Walk With Me (31 page)

“But what about your wounds?” Peter said.

“Mine?” Celeste had completely forgotten the ways Peter had wronged her. All she could remember were her own failures and weaknesses, how she had not fulfilled her vows, the times she
had given Peter a cold shoulder or spoken a cruel word. “They don’t bother me anymore.”

“You have a nasty one on your side—it’s all scarred over and maybe that’s why you can’t feel it,” Peter said. He began to wipe her wounds, and Celeste had never felt such tenderness from him. “And these blisters on your feet—why didn’t you tell me they were so bad?”

“I tried once, but you were busy.”

“I am so sorry for the pain I caused you.”

“It was I who failed you,” Celeste said.

They almost began to argue about which of them had acted worse, but they quickly realized what a silly argument that was.

Peter and Celeste stayed in the pool all day, experiencing the glorious freedom of being fully known and yet accepted and loved without shame. As they gave each other compassion and kindness, they were renewed in the knowledge of the King and their brokenness turning to wholeness. Their scars didn’t disappear, but by the time Peter and Celeste were finished, their old wounds almost looked beautiful, infused with love and understanding.

“Think how close we came to cutting our cords,” Celeste said. “If we had, we would have never experienced this miraculous healing together.”

Their cords, now cleaned and rewoven, began to shine brightly again on their wrists. Peter and Celeste repeated the pledge they had made to each other on their weaving day:

But for all the joy and blessings Peter and Celeste found at the healing springs, they did not want to stay there. As their love again grew strong, so did their desire to reach the King’s City. Gathering the little travelers, they set off once more.

Back on the path they came to a crossroads with a sign that pointed to the left branch. Celeste started toward it. But because the branch headed down into a valley, Peter wanted to double check the map. An old impatience rose in Celeste, but she told herself there was no harm in stopping for a little rest. While she sat with the little travelers, she discovered a patch of the tiniest wildflowers growing alongside the path. She was thankful she had kept her temper because she would have never seen them if Peter hadn’t wanted to stop.

“Some spiteful person must have turned the sign around,” Peter said. “Both the compass and the map are clear that we should take the right branch.” Peter pointed to a rocky way.

“Oh no, Peter, look at how bad that path is—” Then Celeste remembered the wildflowers. “Okay, let’s go the way you think we should.”

They journeyed on, attentive to keep on the path. The way
became straight, and the rough ground grew smooth. They followed a small brook, with sprays of ferns bordering the path. It lead them into another meadow—like the first chalice meadow they had gone to, only more lovely and fragrant.

Celeste began to understand how poor the scenes on her postcards had been. If she had followed those visions, she would have never gone up to Skull Hill; she would have held onto her postcards until they dissolved into scraps. But when she buried the dreams, she was able to experience a deep oneness with Peter—something so extraordinary she had never imagined anything like it in all her dreaming. Peter also realized what a pale imitation his postcards had been; drinking from the chalice with Celeste satisfied him like no postcard could.

They took turns setting the pace and choosing the route, sometimes going fast and sometimes slow, sometimes taking the upper paths and sometimes the lower paths.

Celeste would go through the small tight spots for them, and Peter would reach up to the high places for the handholds. Peter began to search out the most flower-filled meadows for Celeste to enjoy, and Celeste began to urge Peter to climb up to the best overlooks. At night when the air grew chilly, Peter would get the sheepskin of humility from the pack and put it around Celeste. When he grew tired from chopping wood, she would rub his shoulders as she did long ago in the grove. And when they drank from the chalice, it was the sweetest drinking they could ever remember.

It was as if they were dancing together, giving and receiving
without thinking, for they were walking together as one.

But in time, a deep drought came over the King’s country, even in the Highlands. Green gave way to brown. The birds flew away in search of water, and the weather turned from hot to cold and back to hot. The journey through the dry, weary land was as difficult as anything Peter and Celeste had experienced as partners.

The days turned into months and still there was no relief. They began to disagree about whether they should stay together or have Peter go off in search of food. They had no energy to kick pebbles. Though they still made sure to sing to the King and read the guidebook every day, they suffered a terrible thirst. Celeste remembered the Healing Springs and the grassy meadows, and it seemed like the King was playing a cruel joke on them. But Peter reminded her that not every difficulty came from their stubbornness. No matter what hardships they went through, nothing could separate them from the King’s love. That night by the fire, they read from the guidebook:

They decided to climb higher, hoping to find a stream from a mountain’s melting snow. After an exhausting ascent they came to a green plateau fed by a small spring. Suddenly Peter stopped.

“I don’t need to rest,” Celeste said.

“Look,” he said quietly.

She gasped. The plateau was rapidly becoming a wasteland. The plants curled up and the trees shriveled. Then suddenly, the ground sprouted thorns as sharp as daggers.

As they walked on, the thorns ripped their clothes and cut their arms and legs.

“What’s happening? Did we take a wrong turn or disobey a sign?” Celeste said.

Peter shook his head. “We are still the children of the King, but the world remains under the control of the evil one.”

“Maybe we can just set up camp here,” Celeste said. “We could clear a little space. I’m sure we can find something to eat.”

“If we camp here, we’ll never get out,” Peter said. He had them all hold hands, and they continued slowly, but they could not avoid being cut by the thorns. “We need to protect ourselves,” Peter said. “Wrap your robe of righteousness and your sheepskin of humility tightly around you.”

Doing this they were able to make their way back to a clear path just before the sun set. They spent an uneasy night close to the thorn land and to encourage them, Peter read from the guidebook:

They got up as soon as the sun rose and started off again. By mid-morning, they reached a small hut where a guide named Courage lived. He invited them in and spoke to them about the journey ahead. “You have learned that the highland meadows are not the end of your journey. There is still a long way to go before you reach the King’s City and until then you will never be finished with burdens and struggles. There will always be new challenges to face: the little travelers will leave you, and you will grow old. Another drought may come, and the roaring lion continues to prowl. But all these trials come so your faith may be proved genuine—and will result in praise and glory and honor for the King. So do not be ashamed. You can boast of your weaknesses, because His power is made perfect in weakness.”

Courage suggested that they stay with him for a few days so he could help them go through their bags, for they had picked up new burdens along the way. This time Peter and Celeste didn’t mind getting rid of their unconfessed sins and rusty treasures.

When Celeste looked at the pile, she sighed. “Look at all these unnecessary burdens. Is there any way we could have avoided getting them?”

“It would have been possible to come directly to the Highlands over the Mountains of Maturity, except you wanted to find an easier way because your legs were weak and your
hearts were faint. I think you’ve learned now that it does no good to take a detour when you come to a challenging section.”

“Yes, but only through painful experience,” Peter said.

“Don’t be discouraged. There are some travelers who choose harder routes and are able to bypass many of the dangers in the Low Country. But I have never heard of any traveler who was able to completely avoid the Swamp of Selfishness.”

That night by the fire, Courage reminded them again that life would not always be sweet, even in the Highlands.

“Your postcard dreams led you astray. Those scenes seemed ideal, but you learned they were a weak and incomplete picture of true love. Even after you burned and buried them, you expected the Highlands would be like a fairy tale. Now be careful not to fall back into the trap of thinking that romantic love will solve your problems.”

Peter and Celeste nodded.

“It’s not easy. Remember that you did not start on the journey to the King’s City for pleasure’s sake, but because you loved the King and you longed for a better country. Those who belong to the Servant have nailed the passions and desires of their old selves to the Servant’s cross and killed them there.

“But what glories are waiting for us in the beautiful city the King has prepared for us. Just think—when we get there we shall be like Him, for we will see Him as He truly is. Hallelujah!” The guide jumped to his feet and danced a little jig; he was so full of joy. Together they sang and praised the King as long as the fire’s coals still glowed.

The next morning, Peter and Celeste gathered their little travelers and prepared to leave. Before he said goodbye, Courage sang one more song:

In the summer, Peter and Celeste decided to climb the highest peak by themselves. When they reached the summit, they saw the clearest and closest view yet of the King’s City. The city appeared as an unshakable mountain filled with thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly. Surrounded by a wall of dark green jasper, it shone like a brilliant diamond, made of gold so pure it was like glass. It did not need the sun or the moon, for the glory of the King gave it light. The River of the Water of Life, clear as crystal, flowed from the King’s Throne through the middle of the city, and there was no mourning or crying or pain anywhere.

Peter and Celeste could see a crowd of redeemed travelers streaming into the city, with joy crowning their heads like halos, and singing:

“That’s where we’re headed!” Peter said. “Someday we’ll join them loving the King and glorifying Him forever.”

“I’ve never heard anything so beautiful,” Celeste said. “It will be wonderful to sing in that choir.”

“Look—over there,” Peter said. At the gates to the city, a traveler was getting ready to enter. They saw him turn to kiss his partner goodbye, then he went through the gate. “Well done, good and faithful Servant,” they heard the doorkeeper say to the traveler.