The Autumn Glade

 

September/October 2017

I take a deep breath and look around. I am sitting in a deep enclave in the mountain wall. A ways to the east on my right is the passage that goes back into the mountain, where I came out from—inside is the Thorns and Darkness,  and beyond that the Chapel, and beyond that the Hall of Memories. A stream flows out of the passage, falls into a pool below, and then meanders off in a stream, disappearing round a western corner of the rock wall. To the north before me is the sheltered glade, with the mountain rising behind the trees to the west and north, and extending east out of sight. My enclave of the mountain is on the south, and wide, shallow sandstone steps descend unevenly down toward the stream and forest. The woods are somewhat sparse, but are garbed in their glorious autumn raiment, raining down a carpet of orange, yellow, and brown on the earth beneath them. Gentle mists drift from the waters in and out amid the trees. It is altogether a lovely place, a perfect Autumn scene, conducive to thought, and rest.

I have thought about the summer, after I left the Hall of Memories. I haven’t told you about it yet. I probably will though, someday. Yet I don’t want to think about it now, for there were hoped-for moments which seemed to cheat me in their passing. Not that the whole trip was disappointing—not at all—for there were important things happening, and I’m sure I’ve yet to realize their full import. But it was the little things I missed, the small moments which I love to delight in so much…I felt dead to them. Some memories are tinged with disappointment—and yet they didn’t turn actually bitter until three weeks after everything was over, when everything went Dark.

Before that happened, though, I had caught a glimpse of where I was, and that glimpse took my breath away. I was in an Underground Cathedral, and the walls were exquisitely carved! It made me want to dance again! I knew that God was here, and I delighted to know it. In this Chapel the daylight filtered in, creating a lovely suffused glow during the day—but the nights were pitch black. During these days and nights I could see and rejoice by day, but the nights were long, dark, and cold as I kept a lonely vigil.

And then there was no more Day, no more beautiful Chapel. Instead there was darkness and thorn trees snagging my clothes, scratching me. In my hands I held a sword and I thrashed blindly about, crying out, trying to clear a way through and keep from getting hurt. But the thorns seemed to reach out and slash me on their own. And was that me imagining that a ninja darted just past the corner of my eye?

Here’s an impression I had during those days: That my Lord had been Calling, calling Diligence from time and times past—from when He first told me to dig in the desert, from when I danced down the Hall of Memories—and now Diligence had finally reported for duty, but it was Louise who leapt into action, that Warrior Maiden who has a lot of fight in her. And it was so, that Diligence must now learn to work like Emily—winsomely—and not like Louise, who pokes and prods and fights.

In all the dark, distressing thrashing in the Halloween-like forest, a Voice behind me called out, “This is the way, walk in it!” and I knew that He was reminding me to be faithful. Two or three things were impressed on my mind that I knew I must do.

After that it’s all very fuzzy. I think I must have been wounded, for I lost sight of my dreams, hopes, longings. I forgot what purpose I had in life. I didn’t know what decisions to make, for all options seemed alike meaningless and unappealing—even the ones that had previously excited me. A certain thing I had thought there was no question about doing now dimmed entirely in significance as I struggled, and I dropped it by the wayside. What reason did I have to get up in the morning? I didn’t want to do anything.

In all the blurry haze of apathy, a figure appeared before me. This is actually something terribly important, as I hadn’t seen anyone in person since before I went into the desert. Inwardly my heart leaped and marveled, but just then a fresh burst of wind blew the thorns and buffeted me afresh.

I tripped. The shadowy figure reached out a kind hand to my shoulder, stabilizing me, and then handed me something. It was a missive and a token—a confirmation that, yes, I must keep being faithful: I have some assignments to see through. After studying it I looked back up, hoping for a fellowship from the friendly face, but the figure was gone.

“I have to keep going,” I tell myself, “I have to find a reason to keep going…”

. . .

And then I found myself here. My feet and knees hurt terribly and were so swollen I couldn’t get around much for three weeks. During the forced rest I started reading books again. Ah, story books! Those companions of my youth! As I read and gazed out on the Autumn glade, I began to remember. I remembered who I had wanted to be: A Lady, a daughter of the King; and what I had wanted to do: Help people to touch, taste, see, feel, know, and long for the goodness of God. But…how to do any of that here?

I also didn’t know if I would get well again. I could barely walk: I definitely couldn’t dance. What if this new-found joy were taken away from me? Is this pain what it is like to feel old? Is this a taste of what it feels like to have illness crash into the plans you took for granted for your life? What do you do when your dreams are taken—not just kept, but taken—away from you by circumstances beyond your control? What do you do when even the little you envisioned for your life is cut into by death, loss, or serious illness? What do you do when something very precious is taken from you forever? In my dreams I wrestled with these questions, and awoke to find myself weeping.

I just want to cry. I feel like all the longings and expectations and struggling of the past months have knotted themselves together all stiff and cold, and now I just want to let it out, cry, be warm again, and let the tension untangle itself. “Teach us, dear Lord, to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” “The present is the moment at which time touches eternity.” Let go. Enjoy the moments. Rest. Ah, the promised rest of Matthew 11:28-19. I will rest…if I can.

Yet I have moments of panic: Here I am just sitting, doing nothing. What am I doing with my life? What if I miss out on something important?!

I recall to mind what He told me at the beginning of this year, “Come unto me…and I will give you rest”, and more recently, “Stand in the ways and see, and ask for the old paths, what is the good way, and walk therein, and you shall find rest for your soul.”  I think back, back to ten years ago. Ah, ten years ago is important, for that is when I first met Him! What are the old ways? …Well, I used to be diligent. But every time I try again, it is in my own strength, and the old legalism rises up and the stress of it is enough to make me tear at my hair and I’m back in the Room of Pride again! It is misery to go it alone! I CANNOT DO IT!! …I cannot… I don’t want to do this on my own…

And then He said, “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing.”

I pause in my worrying and feeling guilty and I wonder if… maybe there is hope. I cannot will myself to do what He wants, but perhaps if He did something about it…if we could walk together…  After all, He did say, “Take my yoke upon you and learn of me”…

I peer at the golden of the leaves, the silver of the mists, and the jewel tones of the evening sunbeams.

And I remember Fairy Tales. They were prominent in the Hall of Memories, for I loved them as a child and would read every one I could lay my hands on. A thought has struck my fancy: What if my life were a fairy tale? Full of waiting, developing character, learning faithfulness, kindness, courage, strength, patience, and love? What if it were? I doubt this notion will last long in my conscious thought, yet it may be worth entertaining, for it gives me a desire to live life fully and be faithful in the mundane while also making me imagine I see a bit of magic in the air.