by Annie Wald
“Do not listen to the snakes,” the King said. “For they only seek to do you harm.”
“Sss,” hissed the snakes. “What harm to sssave yourssself? No one elssse will do it for you. Go back, choossse your own path. Three to choossse from. Yoursss to decide. Follow what you desssire. Ssso much better than thisss garden. Ugly plantsss.”
But Celeste could see the snakes were wrong. The vines on the wall were covered with the most exquisite blossoms she had ever seen along the trail or in the Orchard of Earthly Delights—even in her postcards. The multi-layered passion flowers had white petals and blue fringe, green and yellow stamens, topped with purple stigma. The fruity fragrance they gave off was so rich, Celeste felt a tremendous ache in her heart. She thought she might cry.
“If you want to follow Me,” the King said, “take the path that leads up Skull Hill.”
Through the doorway on the other side of the garden, Celeste could see the beginning of a steep rise.
“If you want to save your life, you will lose it,” the King said. “But if you lose your life for Me, you will find it. What good will it do if you lose your very soul?”
“Follow what you desssire,” the snakes hissed.
“To go up Skull Hill, you will have to leave behind your dream of being loved by Peter. More than that, you will have to leave your selfish desires behind and love him without any conditions.”
“Choossse your own path. Yoursss to decide.”
“The snakes are right. You must choose your way. I will never force you.”
Celeste thought of the scenes in the postcards she had buried with Faithfulness. When she had given up her dream of romantic love, she had expected to get something better in return—a whole, true love with Peter. She wanted the give-and-take of two equals. But if that was denied as well, how could she go on? How could she give up her desire for completeness? How could she walk without that? Surely she would die. “Please, oh please, give me another way.” Sweat began to fall from her forehead to the ground like drops of blood.
The snakes on the walls continued hissing. She stood there a long while, for she could not bear to go back. Again she asked for another way. She waited for His reply, but received only silence.
She began to weep with deep sobs of agony. She didn’t want to give up her hope of love—she didn’t see how she could. But if she went back and took one of the three branches, she would find only more sorrow. Never had her heart felt such pain. How could she let go of all expectation that Peter would love her? Or give up the right to be cared for? Or to be cherished? She would do anything for the King—if only she could keep her desire to be loved in return. “Please. Please give me another way.”
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”
She knew the King was right and loving and wise. She knew the three other paths would only lead her to deeper misery. She thought of the Servant dying, nailed to the cross, suffering in anguish—and she knew that if she wanted to follow the Servant’s way, she needed to go up Skull Hill. There was no other way.
For a long time she stayed there though, crying in agony. She had once grieved the death of her old life when she first joined the King’s family. But then she had been given freedom from her chains and the promise of new life. The death that lay before her now was different. It meant destroying what she held most precious. She would be giving up her right to expect that Peter love her.
“Peace be with you,” the King said.
And a little while later she heard, “My peace I give you.”
Soon Celeste was no longer crying. She bowed her head. If going up Skull Hill was the only way to save her life—and perhaps her partnership with Peter—it was worth trying. “Not my will, but Your will be done,” she said, sobbing.
The snakes on the walls hissed and writhed in torment.
She started walking slowly across the garden. As she stepped through the doorway that led up the hill, the snakes slid off the walls and fled the garden in silence.
There was darkness all around, but the path was lit by a beacon of fire burning on Skull Hill. She made her way across a small field, then came to the base of the hill where a narrow trail led the way up the steep slope. She saw the path was blocked by two objects, and fresh anguish flooded her heart. She understood she was meant to carry them to the top of the hill and destroy them there.
The first object was a glass case about the size of an aquarium. When Celeste looked at it closer, she gasped, for the case contained gruesome specimens of every wound she had suffered from walking with Peter. There were vials of blood, bruised flesh, scabs, and bits of broken bones. Each specimen was clearly labeled with a date and a brief description. “12/3 Flesh wound from uncaring,” “4/21 Bone chip from long fall,” “6/15 Bite from snapping turtle.”
“I have suffered so much,” Celeste’s voice quivered. “Please do not ask me to sacrifice this.”
“I have also cried over all these wounds,” the King said. “And by My wounds, you have been healed.”
“But if I destroy the evidence, what justice will there be? Who will pay the price? Who will bear the suffering? You ask too much.”
“No more than I gave Myself.”
“But who will love me? Who will love me?”
“You are My beloved. Remain in My love.”
Celeste remembered a song from the guidebook: “How great is the love the King has lavished on us, that we should be called children of the King—and that is what we are!” She felt the love of the King warm her heart, and she reached to pick up the case. But it was so heavy, she did not have the strength to lift it. “I am sorry,” she said. “But I am powerless.”
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Breath,” the King said. “Surrender, and I will do it. Everything is possible for the one who believes.”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.”
The Breath of the King came and filled her, and she picked up the case—though even with His power, it was the hardest thing she had ever done.
Now that she held the case, she could identify the second object on her path: her club. Although she had used it often, she had never really seen it when it wasn’t in her hands. It looked dreadful, with bits of dead skin and blood from the wounds she had given Peter. Even when she had received a foil from Gentleness, she had held onto her club, for it was her shield as well as her weapon. Without it she would be truly vulnerable. She could not attack, and neither could she defend herself. She would be nothing more than a humble servant, loving Peter regardless of how he treated her. She would sign away her rights, give up her demand for love. Only the love she offered Peter would remain.
“You are My beloved,” the King said. “Rest secure in Me, for I shield you all day long. Remain in Me.”
Trusting in the King’s unfailing love, she picked up the club and started up Skull Hill.
UP SKULL HILL
As Celeste trudged up the slope, one slow step after the other, she still hoped she would be spared from going to the top. She hoped that Peter would come running after her and say he was sorry. She hoped that the King would come and carry her away. She hoped that Skull Hill would melt away in front of her. But nothing happened, and she continued her long, painful climb.
Sometimes she had to stop because the path was almost vertical and gravity pulled her backward.
Humility joined her as she struggled on. “Fix your eyes on the Servant. For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of the King.”
Her pack weighed her down so she couldn’t look up to the top. But as she looked at the ground, she thought of the Servant who had been shamed and broken. She thought of the scars from His wounds, the stripes from lashes, the cross He had carried through the streets of the Chosen City. Drawing stre
ngth from His example and fueled by the Breath of the King, she was able to reach the top of Skull Hill.
The summit was bare except for a fire burning in a pit. The flames blazed strong as a wind howled in the trees below, and Celeste shivered. Weak from carrying the case and the club up the hill, she stumbled as she made her way forward. When she reached the pit, for once she did not hesitate. She wanted to be free of the burden of resentment and anger. Gathering all her strength, she thrust the club and the case into the fire.
The flames roared up. As she watched them, she thought of one more thing she must do. She took out the paper on which she had kept account of the debts Peter owed her. Then she crumpled the list and threw it into the fire. It was saturated with hostility and resentment, and the flames blazed so hot that Celeste had to take a step back. The ground began to throb with a deep harmonic resonance, and Celeste heard a large choir singing: “And hope does not disappoint us, because the King has poured out His love into our hearts through His Breath.” A great cloud of witnesses had been watching as she had made her sacrifice. Now their song turned into cheering. Humility came alongside Celeste, and together they started down the other side of Skull Hill.
As they walked, Humility counseled Celeste. “Do not assume Peter will be different because of what you have just done. Most likely, you will find him just the same. But you are free now to love him without expectation and to give without hope of return. Care for him as you would want him to care for you. Desire what is best for him, loving him as you have been loved.”
At the bottom of Skull Hill, they came to the path that led to a bridge of forgiveness. Celeste was filled with dread; she did not know if she could love as the King had loved her. “It’s too soon to cross the bridge,” she told Humility, thinking of the narrow plank and slender rope stretched across the chasm. “I’m not ready.”
“If not now, when?” Humility said.
So with Humility beside her, Celeste headed down the path. When they reached the bridge, Humility took the rag of compassion and tended to Celeste’s wounds. As she did this, she told Celeste about an old couple she had once met. In their younger days, they had done much for the King. The husband had been very gifted at blazing new trails for the King, and the wife was bright and quick, always eager to help. As they traveled together, she enabled him to do great things for the King. But then she grew old faster than she should have. She lost her ability to remember and speak, and even to think and dream and plan. Sometimes she would wander away by herself, drooling and muttering. The husband could not take care of her and continue his work for the King. So he gave it up.”
Celeste wondered about the husband’s decision. “But think of all the good things he could have done without her.”
“Do you remember the friend of the Servant who complained about perfume being wasted on the Servant’s feet? He said the money could have been given to the poor, and that was true. But the King’s economy is not like ours. Many travelers think that serving the King dutifully is the most important thing on the way to the King’s City, but they often look no different than the people in the Orchard of Earthly Delights or Slouching City or Upright Village. If you are going to stay on the King’s path, you cannot put serving the King ahead of loving the King.”
“But this man wasted his life caring for his partner.”
“It is never a waste to love or to take the Servant’s path to Skull Hill. This husband had vowed to care for his partner no matter what happened, and he did as he promised.”
ACROSS THE BRIDGE OF FORGIVENESS
Celeste knew it was time for her to cross the bridge. Although the list of Peter’s debts lay in ashes on Skull Hill, she still could recite all the ways Peter had failed her. He had closed himself off from her, he had not listened to her, he had gone off with the honey woman, he had been cold and callous, he had refused to stop for her….
“Release, let go,” Humility whispered. “Cancel the debt. Remember you too have been forgiven. Follow the Servant’s footsteps.”
“All right, I’ll go,” she said. She threw back her shoulders and walked quickly onto the bridge, her eyes fixed on the other side. She had gone a quarter of the way when she made the mistake of looking down into the black, endless chasm. A wave of dizziness came over her. But she forced herself to press on.
Pardon was waiting on the other side, and when Celeste reached the end, the guide held out his hand to help Celeste off the bridge. Celeste looked at him expectantly, thinking he would congratulate her. But all Pardon said was, “Do not be fooled into thinking that you will not have to do that again.”
“But I crossed the bridge. I’ve forgiven Peter.”
Pardon shook his head. “There will be other chasms ahead of you, and each time you will need to walk over a bridge.”
“How many more times will I have to walk over it?” She was about to add, “And what about Peter; when will it be his turn to walk across it?”
“That is what everyone always wants to know,” Pardon said. “But there is no magic formula. And there will never come a time when you will be able to say to Peter, ‘I won’t forgive you again because you’ve used up all of your chances.’” Pardon looked at Celeste with understanding. “Think of some small sin you do every day. Multiply it by the number of days you have walked. How many times in all is that?”
Celeste shook her head.
“It’s a lot to forgive, isn’t it? Yet the King has forgiven you that many times, and will still forgive you even if you commit this one sin a hundred times a day, every day, until you reach His city. That’s how many times you should be prepared to cross a bridge of forgiveness. We have been given grace without measure, yet we would parcel it out in drops to someone else.” Pardon sighed. “The King is very patient. You must be patient too. We hope Peter will respond to the grace you give him, as you have responded to the King’s. But there is no guarantee. You must continue to love, without rules, without conditions, without expecting anything in return.”
Celeste continued on the path and soon found Peter and the little travelers napping in a grove near the chasm. Peter woke up and looked at her without smiling.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said.
“What do you mean? We just got here an hour ago. It took me days to find a way around the chasm.”
“So you didn’t walk over the bridge?”
“How could I do that after you walked off and left me with the little travelers? Anyway, it’s time to go. Let’s not waste the rest of the day.”
Celeste quickly woke up the little travelers and got their bags ready. Before they all started off again, she went to Peter. “Will you walk with me?” she asked.
A faint smile came to his face.
The path took them into woodlands interspersed with pastures, all showing the first signs of spring. The bare branches were tipped with green buds, and the first tiny wildflowers blossomed in the hollows. Celeste felt a sweetness carry her along as she walked. In spite of Humility’s warning, she was confident that after her sacrifice at Skull Hill and crossing the bridge of forgiveness, their path would take them on to the Highlands. She worked hard to keep up with Peter without a single grumble, and often she hummed one of the King’s songs to herself.
But Peter was so used to her complaints, he still heard them in his head. Once he turned around and said, “Oh stop complaining, will you?”
Celeste looked at him bewildered, and then replied calmly. “I wasn’t saying anything.” She was determined to keep answering him with tenderness, hoping that soon he would start to show signs of change.
Peter kept to his pace even when the track became rocky and then turned slippery after a gentle mist. He still wanted the campsite neat and orderly, even if they stayed for only a night. Food was still scarce, and he had to leave Celeste alone with the little travelers for long periods while he searched for something to eat. Soon her old bitterness and resentment returned. Didn’t she deserve an easier journey after
what she had sacrificed?
One day when he snapped at her, she snapped back. “I’ve been so patient with you, why can’t you be nice for once?”
But he only scowled and said he didn’t know what she was talking about.
Just then a strong wind came up. Turning around, she saw Skull Hill behind her with a fire blazing on top. She remembered the death she had died, and she gave a little sob.
There was no way around it; she really had to love Peter without expecting anything in return.
She started to spend time alone with the King every morning before setting off. During the day when she felt too weak to give, she asked the King for what she needed—again and again. “I do this to please the King and no one else,” she told herself. “As I die the Servant’s death, I will reveal the Servant’s life. And I trust the King to love me.”