. Her partnership with Peter was dead. She could call and he would not hear; she could weep and he would not comfort her. He did not love her at all.

Celeste got up and shuffled along, a dull pain filling her heart. Deeper and deeper she wandered into the dark forest. She didn’t care where the path took her—or if she was on a path at all. By the time she stopped to rest, she was completely lost. She didn’t care; the forest could swallow her up. She had no desire to find her way out and return to her dismal journey with Peter. Her partnership with him had only brought her sorrow.

She thought back on the trek through the Swamp of Selfishness, the Dry Wash of No Arguments, the searing Disillusioning Sun, the icy Way of Winter. All she could remember was how little he had cared for her, the arrogant way he walked, the self-righteous limp he had from carrying his pack, and his relentless pace. Her body bore scars from painful blisters, bites of the snapping turtles, and nasty burns from the Vehement Volcano.

She got up and wandered on. The darkness around her felt hollow and empty like death. She wondered if she was even still alive. But from time to time a single tear would well up, and she knew there was still some life left in her. Then she would brush
away the tear, hoping it was the last.

For days and days she traveled like this, until one day a voice came out of the darkness, as soft as a shadow. “Wait.”

She thought it was her imagination, and she plodded on.

“Wait,” the voice said again.

But Celeste kept going.

“Wait.” The voice was as patient as the first time.

Celeste finally stopped. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you know Me even after I have been with you for such a long time?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.”

“That is not true. As long as you are breathing, you are on your way.”

“Then I will keep on.”

“And leave Peter?”

“If I disappear it would not make any difference to him.”

“If you stop walking with Peter, it will be different for both him—and you.”

“But we don’t talk, and he doesn’t care. Being partners means nothing.”

“You may not be able to see it, but when you are warm, a tenderness glows within him. When you are cold, he feels a chill.”

“Not anymore,” Celeste said.

“It is true he does not care for you as he once did. I have seen how long and how hard you have tried to change him. Some of the changes would be good for him and help him walk with a
lighter step. But some of what you want to change is part of him. You cannot fashion Peter exactly as you want.”

“So I will go on in darkness and silence,” Celeste said.

Suddenly Celeste could see that ahead of her the path branched into three ways. To the left, it led into the Desolate Canyon and the River of Unfaithfulness. To the right, it headed down toward the Valley of Cut Cords. In the middle, it continued into the Plains of Distance.

“I know those ways,” Celeste said. “It doesn’t matter which path I take. I will suffer no matter which one I follow.”

“Oh, but you are wrong—as you are in many things. If you were wiser, you would understand the difference each path would make to you, to Peter, to your little travelers, and to all the other people in your life.”

“So tell me which one to take,” Celeste said. “Tell me which is the best.”

He sighed. “Do you know so little of Me? These paths have been chiseled out by sinful feet and devilish desires. They were never in My original design or on the Servant’s path.”

Celeste stood waiting.

“You know the Servant’s path—or at least you once did. But perhaps you have forgotten it. Look behind you and see what you just passed.”

Celeste turned around and saw a fork in the path that went up a short slope and into a walled garden. She had thought she was past caring. Yet when she looked at the three branches that would take her to what she had already suffered, she decided to go back to the fork and follow the path into the garden.

As she entered the garden doorway, she found it was not as dark as the forest. But what she saw in the faint light made her recoil; the stone walls were covered with snakes slithering among the vines. In their hissing, she thought she could hear them speak. “He doesssn’t love you, he’sss an awful man, what doesss he expect you to do? Sssuffer forever? Yesss, that isss what he wantsss. You to sssuffer.”

“Do not listen to the snakes,” the King said. “For they only seek to do you harm.”

“Sss,” hissed the snakes. “What harm to sssave yourssself? No one elssse will do it for you. Go back, choossse your own path. Three to choossse from. Yoursss to decide. Follow what you desssire. Ssso much better than thisss garden. Ugly plantsss.”

But Celeste could see the snakes were wrong. The vines on the wall were covered with the most exquisite blossoms she had ever seen along the trail or in the Orchard of Earthly Delights—even in her postcards. The multi-layered passion flowers had white petals and blue fringe, green and yellow stamens, topped with purple stigma. The fruity fragrance they gave off was so rich, Celeste felt a tremendous ache in her heart. She thought she might cry.

“If you want to follow Me,” the King said, “take the path that leads up Skull Hill.”

Through the doorway on the other side of the garden, Celeste could see the beginning of a steep rise.

“If you want to save your life, you will lose it,” the King said. “But if you lose your life for Me, you will find it. What good will it do if you lose your very soul?”

“Follow what you desssire,” the snakes hissed.

“To go up Skull Hill, you will have to leave behind your dream of being loved by Peter. More than that, you will have to leave your selfish desires behind and love him without any conditions.”

“Choossse your own path. Yoursss to decide.”

“The snakes are right. You must choose your way. I will never force you.”

Celeste thought of the scenes in the postcards she had buried with Faithfulness. When she had given up her dream of romantic love, she had expected to get something better in return—a whole, true love with Peter. She wanted the give-and-take of two equals. But if that was denied as well, how could she go on? How could she give up her desire for completeness? How could she walk without that? Surely she would die. “Please, oh please, give me another way.” Sweat began to fall from her forehead to the ground like drops of blood.

The snakes on the walls continued hissing. She stood there a long while, for she could not bear to go back. Again she asked for another way. She waited for His reply, but received only silence.

She began to weep with deep sobs of agony. She didn’t want to give up her hope of love—she didn’t see how she could. But if she went back and took one of the three branches, she would find only more sorrow. Never had her heart felt such pain. How could she let go of all expectation that Peter would love her? Or give up the right to be cared for? Or to be cherished? She would do anything for the King—if only she could keep her desire to be loved in return. “Please. Please give me another way.”

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and
when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”

She knew the King was right and loving and wise. She knew the three other paths would only lead her to deeper misery. She thought of the Servant dying, nailed to the cross, suffering in anguish—and she knew that if she wanted to follow the Servant’s way, she needed to go up Skull Hill. There was no other way.

For a long time she stayed there though, crying in agony. She had once grieved the death of her old life when she first joined the King’s family. But then she had been given freedom from her chains and the promise of new life. The death that lay before her now was different. It meant destroying what she held most precious. She would be giving up her right to expect that Peter love her.

“Peace be with you,” the King said.

And a little while later she heard, “My peace I give you.”

Soon Celeste was no longer crying. She bowed her head. If going up Skull Hill was the only way to save her life—and perhaps her partnership with Peter—it was worth trying. “Not my will, but Your will be done,” she said, sobbing.

The snakes on the walls hissed and writhed in torment.

She started walking slowly across the garden. As she stepped through the doorway that led up the hill, the snakes slid off the walls and fled the garden in silence.

There was darkness all around, but the path was lit by a beacon of fire burning on Skull Hill. She made her way across a small field, then came to the base of the hill where a narrow trail
led the way up the steep slope. She saw the path was blocked by two objects, and fresh anguish flooded her heart. She understood she was meant to carry them to the top of the hill and destroy them there.

The first object was a glass case about the size of an aquarium. When Celeste looked at it closer, she gasped, for the case contained gruesome specimens of every wound she had suffered from walking with Peter. There were vials of blood, bruised flesh, scabs, and bits of broken bones. Each specimen was clearly labeled with a date and a brief description. “12/3 Flesh wound from uncaring,” “4/21 Bone chip from long fall,” “6/15 Bite from snapping turtle.”

“I have suffered so much,” Celeste’s voice quivered. “Please do not ask me to sacrifice this.”

“I have also cried over all these wounds,” the King said. “And by My wounds, you have been healed.”

“But if I destroy the evidence, what justice will there be? Who will pay the price? Who will bear the suffering? You ask too much.”

“No more than I gave Myself.”

“But who will love me? Who will love me?”

“You are My beloved. Remain in My love.”

Celeste remembered a song from the guidebook: “How great is the love the King has lavished on us, that we should be called children of the King—and that is what we are!” She felt the love of the King warm her heart, and she reached to pick up the case. But it was so heavy, she did not have the strength to lift it. “I am sorry,” she said. “But I am powerless.”

“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Breath,” the King said. “Surrender, and I will do it. Everything is possible for the one who believes.”

“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.”

The Breath of the King came and filled her, and she picked up the case—though even with His power, it was the hardest thing she had ever done.

Now that she held the case, she could identify the second object on her path: her club. Although she had used it often, she had never really seen it when it wasn’t in her hands. It looked dreadful, with bits of dead skin and blood from the wounds she had given Peter. Even when she had received a foil from Gentleness, she had held onto her club, for it was her shield as well as her weapon. Without it she would be truly vulnerable. She could not attack, and neither could she defend herself. She would be nothing more than a humble servant, loving Peter regardless of how he treated her. She would sign away her rights, give up her demand for love. Only the love she offered Peter would remain.

“You are My beloved,” the King said. “Rest secure in Me, for I shield you all day long. Remain in Me.”

Trusting in the King’s unfailing love, she picked up the club and started up Skull Hill.

As Celeste trudged up the slope, one slow step after the other, she still hoped she would be spared from going to the top. She hoped that Peter would come running after her and say he was sorry. She hoped that the King would come and carry her away.
She hoped that Skull Hill would melt away in front of her. But nothing happened, and she continued her long, painful climb.