Walk With Me

by Annie Wald

  That first day of Celeste’s journey the path was straight and flat, bordered with soft ferns. She swung her arms as she walked, singing the King’s songs out loud and smiling at the beauty she saw all around. She expected the journey would be smooth and easy the entire way. However the next day, the trail became studded with tree roots and stubby stones. The years she had spent pacing the dead-end alleys of Slouching City had left her legs weak. By early afternoon, she was exhausted. But she pressed on, working to strengthen her flabby muscles.

  In the days that followed, she discovered she was not the only one going to the King’s City. There were other travelers on the path and she became friends with many of them. She enjoyed walking with them and learning more about the journey. They told her it was always good to ask other travelers which direction to go, for some trails through the King’s country had been taken over by people who no longer cared about reaching the King’s City. They encouraged her to stop regularly at the gathering huts along the way, where travelers shared meals and encouraged each other, for the long journey to the King’s City was not meant to be taken alone. If she walked with other travelers, it would be easier to avoid the difficulties and dangers that lay ahead.

  One day when Celeste’s legs were strong enough, she climbed to the top of an overlook. As she gazed at the towering peaks, the thick forests, and the vast, spacious sea, she thought of the greatness of the King’s love for her, how wide and long and high and deep it was. She knew that no matter what happened to her or how hard the journey was, she would never go back to Slouching City. She was headed for a better kingdom, and she couldn’t wait to get there.

  She continued on her journey, sometimes walking with other travelers, sometimes going by herself. Before long, she began to wish she had someone to walk with the whole way. During the day, as she enjoyed the scenery and chatted with her new friends, she didn’t mind it so much. But at night as she ate her supper, she felt a deep yearning for a partner. It was not a thirst that could be filled in one swallow, but a hunger that could be satisfied only in a long banquet. Celeste often spent the evening thinking about the kind of husband she hoped to find. She wanted someone who was handsome, but witty and brilliant too. Most of all, she wanted a man who would love her with a strong and tender love. As the months went on and she still walked alone, she tried to be patient. For she knew it was better to be single than to join with the wrong partner, even if he was also going to the King’s City.

  Now in my dream, I saw the other traveler, Peter, as he made his way to the King’s City. Unlike Celeste, he had come from an established family of travelers. As a child in Upright Village, his parents had faithfully taken him to the gathering hut every week, where the King’s songs were sung, though always off-tune and painfully slow. They dutifully read the guidebook to Peter so he could learn how important it was to obey all the King’s rules, in order that when the time came, he would be allowed into the King’s City. Peter’s parents never ventured on the King’s path themselves, for like the other residents in Upright Village they were certain it was more prudent to stay where they were and avoid the dangerous journey.

  Because the village had been built as a temporary outpost for travelers and not as a permanent settlement, it was cramped and there was little to do for entertainment. Still, people kept busy guarding the village from attack and cleaning it scrupulously according to the King’s guidelines. Not a speck of dirt nor a single weed was allowed to remain, especially in their neighbor’s yards. The only real hardship was the lack of water. When the springs had dried up, many residents had moved to Slouching City. But the hardy travelers who remained took great pride in what they suffered for the King.

  When Peter was old enough to read the guidebook for himself, he became confused. There was much about the Servant King that he had never heard in all his years in Upright Village. He learned in the guidebook that the Servant had not come to punish people who failed to obey the King. Instead the Servant had come to give those who followed Him life to the full. The Servant promised that if someone believed in Him, streams of living water would flow from within. Peter’s heart began to burn with the hope that there was more to life than dour rule keeping. If he really belonged to the Servant, his true life was on the Servant’s path to the King’s City.

  When he told his parents what he aimed to do, they were completely opposed.

  “You can keep the King’s rules perfectly well here,” his father said.

  “And you know the way to the King’s City is unsafe,” his mother said. “The roaring lion prowls around, looking for unsuspecting travelers to devour.”

  “Don’t worry,” Peter said. “I’ve been lifting the weights of decrees and regulations to build my strength. I’m sure I will be able to fight off any dangers on the way.”

  Peter packed his bag and started on the King’s path. But he soon realized the journey would be much more strenuous than he had anticipated because around his waist he wore heavy chains of debt. In the confines of Upright Village, the chains had never bothered him. But now as he crossed streams and climbed hills, it was very taxing to carry the weight. After three months, when he stopped to see how far he had gone, he was discouraged to see that for all his effort, Upright Village was still not far behind.

  Peter was no longer confident he could reach the King’s City. He could never pay what he owed the King and be freed of his chains. Desperate to go on, he searched in his pack for something to cut through his chains. However, he had left his tools behind. The only thing he could find was a file of good works. He sat down and started to file the chains, but after a week he had filed off just one chain. And by then, two more had been added to the length. Still he was determined to be free of his chains, and he doubled his efforts. If only he could work hard enough, he was sure he could get rid of them. He was still filing away when a wise old guide came upon him.

  “Dear friend,” Freedom said to Peter. “You can file your chains until the world ends, but you’ll never get them off by your own effort. Don’t you know the song from the guidebook that tells how the Servant died to free the prisoners from their chains?”

  “We never sang that in Upright Village.”

  “From Upright Village, are you? Now I understand why you’re attempting such an impossible task. Only the knife of grace can cut through your chains.” Freedom held up a gleaming knife, and before Peter could say anything, he cut through one of Peter’s chains as if it was warm butter.

  Peter stared in amazement at the broken chain at his feet. Then he fell to his knees and told the King he was sorry for every debt he owed. Freedom helped him cut through the rest of his chains and gave him the knife so he could use it on the journey.

  “You mean my chains aren’t gone for good?”

  “Until you reach the King’s City, new links will appear. But when they do, simply tell the King you are sorry and cut them off with His grace.”

  Freed at last of his heavy chains, Peter was so elated, he started trotting down the path, shouting and kicking pebbles as he went.

  THE GREAT QUESTION

  As Peter walked on through the Low Country, he stopped at gathering huts and learned many new songs about the King. He also made friends with other travelers who also liked to take long hikes. Together they would go to the highest overlooks where they could look out at the way that lay ahead. However, one by one his friends began to find partners and then had little travelers, and they no longer had time to go exploring with him.

  Peter had always thought it would be better to travel to the King’s City by himself because he was afraid he might choose the wrong person. Peter knew his parents had started out happy together, for there was a picture hanging in their living room that showed them looking lovingly at each other on their weaving day. But Peter could not remember a single occasion when he had seen them exchange smiles. Peter could also see that his friends had to wait for their partners to get ready every morning, a disagreeable thing for Peter since he li
ked to start walking as soon as the sun rose. Other friends couldn’t go as fast as they used to because now they were carrying their partner’s burdens. Peter didn’t want to be slowed down like that.

  However, in spite of his qualms about having a partner, he became very lonely as he kept walking on the King’s path. He went to talk with a guide for advice on how to choose a good partner.

  “The journey is very long,” Discernment said, “so look for someone you can be friends with, who walks with a similar pace and a similar stride. Don’t worry about how pretty she is, for most of the journey you will be walking side by side, not looking at each other. When you find someone you like, take time to see if your attraction will mature into a deeper love or whether it will remain a pleasant friendship. And don’t forget that love is a choice, not a feeling. It’s important to choose your partner wisely, but it’s even more important to choose to love her every day.”

  The night after he talked to Discernment, Peter sat alone by the campfire. As he looked up at the vast number of stars, he thought what a miracle it would be to find someone who matched him.

  He continued his journey and consoled himself that he was free to come and go as he pleased; he didn’t have to worry about anyone else. But his loneliness remained. When he heard of a gathering for travelers in the Low Country, with amusements and singing and guides to teach about the King’s way, he decided to go. As he drew near, he could hear the sound of chatting and laughing, but when he arrived and saw the grove filled with travelers, he almost turned away, for he much preferred small, quiet gatherings. Then he noticed another traveler halfway across the grove, tilting her head as if trying to hear a song. He was about to walk over and introduce himself when she went up to the front of the gathering and began to sing a song about the Servant. Peter had never heard anyone sing so beautifully. He asked another traveler if he knew anything about the singer. “Her name is Celeste,” the man said. “Fits her well with such a heavenly voice, doesn’t it?”

  The next day the sun rose bright in the grove, and the travelers woke to the joyful racket of birds proclaiming the King’s glory. After a morning of talks and singing, the travelers broke into small groups in the afternoon, according to what they wanted to do. Some were going fishing in the river that flowed beyond the grove, some were going berry picking, and others were climbing to the top of the nearby peak that on a clear day gave a glimpse of the King’s City. Normally Peter would have gone on the hike, but he had climbed the peak on his way to the grove and when he saw Celeste join a group of travelers who were going to a nearby meadow to pick berries, he went too. Peter managed to end up walking beside Celeste, and as they went along he began to stare at her, for he saw she was swerving a bit as she walked.

  When Celeste realized he was staring at her, she stopped and blushed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “It looks like you are curving in and out instead of walking a straight line.”

  Celeste hesitated. She had been mocked by other travelers for her habit of kicking pebbles, but something in Peter’s voice made her feel at ease. “I know, I can’t help it. Well, I suppose I could help it, but I’d rather not. I like to kick pebbles as I walk. I know it’s silly but that’s the way I am.”

  When Peter said nothing, Celeste began to feel uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.” She started to walk away.

  “No, wait. I am not irritated. I’m just amazed.”

  “Amazed?”

  “Yes, I do the same thing when I am walking by myself.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.” Celeste turned red again.

  “No, I am telling the truth. Look, here are my pebbles. I’ve collected some nice ones along the way.” He dug into his pocket and took out a handful. He threw the biggest pebble onto the ground and, with the tip of his right shoe, made it skitter across the dirt. Then his left foot stopped it and kicked it ahead to his right foot. “Let’s see you do it.”

  Celeste had no rhyme or reason to the way she kicked pebbles, and she didn’t want him to laugh at her. “No, I don’t feel like it.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. I liked the way you were kicking.”

  Celeste looked at his kind expression. She had never met a person who was so reassuring. “Really?”

  “Really. I won’t laugh.”

  She kicked her pebble along, then Peter came beside her, kicking his. On they walked, kicking their pebbles while they hunted for berries. Once when her stone went off into the grass, Peter raced for it and started to kick both his stone and hers at the same time, making her burst out laughing as he twisted around like a top. When they got back to the grove, Peter told Celeste how much he had enjoyed their time.

  “So did I,” Celeste said.

  “I was wondering,” he said, “would you like to walk with me tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to.”

  The next afternoon they went with a group who were exploring the paths that wandered in and out of the grove. Peter and Celeste quickly discovered they not only enjoyed kicking pebbles, but they also liked to identify flowers they saw in the woods. They found spearmint and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, lady slippers and violets, and Queen Anne’s Lace. As they walked, they talked and talked. Neither had imagined they would ever have so much to talk about with another person—or be so eager to listen. When they returned to the grove, Peter again asked Celeste if she would walk with him the next day.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Before she went to bed that night, she got her pack and took out the collection of postcards she had brought with her. These postcards were not like the ones people buy on vacation to remind them of all the places they visited. These postcards were larger and much more brilliant, each with a scene that revealed a person’s deepest yearnings. They were so vivid that if Celeste looked at one long enough, say of a young woman enjoying a honeysuckle flower, she could almost smell the fragrance and imagine that if she reached out she could feel the soft petal and pull out the pistil and taste a drop of sweetness.

  One card showed a man and a woman holding hands as they walked in a lush meadow of flowers. Another showed a couple surfing on the waves in front of an expanse of golden sand. There was not a single flaw in her postcards. In card after card, there was not a single flaw to be seen.

  When Celeste started on the King’s way, some travelers warned her to leave her postcards behind because the desires in them might lead her away from the King; His gifts were always better than what she could imagine. But Celeste cherished her visions of beauty and tenderness and adventure. She didn’t see what was wrong about thinking of a sailboat on a turquoise sea or drinking from a jeweled chalice filled with the sweetest pleasures of earthly love or strolling through a garden of roses. Celeste was convinced that if the King loved her, He would give her the desire that was represented in each scene.

  After she took out her postcards, she sorted through them until she found her favorite, the vision of romantic love. The scene showed a couple gazing at each other with a gauzy veil between them. Celeste tilted the card to one side. Then a light came down on the couple and the veil came up so they could see each other face-to-face, filled with adoring love until it seemed they were fused into a single being. She stared at the card a long time, imagining the deep oneness of being chosen and loved. Finally she put all her cards away and fell asleep, dreaming of Peter.

  In the days that followed at the grove, Peter and Celeste continued spending time together. They meandered while they kicked their pebbles, and they talked about the different flowers they saw alongside the road. Celeste taught Peter duets, and Peter showed Celeste how to climb rock trails. Soon Peter asked Celeste to sit at his table for breakfast. When it was time for a guide to give the morning talk, they always found seats together. Every time Peter took a turn chopping wood and came back tired, Celeste would put warm cloths on his arms to soothe his muscles. Some days Celeste was in charge of singing, then Peter would sit in the front row and watch her with pride. When
Celeste was alone with her friends, she couldn’t stop talking about Peter—how solid and dependable he was, how knowledgeable and diligent and eager to serve the King.

  But the best time each day was when they could go walking together. They told each other stories about their families and growing up and how they first heard about the King. They found they agreed on almost everything, and the things they didn’t, they simply put to one side. When they tired of talking, they kicked pebbles, and when they grew tired of that, they made up songs. Their time together seemed like water flowing down a stream. Just as it was impossible to think of the water flowing in the opposite direction, neither Peter nor Celeste could imagine doing anything but walking and talking together.

  Before long they were going into the Meadows of Intimacy to share their deepest secrets. Sometimes they stopped and looked into each other’s eyes, and Celeste thought of the couple in her favorite postcard. As she looked at Peter, she felt she was melting into a deep pool, yet at the same time she felt she was being filled.

  One week, then another, rushed by. One night Peter stayed up late by the campfire, unable to sleep, poking the coals with a stick. In a few more weeks it would be time to take up his journey again, but he didn’t want to leave Celeste. He loved the way she laughed with lightness, how beautifully she sang, and how she could talk with the shyest person. He felt so happy when they walked together, always relaxed and not worrying what she thought. He remembered how she looked at him with admiration when he had skipped a stone across a small pond they discovered. He thought of how much fun they had kicking pebbles together.