by Annie Wald
“Nothing,” Peter said.
“Nothing, that’s right.” Sacrificial Love put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and they started walking back to the bench where Celeste was waiting. “I have gone down both sides, and I can tell you they both lead to the King’s City. Before the Tree of Oneness fell, there was a single path and it was never the King’s design to split it in two. In some places the tree trunk has sunk so low in the ground that you can barely make out any distinction in the two sides. But in other places the trunk is quite thick and tall, and you can’t even see the other side.
“Travelers struggle down both of these ways,” the guide said, “but it is not which side they take that causes their difficulties; it’s their stubbornness. I have seen people go down the co-heirs side and take off their cords, that is true. And I have also seen people go down the headship side, and by the time they get to the end their cords are also cut. But I have also seen travelers come out of both sides more willing to love their partner.
“Here is another passage I would like you to learn by heart,” he said to Peter. “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of everyone else. For even the Servant came not to be served but to serve others and to give His life as a ransom for many.”
Sacrificial Love looked at Peter. “Put this into practice with your dear wife and you will begin to understand the burden and challenge that will be yours. Can you bear the Servant’s cross as you love Celeste?”
“Yes,” Peter said, “but—”
“Yes, but what about her? That is what the men who are so keen on being heads always want to know. All I will say is that you are called to do your part, and your part alone. You know that the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself. And you know that when the Servant was asked what this meant, He told a story of mercy and compassion and then said the questioner should go and do the same. Love Celeste as you love yourself, and then you will be ready to take the way of headship.” Sacrificial Love gave Peter a little push. “Now, go to her and make amends.”
Peter returned to the Tree of Oneness. The color had returned to Celeste’s cheeks, and she looked much stronger. As he approached, Celeste said nothing, but she bowed her head a little.
He extended his hand to hers and pulled her up from where she was sitting. “Will you walk with me?” His voice barely a whisper, for he feared her answer. He had been pompous, and he wouldn’t have blamed her if she didn’t want to go on with him.
“Of course. You are my husband whom I love.”
“I thought that we might try the side marked ‘co-heirs.’”
“As you wish,” Celeste said.
To Peter’s surprise, the way of co-heirs was not as treacherous as he thought. For a stretch it passed through a delightful meadow, much like the one where they had first drunk from the chalice. As Sacrificial Love had said, some couples they met were very happy while others were squabbling back and forth, saying, “My rights,” “No, my rights.”
After some distance they passed the end of the fallen Tree of Oneness, and the two sides joined once more. Peter could see that the couples coming out of the headship side seemed to argue less. But some were very quiet and the women were so burdened, carrying both their bags and their partner’s, they looked like slaves. He could hear them muttering, “He’s the head, he’s the head,” while the men walked on, paying no attention to their partners except to turn occasionally and bark, “Do as I say, do as I say.” Peter understood then that what Sacrificial Love had said was true.
Now in my dream, I pondered the lesson of the split path, for it seemed the struggle had been hard only for Peter. But I suspected that later on Celeste might have to face her own choice on the way to the King’s City, one equally difficult.
Across the Swamp of Selfishness
LOST IN THE QUAGMIRES
Peter and Celeste walked in harmony for many days after the split path, and they often enjoyed the company of other travelers. But eventually the trail through the Low Country brought them to the vast Swamp of Selfishness. The swamp had been formed after the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—a tree even more majestic than the Tree of Oneness—had been uprooted in the Great Garden. When it had crashed to the ground, the whole world had been shaken, creating havoc and destruction throughout the King’s country. The fallen branches had dammed many streams. With the flow of water blocked, the lowlands soon became a swamp. Treacherous quagmires were created, filled with all kinds of evil: envy, pride, greed, self-indulgence, ingratitude, slander, jealousy, and fits of rage.
Peter and Celeste considered finding a path around the swamp, but it reached as far as they could see. The only other way was to head west, where the Mountains of Maturity towered over the swamp, looking even steeper and more forbidding.
Peter sighed. “I wish we had gone up the first mountain we came to. It looked like such a difficult climb. But compared to the ones we see now, I think it would have been easy. I don’t think we can scale these mountains; we’ll have to take a longer route across the swamp.”
“Do you really think it will be hard to go through the swamp?” Celeste said. “You are always so careful about picking the best way to go.”
With that encouragement, Peter began to plot out the route they would take through the gloomy place. The trees that had once given shade and shelter were now reduced to drowned skeletons with bare branch stubs, sometimes draped in gray moss that looked like giant spider webs. Flies and mosquitoes swarmed over the murky water, and a dank odor reminded Celeste of Peter’s dirty socks. But in places, the swamp gave way to tracts of firmer marsh grass and Peter thought if they paid close attention, they might get across without too much difficulty.
As they started through the swamp, they found guidebooks, walking sticks, and sheepskins that had been thrown aside. They couldn’t understand why travelers would discard their kingly gifts. Then they stepped into the first quagmire and quickly began to sink into the foul mud. “Now I understand why the travelers tried to lighten their loads,” Peter said.
“Do you think we should take something out of our packs too?”
“No. Whatever we do, we’ll keep everything we’ve been given, because the King’s gifts aren’t heavy. But I wonder if we should turn back and try to find a firmer way. The King will show us a way out so we don’t give in to the temptation to take an easy path that leads nowhere.”
Celeste pointed out that there were many travelers in the swamp ahead of them. “This must be a good way to go, and if we get into trouble, we have the King’s gifts to help us.” With that, Peter was persuaded and they set off through the swamp.
However, they had to concentrate so hard on making their way and gathering whatever meager food they could find, they soon forgot their gifts. As night fell, they searched for solid ground where they could set up camp. They finally settled for a soggy patch of dirt where they rolled out their sleeping bags. As soon as they lay down, the water soaked through and they spent a miserable night, damp and cold. Celeste minded it most of all, but because she had convinced Peter to take the swamp route, she kept quiet, afraid that he might become angry with her. In the morning, they surveyed the swamp. It looked much wider and longer than it had the day before. They were so discouraged at the thought of going through it, they didn’t start off until noon.
The days that followed brought no change. Their progress was tedious as they tried to avoid the quagmires and find the driest sections of marsh grass. The sky became pasted with dark clouds that never moved.
“We haven’t seen the sun in such a long time.” Celeste thought of all the sunlit scenes in her postcards. “I never thought we would have to go through such a dismal place on our journey to the King’s City.”
“Don’t blame me. It’s n
ot my fault.”
“Oh, no? You were so keen on being the leader,” Celeste said, “but you’re doing a pretty bad job if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you.”
“Of course not. That’s just like you, to go off without bothering to ask what I think.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Maybe I don’t feel like it.”
“No, you love to talk; that’s for sure.”
“If you would say something once in awhile, I wouldn’t have to listen to the sound of my voice all the time. We could actually have a conversation—you know, the kind where I say something and then you say something to respond.”
“If we did that, you would be even slower than you are now. Talking distracts you.”
“Unlike you, I can do two things at once. And talking makes the time go faster.”
“Not to me,” Peter said. To prove his point he began to walk faster through the marsh grass.
“I think you would rather go your own way than go together with me,” Celeste shouted ahead to him. “I don’t think you love me.”
Peter stopped. “Don’t be stupid. All right, we’ll stay together. But if you fall behind again, I’m not going to wait.”
THE SNAPPING TURTLES
They continued to struggle through the swamp. They hardly had energy to talk and when they did, it was usually to quarrel over their dwindling provisions. After their experience of running out of food and water in the Sand Dunes of Foolishness, Peter wanted to limit what they used each day. Celeste thought it was better to eat what they had, because the extra weight in their packs made walking harder. Besides, she was positive there was plenty ahead for Peter to find.
He said she didn’t know what she was talking about. It wasn’t that easy to look for provisions. Celeste said it had never been difficult when she had walked alone. The real problem was that Peter wanted to save more than they needed.
One day when they stopped for lunch, they again began to fight over how much they would eat. They squabbled back and forth, their voices becoming louder and more angry.
Another couple came over and they warned them to be careful. “We heard you arguing,” the husband said, “and we want you to know that we used to argue like that until we were attacked by an army of snapping turtles.”
“An army?” Celeste imagined thousands of snapping turtles on the path. “How horrible!”
“Where do they live?” Peter asked. Maybe they could avoid them.
“Generally you find them in wet places, watered by stormy arguments—though some have been seen in the dry washes nipping at travelers’ heels. They came after us when we had been walking together so long, we thought we knew exactly what our partner was going to say. We gave up being patient with each other. One of us would snap, and then the other would snap back.”
“It was the most frightful time of our journey,” the woman said. “I suppose we were more tired than usual because we had spent the night in a particularly swampy area. There were so many mosquitoes buzzing around us all night, we couldn’t sleep. Then my husband decided we just had to get to a certain spot for lunch, and he set the fastest pace we had taken so far, even though we had gotten no sleep.”
Celeste felt a little comforted to hear that Peter wasn’t the only one who sometimes walked too fast for his partner.
“But after that night in the swamp,” the man said, “I just wanted to get to firm, dry land.”
“When we finally stopped … oh I don’t know.” The woman looked embarrassed. “He was tired and lay down to rest before lunch. But I was hungry after walking so fast. ‘There you go again,’ I said.”
The husband broke in. “The tone had much more of a bite than that—”
“Yes, maybe it did, but then he snapped back, ‘What’s wrong?’ I told him I knew he was going to fall asleep and leave all the cooking to me. He said he was just going to rest for five minutes. But I told him, ‘Hah! I bet.’ And then he yelled, ‘Will you stop it?’ ‘Stop what?’ I asked him. ‘You just harp on me all the time,’ he said. I started to tell him I wouldn’t if he would do what he was supposed to, but he interrupted and told me to relax. ‘Stop interrupting me,’ I told him. And he said, ‘It takes you forever to think of what you’re going to say.’”
“So we snapped back and forth at each other,” the husband said, “each of us being quick to speak but not quick to listen. We never gave each other the benefit of the doubt—or any grace. Then the turtles came up out of the water—on the left and on the right, from behind, and coming straight toward us—chomping their huge jaws.”
“I got bitten in three places.” The woman lifted her pant leg to show Peter and Celeste three unsightly bites the color of plums. “But I’m more fortunate than others. We heard about one couple whose Cords of Commitment were almost ripped apart by the turtles.” She shook her head. “It is sad because I’m much more civil with people I hardly know or care about. With my husband I let my irritation spring to anger at the smallest spark. We can tame a tiger, but we can’t tame the tongue. Out of the same mouth comes blessing for the King and curses for our partner, the most precious person to us.”
“Since then,” the man said, “we’ve been working on listening rather than getting angry first. We are trying to be patient with each other and put aside the little irritations and grievances. It isn’t easy, but it’s better than getting to the King’s City without any arms or legs.”
Peter and Celeste thanked them for the advice and went on their way. But they didn’t take the warning to heart. For all their arguing in the swamp, they had never seen a single turtle. They assumed the couple had made up the story to shock them, so they kept quarreling. The next afternoon while they were arguing about where to set up camp, three large turtles lumbered up out of the water and began snapping at them. At first Peter and Celeste did nothing, thinking they could outpace the turtles. But the turtles were surprisingly nimble and caught up to the travelers in a flash. Peter picked up a stick to club them away, without bothering to get one for Celeste. Although he managed to fend off two of the turtles, the third saw that Celeste had nothing to protect herself with and bit her in the leg.
Peter wasn’t very sympathetic to her ugly wound or to her crying. “There’s no need to carry on like that. It’s just a flesh wound.”
“But it hurts!” Celeste wailed. When Peter said it was time for them to start walking again, she insisted that they wait until her bite was healed before they went on.
Peter fumed for two days. Then in exasperation, he went off and found a stick that Celeste could use as a crutch. “Here, now you can walk,” he said, throwing it down at her feet. However, Celeste refused to go until he showed her how to club the turtles. It was a good thing he did, for they were plagued by the snapping turtles for several days, and without their clubs, they might have been eaten alive.
SINKING IN THE QUAGMIRE OF SELF-PITY
If this was not enough—oh, how I wished it was another dream—Peter was becoming more distant from Celeste. He was usually so wrapped up in his own thoughts that when Celeste talked, he didn’t hear a word she said. And Celeste became more inconsiderate of Peter. She would often go off and talk with other travelers, then get back to camp so late that she slept in, always too tired to make breakfast or pack the bags, leaving all the work to Peter. Then she decided they should have a party to celebrate the first anniversary of their weaving day.
Peter said they were still working hard to find enough food; it would be irresponsible to waste their provisions.
“Who said anything about wasting?” Celeste said. “I just want to have a little party.”
“Frivolous.” Peter harrumphed. “I’m not going to let you use up all our food for that. And I suppose you’ll want a new outfit for the party—”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“You have plenty of clothes.”
“Do you expect me to travel in rags? Let me remind you that when I met you, there were
holes in the knees of your pants.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It gave good air circulation.”
“Peter, you are being impossible.”
“Me? If I let you get everything you wanted, we’d starve.”
“Well, what about your new boots?”
“I needed to get them so I could walk properly. But a new outfit is just an extravagance. Peter turned and started off without Celeste. I’m not going to talk about it anymore.”
“Come back here; we’re not finished discussing this.”
Peter kept on walking.
Celeste ran after him. “You are a miserable miser!”
“You are an irresponsible child,” he said, without turning around.
“Stop!” she screamed. Then, just as Lady Sophia had warned, Celeste took out her turtle club to hit Peter. She only meant to give him a little tap to make him slow down. But she was stronger than she thought and she smacked him on the leg.
