Christiana Page 8

  "Now I remember from where I knew him. 'Twas in my nightmare! These were the two spirits that stood at the foot of my bed and plotted how they might send me packing back to Destruction. 'Twas not a mere dream, as I then thought, but rather a stern warning from my Lord. From it I should have known my danger and asked for Help right off."

  "Well," answered Mercy, "at least now we will ask for helpers all the sooner. Right, boys?"

  "Amen!" said they all.

  "How are you boys doing?" asked Christiana. "Are you all well?"

  "Just a bruise for me," said Samuel, rubbing his arm. "I'll be all right."

  "I've got a royal headache," answered Joseph, "but it's getting better."

  "My tooth is a bit loose," said James, wiggling a loose front tooth with his tongue, "but I think it'll get better. But if not, that's all right since it's going to fall out some day anyhow."

  "And you, Matthew?"

  "Huh? Oh, fine, thanks," he murmured sheepishly. "Maybe a bit dizzy, but I'm fine."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes'm. Just fine, really."

  "Well then, let us be off. We have miles to go 'ere we find rest for this night. Forward, everyone!"

  And so off they got. And an odd sight they made. One of the boys was holding his head, another limped a tad and the smallest kept putting his hand to his mouth to worry a wiggly tooth. Matthew lagged behind a bit and, when no one was watching, emptied his pockets of the uneaten fruit.

  "Christiana?" whispered Mercy, with a glance back at Matthew.

  "Yes?"

  "Why do you think Matthew did not come to our rescue? He is a strong young man."

  "I don't know," answered Christiana, casting a concerned glance back at the lagging Matthew. "'Tis a mystery to me, for certainly the others were brave enough. I hope his heart be not turned back."

  "I think not, Ma'am. But somehow, he is not the same."

  "Aye. I worry about this dizziness too. I'll have to keep my eye on him."

  "Aye."

  "But meanwhile, let us rejoice that in spite of my neglect . . . "

  "And mine. . ." interjected Mercy.

  ". . . God has shown forth the richness of His grace and delivered the prey from the snare of the fowler."

  So they encouraged themselves in the Lord. As they traveled along, they beguiled the hours with songs and stories. Also, Christiana taught them verses of Scripture for their growth in grace and strength of mind. So it was that before they knew it, the westering sun found them at the house of the Interpreter.

  CHAPTER X

  House of The Interpreter

  They were just about to knock when they heard voices from within. "Mama!" whispered sharp-eared James. "They're talking about you!"

  "Indeed? Shhh," said she as six pairs of ears perked up to listen. And true enough - they within were talking about her! They spoke of the wonder that she who formerly would not hear a work about pilgrimage was, with her children and a friend, actually on pilgrimage! And, oh, how Christiana's cheeks did blush to hear her name spoken of with such high esteem. And, oh, how her children's chests swelled with pride to hear their mother's name so highly praised. Then they heard one say,

  "Christiana is well on her way and should be knocking at the door any time."

  "Perhaps she be already coming down the lane," said one young maiden named Innocent. "I'll go take a peek out the door.

  Innocent

  Christiana deemed that this was a good time to make her presence known. So she knocked firmly a time or two. Now she had scarce let go of the knocker but that the little window-door was swung open. "Er, uh, good day, M'ladies. Can I help you?" said the maiden, who seemed a bit surprised to see two women standing without.

  "We understand this house to be a special place where pilgrims are refreshed," answered Christiana.

  "Yes."

  "Then might we be so bold as to request a night's lodging? For we are pilgrims and all weary with a long day's journey."

  "And from a fight with two robbers!" piped up James.

  "Indeed! And pray tell, what name shall I carry in to my master?" asked the maid.

  "Tell him that the one standing without is the repentant wife of that famous pilgrim named . . . "

  "Christian!" cried Innocent excitedly. "Oh! Oh my! Er, uh . . . don't move! I'll be right back!" And with that, Innocent went dashing back into the house squealing with delight, "Master! Master! You'll never guess who is at the door!"

  "Well," said he, "we have been expecting . . ."

  "Yes! 'Tis she! 'Tis Christiana! Can you believe it?!"

  So he came quickly to the door and, looking earnestly upon his guest said, "Christiana?"

  "I am your humble servant, Sir," said she, bowing low.

  "Are you that Christiana whom that good man, Christian, left behind when he set himself off on a pilgrim's life?"

  "Aye. I am that same hard-hearted one who mocked at his troubles and let him go on his journey all alone. But now I have come, for I am convinced by his example that there is no right way but this one. These are his four children and this is my friend, Mercy."

  "Ah, dear woman. We heard tell that the bells of the Celestial City were set to ringing earlier today. We heard too that you had surrendered your heart to our Master and had come on pilgrimage. Therefore are you a fulfillment of that which is written about a man who said to his son, 'Go, work today in my vineyard; and he said to his father, I will not, but afterwards repented and went'."

  "So be it. Amen! God make it a true saying about me and grant that I may be found at my end in peace and without spot or wrinkle."

  "Amen! But why are we letting you stand outside the door like an unwelcome peddler? Come in, O thou daughter of Abraham. And you, young men and sweet maiden, come in, come in!"

  So he had them all into the house, where they were invited to sit down and rest. Some of the servants were immediately sent to the vineyard to press out some new wine. Others hastened to bring basins and towels to wash the dust of travel from their feet and faces. The cooks were rushed off to begin supper and the maids were set to touching up bedrooms. But you can be sure that before long, under one pretense or another, everyone in the house had managed to find their way into the parlor to prove with their own eyes that Christiana was indeed come. As they came, some would simply pass through, others would smile sheepishly, while the bolder ones would give Christiana a warm embrace to let her know just how welcome she was in that place.

  After a time, supper being not yet ready, the Interpreter took them into his lesson rooms and showed them that which Christian had seen before them. They saw the man in the cage; the dreamer; the man that cut and hacked his way through the fierce warriors, the Man behind the wall, together with the other lessons that had been so profitable to Christian.

  After giving them a little time to digest what they had seen, the Interpreter had them to a place where was a man that looked no way but downwards. In his hand he had a muck rake. As he raked muck with his muck-rake he complained continually - droning on in an irritating nasal voice, "Muck and straw. Straw and muck. Oh, how dreary."

  The Muck-raker

  Over the man's head there hovered an angel holding a celestial crown. Now, said angel continually followed the old man about and I could tell that he was most desirous of placing the crown upon the old fellow's brow. But every time the angel came close to doing so, why the old fellow would dart to one side abruptly to rake in a few more straws or some small sticks or a clod of mud.

  "Ahhh, weary dreary," moaned the man, hand to his sore back as he tried to straighten up with no success. "My life is sooo uncheery. Sticks and straws. Dust and muck. Yuck!"

  "Friend! Look up," urged the angel.

  "Ah! There be a flea!" cried out the man, pointing an accusing finger at some invisible enemy. "I must needs kill it before it sucks the world dry of all its blood. Hah!" he shouted as he pounced upon a dirt clod and beat it with his muck-rake. "Ah! Missed him! Wretched little beast! He has
likely bit a rat and will spread the plague."

  "Friend! Look up!" pled the angel. But the man turned again from his benefactor and, stumbling on a small mound of dirt, cried out, "Ah! And what is this? A mole hill! Oh, no! Oh, woe the gardens! What shall become of the flowers? Flowers? Flowers? What flowers? Where have all the flowers gone?"

  "Friend!" declared the angel. "There are flowers on the hillsides all around you. You need only look up and I shall guide you out of this mucky place."

  "Oh, dear!" mourned the man, looking all about his feet. "There be nary one flower in this whole mucky world. Only fleas and molehills, sticks and straws and dust. Dust and this eternal muck which I must eternally rake with this infernal muck-rake. Ahhh, weary, dreary. My life is soooo uncheery."

  "Do you understand what you see, Christiana?" asked the Interpreter.

  "I think I might, sir," said she, "for I have seen many a man just like him in the city of Destruction. They, like he, long for something better, but can only look down at the things of this earth."

  "Aye. And what more?"

  "Well, it seems that the angel is all too willing to exchange a celestial crown for his muck-rake, but the man cannot hear him."

  "Nay -- will not hear him. He has ignored his call so many times that, though his ears are good, he hears not the heavenly voice."

  "Then he does not believe that the voice is for him?!"

  "Aye. When once our attention is captured by the things of earth, we count crowns and kingdoms as the dreams of deluded weaklings. The only thing real to us is what we can see or touch."

  "Indeed. But do tell, dear Interpreter, why are the man's clothes so . . . so . . . filthy! Why, he has mud and scum caked on his elbows and knees! Sticks and straws seem to hang everywhere upon him. Why, it seems to me that he ought to lie down and let someone rake him!"

  At this everyone had themselves a good chuckle, for the man was indeed a frightful sight. Then said the Interpreter, "You are right. And what you see unfolded here is a perfect example of one of life's great laws."

  "Which law, sir?" queried Samuel earnestly.

  "That which says: 'By beholding we become changed'."

  "Please clarify for my boys, sir," requested Christiana.

  "This man's muck-rake, lads, is a symbol of his carnal mind. His mind rakes up only what he can see with his eyes and so, he has become like what he beholds. Why, oft times he lies down in the mire to search out a flea or a louse and, from a distance, one can scarcely distinguish him from a mole hill."

  "If he keeps doing that, will he look like a great big flea pretty soon?" asked James. At the thought, everyone burst into gales of laughter. When the merriment had subsided, the Interpreter answered thusly:

  "He may not look like a flea outwardly, James, but his thoughts will grow smaller and smaller till he can believe nothing but what he can touch. In this he will be very much like a flea."

  "Oh, let me never have such a small view of reality as this man!" exclaimed Christiana. "May the Lord deliver me and mine from the muck-rake!"

  "Good, Christiana!" exclaimed the Interpreter. "That prayer is so seldom prayed as to be well-nigh forgotten. The wise man prayed, 'Give me neither riches nor poverty', but it is now the prayer of scarcely one in ten thousand."

  "Aye. 'Tis true," answered Christiana. "Wood, hay and stubble seem to be the life goal of nearly everyone I know - to the neglect of heavenly things. But do tell, sir. Can this man ever hope to look up and see that which is but inches above his head?"

  "Christiana," exclaimed Mercy, "don't you see that he is all bent and stooped over? He can't look up."

  "But surely there must be some way to direct his gaze upward."

  "There is," said the Interpreter, pointing to the right. "What do you see over yonder?"

  "'Tis a pool of water," said Joseph.

  "And it lies still as mirror," added Matthew.

  "Aye," said the Interpreter. "Were he willing, even so bent over as he is, the muck-raker could go thither and clearly see the celestial glories that lie so close overhead. But he ignores the place."

  "Why?" asked Christiana.

  "Because the ground is clean there," he answered.

  "Ah. No muck to rake?" queried Christiana.

  "Exactly. And, more than that - the pool shows him himself - a sight so fearful that he avoids it like the plague. So, Christiana, to answer your question: yes, God has made it possible for this man, even in his bent condition, to see both his need and his reward. But he can bear the sight of neither. So he chooses to take some small comfort raking in the muck."

  Then Mercy began to weep. Christiana put her arms around her for comfort and asked, "Why does my sister weep so?"

  "Because I see that this man's condition is as hopeless as that of the man in the cage, or the dreamer with his distant dreams of victory."

  "Aye, but you did not cry for them when we saw them a few moments ago. Why do you suddenly begin to weep now?"

  "I weep not for them, my sister, but for my friend Marianna whose husband is a brawling drunkard. She does not hunt down fleas and moles as this man does, but she does seek to drown her sorrows in banquets and balls, concerts and causes. What chance has she got?"

  "As I said before, she has every chance, for we are praying for her at morning and evening worship. Therefore, take hope."

  Now as the Interpreter looked upon Mercy's sincere concern, his heart was so touched that a tear welled up in his own eye. Then he beckoned them to follow and led them into the grand hall. There he bade them look about to find a spiritual lesson. So they looked, and looked, and looked some more. Yet they saw nothing - except that Christiana noticed a very great spider hanging in the corner.

  "Well?" he asked.

  Said Mercy, "Sir, I see nothing." But Christiana held her peace.

  "Look again," he directed. So Mercy looked again and finally said, "Sir, there is nothing here but an ugly spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall."

  Answered he, "Is there only one spider in all this spacious room?"

  Then tears began to fill Christiana's eyes, for she was a woman of quick understanding. Said she "Nay, my lord. There are many spiders in this place. And the venom of one of them is far more poisonous than that of she upon the wall."

  "I don't see any other spiders, Mama," said James, looking intently all about the room.

  "There are many of us, child."

  "Us?"

  "Yes. I am a wicked Black Widow. And with my venom and sting I poisoned and devoured he whom I should have loved most and best. Oh, wicked woman that I am!"

  And with that she began to weep softly.

  "Oh," said James, bowing his head in sympathetic grief.

  Then, recalling their own evil behavior towards their father, all the boys lowered their heads in shame. Their instructor, detecting a teachable moment, said, "I perceive that you have seen yourselves pictured here, which is a good thing. But do you not also see good reason to take heart?"

  "Well," said Mercy, after a long pause, "the spider is in the best room of the house."

  "And so may you be. No matter how venomous your past has been, yet, by the hand of faith you may lay hold of and dwell with Christ at the right hand of God!"

  "But our past! Our sinful hearts!" exclaimed Christiana.

  "Come, all of you." directed the Interpreter. "Look out yonder window. Now - what do you see?"

  "The skull-shaped hill," answered Matthew reverently, "and someone still hanging thereon."

  "That is where you must ever direct your gaze, my children. Not at your sinful, venomous hearts. Remember the muck raker."

  "So," said Christiana thoughtfully, "if we would be like Him, it is Him we must behold."

  "Indeed. By beholding we become changed. We must not look to our faults, or the faults of others, or the things of earth - but to Him! That is why the cross is so placed as to be seen from any point along your journey. Come."

  He then took them into the chicken yard where the
re was a mother hen and wee ones flowing along behind her like a downy yellow carpet. "Watch for a time," he directed, "and tell me what you see."

  After a time one of the chickens went to the water to drink -and, every time she drank she lifted head and eyes upward.

  "I see a lesson, sir," said Samuel. "Every time one of them drinks she lifts her head towards heaven."

  "And the lesson?"

  "Uh . . . every time we eat or drink we should look up with gratitude too."