The Warrior...Part 1

I've been working on a short novel.

You see, I have this idea about art and ministry and worship that I'm experimenting with.  I am a musician and have a degree in theatre but my artistic interests have been varied through the years.  I have been told that this represented a serious deficiency and that I would probably not get far in ministry because of my inability to focus in developing my skills in one area.  Lately, I have been more comvinced that this broad interest is a gift from God, intended to help me develop a unique kind of worship ministry...I say unique, because I can't find a church that has anything like this:

Whatever your artistic gift, I believe that it is intended to glorify God and draw people into His presence.  This is the core idea of what I've been calling Worship On Purpose.  So, I'm experimenting with different artistic media, photography, poetry, creative writing, etc.  Hence, my short novel.  I'm about a third of the way through it and since it's a work in progress, there are some details in the earlier chapters that I intend to flesh-out as I proceed, but I'd like to get some feedback as I go along.

Bet you didn't know you'd be my guinea pig when you joined my neighborhood.

Anyway, here it is:

Part 1 - Upon the Rock

The sound of the wind in the treetops stirred something in his heart, a place inside of him untouched for many years awoke for just a moment and heard another, more distant sound.

A faint marching.

It was as startling as it was distinct and the surprise of it disturbed the peace that he had been working so desperately to cultivate.  As suddenly as it began, the sound faded and disappeared.  He opened his eyes to the sunset before him and sighed in resignation.  The vista he was caught up in was more beautiful than he had anticipated.  The Continental Divide stretched out before him in an expanse so broad he had to turn his head to see it all.

No, a picture would not have captured it.  Even the most accomplished photographers would not have dared to attempt the scope of what he was looking at.  The sight of it brought an unbidden thought:

And the LORD looked on what he had made and it was very good.

“Very good, indeed,” he spoke aloud into the abyss before him.  “Even with me out in it.” 

“Especially with you out in it.”  The voice was as real as his own and the shock of it, out in the middle of nowhere, brought him to his feet.  He turned to face the person who had invaded his private thoughts and was shocked to find no one.  He took a few minutes to check around the thick trees directly behind him and realized that it would have been impossible for any person to approach his position, a solitary granite boulder protruding from a thick stand of spruce trees, without making enough noise to rouse him from his reverie.  It suddenly dawned on him that he might have found what he climbed up here looking for.

God had spoken to him.

There had been a time that hearing God’s voice was a commonplace occurrence in his experience but that was several years in the past.  His intimate encounters with his Maker had become more and more infrequent until he felt dry and thirsty and on the verge of total burnout.  He had retreated to the hills at the suggestion of a friend to seek God.  He left the trailhead at dawn and hiked two miles before spotting the outcropping that he stood on now.  After another two hours of improvising a trail, he sat down on this rock and began praying.  That had been before noon.

A sudden panic gripped him as the sun sank below the mountains: he had thirty or forty minutes of twilight to make the hike back to his car.  After that, he was on his own in the wilderness without a flashlight.

Moving quickly, he shoved his small Bible into the pocket of his Camelback and started his descent.  He cursed his foolishness for neglecting to bring a light and hurried through the trees, trying to keep his course as straight as possible.  The first quarter mile was a steep hill with a thick growth of spruce.  There was little underbrush as this was a public land that was subject to forest conservation and controlled burning.  He sent up a quick word of gratitude for his tax dollars at work and hurled himself down the hill.  If he remembered his approach correctly, he would come to a wide but shallow creek at the bottom and then follow it north to a fallen tree.  He could cross the creek there and climb almost straight up to the trail on the opposite rise.  Once he was on the trail, he could follow it in the dark easily enough.  Getting there before the light was gone became the top priority.

He reached the creek quickly and turned north to follow it upstream.  This turned out to be more difficult than he expected.  Keeping the stream within earshot on his left, he progressed as quickly as he could through the trees.  The sounds of crickets and night birds began to fill his ears and he knew that he was running out of time.  He found the fallen tree by tripping over it in the fading light.

After crossing the creek, he began to climb the opposite embankment in earnest.  It was steeper than he remembered, a common mistake he made when hiking.  He had done the same thing before, underestimated the difficulty of the return trip, but never had he lingered this long so far from the trail.  He climbed with both hands and moved as quickly as gravity and the terrain would allow.  As it got darker, he became more desperate.  It seemed that he must have veered south as he climbed.  Would that lead him to miss the trail?  He tried to recall the trail layout, the local topography, anything that might help him dead-reckon his way.  Normally, this was a strength for him.  He remembered most information that he was exposed to once, especially maps.  He had hiked the trail here a number of times.  But tonight, when he needed this faculty most of all, it had failed him.  Whether because on fatigue or fear or the fact that he had fasted all day, he was completely unable to draw upon his reason.

“Stop.”   It sounded like his voice, though he could not remember forming the word on his lips, nor in his mind for that matter.  But stop he did.  The word had such urgency and command that he dared not go on without pausing.  He listened to the sound of the dark forest, the birds, the insects and the breeze. His own labored breathing was like a clanging cymbal interrupting the song of the mountains.  He inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrance of the spruce trees, the sweet decay of the mulch underfoot and the subtle headiness of wildflowers in a nearby meadow.  He began to calm.

“I suppose the worst thing that could happen,” he thought out loud, “is that I’d have to spend the night out here.”  It was not going to get unbearably cold at this altitude in late spring.  The only real concern was the wildlife, bears and mountain lions were not uncommon in the area.  No, the “worst case” was still pretty undesirable, he decided and began looking around intently.  Concentrating on the shadowy images around him, he spotted a break in the darkness.  It was level with him and not more than fifty feet to his right, a clearing in the trees wide enough for the twilight to fall on the ground.

He made for the break and found his path blocked with thorny brambles, already the light in the clearing was fading from view.  To skirt the undergrowth would cause enough delay that he might miss the trail in the dark, so he set his jaw and plunged into the thorns, prepared to endure the trial all the way to the clearing.  But the undergrowth cleared after about ten feet and the rest of the way was clear and level.  He walked out of the trees and onto the trail as the waning moon overhead slipped behind a thick cloud, plunging him into relative blackness.

He slumped to the graded surface of the trail and sipped water from his pack, feeling the adrenaline rush pass and give way to the exhaustion and pain from numerous cuts and scratches.  Most notably, his left knee was scraped from a fall and his right hand had a deep cut from a broken limb that he had grabbed as he tried to find purchase during his climb.  These two wounds he cleaned as best as he could with the tepid water.

His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and he was just about ready to get up and press on when he heard footsteps approaching from ahead of him on the trail.  A tall, lanky man rounded the corner from the right about 20 feet away and it occurred to him that he would have missed the trail if he had continued in his mad rush without stopping.

The stranger caught sight of him almost instantly and stopped.  “Are you Dillon?” he said in a pleasant, accented baritone.

Stunned by the question, Dillon only nodded and then realizing that his gesture was probably missed in the dark, answered, “Yes, how did you know-“

“You hadn’t signed out at the trailhead and so I thought I might run into you.”  The newcomer answered.  “Forgot your headlamp?”

“Forgot a lot of stuff.”  Dillon said.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a light.”

“I do,” he answered.  “But it will be easier for you to see in the dark without one.  I’m heading back to the trailhead now.  Care to go along?”

“I’d appreciate the company.” Dillon admitted.  He stood and fell into step beside his new companion.  The trail was wide enough for them to walk side by side without trouble.  For a while, both hiked in silence.  Dillon realized after a few minutes that he could see rather well in the dark.  It surprised him the detail that he could make out on the trail ahead, roots in his path that he could sidestep, rocks that he could step over and the leavings of someone’s Great Dane.

“You know,” he began, “I really can see better in the dark.”

“It’s a simple matter of physiology really,” the stranger said.  “Your eyes will adjust to the light available.  If I had a flashlight on, your eyes would adjust to that light level and you would only see the obstacles in the light.  Without the flashlight, your eyes adjust to the ambient light: starlight, moonlight, et cetera, and you can see everything in your path.”

“You hike a lot in the dark?”

“Sometimes, it’s unavoidable,” he answered.  “Everyone must walk in darkness from time to time, but eventually the Sun will rise with healing in His wings…always does.  It’s a parable: that is, Dillon.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, friend, since you know my name and I don’t have a clue who you are.”

“Caleb,” he offered.  “I…um…volunteer on this trail.”  He stopped and faced west.  Dillon looked through a gap in the trees and realized that abyss before him was the valley he had crossed to rejoin the trail.  “There,” Caleb pointed to a place in the darkness just off to the right, “that’s the rock you were sitting on a little while ago.”

“How did you--” but the question died on Dillon’s tongue as he turned to look at the enigmatic stranger.

Caleb was gone. 

** Continue to Part 2 **