Walk With Me (21 page)

He looked back at Celeste. “But those who stay in the orchard often forget the giver. These good gifts are not just in the orchard; they are found all along the way to the King’s City. The trouble comes when you make them the center of your life. That destroys your love for the King—and your love for others. Long ago, the Chosen People had the same problem. The King brought them into a good land, one with streams and springs flowing in the valleys and hills, a land with wheat and barley, vines and fig trees, pomegranates, olives, and honey. But when they had eaten and were satisfied, their hearts became proud and they said to themselves, ‘Our power and the strength of our hands have produced this wealth for us.’ Soon they forgot all about the King and what He had done for them.

“I want to give you some samples of the orchard’s delights, so you can enjoy them as you walk,” Heavenly Treasure said. “But never forget that ‘people do not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the King.’” With that, the guide bid them farewell.

Peter and Celeste headed into the wilderness with the little travelers. They had to walk slowly at first, for they had gotten
out of shape during their stay in the orchard. But Peter felt pleased, even proud, that he had been able to leave the comforts of the orchard behind. He was glad to be back on the trail. There was plenty of food to find, so he had time to hike up to the viewpoints along the way, and he would come back smiling, his cheeks flushed from the effort.

He didn’t notice that resuming the journey to the King’s City was much harder for Celeste. To her the path seemed so empty and quiet after all the activity in the orchard. She missed her friends and the conveniences she had left. The food Peter brought took longer to cook, and the little travelers complained about the taste. Without the pleasures of the orchard to distract them, Peter and Celeste had more time to pay attention to each other, but neither had enough love to cover over the faults they saw. Celeste went back to being frustrated with Peter’s absences. Whenever he was around, she started hounding him to do one thing or another, and he began to stay away even longer. Soon they had their most powerful argument since the Vehement Volcano. It tore the path apart and left a dangerous crevice they had to navigate around. As they scrambled over the ragged ground, both wondered if it would have been better to stay in the orchard.

Then next day at sunset they came to a little camp and found Faithfulness, their old guide from their weaving day, sitting by the fire. He looked more frail, but also more radiant than ever.

“The King has called me ahead,” he said. “I am so happy to finally be going to His city. But when Heavenly Treasure told me you would be coming by, I decided to wait so I could hear all about your journey. And look—you have little travelers now. How happy
you must be. But Peter, I couldn’t help noticing that you’re getting a legalistic limp. I hope you are still working on walking with grace.”

“Oh, that limp is nothing,” Peter said. “I’ve just had to work a little harder after our stay in the Orchard of Earthly Delights.”

“Well, come, both of you, and rest by the fire. I’m so eager for you to tell me how your partnership is going. Is your love for each other as wonderful as when you began?”

There was an awkward silence. When neither Celeste nor Peter met his gaze, he looked at the cords that had become frayed and worn on their wrists. “Oh, I see,” he said gently. “That’s too bad. But I still want to hear about your journey and what it has been like for you.”

So Peter and Celeste told him about their detour to the Sand Dunes of Foolishness and how they crossed the Swamp of Selfishness.

“Yes, I heard that you didn’t go up the Mountains of Maturity. And if I’m not mistaken, you struggled across the Plains of Distance before you were tempted by the Orchard of Earthly Delights.”

“We did stay at Encouragement’s gathering hut.” Celeste didn’t want Faithfulness to be too disappointed.

“Yes, and you’re still headed for the King’s City,” Faithfulness said, “and that is the most important thing.” As the fire flames lit up the old guide’s face, Peter and Celeste saw a tear glisten in his eye.

The next morning as Peter and Faithfulness collected firewood, Faithfulness noticed something sticking out of Peter’s back pocket.

“And what, dear friend, are these?” Faithfulness asked.

Peter turned red. “Nothing.” He quickly stuffed his postcards down into his pocket.

“Do not hide them from me,” Faithfulness said. “Do you think I don’t know about the postcards men carry?”

Peter did not want to talk about the cards, especially with Faithfulness.

“Why do you keep silent?” the old guide said. “You don’t want to admit you have these cards because you follow the King—and you would rather keep your illusion of godliness. Don’t you remember in the guidebook where the Servant said, ‘Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting the sin-sick, not the spiritually-fit.’ You, Peter, are one of the sin-sick. No matter how long and how far you walk, you will not reach the Highlands until you admit this. Have you shown those cards to Celeste?”

“Of course not.”

“To any of your friends?”

Peter shook his head.

“And why is that? Because they are so precious? Or because they are so shameful? Or both? How can it be wise to have something you cannot tell anyone about and that you hide like a schoolboy? It warps your view of your partner and gives you an unnatural thirst that can never be quenched. How often do you look at them?”

“Not often.”

“Exactly how often?”

Peter looked at the ground. “Almost every day. At first it was not for very long, maybe ten minutes. But it became harder to stop, and before I knew it ten minutes turned into thirty and then an hour.”

“And now they rule your life?”

“Yes,” Peter said in a whisper. His longing to look at the cards had become an insatiable craving.

“Peter, these cards were not good for you when you were single—and they are not good now, when you have a partner with whom you walk as one flesh. Do you know where this will lead? Sooner or later you may not be content just to look.”

“It’s not fair,” Peter said. “I can’t help it. And Celeste is no help. She is always busy with the little travelers. When I come home she barely says hello. Why can’t I have my little pleasures?”

“Because they are not so little. These cards are a corruption of the King’s plan for love.” Faithfulness took a card and showed it to Peter. “Did you get married for this?”

“No, but—”

“There are no buts. You have always been quick to point the finger at those who do not follow the King’s path, and yet you have this secret.”

“I don’t know how to stop. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”

“As long as you keep these cards in your pocket, you will not be free from their power. If you do not want to look at them, you must burn them.” Faithfulness took out a match and gave it to Peter. “Here, do it right now.”

Peter took the cards from his pocket and looked at them.

Faithfulness watched him. “You were given a chalice to drink with Celeste. These are a dry imitation that will never satisfy you.”

“Can’t I keep just one? All I do is look.”

“The eye is the lamp of the body. What you look at makes a difference. These cards never solve any problems; they only create
problems.” He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Perhaps it would help to think of the love the King has for you.”

Peter held on to his postcards. He knew Faithfulness was right. The King had freed him from his chains and given him life. And looking at the cards would only make him more thirsty. But he found a strange comfort in how tightly the cards gripped his heart. He did not want to strike the match. “Maybe another day.”

“It is best to do it now.”

“I-I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

“Isn’t it strange? How little effort it takes to strike the match, yet how hard it is to find the will to do it.”

While Faithfulness stood beside him, Peter shuffled the cards. Then he stopped, his hands trembling. “I can’t,” Peter said. “It’s too hard.”

“Ask the King to strengthen you with power through His breath in your inner being.”

“O King,” Peter cried, “I am powerless to do this in my own strength. Only Your grace is sufficient for me. “The Breath of the King filled him, and he lit the match. The cards began to blaze and just as quickly, they fizzled into a small pile of curling gray ash.

Now it so happened that while Faithfulness and Peter had been gathering wood, Celeste had taken out her own postcards. The romantic scenes looked innocent enough, that she would often look at them as the little travelers played around her.

When Faithfulness came back to camp and saw Celeste looking at her postcards, he threw up his hands. “Not you too!” he said.

“What?” she said, for she did not feel ashamed at what she was doing. “I like to look at these scenes from time to time; they
remind me of where Peter and I hope to go. I admit it has taken longer than I thought, but someday we will, I hope.”

“Where exactly do you want to go with Peter?”

In lengthy detail, Celeste told Faithfulness about the dream she was looking for, and how disappointed she was that Peter did not yet share her vision. But someday he would, she was sure.

Faithfulness grew very sad, for in some ways she was more taken by her postcards than Peter.

Faithfulness pointed to Celeste’s favorite postcard of a couple staring at each other. “Where is the King in this picture?”

“The King of love is the One who created the picture—surely you know that.”

“No, I’m not so sure. And where is Peter in the picture?”

“He’s not there yet, but someday he will be.”

“But is Peter really like that? It’s true there are men who also dream of this romantic love. The Peter I know is much more down to earth. He’s a loyal soul, not a poetic soul. I fear you have been caught in the seductive trap of fantasy. You have taken something good—the dream of oneness—and made it into an idol. Peter resists this, as well he should. For when you dream your romantic visions, you are not really loving him at all; you are only loving your dream.”

Celeste’s mouth twisted into a funny shape, for she did not like what she heard.

“Now there are couples I have known,” Faithfulness said, “who have shared this dream you have.”

“Did they find it?”

Faithfulness shook his head. “Even those who are completely
committed to this vision find that they cannot sustain such a romance. Eventually they realize they were looking for an ideal. They wanted a perfect love that would never die, and that love does not exist in this world. Don’t waste your time dreaming of things that will not be until you come to the King’s City and live in His perfect love.”

“But what about the Highlands?”

“To get to the Highlands, you surely have to give up the postcards, for they are a pale imitation of the joy you will have with Peter there.”

Celeste pouted. “I still don’t see what’s wrong with my postcard dreams.”

“Let me try to help you. Where are you going?”

“To the King’s City.”

“And what will you do when you get there?”

“Join in love and praise.” She said this like she was reciting her lessons.

“And where will your postcard dreams be then?”

“Do you mean the postcards are counterfeit?”

“Remember that the King took the form of the Servant.”

“So there is no romance at all?”

“There is romance,” Faithfulness said. “What’s in your basket of remembrance?”

Celeste showed him the pebbles and berries and pine cones.

“You have had many such times, and I hope you will have more. But romance must be kept in its proper place. Can you submit all of your dreams to the dream of the King?”

“I don’t like that word,” Celeste said.

“Submit?”

“It’s been a problem for me.”

“As it will continue to be until you learn its true meaning. Can you sacrifice your dreams of romance on the altar of love?”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me the journey with Peter would be so difficult?”

“Your dream has led you astray. You are constantly critical of Peter because you focus on the fanciful—‘what might be’ rather than the true ‘what is.’”

“But the scenes on my cards are so beautiful.”

“Think of how much more beautiful it will be in the King’s City. The walls are made of jasper and the city of pure gold, as pure as glass. The foundations of the walls are decorated with every kind of precious stone: pale blue chalcedony, emerald and pink beryl, yellow topaz and amethyst. And there are no tears or death or mourning or crying or pain. Everything is as it is meant to be, true and whole. But your postcard dreams with their false visions pull you away from that. The best thing for you is to bury your postcards here.”