by Annie Wald
One of the little travelers pointed to the sign at the stairs to the bridge. “Have mercy on your fellow traveler as I have had mercy on you, The King.”
“This has nothing to do with having mercy,” Celeste said to her family. “I simply can’t walk on the bridge with my blisters.”
Peter didn’t argue, for he didn’t want to give up his own wounds either.
As they walked away, they met a guide named Pardon. “What are you doing here?” the guide said. “Why haven’t you crossed over the chasm? Didn’t you see the bridge?”
“It’s her fault,” Peter pointed to Celeste. “She keeps picking at her blisters.”
Celeste turned red when she heard that Peter had learned her secret and then seethed inside that he had told it to the guide.
Pardon shook his head. “Loving travelers, this is not what you learned about the way of the King. You were taught to love your enemies, to do good to those who hate you, to bless those who curse you, to pray for those who mistreat you, to give without expecting anything back. Can I see your account books?”
“What are you talking about?” Peter said.
“You know what I mean. Although love keeps no record of wrongs, no one who stays on this side of the chasm does so without keeping a detailed accounting.”
With great reluctance, Peter took out from his bag a small notebook in which he was keeping a ledger of Celeste’s debts. Every time she wronged him, he wrote it down so he could justify not caring for Celeste. Since Celeste had failed him, he did not have to love her. Celeste was taken aback when she saw his list, though she was keeping track of his failures too, on a thick wad of paper.
Pardon talked to them a long time about the foolishness of keeping lists. “Please be merciful, like the King is merciful. Don’t be unkind, stingy with your love, hard on each other, jumping on failure, criticizing faults. Love keeps no record of wrongs.”
He pleaded with them to burn their accounts, reminding them the King had offered them forgiveness while they were still His enemies, before they had even wanted to surrender. “Long before you even knew you were lost, the Servant came to bring you back, though you had done nothing to deserve His selfless sacrifice. Now offer this same charity to your partner.”
Celeste waited for Peter to burn his notebook. But Peter had decided he wouldn’t destroy his until Celeste destroyed hers. Pardon finally left them, grieving over their stubbornness and lack of mercy.
AT THE VALLEY OF CUT CORDS
Peter and Celeste wandered along, hoping to find another way around the chasm. The path was crowded with other travelers who had balked at crossing the bridge of forgiveness. The air was dismal and dark, filled with toxic fumes and sulfur clouds of loathing that blocked the light. The travelers stumbled along, unable to see where they were going. Although they claimed to be walking in the King’s light, their lack of sympathy for their partners had brought a blinding darkness.
Celeste could not bear the cloud’s vile odor of old eggs. She still had knowledge of the Servant and the sweet fragrance it gave. Peter too found himself repulsed by the smell, and together they searched for fresher air. They turned onto a path that led them away from the sulfur clouds, and were surprised to see Faithfulness walking toward them.
“What are you doing here?” Peter asked. “We thought you would have gone on to the King’s City by now. Did you also turn away from the bridge of forgiveness?”
“Oh no,” Faithfulness said. “I’ve walked that bridge many times. But I wondered if you needed more help on your journey. How happy I am to see you have decided to turn away from evil.”
“What evil?” Celeste said.
“The sulfur clouds are fueled by all sorts of evil things—quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger. The travelers who stay under those clouds may claim to love the King, but they are lying. As the guidebook says, if you love the King you must love the people you see, and that includes your partner. Come with me and I’ll show you where you might have ended up if you had not turned away.”
He led them to a promontory just off the path. “Do you see? The sulfur clouds go all the way down into the Valley of Cut Cords.”
Celeste and Peter watched the shadowy plumes moving toward the sad place of brokenness where heaps of cords had been cut and tossed aside. Everything was coated with a dusty gray ash. There was not a drop of moisture in the valley, and the dryness was like that of death.
Dozens of couples marched down the broad way to the valley as little travelers trailed behind, sulking or weeping. Some of the couples walked together with determination, their scissors raised high. Other times, one partner dragged another who resisted violently. But in these dramas of will, the partner doing the dragging always prevailed, for what mattered was not how strong they were, but how much they desired to be rid of their cords.
“I want to remind you what you promised on that day long ago when I wove the cords around your wrists.” Faithfulness took a little scroll from his pocket and read it out loud. ‘Heart of my heart, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. What God has joined together, let no one pull apart.’ The people you see heading into the Valley of Cut Cords made the same vows you did. They promised that nothing would sever their cords except death. Yet here you see them, ready to destroy the most sacred pledge one can make, other than the pledge of loving the King.”
Peter and Celeste looked away from Faithfulness’s steady gaze.
“Do you remember that day we talked, and you said you could not imagine why people ever cut the cords?” Faithfulness said. “You didn’t even want to bring scissors with you; you wanted to throw them away. I believe you, Peter, were especially judgmental of those who would do such a thing. But the two of you have not avoided this place, though it is not on the way to the King’s City. Your preoccupation with postcards, your sojourn in the Swamp of Selfishness, your splashing in the River of Unfaithfulness, and your refusal to cross the bridge of forgiveness have brought you dangerously close to this terrible place. And now you wonder if it would be better to cut your cords of commitment and go your separate ways.” He started toward the promontory. “Come closer. There is something else I want you to see.”
They followed him until they stood right above the entrance. Below, they could see a couple who had just arrived at the valley. A large man in a flowing red robe laughed as he took their scissors.
“Who’s that awful man?” Celeste asked.
Faithfulness shuddered. “That’s the cutter of the cords.”
There was a screeching of metal against metal, louder than a thousand fingernails scraping a pane of glass. Celeste put her hands over her ears as she and Peter watched the cords being cut. It was much more painful than a simple snip of string, for the cords fit snugly on the partners’ wrists and the cutter used the scissors like a saw, hacking away at the braid. Skin was sliced away, leaving a trail of blood that streamed down their arms. But it appeared that the partners couldn’t feel this, for they took no notice as they walked away. Yet the same partners became very touchy when it came to the division of their possessions. A violent fight erupted between them over a matchbox; then they almost came to blows over an old walking stick. Even more heartbreaking was how the couple battled over their little traveler, each partner pulling one of his arms until Celeste feared the little one would be torn apart. The cutter stepped in just in time and ended the scuffle.
“Now I want you to observe the state of your own union,” Faithfulness told them. It had been a long time since Peter and Celeste had looked at their cords. They saw two of the braids had completely frayed, and the gold on the third was very pale. Although it was to their credit that they had not yet cut them, they had no grounds to boast. Only their pride had kept them from doing so, each vowing it would not be on their account that the cords would be cut.
“Not a pretty sight, is it?” Faithfulness said. “These cords will have to be repaired or you will end up like those travelers in the valley.”
Then a co
uple came walking peacefully side by side toward the cutter. Peter and Celeste wondered what this couple was doing at the valley, for they had no marks of struggle or difficulty. In fact, their cords hung loosely around their wrists. When they came to the cutter, the husband spoke calmly.
“No, no great problem. It’s just that we’ve grown apart. We’re in perfect agreement that it would be better if we went our own ways. It doesn’t make sense to stay together—it has been miles and miles since we have walked together anyway.”
“It’s true,” his wife said. “I don’t even know him anymore. He’s a stranger to me.”
Faithfulness faced Peter and Celeste. “Don’t be fooled by what they say. Some marriages look fine on the outside, but inwardly they are rotting. Every couple here has suffered serious wounds or deep trauma—even if it is invisible to the rest of the world.
Celeste winced as the next couple came along. The woman was screaming, “Get away from me, get away from me! You have hurt me too much. I told you if you ever did that again I was going to leave. You are a brutal, hideous creature. I don’t know why I agreed to walk with you in the first place.”
“You’re the one who has made it so horrible!” her husband yelled back. “You’re a beast to live with. I never dreamed you could be so loathsome.”
The wife thrust her scissors into the cutter’s hands. “Quick, cut mine first, for I can’t stand being joined to him another minute.” The cutter took the scissors and snipped them in two, taking off a good chunk of the woman’s flesh.
Faithfulness turned to Peter and Celeste. “I think you’ve seen enough.” He took them back where the path was wider and asked what they thought.
“I wonder if those couples really tried hard enough,” Peter said. “If they had worked harder, don’t you think they could have avoided coming to the valley?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you’d think,” Celeste said. “Just keep a stiff upper lip, and everything will be fine. Easy for you if you don’t have a heart. But if you are a real human being with emotions and feelings, you can’t go on day after day with such deadness.”
She turned to Faithfulness. “How can it be wrong for these travelers to cut the cords?”
“Do you remember what the Servant said?” Faithfulness asked. “Anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery.”
“But surely the King can’t expect them to keep on.” Celeste’s voice trembled. “If they don’t cut their cords they will be doomed to years of unhappiness. Who knows what further pain they will have to endure?”
“Is that how little you know of the King? Is it for happiness that He has called you? Or for fullness of life in Him? Travelers end up here because they have slipped back into the old habit of doing whatever they want. They thought that walking together with their partner would come naturally. But you know from your own experience that isn’t true. To walk as partners, your whole life has to be shaped by the King’s love. That isn’t a weak, dead-end love. The King’s love is an energetic, blazing love that is saturated with life-giving sacrifice.”
“But I have suffered much on the journey,” Peter said, remembering all the times Celeste had nagged him and criticized him.
“Yes, but your suffering,” said Faithfulness, “is not like the suffering of the King. You do it for show, holding it up as a virtue. Instead, you should take it as a gift. And a gift is accepted with joy—not with the grim expression you usually have.”
“How can someone be happy to suffer?” Celeste asked.
“Because these trials test your faith—and the testing develops perseverance, and when perseverance finishes its work in you, you’ll be mature and complete, not lacking anything. You could even welcome it as a spiritual refining process, with glory just around the corner. Don’t be short-sighted; take the long view. Avoid Esau’s mistake. He gave up his position as the oldest son just for a single meal. Later he regretted it, but there wasn’t anything that could be done.
“Look over there to the east,” Faithfulness said. “Do you see the Mountains of Maturity? That is the direction to go. The road ahead will still be hard, but the King is always ready to give you endurance and encouragement. Remember you are part of His family and He loves you. Remember what the Servant’s love was like when He walked this path. It wasn’t cautious; it was extravagant. He gave everything of Himself to us—not to get anything in return, but because that is what His love is.”
Faithfulness looked at them. “I can see I haven’t convinced either of you. Before you decide to go down to the crossroads, there is one more story I would like to share. It is about a couple who, soon after they were sent off, believed they had made a mistake. They both were young, and their parents had advised them to take more time to consider becoming partners. But they could not imagine waiting, and so they went. Immediately their journey became difficult. They were trapped in the Sand Dunes of Foolishness for so long, they almost starved. By the time they emerged, their ankles were permanently damaged, and their muscles so weak they could barely walk a mile before they had to stop. From there they went right into the Desolate Canyon, so they never got a glimpse of the Highlands. In the canyon, the wife went down the River of Unfaithfulness and drank from the chalice with another man. She stayed away from her husband for many days and nights.”
“So surely,” Celeste said, “the other traveler had the right to cut the cords. It’s just as the Servant said, ‘Except for unfaithfulness.’”
The guide looked at her with great sadness, for she had become like Peter, caring more about the letter of the law in order to justify herself.
“Yes, the husband had grounds to leave. His wife expected he would. But one night this traveler made the hard journey up Skull Hill. He realized how dark and cold the world would be if he continued alone—perhaps darker and colder than the storms he had gone through with his wife. And he thought of the little travelers they had been given. Most of all, the traveler remembered his big debt that the King had canceled. He realized he needed to do the same. He decided that even if he could not have happiness, he would stay with her and be faithful to his vow, for he had pledged faithfulness to death, not faithfulness until adultery.”
“So everything worked out fine,” Peter said. “That’s what happens when you follow the King.”
“Peter, your comment tells me you do not yet understand what it means to take up your cross daily and deny yourself,” Faithfulness said. “Everything was not fine. Every day he could hear the echo of the deceiver’s accusations: his wife was a whore, a harlot, an adulteress. Many times he wondered if he had made a mistake in accepting her back. No, the way he chose was much harder than going down to the Valley of Cut Cords. He had to learn to trust his partner again. And they both had to bathe in the Healing Springs and cleanse their wounds. They had to learn to walk together again. It took a very long time, and often they despaired of ever being well again. But now this couple has no regrets that they stayed together. They have learned a deeper joy; they have experienced a deeper grace. Yes, the husband was free to leave, but he remembered he was set free for freedom—freedom to love.”
Celeste shook her head. “I still don’t understand how they could stay partners.”
“They learned it is a sacrifice to forgive like the King. When someone wrongs you, pain and loss come into your life. Someone has to right the wrong. Someone has to pay for the loss and absorb the pain. It’s not enough to say, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ because it does. A wound needs to be healed. A debt has to be paid. The King’s way was to cancel our debt through the death of His Son. And that is what the King wants us to do: to absorb the pain rather than retaliate.”
“But that’s impossible,” Celeste said.
“You’re right, it is. I assure you, the only way you will be able to forgive like this is with the power of the King who has forgiven us completely. He doesn’t ask us to become self-righteous martyrs. He simply wants us to forgi
ve people by drawing on the unlimited spiritual account He’s given to us—even before the other person asks to be forgiven.
“I do not tell you anything I have not had to do myself,” Faithfulness said. “I know it is tempting to be here, so close to the Valley of the Cut Cords, where forgiveness has been lost. It looks so easy to walk down the hill to the cutter. You are free to do as you wish. But I beg you, don’t use your freedom to go your own way. Use it to submit to each other in love. The King’s rule is summed up by one very simple but very hard command: love your neighbor as yourself. Don’t think that if you cut your cords, your journey to the King’s City will be any easier. People think once they leave the valley all will be well. Then they round a corner and come to an endless desert—and they see they have gained nothing. So take your time before you act. Remember you can trust the King on the path of love and perseverance. He is faithful, and He will do it. Take His yoke and learn from Him—for He is gentle and humble, and you will find rest for your souls. Submit to each other and honor the Servant who died to give you life.”