by Annie Wald
“We almost lost all hope,” Peter said.
“But no matter how hard the path was, you remained committed to each other, and now you see the reward for your faithfulness.”
Peter and Celeste smiled, thankful they had not given up.
“You must be hungry from the climb. Here, take some of this.” Patience offered them some milk, and it was like nothing they had ever tasted, so rich and creamy. Then he gave them honey made from the highland flowers.
Peter and Celeste spent the rest of the morning exploring the Highlands. Flocks of sheep and herds of cattle grazed in the fields with bells around their necks ringing out between the Peaks of Maturity. In some places, purple and yellow and pink flowers flowed like bands of the rainbow through the mountain crevices.
They saw many travelers they had met on their journey, though at first Peter and Celeste barely recognized their old friends. For people who reached the pastures moved with the joy and freedom of well-loved children, appearing younger, not older.
On the way back to the hut, Peter wanted to take a path that followed beside a roaring cascade. The water’s mist drenched them, but Celeste did not grumble about getting wet. In fact, she was thankful because it was getting hot in the sun and the mist kept them cool.
“Thank you for not complaining about this way,” Peter said.
“Oh Peter, I am so sorry for the way I used to gripe all the time. How frustrating that must have been for you. Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me.”
“Because I love you,” he said. Then a shadow came to his face. “I am sorry for going off with the honey woman. You were patient with me then. What I did was so wrong.”
“But it would have never happened if we had avoided Desolate Canyon, and that was as much my fault as yours. And I am to blame that you found her words so sweet, for I wasn’t a pleasant companion. But you left her and came back, and I know that couldn’t have been easy.” Celeste saw Peter tremble. She touched his arm and said, “It’s all right.”
Peter looked across the mountain peaks. “I have never done anything so difficult. I felt like I was going to my death, and a dream did die. Then when I came back and you were hurt and angry, I wondered if I had made the right choice. But I know now that I did—and I am so grateful that the King saved me.”
Celeste thought of her own dying. “How could we ever do this without the Servant?”
Soon after they returned to the warming hut, a guide came by. “I wanted to check that you have everything that you need,” Understanding said. “I see you used the kindling of affection. Very good.”
“But why didn’t you come to see us last night?”
“You didn’t need me, did you?”
“No, we had a very nice time talking.”
“We generally think it’s best for partners to spend time alone listening and sharing with each other. A guide only comes to help if they need a referee or a little instruction.”
The guide filled up the firebox with more kindling and before he left them, he said, “Don’t forget that you were made for giving as much as you were made for receiving. That’s how to discover all of who you are.”
Peter and Celeste stayed at the warming hut for several days. When they continued their journey again, the paths in the Highlands were steeper and more challenging than anything they had encountered before. They were glad to discover that they had developed new strength, for the views were clearer and more spectacular, and the King’s City was always in sight. Often Celeste would sing one of the King’s song to lighten their hearts as they climbed:
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
He who watches over you will not slumber …
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm—
He will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
IN THE HEALING SPRINGS OF RESTORATION
However, Peter and Celeste were still hampered by their wounds, and they could not take the highest paths. They used the rag of compassion often, but some of their wounds were too deep. As they struggled along, they came to a guide sitting by the path.
“Dear travelers, I can see your journey has been rough,” Peace said. “Ahead you will find the Healing Springs of Restoration where you can recover from your most serious wounds.” He showed them on the map how to get to the springs and told them to pay attention, for the turn was easy to miss.
They followed his directions until they came to a huge boulder that blocked the path. “I don’t think this is right,” Peter said. “There doesn’t seem to be a way around the boulder. We must have passed a turn back there.”
“No, we were very careful to follow the directions Peace gave us.”
Then Peter noticed a small sign in front of an area of thick brush. “Healing Springs of Restoration,” the sign said, with an arrow pointing through the brush.
“No wonder people miss the turn,” Peter said. “We’re going to have to crawl on our hands and knees to follow the path, and that will be difficult with our blisters and sore muscles.”
“I wouldn’t have been so eager to go this way earlier in our journey,” Celeste said. Kneeling, they pushed their bags in front of them and crawled a short way into a broad, sunlit spot. Before them a chain of hot springs from the King’s City bubbled out of the rocks. In the center was a deep, broad pool, as blue as the sky.
Peter put his toe in. “Oh Celeste, this is the most delightful water I have ever touched—warm but fresh, flowing strong but soothing.” The water, filled with the power of grace, tingled his skin.
But Celeste hesitated. The reflection she saw revealed all the dirt of her sin. She realized that when she entered the pool she would muddy the water, and she wished she could get clean first. Then she became afraid. Dirty and disgraceful as she was now, she was sure the King would disown her. A condemning buzz in her head told her she did not deserve to be healed.
Then she heard the King say, “Can you love yourself like you love others? Be bold; you are free.”
Celeste remembered one of the King’s songs: “You are a compassionate and gracious King, slow to anger, and overflowing with love and faithfulness. Have mercy on me.” She stepped into the pool and as soon as her feet touched the water, the dirt on them vanished, leaving a sharp line between her ankles and her now spotless feet. And the graceful water remained as clear as before.
Peter and Celeste sank into the pool. Sitting in the transparent water, they began to see more clearly their own weaknesses and sins. Yet as soon as a cold wave of shame came over them, a warm surge of water welled up and pushed it away. And a chorus rose up from the springs singing:
Let all that I am praise the King;
with my whole heart, I will praise His holy name.
Let all that I am praise the King;
may I never forget the good things He does for me.
He forgives all my sins
and heals all my diseases.
He redeems me from death
and crowns me with love and tender mercies.
He fills my life with good things. My youth is renewed like the eagle’s!
Then the water bubbled with greater strength, massaging their wounds: every injury they had received, every anguish they had felt. In the warm healing water, they soaked in the forgiveness of the King, and the painful memories dissolved away. When Celeste looked at Peter’s wounds, she was filled with compassion for what he had suffered. She dipped the rag of compassion in the water and began to caress his hurts. There were the bruises where she had hit him with her club, a gash from when
he had fallen on the rocks with the honey woman, and the lava burns from the Vehement Volcano.
Some of his wounds had become infected. “I’m afraid to scrape away the scabs,” she told Peter. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t stop. That is the most loving touch I have ever felt,” he said.
As she continued to wash his hurts, she started to cry, and her tears softened his skin.
“Don’t you feel any pain?” she asked, for at that moment she was cleaning the biggest, ugliest wound on his back.
“I feel love and grace—and such an amazing kindness.”
When Celeste finished treating Peter’s injuries, she leaned back against the side of the pool and thought back to when she had desperately wanted Peter to make her complete. Now all she wanted to do was to help him become more whole, and she rejoiced that the King had led them to the healing springs.
“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:
“I will love you, I will honor you,
I will give you my affections.
I will walk with no other partner,
and no matter how dark or how cold the way,
no matter how weak you become,
I will love you always and walk together with you
until we reach the King’s City.”
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.
AMONG NEW MEADOWS
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:
“I’ve learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances.
I’m just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little.
I’ve found the recipe for being happy
whether full or hungry,
hands full or hands empty.
Whatever I have, wherever I am,
I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am.”
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 right
eousness and your sheepskin of humility tightly around you.”
