She wrapped my body tightly in a leather cummerbund to keep my stitches in place. Then I took her hand and stumbled out of the bed before putting on some warm clothes that had been brought in for me.
We stepped out the door into the snow, and when I looked up from the stoop, the sight of the snow-blanketed mountain village was breathtaking. Hundreds of log cabins spread throughout a meadow, a black, white, and green forest of aspens and firs surrounding it. Windows glowed orange with firelight, and red ribbons hung on every door. Handmade ornaments adorned the trees. People walked the snow-covered paths holding candles, wearing smiles, and singing, all bundled warmly in scarves and hats. They would step aside for horse-drawn sleighs that left tracks and hoof prints winding between cabins. Children built snowmen and ran laughing, rolling in the frozen white powder. It was a winter wonderland as I’d always imagined but had never seen.
The sky was deep indigo and so clear that I thought I could see every star out there. What was left of the sunlight sprayed purple stripes across the snow as it fell behind the trees to the west. We followed a pillar of smoke in the distance and walked to a place that seemed to be the center of the village where a large bonfire burned, surrounded by villagers swaying arm in arm and singing Christmas carols. It all brought a smile to my face. For a brief time, I forgot the loss of my horse, the trials of my journey, and even the desperate longing for my home and family. Dare I say, I was happy?
It was there, standing among those joyful people, that I began to realize the importance of faith.
Why is it that, whether suffering the burden of something terrible or reveling in wonderful news, even a person without faith is compelled to ask, “Why has this happened?” Is it because, in our hearts, we know there is a reason? In everything I had been through, perhaps God had not abandoned me after all. I watched their fire burn like a passionate heart—resilient, persistent, consuming the fuel of life and bringing warmth to all who open themselves up to it. I wished for my own heart to emulate that fire. I looked back at the person I had once been, and I felt ashamed. That passion for life had been lacking in my own, and I somehow felt more whole having lost all of the items I had collected and used to define a life past. Perhaps the true meaning of life, I thought, contrary to everything I had once known, resides all around and within us. We just have to search for it.
“Seek and you will find,” said Elizabeth as we stood watching the fire.
“I’ve been seeking a long time.”
“And what have you found?”
“Something. I’m not sure yet.”
She smiled and said, “Then keep looking.”
So I did. From that moment, I absorbed everything I could about that joyous place as I spent the evening with them in celebration, and it dawned on me that they were no different from the people anywhere else I had been. What was it, then, that had suddenly brought that wave of joy into my own life? Was it the simple fact that I was still alive, or was it the knowledge that even in the worst of times, I was never as alone as I had thought?
The celebration continued into Christmas the next day. We ate and danced and sang hymns and carols, and we prayed. I wondered silently why, though I had never really opposed the presence God, I had reserved my time and thoughts for things deemed more imminently important. Perhaps it was because I’d had doubts, and I had not wanted to waste the one life I had revolving on an axis of something, someone, that might not even exist. But more and more, as I saw the good in humanity, those doubts were fading. People had come together with love so profound that it would have been called a miracle in the old world.
By the evening, I was exhausted from all I had absorbed that day, and we made our way back to Elizabeth’s home. Over yet another Christmas feast, I explained what I had been doing in the mountains—that I was headed to Denver to deliver a letter.
“What’s the name?” she asked. “A lot of us here came from Denver.”
I took the envelope from my satchel and handed it to her, and I watched her eyes widen when she read the name. She slowly lifted her head and looked at me.
“I know him,” she said.
I cocked my head and eyed her with suspicion.
“You met him today,” she went on.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Why?”
“It just isn’t.”
“Are you walking OK?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s take it to him.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She handed the envelope back to me, and I slipped it safely back into my satchel. The two of us donned our winter garb and headed back out into the snow. The festivities outside seemed never ending, and even as the sun set yet again, the merriment continued to glow like the fire that was still burning in the center of the village, its light still bouncing from the happy eyes and rosy cheeks of the smiling faces around it. I followed Elizabeth that way, and we drew into the crowd of neighbors huddled closely together to keep each other warm. They ate from steaming cups of delicious stew, still sharing stories and laughter.
Elizabeth began asking around for a man named “Adam.” I had met so many people over the last day that I could hardly remember each of their names, though I had done my best, and I searched my memory for one named Adam. Nothing came to mind. I thought that peculiar; I had always made a point to remember the names of people I met. It was good practice, not just in business but also in life, and by then I had accumulated so many names and faces that my list could rival that of a small country’s census.
When Elizabeth finally found Adam, I heard her call to him from the distance. She pulled me through the crowd to a bearded old man who reminded me of Abraham back home. I recognized his face as soon as I saw him, and I knew why I had not remembered his name. It was because he had been introduced to me simply as “our pastor.”
“Adam, do you remember Joe?” she asked him.
“Of course I do,” he replied with a smile.
“Well, he’s got a story you wouldn’t believe.”
His smile grew, and he motioned for us to follow him. Adam led us to another cabin, where he lived, and the three of us sat down next to a warm fire. The cabin was sparsely furnished but still cozy. Old worn books were strewn throughout, along with a stack of his own journals that rested in a corner on the floor. The air smelled of freshly baked bread.
“All right, Joe,” said Adam, “let’s hear this story.”
“Before I begin,” I replied, “I have something to give you.”
“You do?”
“I do,” I said as I again pulled the envelope from my satchel, delivering it finally to its recipient, who had unknowingly awaited its delivery for some months—so long that they had felt like a lifetime to me. The moment it left my fingertips, my job had been fulfilled. It was the last act in my career with the New World Mail Network, and one in which I still take pride. What I had been a part of for that brief time of my life was a wonderful and beautiful thing that would ultimately grow to benefit and serve every soul on earth. That was my contribution to the evolution of humanity, one that, though perhaps more suited for a bedtime story, was no more or less important than those made by the billions of others who walked the planet with me. We had suffered together, and together we would overcome.
As Adam took the envelope from me, his hands began to tremble. He stared at the handwriting on the front awhile before opening it and unfolding the pages. He read silently, his eyes beginning to water, page after page quivering between his fingers as he turned through them. Tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. It was as if he were holding his breath. Elizabeth and I sat still, watching him in equal silence, waiting for him to finish. When he reached the end of the last page, he finally released a sigh and took a breath, and then he looked up at me.
“You’ve given me the greatest Christmas gift I’ve ever received,” he said.
I never knew what was written in that letter or Adam’s relations
hip to its writer, but he insisted that I spend the rest of my time in the mountain village with him. I took up residence at his cabin for nearly two months. During that time, not a day went by that the sun didn’t grace us with unobstructed light and warmth, but the beautiful white snow never melted.
I opened my mind to learn from Adam, and through his lessons, I began to cultivate a newfound faith based on that love that, though I had witnessed it everywhere, I was only beginning to understand. It was eternally simple, yet at the same time eternally complex, breaking the barriers of physics and anatomy to touch the divine. It was a gift from God, he said, that reached beyond what could be observed and proven into a spiritual realm that could not. Love and compassion are among the most basic human emotions, far more prevalent within most of us than competition and violence, yet those were the things that had seemed to dominate life in the old world. Some might have attributed that to a decreasing faith in God and an increasing faith in the individual, but humans are naturally flawed beings in the flesh. None of us is self-sufficient, and pretending otherwise does nothing but separate us from one another, from our past, and from what our future has the potential to be. As we had continued down that path, it had become more and more difficult to see where we’d begun. Ancient civilizations had had a grasp on this truth that seemed to have been lost when we started craving “progress,” but love is the one and only thing that can truly fulfill any person. It is a need that every one of us shares, and as much as we may try to fill the void with synthetic things, deep down, we know there is no substitute.
We’re all drawn to God, Adam said, though sometimes we may not want to admit it. Regardless of where we come from, the color of our skin, or the kind of music we listen to, we all find beauty in nature. It’s universal. And we each harbor our own ideas about the best way to hold a relationship with the divine, if we hold one at all. Those of one may not suit the next, but perhaps that’s the way it’s meant to be. After all, if everyone shared the same customs and beliefs and the same interpretations, what would be our purpose here? If we already knew all the answers, what could we learn from one another? Where would we find the opportunity to grow? There is one thing, though, on which most of us agree despite the differences in our origins, and that is that God is love.
My own way was found there in the mountains, where I began to learn about God as they knew him, and I opened the “good book,” as they called it, that Adam gave me on Christmas Day. Beginning the first day, as I read passages with that vast congregation, the raging hunger within me only grew. I felt an exhilarating rebirth of my soul, and gradually I became more at ease, more at peace, and more willing to accept life as it came to me. There was so much more to it than I had ever opened my mind to. I let go of the past and my want for worldly possessions, and rather, I craved a spiritual life I had never before known.
Two years earlier, Christmas had brought me a new home at the farm. This one brought me a new home spiritually. Between the two had been a journey that would forever shape the ways of my life. From that moment, I was to embark on a new journey: a life devoted to love and enlightenment. It was as if my wounds had been healed, both those physical and emotional. Although I could still see the stitched and bandaged holes in my flesh, I began moving again without pain.
Adam’s teachings of faith brought me comfort in trying times, though not every day came as easily as the first. My mood swung constantly between overjoyed and deeply anxious. On the one hand, I wanted nothing more than to be home with Maria, but it was still far too dangerous to leave in the winter and face another storm. Yet despite my lack of options, there was a kind of peace about the place that I had never before experienced. The book from which Adam derived all of his wisdom contained an answer for every woe.
When he could see I was nervous and missing home, he would say, “Can you add an hour to your life by worrying? Don’t worry about tomorrow—it’ll worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Have faith.”
That was the refrain with which he ended every thought and concluded every departure. “Have faith,” he would say. “Don’t lean on your own understanding. There are great things happening that we don’t yet know.”
I did my best to have faith, as he said, and the more I heard those words, the more real they became. I studied daily with Adam, learning his interpretations of ancient tales. He taught of a healthy lifestyle, including foods and recipes, derived from the same stories and parables that enriched us spiritually. They were full of lessons applicable to every facet of life on earth.
“God knows we’ll face trouble, Joe,” Adam said. “You and I and everyone else with whom we share this world. But remember, He’ll never leave us. He’s always present, even when we refuse to accept Him. So cast all your anxiety away. Send it up above, and find peace in where you are now. You’re never alone. Have faith.”
The days I spent there were quiet, and even in the dead of winter, all of our needs were fulfilled. We had food. We had warmth. We had shelter. Most of all, we had each other. The relief almost didn’t seem real after what I had been through when I had thought I was alone. Though the majority of my time was spent with Adam, there was not a passing between sunrise and sunset that I didn’t see Elizabeth at least once. She was always watching over me. We ate together and shared stories of the past and of our families, with whom we would all soon be reunited. Had I not been so desperate to see my own, I would have certainly enjoyed a longer stay in the mountains. Life and time, though, interfered, as they so often do.
Eventually the weather grew warmer, and the day came for me to head back to the road. I knew it the morning when I awoke, suddenly restless yet again, as if I’d been inspired by a vision in my sleep that had slipped away when I had opened my eyes. It was time to go home. Adam also knew it when he arose to find me wide-awake by the fire at dawn.
“I’ll make breakfast before you set off,” he said, and Elizabeth joined us for my last meal in the village.
I had come to accept that my horse would not be accompanying me home, but I hoped that he was still somewhere out there, wandering—still a nomad on an endless search for something greater. The people of the village offered another horse to complete the journey, but I could not accept that generosity. I knew they needed her as much as I did, and there could be no replacing my own. I would walk, laden no longer with the cargo I had carried all that way. No knife. No bow, and no arrow. No fishing pole. My map and the journal I had been keeping to log the days and track my stops were gone, taken by the winter. Instead, I carried the one item that had been found with my drained body in the snow: my satchel. Inside were the letter from Maria and the old, worn Bible.
“Take care of yourself,” Elizabeth said as I prepared to depart.
“I will.”
“And come back to visit. In the spring next time.”
I laughed and turned to Adam.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve also given me the greatest Christmas gift I’ve ever received.”
“Have faith,” he replied, smiling.
I was the Prodigal Son, headed home with a new understanding of the foolishness of my old ways and an enlightened sense of life and its purpose. That purpose was, put simply, to love.
17
LOVE
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
“Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.”
“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.”
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, lo
ve your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in Heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
“Hatred stirs up dissension, but love covers over all wrongs.”
“Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.”
“Love is as strong as death.”
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”
“Give thanks to the Lord, for the Lord is good. His steadfast love endures forever.”
“Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”
I read as I walked with my face down toward the road, and the more I read, the more I realized that the book I had been given was not at all the book I had once thought it was. In all honesty, I had been afraid to open it—afraid of what it might say. My assumptions had been made of ignorance, based on the religious radicals who were only so prominent because they screamed the loudest. The meek are seldom heard, but their truth is so much simpler. You cannot tell people they need God and expect them to listen and understand. What you can do is show them His love. This, I learned, was not a book of judgment or of vengeance. Its words would never justify bigotry or hatred. Rather, it was an evolving epic series based on one central concept—love—the word appearing hundreds of times within and as a consistent theme throughout the many testaments, parables, psalms, and letters composed by dozens of authors over a course of several centuries.
The walk was much slower on two feet than four, but those pages kept me occupied as I shuffled on. They kept me sane as the ground leveled out and the seemingly endless plain lay ahead. They kept me hopeful as the weather warmed and the days lengthened. The long road behind me had delivered great knowledge and, I hoped, great wisdom as well. Wisdom and knowledge are two very different things. It is common for a person to possess one without the other, but often we assume that a person abundant with one is abundant with both. It can be a dangerous assumption, leading us in our naïvety to believe untruths spoken by people we trust. Of those two virtues, we must ask which is more important.
The World as We Know It Page 23
