Brave Quest, page 2
You look closer, surprised to see many things you recognize. Happy memories. Fun times. Blessings. A flood of gratefulness washes over you as you recognize gifts and care and love and treasures you might have taken for granted. There are hard times too. You recognize sadness, struggle, pain. But for whatever reason, looking back now, the bright moments are the ones that stand out, that make you proud and thankful, like . . .
I press on toward the goal.
PHILIPPIANS 3:14 ESV
DAY THREE
True Man’s voice interrupts your reverie.
“Every new journey is best begun with gratitude. Not everything in your past has been easy or good or to your liking. But bitterness is a poor substitute for strength in a man. Always count your blessings. If you understand this, tell me why it is true.”
“Good,” says True Man. “You stand at the juncture of manhood—a choice between two paths. This place is the Waypoint. The privileges, safety, and comforts of being a child lie behind. The joys and burdens of manhood lie before. Since every juncture requires clarity, you must know where you stand. Declare to me what you believe.”
“Believe?” you say. “About what?”
“About your life. Listen to me carefully. I know the plans I have for you: You are meant for greatness. I choose this for you. On your journey, you will be sorely tested to hold this truth firmly in your heart. Nonetheless, I speak truth to you now. Do you believe me?”
“I guess so.” You shrug, unsure what he is even talking about. “It’s all this journey stuff I don’t get. I’m just a kid.”
True Man’s wild eyes focus hard on you. “Have you been listening to nothing I’ve said? You are becoming a man. Every son of Abraham is on a journey. And every journey starts with faith. If you move from this spot without first knowing what you believe, you will simply wander, and it will be years before we meet again. Years of false manhood. Wasted time. Wasted life. You must settle what is true, what you will not yield, now. Why? Because the only thing a man will fight for is what he believes. I have made you for the battle, my son. Truth is the noble heart of every man’s quest.”
Interesting, you think, as True Man’s challenge lingers in the air. You don’t feel threatened as much as compelled. What do I really, deeply believe about the man I am meant to become?
Sensing your thoughts, True Man says, “Well done, that is a good start. You will find that on some things you have spoken well. Other things you will wish to add or change as your experiences become larger than your words. Time is your ally. Now you are guessing, at least in part. Later you will know.”
He glances to the left and right, folding his arms.
“Which path do you choose on your journey to manhood? Remember, this choice is not between right and wrong. One path does not represent sin, and the other righteousness. Rather, they represent—”
“Life!” you declare triumphantly. Already, you begin to understand a little more. “The Waypoint represents the first choice a man must make: an easy life or a worthy life.”
True Man seems to look at you with new appreciation and respect. His eyes widen with fierce pleasure.
“So . . . which do you choose, Questor? An easy life, or a worthy life? And why?”
A wind blows, and True Man’s black cloak billows in the breeze. His hair catches in the wind. His eyes grow sad. “I will tell you, many men seek an easy life. Then halfway through their lives, they realize they are not really men at all. They are merely older versions of selfish little boys. They have shrunk back from challenge. They have compromised their integrity. They have looked for ease and comfort above all else and served no one but themselves. They are bored. They are aimless. This is not the path for you.”
True Man points to the hard road. The right road.
“Here is where your destiny lies.”
You look again at the sharp rocks, the rough road. When you turn back, True Man is gone.
In the secret places of the cliff, let me see.
SONG OF SOLOMON 2:14 NKJV
DAY FOUR
Several hours of hard, slow progress follow. During this time, you’ve fallen, climbed, crawled. You’ve scraped your knees and cut your hands. The road is twice as hard as it looked. It is hot and dry, and you have no water. You are beginning to second-guess your decision. Worse, you are so thirsty.
After another hour, you find yourself at the base of a steep cliff. What little path you’ve been afforded until now dead-ends here. Sweat stings your eyes. You must either go back or up.
“Whew! Looks pretty hard to me,” a voice says. You jump, startled to see beside you a thin man with a manicured goatee and coifed hair. He is dressed in fine clothes, and his skin is smooth and pale.
“Who are you?”
The man laughs, a silvery sound. “They call me Backpedaler, though I haven’t the foggiest idea why. I prefer to call myself The Sage. I usually aid travelers on this road.”
“Do you help them climb?” you ask.
“Heavens no!” Backpedaler throws his hands in the air. “I help them fix their mistakes and get back to reality.”
“Reality?”
“Yes, reality. The reality that you can’t possibly make this climb, and even if you could, why risk it? Can you tell me what’s on top of this cliff? I, for one, have no idea. Neither do these poor folks.”
He motions to the ground. There, littering the rocks, nearly blending in, you see the bleached skeletons of many dead men.
“The undecided.” Backpedaler shakes his head ruefully. “I warned and warned, but they would not listen to me or take my advice. They longed to climb, yet never did. Which was definitely wise. But then they stayed here until they died. Don’t be like them. Just go back. Just go. You can thank me later.”
You hesitate, stare at your feet. There, amid the rocks and scrub brush, you notice one bony skeleton hand clutching a scrap of paper. Though it feels creepy to do so, you bend down, snatch the paper out of his fist. A few simple words are scrawled on the paper: Multitudes, multitudes in the Valley of Decision.
You realize you are standing in a dangerous place. It seems clear that avoiding a decision is just another form of making a decision, only far more dangerous, because . . .
Act resolutely.
2 CHRONICLES 19:11
DAY FIVE
You hear another voice call out to you from high above. It echoes all around the canyon floor. You can’t make out the words, but when you look up, you see a figure at the top of the cliff, silhouetted against the burning sun. He throws down a long rope, which drops right in front of you. The rest of the length of the rope runs up the cliff face.
“Don’t listen to him, Questor!” cries the young man loudly. “Come up here. I’ll help you!”
“Who are you?” you shout back.
“My name is Close Friend!” he replies. He sounds about your age. “Some call me Blood Brother. I’m here to help you go farther, higher. Just grab the rope.”
“It looks too hard,” you say, almost to yourself.
“Much too hard,” Backpedaler mumbles in agreement.
“If it wasn’t hard, everyone would make the climb. Don’t let the Cliffs of Cowardice stop you now!”
“The reasonable man doesn’t seek out unreasonable challenges,” Backpedaler says cautiously.
“Columbus wasn’t a reasonable man!” Close Friend shouts. “Saul of Tarsus wasn’t a reasonable man! Moses wasn’t a reasonable man! Alexander the Great wasn’t a reasonable man! William Wallace wasn’t a reasonable man! But they all did one thing reasonable men shall never do.”
“What’s that?” you shout back, more curious than ever.
Backpedaler starts fidgeting. “Have you seen the flowers over here? They’re quite lovely this time—”
“They changed the world!” the voice from the cliff top shouts. His words echo on the canyon walls.
“Changed the world . . . changed the world . . .”
And suddenly, you know what you must do. You have made your decision. It’s very simple. You tell Backpedaler, “There might be an easier way. But that doesn’t make it a better way, or the right way. In fact, shortcuts often are . . .
You grab the rope and start to climb.
“Friend, move up higher.”
LUKE 14:10 ESV
DAY SIX
And climb, and climb. Heaving with your arms, squeezing the rope between your feet, and shoving upward.
Halfway up, your arms begin to burn with the pain of climbing. The brown rock face is streaked with blues and grays. It is hot. You are sweating, growing weak. With every pull, your arms feel like jelly. But the top is still so far away. You look down. Backpedaler is still there, waving a jug of water. You are so thirsty.
“I’m here for you, friend!” he says. “It’s never too late to change your mind. And hey, don’t think of it as a shortcut or copping out. It’s simple: Why make it harder than it has to be? Come back and be reasonable. We’ll talk.”
Higher up, Close Friend calls down to you. “Focus, friend. I know it’s hard. Just keep climbing. Only a little farther.”
You pull. Pull again. Pull again. Your hands start to bleed.
“I can’t,” you say, panting. “I can’t.”
But you pull again anyway.
“Good!” says the encouraging voice from above.
Your grip slips. The rope burns like fire as you slide a few feet down. You squeeze so hard it feels like your skin is going to peel off. Your last few feet of progress are gone now. “I’ve got to go back down. I’m going to die if I fall.”
When you look down, Backpedaler is a tiny figure in the faraway canyon bed. You imagine he’d be pretty friendly and welcoming and helpful if you returned. But then you think about how it would make you feel to give up. Your stomach turns at the thought. You remember a time when you gave up. You aren’t proud of it. Thinking of other times when you’ve been tempted, you realize there are certain challenges that feel more overwhelming than others. In fact, you are most likely to give up when . . .
Wiping your eyes on the shoulder of your shirt, you call out, “I don’t want to quit. But I don’t know how to go any farther.”
“Okay,” says Close Friend. “Hold on tight.”
You hold on. Suddenly, without doing anything, you surge upward. Close Friend is pulling the rope. You look up, but there is still a long way to go. You wonder if he is able.
“Almost there,” you call out. “Keep going.”
Finally, gratefully, you reach the top. Close Friend extends his hand. You take it and scramble over the edge. He is a young man with a ready smile and a mop of hair. His shirt is drenched, and he heaves for air.
“Attaboy, bro,” he gasps, grinning from ear to ear. “You did great.”
A friend who sticks closer than a brother.
PROVERBS 18:24 ESV
DAY SEVEN
“Yeah, attaboy!” says another young man beside him. You stare at them both. The two look exactly alike in face and form. Same height, same hair color, same eyes.
“And who are you?” you ask, pointing to the second guy.
“I’m Faker.” The man grins. “I’ll tell you anything to seem cool or gain respect. You’ll never know the real me, but you’ll think you do. And you’ll like me, I guarantee it. We’re bound to be the best of friends.”
You smile nervously. He must be joking. “Yeah, okay.”
You push aside your misgivings. After all, he seems pleasant enough, even kind of witty. Very hip and self-aware. Certainly no stranger than any of the rest of this dream. Close Friend watches you carefully, saying nothing.
“Thanks,” you say, turning to look at Close Friend. “I mean, for pulling me up. I couldn’t have done that last part without you.”
Close Friend leaps to his feet. “Well, isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”
“How is it exactly that you are my close friend?” you ask, rising, staring at your bleeding hands. Close Friend pulls a jar out of his satchel. It’s filled with a thick, jelly-like substance. You see the name on the jar. It is called Encouragement.
He rubs the balm on your hands, wraps them in bandages. Then he gives you a flask full of water. You drink thirstily.
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “why don’t you first tell me what it is that you value most in a close friend? What are the traits and qualities you feel drawn to?”
That one is easy for you. You tell him . . .
“Yes, I see that about you,” Close Friend says. “But dig even deeper. What makes for a rare and true friend? What is the difference between a friend and a brother? The wisdom of old tells us, ‘There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’ What do you think that means?”
As you chew on this, the answer seems clear. It means . . .
“Yes, excellent. Strive to be that kind of friend to others, for that is the kind of friend I shall be to you. Come, let’s walk.”
He made . . . woman and brought her to the man.
GENESIS 2:22 ESV
DAY EIGHT
You walk together and talk, of casual things and deep things. The three of you laugh until your stomachs hurt. You pause to drink water and rest. You make up games of wit and sport. It seems as if you have known each of the other two for a long, long time.
At one point, while Faker is busy pulling apples from a nearby tree, you lean over and whisper to Close Friend, “I don’t mean anything against your brother, but Faker hardly seems like a good name. I mean, he’s a really cool guy. Why doesn’t he change his name?”
“Oh, it’s a good name for him, believe me. You just wait. But he’s not my brother. There are friends, good friends, and blood brothers. And then there are fakers. You and I, we are blood brothers.”
“Then why do you look so much alike?”
Close Friend stares blankly, as if the answer should be obvious.
“Because only time will tell which is which.”
Just then, Faker returns. “Here, Questor. I picked the best apple for you.”
Close Friend cuts him off. His voice grows firm, cautious. He is studying the land. “We are approaching the Valley of Curves,” he announces. “There is much beauty here. A man can easily lose his way.”
You look around and notice that you have passed from the rough ground surrounding the canyon and entered a lush region, thinly wooded and rolling with many round hills. Curves, you think. Clever. The grass is thick and soft underneath you. Wildflowers of every color dot the hillsides. Birds sing. A sparkling blue stream bubbles along, winding between the hills. Curves everywhere. You climb one hill after another, each more beautiful than the last. A strange sense of desire stirs in you, only growing stronger as the view of the surrounding countryside becomes more and more striking. Slowly, the sun sets, and you are left breathless at the wonder of it all. You feel strangely alive.
For some reason, the curves remind you of something. Of . . . girls.
Duh! you chide yourself. Curves.
And so it is, standing on a green hill, that you admit to yourself that you have begun to notice girls in a way that seemed unappealing when you were younger. Truth be told, you kinda like them. It doesn’t seem so weird anymore—no more cootie issues! Quite the opposite, your mind and body respond in unique ways, in a mix of curiosity and dread, fear and fascination.
You remember “the talk” Dad had with you not too long ago. The talk about sex. You remember Dad explaining how a man and woman fit together like two puzzle pieces. One fits inside the other—shaped that way by God, who made the puzzle of every marriage to tell a little more of His story on the earth. It is a simple fact: Girls have curves. And you’ve begun to notice.
Faker nudges you with his elbow. He winks. “Doesn’t look so bad to me, if you know what I mean. Close Friend can be so serious sometimes. He just needs to chill.”
Close Friend hears but says nothing. As if aware of your drifting thoughts, he asks, “What do you find attractive about girls, Questor?”
“Okay, that was easy. Now something harder. What confuses you about girls?”
“Beware that you do not pass this place.”
2 KINGS 6:9 ESV
DAY NINE
It’s starting to get dark. You and Close Friend have had a pretty deep conversation. He nods his head in agreement about some of your observations. “Girls aren’t like boys, that’s for sure. But I have one more question. Before long, you will be of an age to pursue. That’s a healthy, good part of manhood. But first you need to examine yourself. What do you expect from a relationship with a young lady?”
“Expect from her? Is that what you mean?”
“No, my friend. Expect from yourself. The man leads. It is good to contemplate and decide now: How will you lead? How will you make sure you treat her with respect and honor?”
Close Friend grabs your wrist. “In all this, you have spoken well. But be warned. You must take care in this place. The Valley of Curves will test your heart. Every man must pass through this land of beauty many times, so it is best you decide now how you will live in it. Decide now that your eyes will stay pure. If you will do this, your heart will follow. Grow lazy, or overly curious, and the night will take you where you do not wish to go.”
Stars begin to twinkle. Over your head, the milky moon smiles a thin crescent smile. Together, you quickly set up camp.
Faker says, “You know, Questor, I’ve been looking for a friend like you for a long time. Man, this is great.” He slaps you on the back. “I’m always going to be there for you, buddy. Just you and me.”
