

For

Rowdy

Christians

Everywhere

## By Davethe Hammer

## Smashwords Edition

## Copyright 2012 by

## Davethe Hammer

In memory of Tom,

who took it by force.

"The belief in a God All Powerful wise and good, is so essential to the moral order of the World and to the happiness of man, that arguments which enforce it cannot be drawn from too many sources nor adapted with too much solicitude to the different characters and capacities to be impressed with it." \--James Madison

For Rowdy Christians Everywhere

Book 1: The Crafty Tale of Luke the Hun

Part I: Searching By Land

Chapter 1: The Beginning, See

Chapter 2: The Cross of Gold and the Man of God

Chapter 3: "I'll Have a Hot Assorted"

Chapter 4: Conversin' With a Relic

Chapter 5: Electric Man

Chapter 6: Reading, Riding, Short Division and Fractions (you'll see)

Chapter 7: Thunderhouse

Chapter 8: The Extra-Value Meal: Burgers, Fries, and Prophecy

Chapter 9: A Business Trip to Bohemia

Chapter 10: All the Way to Penetanguishene

Chapter 11: The One About the Bird

Chapter 12: Trees Like Baptists

Chapter 13: Corn and Sorrow

Chapter 14: Second Opinions and Second Shift

Chapter 15: Tattoos, Tutti Frutti, and Tearful Good-byes

Chapter 16: Fellowship and Foolycake, Lacrosse Balls and Altar Calls

Chapter 17: Tricky Shaky

Chapter 18: The Troll Handled his Sledgehammer Masterfully

Chapter 19: Bridgette Takes Care of the Pope's Light Work

Part II: Searching By Sea

Chapter 20: Sling the Sloopy Keel Ye Starboard Wenches

Chapter 21: Good Deed Doers

Chapter 22: Cold Sea Conversations

Chapter 23: A Guy From the North Shows Luke How to Play it Cool

Chapter 24: The Sensitive Side of the Sea

Chapter 25: Terry's Bar and Grill

Chapter 26: Having Fun and Gettin' Serious

Chapter 27: There are _Rules_ to this Game

Chapter 28: A Brief Rap, A Briefer Scrap, and Luke Takes the Teeniest Little Nap

Chapter 29: Tom II

Chapter 30: Dragon Isle

Chapter 31: Serpent St. Helena

Chapter 32: One Day

Chapter 33: Help from the Heavens

Chapter 34: Friends in Wet Places

Part III: Searching By Bus

Chapter 35: The Bus to Glory

Chapter 36: The Bus to Nowhere

Chapter 37: Rendezvouz and Road Games

Chapter 38: A Fast Ride, A Wise Guide, and a Smooth Slide

Part IV: Searching By Faith

Chapter 39: One Night

Chapter 40: Luke Meets Coolest Guy of Them All

Epilogue 1: On the Links With Luke the Hun

Epilogue 2: Cast and Crew
Appendix I: Multi-Person Poems

Appendix II: In Order that the Reader May Better Judge a Particular Matter

BOOK 2: Sestinas for Sundays, by Luke the Hun

Foreword

"As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten. Be zealous therefore, and repent." Revelation 3:19

##

This book has almost everything.

Dragons, Genies and Trolls; princes and fair maidens; talking animals and a really tough fish; Huns and Vikings; Cavemen and Canadians; bread and circuses; fistfights and fishermen; brass knuckles and basketball, euchre games and lacrosse battles; the snows of Baffin Island and the swamps of Atlantis; bus chases and space travel; angels and aliens; bluesmen speaking softly and sea serpents speaking Portuguese; the biography of a king, and the journal of everyman; and last and best, Jesus Christ our Lord. All pleasantly garnished with slogans and banners, sestinas and limericks, haikus and knock-knock jokes, an aroma of postmodernism and a hearty portion of old-fashioned values, simmered in a tasteful sauce of joviality, spirituality, and Cornhusker references. It has everything but surprise endings, that is. Coz I'll tell ya now: _'I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.'_

This book is for almost everyone.

For Christians, may you find something in it, some stories or phrases, to stretch your faith, steel your resolve, strengthen your commitments. Or, just dig on the corny humor (it's harmless). And maybe it's the kind of book you could lend to a friend.

For skeptics and searchers, may you find something in it, some poems or sermons to challenge your faith--to create some questions, or to answer some, and to encourage an open and willing spirit: so that you may begin to seek God, and in seeking, to find! (Remembering the wise words of Hans Denck: _"When you hear your brother say something that is strange to you do not immediately argue with him, but listen to see whether he may be right and you also can accept it. If you cannot understand him you must not judge him, and if you think that he may be in error, consider that you may be in greater error."_ ) For the gospel of Christ is true. Don't be afraid to at least consider it. Begin with that. I was a scoffer once too. It wasn't until I seriously searched, not until I first humbled myself enough to admit 'Maybe I'm wrong', that I finally saw truth I never could have dreamed of, miracles I always would have missed!

But mostly I write this book for myself: Any lessons I would pass on, I must first hear myself. When I write another man's story, I doubtless project a little of my own, and when I read of another man's life, I must evaluate my own life as well. If anything in these pages blesses you, know that it has blessed me also. I have written what I have written. Each chapter began as an act of faith, and ended by drawing me closer to God. It's always that way.

So here it is: the story of Luke the Hun, a fearsome warrior and a pretty good option quarterback, who decided to go straight, to become a man of peace and dreams, and to find the one right answer.

His story takes place on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, which is kinda like Earth in some respects, different in others. As the legendary Bertralamus J explains it, Timnalauren was the world he designed for a fantasy role-playing game, with monsters and treasures, and middle-ages technology...except then they couldn't help sprucing it up with all the good stuff they liked from Earth! We'll have fun there too. Not everything is where you would expect it to be, but everything is where it needs to be.

Whether the pretty planet of Timnalauren and its people are real or merely a clever fiction I know not. I only know that I have been among them: driving buses, cracking jokes, and eating sandwiches. The one thing I am sure of is, wherever they are, whether in some strange corner of the mind, or in some far-off corner of God's creation, they are perpetually working out their own salvation with fear and trembling. Should not we who certainly exist do likewise?

I commit this work now to your edification, and God's glorification. If it makes you smile, I smile also. If it makes you laugh, I laugh with you. But more than that: I think that it will make you think, I hope that it will make you hope, I pray that it will make you pray. And I believe that it will help one of you to believe.

Lord, make it so. Amen.

Book 1: The Crafty Tale of Luke the Hun

Part 1: Searching by Land

# Chapter 1: The Beginning, see

"The watchman said, The morning cometh, and also the night: if ye will inquire, inquire ye: return, come." Isaiah 21:12

Once upon a time, sisters and daughters, on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, there was a cool cat named Luke the Hun--with a white rawhide Stetson, and a Hawaiian shirt, and Bermuda shorts, and some real high-quality football shoes which he wore just for hacking around. But this was not just any ordinary Hun. Oh no, sons and brothers, make no mistake. This was the eldest son of that famous Hun general Chief Otis--the baddest brass-knuckle brawler in living memory.

Tracing his lineage backwards, Luke was descended from a long line of leaders, back through Chief Otis, who was the son of deadly Chief Owen, who was the son of overly assertive King Komenachenao, who was himself the half-son of the temperamental General Strike-- whose armies were given both to long marches and furious assaults, but also extended periods of inactivity (and even moping.) After that point the pedigree became a little cloudy, as the Huns were a nation wanton and warlike, a people fearless and fierce, and were hence more interested in scar-wrapping and scar-ruing than in family reunions, more given to causing catastrophe, cataclysm and chaos than to tracing endless genealogies. But Luke would have been at least kin or cousin to most of the great Hun champions, all the way back to that faded founder of the Hun dynasty, the mysterious and mythical Chief Derelict, about whom legends were told and songs were sung--about conquering armies, conquering princesses, and drankin' lossa hooch.

Obviously, coming from such noble birth, big things were expected of Luke. "Sorry to disappoint you" had become one of his favorite phrases.

Not that Luke had always been a disappointment: his own accomplishments were age-appropriate. As a teenager he had captained Hun High to the regional football championship twice, as a highly-touted, highly-scouted, opponents-always-routed option quarterback. He had fought admirably in the summer border wars, demonstrating proficiency with the sword, the club, and the elbows. He had always had high grades at Hun State when he was completing his Certificate in Applied Battle Tactics--though some concern had been aroused when Luke had preferred intellectual courses such as "Mapping and Logistics" and "The History of War" over the meatier courses--Mauling 300, Intimidation 400, Slaughter 404, Scimitar Seminar, and Creative Gettin'Em. What really raised eyebrows though, was Luke's decision to forgo the select invitation to do a Master's Degree in General Studies at Hun State, and to transfer instead to Iowa State for a BA in Fine Arts and a Master's in Agricultural Science.

"Er, we love you anyway?" Chief Otis had ventured bravely. Luke's mother, captured Czech princess Cissysue, had not needed to say a word, but gave him a secret smile and was proud inside. That was the happiest moment of Luke's life, as he thought back on it, knowing for one brief time that someone accepted and loved him despite the better angels of his nature.

But now Luke was sitting in the swamp, sixty leagues south of Hun-Country, playing blues guitar by moonlight. It was one of those warm late-spring nights with a cool breeze, which almost feel like fall. So you can look at life as though summer is coming, and everything is opening up, or you can just as easily trick yourself that the hard rains of November and the hard ice of winter will be closing in on you soon. It's up to you. Feeling bleak to begin with, Luke chose the latter. So now there he was, playing some mournful, scornful, strength-failing, soul-wailing, note-bending, heart-rending, all-or-nothing Blues. "Feelin' it", as the saying goes. All-or-nothing in the sense that sometimes that kind of intense blues heals you, gets it out in the open, and you feel like yourself again, but sometimes that kind of blues destroys you and you sink deeper into the pain and depression and never get free... But then, Luke had never been one to do anything halfway. Life is short and we only have so long to plumb the depths and scale the heights, so we'd best be gettin' to it, was his opinion.

"If anyone asks me, I prefer being happy," Luke had once said to a friend, "but sorrow is part of being human. So if I have to, I'll take that too. And make the most of it." That was a few weeks before his mother had died. He wasn't as keen on sorrow now that it was no longer theoretical!

Several more months had passed since then, and Luke still wasn't over the loss. Chieftress Cissysue had been the one person in Hun-Country to whom he had felt closest. Not because he was a mama's boy exactly, but because there was goodness in her, whereas all the other Huns were full only of callousness and violence. Luke knew he shared that hereditary temperament too, and he would have been fully capable of leading the Huns in battle, and fulfilling his role in the 'great Hun scheme of things'. "But it's just not right," something inside had been telling him--his mother's voice, or his own. Luke would stand on that. He had always been one to fight for a principle. (Or a peanut butter cookie.)

Unfortunately, it was difficult this time. For years Luke had enjoyed the luxury of getting to put off the future while idling at college, learning things at the library, playing cards in the dorm, leading his team on the football field. (Iowa State had improved and gone to bowl games with Luke at QB, but they never improved quite enough to beat Nebraska--you have to take the good with the bad, remember.) But now, with his degree in hand and his father talking retirement, it was time to face that age-old crisis of morality and mortality: "What do I want to do with my life?" Careful now. So he sat still in sadness and pondered for a few seconds, and then he ripped into a Stevie Ray Vaughn tune, coz it was too hard to think about stuff, but the Blues came natural.

This last riff brought a response, however. Luke jumped when he suddenly heard a low voice from low-down on his left say angrily, "There's a cracker makin' a racket, and I'm a-reachin' for my gun."

With the hair standing up on the back of his neck, Luke looked around quickly with sharp eyes and a sharp knife drawn instinctively from his belt (even pacifist Huns are never totally disarmed.) But he didn't see who was talking, so now he felt sad _and_ tense.

"Cat: down here," said the voice. Luke looked down, and there in the water sat the largest, ripest bullfrog he ever did see, albeit with a scarf and a slouch-hat. "Howdy cracker,' said the Frog, with an amalgamated accent, Southerner and Eastern European, "I am Solomon Glory, and this here is my lubly swamp."

Luke was startled to meet a talking frog. Sure, he'd met other talking animals on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, but it was still one of those things you never quite got used to. He recovered himself quickly and remembered his manners. "And a lovelier swamp I've never seen," Luke praised in a flatter fashion, putting his blade away and offering his handshake, pointlessly: "Luke the Hun."

"Great. Nice to meet you. Now begone. My swamp; you loud. Wake up my wife soon if yer not careful, and then we'll both be sorry!" the frog kidded.

Luke looked crestfallen, and offered his apologies. "Sorry. I picked the swamp coz it seemed like the most abandoned and out of the way place to suffer. But wow, even here I've made a mess of things and gotten on people's nerves--well, frog's nerves. Ask me how bad I feel now." Luke picked up his guitar and started to shuffle off dejectedly, (but he got his feet wet shufflin', so then he decided to walk right.)

"Cat, come back. I's sorry. You stay, we talk, K? I didn't realize you were depressed, I thought you were just loud and drunk. Maybe I can help give you some swell advice, now. Did I mention I have a PhD in Psychiatry from Johns Hopkins?"

Luke was impressed by both the achievement and the coincidence. "Wow," he said, "Wow." Then he thought it over for a minute. He listened to the bugs singing, and felt the cool breeze on his back, and smelled the moist night-pleasant swamp air, and he decided that it was a good lonely night, and one can learn a lot about oneself, just by thinking on a good lonely night. But then again, sometimes also on a good lonely night it can be nice to have a friend there to make the night less lonely. Especially since this Frog was an expert-expert! "Well Dr. Glory, I suppose it would be unwise to pass up the chance to consult with a learned professional such as y'self. Please, fix me up," turning his palms up submissively, expecting to be immediately healed.

The Frog smiled a confident smile, accepted the challenge and began his psychologizin'. "Now then, you crazy cracker," he began in his best bedside manner, "tell me whati-sup."

"Well Doc, it all started when I was a little child..."

"That's where we all start. But cut to the chase, k? I ain't gettin' paid by the hour on this case."

"True. Okay, it's like this Doc: I've got the Blues, coz life seems kind of meaningless right now. I mean, what are we all here for? For what should I be looking? What's the meaning of life?"

'Wow. Heavy trip man," Solomon said, in a style that fluctuated between sardonic and sarcastic. "Y'know, I'm not sure a feller can answer that for another feller: it's something you kind of have to work out for yourself."

"Thanks Doc, that's real helpful," Luke said in a not-really-meaning-it manner, scowling a bit and looking suspicious.

Solomon Glory the Frog picked up the 'what's-that-advice-all-about' tone in Luke's body language, and hastily snapped, "Hold on son, I'm not done advisin'. I was gone to tell ya: I may not be the best person to come to your aid. I'm a psychiatrist after all. I deal with the nut-jobs," (remembering to maintain his professional decorum) "And you're completely sane, with normal questions about life. It's good to have questions. Dat's da best way to find answers. 'If a man will begin with certainties, he will end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he will end in certainties.' You're just askin' the big important questions is all. Now who knows better to deal with big important questions than someone big and important? Me, I'm small and insignificant" (as he hopped to an adjacent lily pad to call attention to his short little legs, and so prove his point.)

"Who then?" Luke asked directly, cutting to the chase as he had been instructed.

S.G. the Frog smiled that sardonic smile again, and suggested with humility and even a little reverence, "Well, I can't think of anyone bigger or more important than God. Can you?"

Luke was taken aback, coz that's not the stuff one expects from psychiatrists, who usually think they have all the answers themselves "God, huh?" in a not-ready-to-deal-with-that way. Fact of the matter was, Luke hadn't given that option a lot of thought. There weren't any churches in Hun-Country anymore anyway. He had known that his mother treasured a faith quietly (the only way she was allowed), and he vaguely remembered hearing childhood stories about Jesus, but bold arrogant warrior Luke had never found the courage or the curiosity to seek and learn more about it, and the later, more liberal Luke had just never found the time, what with his studies, and football season, and whatnot.

"Who else would know the answers you seek?" FrogSolomon persisted. "Who better to talk to?"

"Talk to God? How can I?" asked Luke, for whom prayer was an unfamiliar concept. "I don't even know him. I don't even know if God exists."

Solomon Glory gave a weird-lookin' frog smile, and nodded knowingly: "Ah, but you are talking to me, and you don't really know me, either! (Best way to _get_ to know somebody is to start talking to them maybe. Ya think?) And you didn't even know that _I_ existed either...until you heard my voice." As Luke digested that, Dr. G turned it into a gentle recommendation: "Just give it a try, son. Can't hurt to try! But if you're still not sure how to begin, maybe another friend of mine can help--he's a preacherman that lives a few miles south of here. If you look for him, I'm pretty sure you'll find him. Or he'll find you..." The Frog reflected on that and added, "Like Master, like servant, in that respect."

Intrigued by S.G.'s strange bursts of spirituality, but not sure just how to respond, Luke got his guitar slung and picked himself up, and prepared to journey on. "Mighty thanks Doc. I think maybe you've helped me. At the very least, I feel like I have something I can try. A starting point perhaps."

"That's the best place to start," the Frog replied, somewhat tongue-in-cheek-and-out-of-it-and-back-in-cheek-again-Buzz-Mmm.

Luke nodded, and turned to go, but then he had to stop and ask one more question, though he wasn't sure if it was a big and important one: "To be honest, Doctor, I was startled that a psychiatrist would refer me to God. Because some people..."

"Some people think God himself is all in the head? A figment? Man's creation?"

Luke hated to offend a frog of faith, but "Yeah... So what do you say to those people?"

"What do I say to them?" Luke noticed the start of the smallest frog smile, as Solomon quipped, "Usually? I say, 'Come back the same time next week.'"

Luke smiled too, and in the moment of rapport he figured the frog would forgive another remark: "Hey Doc, meaning no disrespect, but what are you doing out here anyway? You, a talking frog, with a PhD no less, out here in the middle of a lonely old swamp. It's at least a little unusual."

The frog-doctor chuckled. "True, but never underestimate the incidence of depression in a damp and dreary swamp. Great for bidness. Besides, my rarity just means I have the monopoly on local psychiatric care, and can charge exorbitant rates!" He laughed when he saw Luke start to get worried about a bill. "Truth is, I could probably run a more lucrative practice in the city. But it ain't always important to be rich and famous. It means far more to be happy, and to be home, and to be loved. Speakin' of which, I should be getting back to my pretty frog-wife Martika. Y'all will excuse me."

Luke smiled. "Of course. Hop on, brother, and have a swell evenin'. Thanks for the super-duper advice," Luke said courteously. Then the Frog hopped away into the slime, and Luke gave a wave in the night and started star-rolling.

# Chapter 2: The Cross of Gold and the Man of God

"Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves" Matthew 10:16

Six miles south of the Sad-am-I Swamp, after sleeping through the night and hiking through the morning, Luke began to suspect that he might be approaching the site of that preacherman the doctor had referred him to. Or at the very least, Luke decided, " _Something's_ up." All morning he had had one of those feelings where the hair on the neck tingles a little and the heart beats harder and you just know that something's coming. It was getting stronger now. Luke's surroundings had suddenly changed too: the woods had become a jungle, the path a tangle. The plants seemed greener and healthier, and the bird and insect noises were louder--as though everything were especially blessed and thriving! Luke couldn't quite believe that the presence of any preacherman could cause such physical manifestations, and he would rather have begun to doubt his own ears and eyes, were it not also for that strange sense of anticipation! The one thing Huns never doubt is their Hun instinct.

Then, as suddenly as the volume of the forest had increased, Luke pushed his way through one final thicket and emerged into an odd circular clearing, where he was struck immediately by the fact that not only had this small area been cleared of trees and brush, but also of sound! All the birds' songs, all the insects' chatter, all the leaves' rustle were gone abruptly, stopped at the edge of this sacred place, leaving only silence: a reverent and respectful silence, Luke decided later. But at the time, it seemed to him an unusual and terrifying silence. His hand went naturally to his knife, and he peered about intently.

He saw no one, no threat, no ambush, and so he allowed himself to focus his stare on the most remarkable feature of this special clearing: on his left was a rock face, and a small cave mouth, and above the cave mouth the rock had been chiseled away in the shape of a cross...which glowed with an unmistakable hue that Luke recognized from the best days of Hun plundering. He was absolutely certain that there in the rock was set a huge cross of pure gold!

Heart beating faster still, Luke had a strange moment where he almost felt that he should kneel, or show some similar reverence, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Something decidedly unHunlike was commanding him. Something unknown. Something beyond knowing. And Luke wasn't sure he liked it. Huns are too proud to bow to any man, too bold to kneel to any god, and old habits won out over new wonder. So instead Luke stared in simple wonder, ignoring whatever voice it was that warned.

Though he was distracted by the Cross, a Hun Double-Secret Super-Scout Warrior is never that distracted. Which is why what happened next was so unheard of.

It was with amazement and disbelief that Luke pivoted, when he felt a hand on his shoulder! Wheeling, ready to draw his blade, he instantly stopped when he saw his assailant. Right there close to him, face pressed but inches from Luke's own, was a wild man, dressed in sackcloth, with long, tangled red hair, wide eyes, clean teeth, and surprisingly pleasant breath. It wasn't until much later, after he had done some reading, that Luke found the right phrase to describe the man's fiery hair and flaming eyes: 'A human Burning Bush'. Long before that, Luke thought of him with the more accessible metaphor: 'Like a mad torch to light my crazy way.'

Luke stopped his reach, not because there was no threat, but because he instantly had the sure feeling that his knife would be insufficient against whatever peril there might be. Was this fear, in a Hun who had never known fear? Possibly, but it didn't feel like fear--more like the simple recognition of authority.

In any case, Luke finally remembered to exhale his long-held breath, as he suffered a pseudo-shudder, a sort-of shiver, and a semi-shake, then wiped his palms on his shorts and merely hoped for the best--though he couldn't help sighing and exclaiming a little nervously, "Strange Days."

The wild man laughed loudly in the stillness, then whispered mysteriously, "True. Strange indeed. But you've taken your first step!"

After a pulling-himself-together pause, Luke managed to wonder, "Have I?"

The wild man with the wild hair still was circling Luke, very close, eyeing him from all angles, with an intensity and curiosity that Luke found disconcerting. Leaning close to Luke's ear he hissed sharply, "The first step is realizing that there is someone greater than ourselves." Then he laughed too loudly again. "You're just wrong if you think I am the one!"

Luke digested that, and was silent for a moment, and then, though he hated to do it, he blurted "Look, can you back up a little? Please? You're makin' me uncomfortable, man. You're a bit too close is all." He hated to make demands, since he sensed a strange power and didn't want to start a conflict, but he could feel his Hun instincts might take over and force him to go for his weapon, so Luke chose what seemed to be the least hostile alternative!

"Wise choice," the man said knowingly. But he nevertheless failed to heed the request itself, continuing to lean around Luke in an unnatural and unnerving manner, smiling about it even more now: "Do I make you nervous? Good. We are most honest when we are a little scared. And change comes when we are made uncomfortable. Besides, God will look you over much closer than I am. He knows your mind, tries your heart, and scours your soul."

Luke was confused. "Honest? Are you expecting me to lie to you about something? Because I don't lie. Never saw the need."

The laugh again. "No, you won't lie to me. I would see through it anyway. I'm not worried about that, my son." Then he cocked his head, looked Luke sharply in the eye, and said curtly, "I just don't want you to be able to lie to yourself." Abruptly he punctuated this statement by driving his pointing finger into Luke's chest, and almost backing him into the rock, warning piercingly: "We are never such shrewd deceivers as when we lie to ourselves, and we are never such gullible dupes as when we follow our own wishes and follies."

Slowly, Luke drawled, "Well. Then I'll try not to do all that then either. And you're here to help me I suppose? By scaring me straight? Or are you going to be more specific and actually tell me what lies I have believed? That would save time perhaps."

"Perhaps," the man acknowledged. "But it will be more convincing when you tell yourself! Sometimes the only way to counter self-deception is to tell ourselves the truth. So you must learn a few things, along the way, my son," the wild man prophesied with a glint in his eye.

"Along the way? Are we going somewhere? A journey of some sort? You said something earlier about a 'first step'?"

The wild man laughed. "No, I will not go with you. May God go with you."Thinking that sounded like a blessing, Luke thanked him awkwardly, only to be told, "No, that was a question! May God go with you?" Then the rough laugh came again, as he saw Luke was unsure how to answer. "You don't have to say Yes right away. As long as you don't say No right away, you will say Yes at the end! ' _Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus'_ ," exclaimed the wild man, slipping into Scripture.

Not liking to be taken for granted, Luke challenged him, "So how do you know I won't say No?"

The man laughed again. "But you've already had your chance, haven't you? The Doctor told you there was a 'preacherman to the South'. Do you know how many others would have instantly gone North?" Luke mulled this over, as the man continued. "You came because you thought God might be the answer to your questions. Every journey to certainty begins with 'might'. First we say ours, then we feel His. Read and consider what this means: _'The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom'_. I believe you are already feeling some of that fear here this morning. Surely you didn't sheathe your dagger for fear of me, an unarmed man? You sensed power, and you knew..."

Luke interrupted, interested. "So where would I read something like that then?"

The wild man laughed, and beckoned to the cave. "Come and see."

After a skeptical hesitation, Luke followed the man into his cave. The first room was a cloakroom, gravelly and dusty, where Luke respectfully took off his football shoes in case there was mud in the cleats. Then they entered into a small kitchen, with a rough old table and a slight store of provisions. "Care for some locusts and wild honey?" the wild man offered, displaying traditional prophet fare, and trying to hide a playful smile. Not wishing to offend, and having eaten worse on several campaigns, and having missed breakfast to boot, Luke took a bite of a locust, choked it down and grinned: "Crunch, Crunch, Mmmm!".

The wild man laughed, "Dipping them in the honey makes them go down easier actually; but have it your way. Or, I also have some grapes and pistachios, cider and sammiches if that's more to your taste."

"Now ya tell me." This time Luke laughed a little too. Then he finally got around to asking what he had been wondering all along: "So who are ya, anyway?"

The fiery man shrugged. "The Doctor called me a preacherman? I do some of that. Some would call me a prophet: I've done that sometimes too. You might call me a teacher--I'll try to teach you whatever I know. I like the word Servant: His, and yours..." he bowed humbly. "For others I have been a provider, a counselor, a shepherd, or a friend. If you asked me to choose an encompassing title, I like the phrase 'man of God': it gives Him the glory, and reminds me who is my Master."

"Sounds like you've been busy," Luke remarked, with what might once have been sarcasm, but would now be sarcasm slightly mingled with respect.

"Imagine how busy the Savior of the World must be..." said the man of God.

This time, Luke was afraid _not_ to bow, and he awkwardly and shockwardly dropped to his knees, exclaiming with alarm, "Oh my goodness! Are you really? That darn doctor just said 'preacherman'!"

Realizing that he had given the wrong impression, a look of surprise and horror fell across the face of the man of God. Showing startling strength he quickly jerked Luke to his feet, and then fell to the ground himself, offering prayers of submission and repentance before God for the misrepresentation.

After a time, still flustered, he arose, and clarified. "Give God the glory. I just meant, imagine how busy the Savior is: A good servant will be _like_ his master, _'Redeeming the time, for the days are evil'_ ; imitating Jesus' own example, _'My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.'_ More to the point, if any remain unsaved, how shall I enjoy my own salvation? if any are not fed, how shall I eat? and if there is work to be done, should not a faithful servant hop to it?"

Impressed by that dedication, Luke made a mental note that it might at least be worth looking into what had caused it, whether it was just superstition, or whether this guy actually knew something he didn't. (Coz that happens too sometimes.) However, what he said out loud was a nearly-scoffing: "You make being a servant sound like so much fun." And then a quick grimace.

The man of God caught the unspoken thought however, and reminded him: "Step One, again, is to question whether your own way is right, or whether someone else might be onto something. Once you have taken that step, you can begin in earnest the search you are longing to make. And when the search is over, being a servant will not seem a burden at all, but rather a reward! _'For His yoke is easy and His burden is light'_ What does He require of you? Everything. But once you know Him, you will give it freely, like Moses _'esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt.'_ Because earthly riches perish, but the treasures you lay up for yourself in heaven last forever! It will no longer be the burden of 'I have to give up everything', but the joy that 'I get to give everything to He who made me', knowing that no one who does so _'will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children, and fields--and with them persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life.'_ " The man of God slipped in and out of Scripture, as his voice quickened, his passion swelled, and he tried to impress on Luke the severity of the challenge and the beauty of the opportunity. Then he laughed again when Luke, after listening dumbly through this powerful call, gave the natural Hun response:

"There are treasures in Egypt?" Making a mental note of that too, coz the Huns had never gotten that far in their raids. Catching himself, Luke blushed and apologized.

"One step at a time, I suppose," the man of God remarked, shaking his head.

"How many steps do I have to make altogether?" Luke wondered, with that Hun-trained skill of always looking for the payoff.

"We come from God and to God we must return. How many steps it takes to return to God depends, I suppose, on how far from Him you have strayed."

Luke laughed, "Well then I'd best get ta walkin'!" Then after some brief reflection, he added more earnestly, "Um, if I knew what direction to go, I guess that would work even better..."

The man of God smiled, nodded, and gave the invitation again: "Come and see."

Luke followed the man deeper into the cavern, into its third room, the man's office. He stopped in his tracks at the doorway, however, and his jaw dropped. With wonder, he exclaimed: "Is that real?" The man of God nodded. There, all about them, was a dark, voluptuous shimmer. The very walls of the cave in this room were solid gold!

Luke studied them skeptically, applying his Hun-knowledge of gold and treasure: "This can't be a natural formation. Where did you get all this gold?"

"Did not the same God make both granite and gold? Can He not create as much or as little of each as He pleases? No, this is not a natural formation, but then neither is any other: they are all formed by the hand of God. He led me to this cave so that whenever I meet anyone in need, I can simply scrape off some more wealth and provide for them."

"Aren't you worried about thieves?" Luke wondered. His own excited heart was still beating a little more quickly than usual, and he couldn't keep from doing some mental arithmetic computing volume, weight and value--even though he personally had retired from the looting biz, of course.

"Ah, but when they come here, I convert them," the man of God said, with a slow spreading smile. "My own little mousetrap, this is. All the world's greatest sinners come to visit me. They come thinking they want gold, and they leave knowing they need God. You've heard of the notorious French crime syndicate, the Chenal Ecarte?"

Luke had. "When it's not out killing someone, it spends most of its time in banks."

"Well, when they showed up here, they were perilous, vile and spewing venom. But when they departed, they were as pure as snow and as harmless as rain."

Luke shrugged, pleased to hear that at least he was in good company. Then he observed, "Must be an interesting place to work, anyway."

"You get used to it. A little of something is a distraction; but making it a common thing helps one to realize it is not to be prized. God works in mysterious ways: he gives me gold to teach me that gold is meaningless." He laughed and mused, "Or maybe to help better illuminate a single verse of Scripture: _'The light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not'_." He lingered, savoring the words. "Would he do that do you think? A miracle to reinforce a single statement? What's one more when He makes an infinite number of miracles every moment? Anyhow, the glow is pleasant, with a few candles. I do a lot of writing here."

Then, speaking of that, he walked to his desk and picked a special hand-written volume off the shelf. He carried it lovingly to Luke, and gently placed it in his hands. 'HOLY BIBLE' was on the cover. "This, on the other hand, is rare and priceless. This is the book about God, and it will give you some of the answers you need, about which direction to go to seek Him. Takes me about a year to re-copy one of these, working at it daily. I give it to you."

Luke balked: "What!? It's too much! A year of your work? And I wouldn't even know what to do with it! And how do you know I won't cast it aside, since I don't believe in it anyway?"

The man of God did not look worried. "A year of my work? No, no. It was never my work, but God's. And He wants you to have it. He brought you here for a reason. Everything happens always for a reason, though we may not realize it until later. And if this book is unfamiliar to you, remember that Jesus' said, _'I did not come to call the righteous,_ _but sinners to repentance.'_ Besides, unfamiliarity can change by simply reading it daily--just as I will continue to read it daily as I begin to copy it again..."

Luke felt a little queasy, and quite nervous about what he was getting himself into. He protested again: "Look, I feel very honored that you would try to give me this gift, but I don't think I'm ready for this burden, this responsibility."

The man of God got a little cross with him this time. The gentleness vanished, he grabbed Luke by the shirt front, and he looked him in the eye and said curtly. "Your _life_ is a responsibility. The only burden is Truth; if you didn't want to carry it, you should never have opened your eyes. But you did. You realized there was something missing from your soul, that life isn't all fun and games, that righteousness and goodness exist--and you decided to seek them out. It's too late to stop now. You'll always know that there is such a thing as Truth. The only peace you will have now is when you find out what it is! Do I burden you with this book then? All I ask is that you read it. What does that take? Only time. You're young. All you have is time. What else did you have planned that's so important?" Luke fidgeted and hung his head a little. "As for the value of the book: simply bring it back when you're done with it if that's what bothers you. Or better yet, keep it if you want it, but make another copy for someone else... Make that decision when the time comes." Then he gruffly pressed the Bible upon Luke, and steered him back into the kitchen. "Sit. You didn't eat much."

Luke sat resignedly and started to leaf cautiously through the book as the man of God bustled about, fixing Luke a plate with grapes, a quartered apple, buttered crackers, a hunk of bread, cheese, and tasty summer sausage. And milk and honey for dessert. Givin' Luke all the good stuff, saving the locusts for later. Sacrifice lived out.

The man of God said a short prayer: "Lord, bless your child Luke and give him the answers he seeks. Thank you for all your gifts. Amen." Then they ate. As they were finishing, the man of God abruptly spoke, quoting Scripture in such a way that it seemed like a fresh new prophecy: " _'And he arose, and did eat and drink, and went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God.'_ " It hung in the air like a promise.

Luke waited. When he was sure that was all that was coming, he joked, less respectfully than was appropriate: "Well, it was pretty good eats, but it won't keep me for forty days. Maybe half that: since we Huns like to eat six squares a day." Then, curious and calculating, he asked the man, "Is that how long my journey will be then? Forty days? That's not too bad then." (Thinking he would be all holied up and home by football season!)

The man of God gave a wry smile. "If only. No, son. Forty steps to heaven are appointed for you, and forty days and forty nights. And teachers without number. But they won't necessarily be consecutive days. How long your journey takes is up to you: whenever you devote your days and nights to God, and to learning His will for your life, you will be blessed. But any days that fall in between will just be days. That's the way it always works," he admitted with a sigh. Then he smiled again: "But such is the grace of God: if we are willing to receive even one tenth of his blessings, even the occasional guidance, even the rarest moments of grace, even the tiniest trace of his Spirit--even that small fragment will be enough to uplift us and see us through. Such is the greatness and power of His endless love: the thousandth portion of infinity is still quite a bit."

Luke was still flipping though the Bible, bein' careful about the crumbs. "Hey, what are these blank pages in back for? You did give me a finished copy didn't you?"

"I always leave a few pages empty for notes. Write down things that you think will be of value to you. Stories or words that illuminate something that you read here, or that are illuminated by it. This one thing you must learn, Luke: God loves you. But God loves all the rest of his children as well. And he has given them knowledge, and blessings, and gifts also. So that everyone you meet may have something to teach you... You could certainly stand to learn from them!"

"Hey," Luke objected, half-heartedly.

"I advise you to write the important stuff down. Or the things you might not remember. Because that's one thing I know from my own experience: it does wonders for you when God gives you a blessing or a message, or teaches you a lesson. But it slows your progress considerably when you keep forgetting, so He has to send the same lessons over and over again! Just looking out for ya kid, that's all." The man of God, looking much less stern after the meal, offered Luke a pen and a pencil. Luke, feeling confident again, took the pen.

"Oh, by the way" said the man of God, "When I was listing the roles I have played, preacher, teacher, prophet, and so on, I forgot one of my favorites... I'm also a Sender."

"How's that work?" Luke asked, and then grinned when the man of God pointed towards the cave mouth, put a hand in his back, and told him to Go! Luke tugged on his cleats and asked one last request "Start me out right, though, seeing as I haven't read the book for my directions yet--Which _way_ should I go?"

The man of God shrugged. "God is all and in all. So wherever you go, He is there. Makes more difference _how_ you go."

"K. How should I go then?" Luke persisted.

The man of God smiled broadly, and pushed Luke out the door. "Go with God!"

Luke nodded, grinned, and thought, Perhaps. Then he randomly went west, with the Miles Davis song 'Seven Steps to Heaven' stuck in his head, thinking how much further than Miles he must have fallen.

# Chapter 3: "I'll Have a Hot Assorted"

"Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me. But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." Matthew 18:2-6

So on his way Luke went. The next day was an interesting day, perhaps one of those special days the Man of God had referred to, Luke hoped. Because after having wandered through the wilderness for an afternoon and a mostly sleepless night, in the morning he found a highway. And began to walk along it, with his guitar slung across his back, and his Bible in hand. "I thought the man said 'no burdens'," realized Luke, who was used to having his hands free. Then he got a great idea, found room for the Bible inside his guitar case, and decided: "That's better." He smiled and faced the day, holding only hope, carrying only promises.

Before long, he met three men coming the other way. Seeing in them potential teachers, and being a straightforward fella, Luke figured the best thing to do was to ask. "'Scuse me, fellas. My name is Luke the Hun. I was hoping and wondering whether you might have any wisdom you would care to share with me?"

Now this is not your typical question to be asking strangers, and Luke soon learned that its tendency to provoke a response was about halfway in between "Do you have the time?", which most people will take the time to answer, and "Can you spare some change?", for which few people will stop. Doubtless because offering wisdom doesn't cost anything, but it does take some thought, which lets a few people out.

The first three men Luke stopped were, by strange chance, a Butcher, a Baker, and a Candlestickmaker (purely coincidence, I must insist.) After a startled pause, the Butcher, who was the type to grab the bull by the horns, spoke up first: "Kid, listen, if you wanna enjoy life, the main thing is, you gotta get yerself a good job. Like mine. Something where you can really get into the meat of things, and get your hands messy." Luke noted the suggestion, but he had already had a job uncomfortably similar to the Butcher's, so he took the Butcher's offering with a grain of salt.

Next spoke the Candlestickmaker, with a bad French accent: "Ah, but ze butcher comes home filthy and steenking like a pig. Me, not only do I get to enjoy ze pleasant ah-roma," (slowly, savoring the very word,) "of candles all day, but zen I can use mah ten pair cent employee dizcount to take pretty candles home for ze pretty damsels. And then...oolala...." he tapered off, burning with wick-edly naughty thoughts, eyes aglow.

Luke was never very patient with those playboy types, so he jeered, "You know what else the girls like? Expensive jewelry. We Huns took a lot of that from you guys last time we raided France." So that shut _him_ down.

Next up was the Baker, who explained calmly: "As far as the job goes, I make more dough than either of these guys. 'Aroma'? I come home smelling like cinnamon danishes and hot cross buns, and my wife practically wants to gobble me up. But enjoying your work only gets you so far. My advice to you is, 'Sunday mornings'."

Luke wondered what that meant. He vaguely knew that some people went to church on Sundays, so he asked the Baker eagerly if that was what he was talking about, hoping the Baker might take him a little further towards understanding what the man of God had started.

"No," the Baker replied, "I mean the smell of the donuts coming from the chimney and filling the winter air, and slowly reading the newspaper after you are done baking them, and watching happy neighbors come in and buy them, and just sitting and enjoying the fact that you are done for the week and can relax and let life creep by slowly for a few precious hours. No, not quite church, but the sentiment is the same in this respect: knowing that your whole week has led up to this. Knowing that your loyal service is never in vain, and never without reward."

"Um, yeah, ditto that," the Butcher said, changing his answer when he saw Luke furiously scribbling notes. Luke thanked those three for their contributions, and went on.

Shortly before lunch, Luke met three more men coming down the thoroughfare. One had a tin-horned hat and a cape, the next wore a leather jerkin and big stompy boots, and the third sported a shiny breastplate and a long saber. When Luke made his humble request for them to share some advice, the middle one responded with typical fighter's bravado and eight fingers beckoning: "Make me... Come on!"

Luke accepted the challenge, and after defeating them at wrestling, arm-wrestling, and thumb-wrestling respectively, he was able to jot down the following aphorisms:

From Paul the Gaul: "Love is All."

Added Mike the Viking: "Love is the truest when it starts as liking."

Luke was starting to become surprised that these fighters would tell him about love (though who would presume to give a Hun tips on fighting?), when the episode was brought back to earth by the shoot-from-the-stomach drawl of Pete the Geat: "Love is aaaw, right aaah, guess; but aaah, druther haaave, somethin' ta eat!" This prompted congratulations and claps on the back from his two peers, who felt redeemed, and the three continued cheerily on their way.

In the early afternoon, under warm summery skies, Luke stopped to join a young man who was having lunch at a picnic table beside the trail. After talking for a bit, Luke was pleased to discover that this was none other than that renowned warrior, Raymond of Corbeil!

The valiant men of Corbeil, by way of explanation, were the only nation ever to convincingly repel the assaults of the Huns. Every fifth year, the Huns raided to the west, through the tiny Kingdom of Camlachie, the jostling twin cities of Matstimander and Markwart, the People's Republic of Wabash, and the Serbian Protectorate of Chickakookacowamaugamungabunga: where there was seldom anything very valuable to take, but at least the Huns had fun throwing rocks through their windows. (The state motto there was the high-pitched, plaintive, _"Cut it out!"--_ much like Massachusetts.) Every fifth year they attacked to the south, through the Empire of Peru, the tempting Queendom of Pellylara, an Earldom, a Churldom, and the Commonwealth of Kentucky. _Two_ years in every five they would thrust eastward into France (it was just such easy pickings, and with such lovely pastries, how could they resist?) And every fifth year the Huns would stream north, sacking the city-states of Aubretia and Aubergine, Delmara and Whitebread; then always somehow missing their most-anticipated target, the wealthy city of Circumventia, and once past it, scratching their heads wondering whether it was protected by some strangely curved magic, or just by poor Hun map-reading skills. Then, with a shrug, it was always on to Corbeil, where they had once been fought to a standstill for three hours in the legendary Battle of Osborne Field, after which time both sides, out of mutual respect, had lain down their weapons so that no one would get hurt, and proceeded to square off just for fun in an old-fashioned bare-knuckle donnybrook followed by a light buffet lunch--which had now become the tradition, with both sides saving face by the Huns considering the free meal their "tribute", and the men of Corbeil calling it "hospitality".

So of course, like an old friend, Ray shared half his submarine sandwich (a Hot Assorted), and gave Luke his pick of the apple and the brownie (apple), and even let Luke open the fortune cookie, which promised: "A difficult journey will be rewarded at the end." They all say stuff like that, Luke told himself, but he took it as a good sign nevertheless.

"Thanks, Brother Ray," said Luke. "Now, if you have not yet tired of assisting me, my situation is this: I seek to gather truth and wisdom, so that I may figure out how to live a fulfilled and happy life."

"Ah, the end is insight," quipped Ray.

"No, actually I'm just beginning," Luke deadpanned, deliberately overlooking the pun.

Ray thoughtfully told Luke some stories of when he had been in trouble, and had done the right thing, in order to prove his lesson: "As I see it, the easiest way to smooth through life is to stay out of trouble. And the best way to stay out of trouble is to admit your mistakes, and stand up and take responsibility when you have done something wrong." Luke stopped him there for a second, just to make sure he heard that part right, coz some people might think the best way to stay out of trouble is to lay low and hope no one finds out what you did. But Ray insisted, "Ironically, you get in less trouble when you turn yourself in--because everyone makes mistakes, and no one can blame you too much for being human. But the moment you cover it up, lie about what happened, what-have-you, then it becomes a deliberate act, and your guilt increases exponentially. Not to mention the disrespect that deception shows..."

This reminded Luke that the same scenario had happened to his own brother, the mighty warrior DavidGorki. As youths, Luke had been absolutely petrified of their father Chief Otis, and hence afraid to tell a lie when the Chief asked what they had been up to. His younger brother, however, had been just as petrified of their father, and hence afraid to admit to anything that would get him a hiding! Since they were usually into mischief together, it played out predictably: DavidGorki would lie about it, Luke would have to confess, and Luke would be beaten with few stripes, and his brother with many. The audacity of anyone lying to his face absolutely infuriated Chief Otis.

One might have thought that after a few such incidents, DavidGorki would have learned that 'crime doesn't pay', and not to try to evade. Instead, being a Hun, the lesson he learned from it first was: "Hey, I am pretty tough. I can take a lot of punishment and not get hurt." Luke remembered well his surprise the first time his younger brother had challenged him during a quarrel, saying, "I've had some of Dad's beatings, you think I'm going to be afraid of yours?"

In other words, while Luke had been developing strength of character (um, kind of), DavidGorki had just been developing strength. In Hun-Country, the one gets you further than the other.

But instead of pointing out this anomaly to Ray, Luke thanked him for what was for the most part a valuable principle. Then he went so far as to inquire, based on his preliminary investigation of the Bible, and the discussion with the Man of God, "Is that what repentance is about then? God understanding our mistakes?" Ray wasn't sure if he was qualified to testify about that, but he said it seemed like the theme might apply. They both resolved to give it more thought, shook hands, and said they would look forward to seeing each other again in five years.

In the middle of a stretched-out-forever afternoon, Luke made the acquaintance of a Beaver named Miskokomon, gathering sticks in the forest by the roadside. Not knowing whether to expect an answer, Luke posed his question, and was a little startled to receive what seemed to be a telepathic response, as the beaver shared some of his immense store of experience:

"If ever you clash with a Wolf named Menudo,

Just give him a headfake and defeat him with judo.

If you follow that advice you can't go wrong.

Now I've got to be going. So there. So long."

And with that the Beaver was gone.

Amazingly enough, that very same day not many miles later, Luke did in fact meet a Wolf named Menudo, and he did in fact give him a headfake and defeat him with judo. Cha-cha-cha.

Farther along the road, further along in the day, Luke passed through a village, and saw a kindhearted and generous woman tending her beautiful garden. When he asked her opinion, she offered the observation: "Things grow, and things die. It is better to help them grow." And resumed her work, singing.

Just as dusk began to fall on the still-warm world, Luke the Hun met a Barracuda named Moriarty in a shallow green bay, who when asked responded: "You want to know a helpful hint? When they told you 'Don't go swimming for an hour after you eat', they said it wrong. It oughta be 'Don't go swimming until an hour after _I_ eat.'" (With a slight barracuda-chuckle, mouth full of sharp teeth.) "The sign 'No Lifeguard, Swim at Own Risk' still applies, however."

Luke was curious: "I would think it would be safer for someone to swim just after you had eaten. That way you wouldn't be hungry anymore."

The barracuda's one-word, smile-toothed reply was: "Dessert."

Luke was still convinced he was on to something, though, so he asked again, "But after an hour, wouldn't you be getting hungry again, for another meal perhaps?"

Moriarty shrugged his fish-shoulders and said slyly, with the same piercing grin, "Yep."

Luke, already a little afraid of the water, resolved to be extra careful around it now that he knew the Barracuda's secret. He hastily waved goodbye to Moriarty, and the Barracuda went back to swimming around looking for something to bite.

After a long day of many meetings, Luke was sitting in the dark, reviewing his notes by candlelight (a free sample, it pays to advertise after all, from the Candlestickmaker.) After reviewing the day's lessons, Luke was struck by a sudden realization: he only had a few blank pages for notes in his Bible, and he had already almost filled most of one on the first day! Since he didn't feel that he was that close to finishing his learning process, he decided he would have to do a better job of conserving space, so he adopted a more efficient method of notation: he would choose a single word or two to sum up any particular lesson. Then mark the date and name of the teacher, to aid recollection of each accompanying story or doctrine. Luke had about had his fill of endless note-taking in all those years of college anyway, so this wonderful idea would almost totally free him of that burden, without allowing him to put off his more important responsibilities to think, digest, summarize and select.

Applying this process to the characters he had met so far, he recalled that the Frog had taught him to Look (for a preacherman) and Listen (for a voice.) The best word to sum up what the Man of God had offered him was God. Out of the day's encounters, he saw fit to add the words Sundays, Honesty (he shied away from Confess), and Grow. He considered Dessert, on behalf of the Barracuda, but shuddered and prudently kept that out.

While thus adjusting his notes, Luke was alarmed by a sound, and realized there was someone coming rapidly down the road. Though it was likely too late to escape, he blew out his candle and slipped into the forest, to better observe the approaching threat.

Turns out it wasn't a threat at all, just a bald guy in dirty clothes, hurrying home from working the afternoon shift. Luke decided it was better to announce his presence loudly, and give the man a little start, before the man got right up to him and discovered him hiding there anyway, and then had a heart attack or something. (He looked kinda huffenpuffery).

The startled bald man caught his breath, as Luke observed: "You were hurrying. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no no," said the man, regaining his composure, and his breath. "Just trying to get home to see my wife and daughter. She's 2. I like to see her before she goes to bed. I mean, she's cute when she is sleeping, but it's not quite the same; I would feel like I missed something, like another day of her youth had passed by without me," The man got a little sad at the thought, and made as if he should hurry on.

But Luke was interested, and asked for just a minute more. "You love your child very much, don't you?" he perceived, from the way the man went on.

"You should meet her," the bald man said wistfully, then chuckled at an amusing memory, and wondered. "Do you have any children?"

"Not yet," said Luke, for whom they were barely a distant thought.

"It changes you," the man couldn't help sharing. "Makes you a better person, in some ways. Definitely it's a responsibility, but is that a bad quality to learn? Softens your heart is the main thing though--I'm not as good a lacrosse player as when I was single and could be a tough guy, but that's a small loss compared to all the Love I've gained! There is such a thing as being too tough--if you make yourself hard, the world bounces off of you. How much more you can experience if you soften up and let life sink in! There's a Bible verse," he volunteered unprompted, "that says _'a woman shall be saved through childbearing',_ and some people might think that's sexist, that it means women are just for making babies or something, but that's not it at all! Absolutely women are saved through childbearing, but their men are saved through it too! When you see that child, so young, so innocent, so delicate? It changes you. Makes you do the right thing, do the selfless thing more often, so that tender one will be happy and safe. And it absolutely and irresistibly fills your heart with love! If that's not a step towards being saved, I don't know what would be." The man was beginning to get the start of tears in the corners, though it was from sentiment, not sadness, Luke could tell.

After a pause, the man continued, hesitantly, "I wrote a poem about her, about my daughter that is. Would you like to hear it?"

Luke never liked that question, coz you never know if what comes next will be a good, wily poem, or a bad, saccharine one, but in this case it didn't even seem to matter--there was such a sincerity there that Luke sensed that there would be a goodness in the poem coming from the emotion at least, if not from the words. He motioned to the man to proceed, and he did so.

"She has come from God to be our guide

in the paths of love and streams of wonder.

Maps of the heavens shine in her eyes,

and she boasts of shortcuts with her laugh.

She has come from Christ to be our courage

through streets of grief and cities of madness.

The darkness flies from the flash of her smile,

and the monsters run from her roar.

She has come from heaven to be our hope,

in days of joy and hours of plenty.

She shows us miracles in trees and stones,

and talks of Truth in simple words.

She has come from the Lord to share our lives,

through the long months, and the weary years.

Time goes racing when she runs,

and she lifts the pressing skies as she grows."

The man smiled with tears in his eyes, thinking about her, and was about to hurry off, when he decided to add one more equation: "I know that God forgives me, because Jobi forgives me." The bald man laughed, "I don't know if that passes as theology, but I guess it's kind of a corollary of sorts. _'If a man does not love his brother, whom he has seen, how can he love God, whom he has not seen?'_ Well, God is greater than any of us. So if a man can love his brother, of course God can love that brother! If we forgive each other, we know that He also must be able to forgive us! After all, _'we love because God first loved us'._ So it happens that, whenever my daughter forgives me for scolding her, or correcting her, or denying her candy, or even for going away to work, things that must seem to her to be grievous sins, and yet her love always remains, never dims, always forgives, I understand the way that God forgives us! And every time she hugs me, I totally and completely am sure that God loves me and I am saved!" Then he added humbly, "For what it's worth. Bye now," and ran along.

Luke wrote in his Bible, 'Children'. And then, partly because he was moved by the man's experiences, but mostly recalling his own bitter memories, and a certain tragic event involving a two-year old child, Luke sat down and cupped his hands over his head, and rocked in the darkness, and sobbed, and keened, and wept for a sin that could never be cleansed.

# Chapter 4: Conversin' With a Relic

"But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: That no flesh should glory in his presence." 1 Corinthians 1:27-29

It was afternoon, after walking all day, and Luke had sat down under a shade tree to read some of the book, with his guitar across his lap the way he had done in college: read a few pages, then play a few songs, to break up the monotony a little when doing heavy reading. But this time Luke barely touched his guitar at all. He had begun reading the Gospel according to St. Luke (it was the catchy name what got his attention), and once he started reading the story about Jesus he just had to keep going and find out how it all turned out! pausing only occasionally to admire the sunny sky, the green trees, and the shocking white sunlit cliff face opposite him, and to feel the gentle breeze and to get himself all peacefulled up.

Well, he must have gone too long between pauses, coz the next time Luke looked up and around, he realized it had quickly become a cloudy day, with lightning and thunder. (Picture it, if you will.) Luke sat with his back against the whistling tree, watching the windy sky. The storm was beautiful, yet menacing--in that brief small moment when you feel the strength of the brewing tempest, and wait with drawn breath and awe, before the rain actually arrives.

Luke wrapped his arms around his chest, coz hugs always give you warmth, even if you hafta settle for doin' it yourself. "Doggone. It sure does get chilly in these here parts," Luke lamented. "And me wearin' only a Hawaiian shirt, and a Bermuda shorts, and a ten-gallon hat." Luke shook his head in a regret.

It started to rain, and Luke reluctantly put the Bible away in its leather jacket (coz Bibles are cooool), and closed up his guitar in its "waterproof" case and hoped for the best, but he stayed where he was, being a stubborn ol' country-boy.

It started pouring then, a fierce hurricane-rain. The tree kept him dry for a short spell, but then the wind gripped it and it started shaking off its water onto poor old Luke. Luke shook his fist at the tree. "What a drag. I feel betrayed." He looked about in exasperation, and by some strange-groovy luck, spotted a cave in the cliff, not too far up.

Luke scurried up there, and went into the cave. It was nice and dry in there, at least, which brought a "Hot diggity dog," then a moment of reflection, a realization that this was the second time he had been helped by a nice cave, and an even more generous, "I love caves!" He took off his hat and dumped off the water, and he tried to wring out his shirt as well as he was able. Then he smiled and sat down on the rocky cave dirt and the dirty cave rock and he started to play with his rained-upon guitar to see if it still sounded great, and whaddaya know, it did. While he was at it, Luke figured he might as well write a tribute song to caves everywhere.

"Caves of the World, Unite!

Stand up for what you believe is right!

Yeah, doggone it, you're dirty and rocky,

And I'd bet my Stetson that you can't play hockey;

But you make a nice home for Cavemen and Bears,

And it's Days Like These when I'm glad you're there:

Caves are dry, and they come in handy,

And I reckon right now I fell right Jim-dandy.

Cave... I think I love you."

Luke the Hun grinned sheepishly. He had needed to borrow a line from The Troggs' song "Wild Thing" to finish her off, but all-in-all it was a work of art, especially when supplemented by his artful guitar work. Somewhat campy, yes, but he _was_ camping after all.

Luke's song also proved to be prophetic, too, for just about that time a genuine, bona fide Caveman shuffled out from the back of the cave, into the light. He looked absolutely the part, with long hair, a bad beard, and a cheap face, plus a sloping forehead and a hairy chest, with a stone club and a lousy tunic made of wolf skins. He was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and squinting and frowning. It looked like he was trying to formulate a diplomatic formal greeting, but being tired, all he got out was "What's up? Besides me, that is..."

"Wow, you speak the modern language pretty well," Luke observed, startled.

The Caveman looked hurt. "What's that supposed to mean? How did you expect me to talk? Should I say unga-bunga and oogy-boogy and grunt and wave my arms around? What, do you assume I'm primitive just cossoff this sloping forehead?" The Caveman hastily put on a Northwestern Wildcats cap, and looked pretty normal again. (Even covered the bald spot.) "Or because I haven't kept my wardrobe up with the latest fashions? Fella, you mustn't fall in for stereotypes that way. Nothing is ever as simple as it appears to be. Not even me."

Luke apologized. "You are right," he admitted. "I hope I didn't offend you."

The Caveman waved it off. "Don't worry about that, I'm pretty thick-skinned, no pun intended. But I do love my sleep y'know, and I am wonderin' why you came in here and woke me, fella. That's none too noble."

Luke shrugged apologetically. "Sorry Mr. Caveman. Just tryin' to get out of the rain. No harm was meant."

The Caveman accepted his apology. "No problem. Actually, it's good that you came to visit. You can stay for dinner, and help me finish off this buffalo I killed--there's more left than I can eat. Here, help me get this fire started." They fixed up a fire, and The Caveman barbecued some burgers, remembering to use plenty of hot sauce. They also ate some carrots and casserole. After dinner, they sat around the fire talkin'.

"So, Mr. Caveman, what's it like to be a caveman?" Luke wondered after a while.

The Caveman pursed his lips and pondered. "Hmm. Well. It's interesting I guess. Different. Peaceful, no stress. No rent to pay, no one to impress. You can be yourself. That's important y'know. It's laid-back, no 9-to-5 schedule. Just a little hunting and gathering once in a while, and the rest of the time I can follow my own interests. I'm into archery somewhat, and I like to fly kites. I read when I can, and I've even taken a few correspondence courses from the University."

Luke was impressed. "Wow. What kind of courses?"

The Caveman tried to be modest, "Well actually, I'm working towards a Law degree from Chicago-Kent. But who knows if I'll finish: these things take a lot of time and money. And hard work," he added, wiping the sweat from his brow just thinking about it.

"A law degree? Wild, man. You must be one clever cat. But hey, is that really compatible with your lifestyle? I mean, how can you practice Law out here in the cliffs?"

The Caveman laughed. "True. See when I first started college I thought I could wind up using my education to help my people. But then I realized, Cavemen don't need much help. They don't use lawyers anyway. So I'll probably wind up breaking the cardinal rule, and working pro bono for some of the legal foundations that represent causes dear to my heart, such as defending religion, and resisting the forced indoctrination into evolutionism in the public schools." The Caveman kind of threw that hook out there deliberately to see if Luke would get in a debate with him. Even when he was being hospitable, the Caveman still had a little chip on his shoulder.

Luke laughed, and dodged the bullet. "They never taught us about that stuff at all as kids. Never even heard or thought about it until I went away to college. In Hun-Country they mainly just taught us how to fight."

This surprised the Caveman a little. "You never wondered at all about your origins? Or where the world came from? Seems like pretty important stuff to me."

Luke shrugged. "I think what my grandfather Chief Owen said to me one time is probably typical of Hun theology on that subject. He said: 'It doesn't matter who made the world. It belongs to the Huns now!'"

The Caveman scoffed, "I'm not sure 'Finders Keepers' counts as Theology."

Luke laughed again, "I wondered about that too actually, but I wasn't going to say that to his face!" Luke raised his fists to imply what the tough old guy might have done. Then he gave the Caveman a second chance to get the argument started, by putting his foot in his mouth. "So you said there are other Cavemen around then? Man, I thought you guys were all extinct, or had evolved, or something."

That did it. The Caveman snorted and shook his head in a disbelief. He got up and put another log on the smoky red fire, and put another burger on to cook while he got goin': "Evolved, huh? Extinct? Fella, that's what the scientists will tell ya I guess, but what do they really know about it? How often do they even get out here to the cliffs? Most of 'em stay holed up in their labs, puzzling over complex formulas and government grant applications, and getting skinny and pale. Granted, a few of them actually like looking in caves, but do you think we don't see them coming a mile away? With their fat bottoms and their expensive hiking boots? And we move on. If they were coming to pay a social call, that would be another story: I'd fry up a buffalo-burger and treat them all hospitable-like, just like you. But that ain't why they come. They're always wanting to make great 'discoveries', and dig up our caves, and disturb the bones of our ancestors, and then concoct elaborate stories about them and get on the cover of a magazine. And they never even knock before they come in and do all that," he added breathlessly. "So of course, we just slip out the back way, and don't let them find us. (I don't even draw on the walls anymore, it's not worth it.) Let them believe what they want to believe. But I'll tell ya, son: jumping to conclusions is a dangerous thing. If you don't find what you are looking for, you can assume that it must not exist. Or you can humble yourself, and admit that maybe you just weren't looking in the right place, at the right time, or in the right way. The second conclusion is less often drawn, but for my money it's usually the more accurate one. And I'm not just talking about cavemen, son," he hinted, with hushed and humble power. "What was that line about God dwelling _'with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit?'_ "

Luke didn't know. So the Caveman resumed. "The wonderful thing about science, is it takes every discovery, every advance, and applies it to solve further questions. Certainly there is the potential for great progress there. But is there not also the potential for grave error? Make a mistake in the beginning, and everything else you go on to postulate will likewise also be false. Like a house of cards, and that built on shifting sand for good measure. Especially if you postulate a Universe without God!

"Now Descartes had the right idea: Call everything into question. Doubt everything, and start again from scratch, accepting only that which _must_ be true, not merely that which _appears_ to be true. And what did he find? I'll trim it down for you of course, but he decided that from the act of thinking, he proved his own existence. "cogito ergo sum; I think therefore I am" is how it's taught. But he said more: he realized that while he doubtless currently existed, he could not claim to have _always_ existed and thought, or to _necessarily_ exist. This place he offered to God. Aquinas humbled himself similarly: he showed that there must be a first mover, a first cause, to all the things we now enjoy. And gave glory, saying that 'this all men refer to as God'. I'm not sure Paul was as grand a philosopher as the other two, but his spirit bowed in expressing the same recognition of the one true thing, first and last, Alpha and Omega: _'I have resolved to know only Jesus Christ, and Him crucified.'_

"This, sir, is where modern science undoes itself. As soon as they remove themselves from the truth of He Who Alone Is Truth, they necessarily will fall into error. _Necessarily!_ " he repeated, to emphasize it. "Your Bible says, and it is confirmed by my experience, that _'the folly of God is wiser than man's wisdom'._ When we forget that, and try to write our own answers in place of the ones that were already delivered to us, then instead of the simple yet accurate, _'_ In the beginning was God', you get the cop-out: 'in the beginning it just was. We hope to know more later.' And instead of 'God created man', you get 'life just spontaneously occurred and then it made itself better and better until...'"

Just then, a funny-looking bird with no feathers flew in through the mouth of the cave, and it landed by the fire. The interruption gave the Caveman a chance to remember to breathe. "Luke, meet my pet pterodactyl, Brennan Howard X. Brennan, Luke," the Caveman introduced them. "By the way, Brennan's extinct too. Or maybe he just evolved into a pelican or something. Which does it look like to you?" Luke kind of resented the sarcasm, and he thought about answering back with a wisecrack of his own, but the Caveman was pretty big. Also the juicy burgers were very delicious after weeks of subsisting on nuts and fruits, leaves and shoots, stems and roots. So Luke held his peace a bit longer.

Brennan picked like a vulture at a hunk of meat the Caveman had cut for him, while Luke savored his own meal more slowly. The Caveman was continuing a little more calmly, trying to explain to Luke why he was so upset. "Some people think, 'It doesn't matter, it's not that important an issue, why can't you believe in God and yet believe evolution happened too?' But to me, that concession is just the first step to not believing in God at all. 'God exists, but He didn't create us, slow natural processes did'? That view tends to go hand in hand with 'God doesn't reign over us, people can choose their own religion and values based on what fits best into their own life'. What a heresy that is! If _'a good tree brings forth good fruit'_ , then what kind of tree is it that leads children away from God, teaches them to give His glory to another, and to submit to His authority only if they think it will make them feel good about themselves? I'm all for cutting down a tree like that! Especially since it's a tree drawn with me hanging from a lower branch of evolutionary development than you! And we both know that's not true!"

To prove his last point, the Caveman grabbed Luke's arm and led him through several chambers and tunnels, down into a crevice, and out the back door of the cave. The rain had stopped, and Luke noticed that the caveman had a makeshift basketball rim put up in his backyard. They played a few games of 1-on-1 to see who was more evolved, and they each won three games and called it even.

"See?" said the Caveman, as they sat back down and fed their re-awakened appetites. Luke had to admit that the Caveman did have a pretty good crossover dribble and fadeaway jumper for a lower life form.

"K, so what about the fossil record then," Luke said between bites, "I was told it proved something like evolution."

The Caveman shrugged. "If anything, it raises more questions than it answers for evolutionists. If there really were a process by which one creature gradually turned into another, then there should be some in-between critters, showing the transition. A continuum in fact. Not just different types of creatures, as distinct and complete as the ones we see today. Not to mention the fact that even a single out-of-place fossil (of which there are many) undermines the whole theory. Because, how can a creature exist before it existed? or reappear after it is extinct? Or how can a descendant appear before its ancestor? It's a logical impossibility. Not to mention that the puzzles for science are more damaging: if something can't be made to fit a single consistent, rational framework, then by rights that whole framework ought to be abandoned. But... in a framework that includes God, and miracles? _Nothing_ is impossible or unacceptable, and hence nothing can shake it."

Then he raised a warning finger, and pointed out a challenge to his own beliefs, "Then again, however, if there is 'for the most part' a pattern or general rule in deposition of fossils, than that also seems to demand an explanation as to why this would be so. Are marine organisms at the bottom of strata because life began in the ocean, or because they lived in the lowest places and got covered first in the Flood? Do amphibians, reptiles and mammals survive differently in a maelstrom, or sink differently in a muddy suspension? Our theories also have their problems, they too are incomplete. One wishes there were a better way to test them. Unfortunately, the whole phenomenon is beyond the range of science: The past is the past. Whatever happened, happened. No way now to replicate either our flood, or their billions of years. It's a wash."

That startled Luke: "Sounds like you ducking something, there."

The Caveman shrugged. "A fact's a fact. Oh, but the scientists hide behind it as much as I ever could: make up whatever story they want about what a dinosaur looked like, what it ate, who it slept with, who its children were, and what the weather was like for their birthday party. C'mon. Speculation and conjecture," he said mildly, then spat harshly, "Fables and lies."

He scratched his flat head as a thought came to him: "If evolution really happens, enough times to produce all these myriad organisms, and all these organs and components and whatnot, then shouldn't we see at least a couple examples of it now? Coz of all the thousands and millions of people in the world, are there any that actually have new organs, some new mutation that adds instead of corrupting? Coz you would expect at least a few. Especially since to actually be of any use, most of them would have to occur in concert: that is, several of them, against all odds, would have to accrue _simultaneously_ in the same individual. If there is to be an evolutionary advantage gained by a mythical prototype suddenly being born with a mouth to take in food energy, it is only gained if it was also suddenly blessed with a stomach to digest it, an intestine to absorb it, a bloodstream to carry it to other cells and an arse to excrete the waste, beg pardon...

"Or we could talk about the eye, if you want to get complicated." (Luke didn't.) "Only works at all if you also throw in an optical nerve and a visual cortex. Not to mention eyelids! tear ducts! retinas! lenses! corneas! rods! cones! vitreous and aqueous humors! A veritable tour de force of design! All put together both practically and aesthetically: Good for looking with, and yet still lovely to look _at_." He sighed longingly, as he here bethought himself of his favorite fetching Cavegirl named Casie. Heatin' up at the very thought of her, the Caveman raised a hairy forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow ridges, and hastily put her out of his mind again: "I won't even get into the intricacies of sexual reproduction, and how all those well-developed moving parts could have occurred simultaneously, if God hadn't 'created them male and female'."

Luke was glad for that: he was still having trouble understanding the part about the eye. "Vitrea-huh?" Huns didn't know all the modern terms. (Instead of making precise medical diagnoses with a British accent, as in "My eye is leaking vitreous humor...actually", a Hun would probably just say, "My eyeball hurts.")

"Vitreous humor, as in 'I fall into a vitreous humor whenever I hear someone preaching evolution!'" the Caveman warned before coming to his point: "Partial creation as a rule does not work well. Try living in a house without a roof sometime. And while you're there, look up the phrase 'irreducible complexity' on a day without rain. Or worse, try living in a house with a roof but no walls! ...And read about 'interdependent systems' in a thin, flat book."

"Now you talkin' like a lawyer," Luke pointed out. The Caveman smiled, flattered, so Luke shrugged and played along like it had been meant as a compliment.

"But see, here's my take on bones in the earth," the Caveman continued, returning to that. "Even if it turns out every single Genesis believer's _natural_ explanation lacks merit... even if fossils _are_ actually arranged to suggest some kind of long history...all this proves nothing. Because here's my own little theory about this: there is one they call the Destroyer, the Father of Lies, or the Lord of the Flies, who _"walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."_ And the interesting thing is that the two sources of evidence that supposedly confirm evolution, fossilization and radiometric dating, both involve _decay_ processes!" Punching his finger in the air to dramatize his point, the Caveman declared with finality, "That, my friend, is what in legal parlance is known as 'motive and opportunity!."

Looking past some of the big words the Caveman was usin', (Luke's degree was in Arts, you'll remember), Luke could see that the Caveman had a bit of a point, but, "Do you have to resort to that? Some great supernatural conspiracy? Not going to look for a rational explanation first?"

The Caveman corrected him: "'Resort to?' See, that's where people mislead themselves, when they use the natural world as the measuring stick of what must be true, and look merely to the evidence of the senses to discover where God may be found. Put God first! It makes more sense to look to the Creator of the world for a clue about the meaning of that world, and to the designer of the senses for instruction on how to interpret those senses. Sure, if you keep the argument on the scientists terms, on 'what is scientific' (instead of what is True), they'll hold their own--by definition. But who says they get to set the terms for the debate? You ought properly to keep the supernatural, God and the devil, out of the equation _only_ once you've ascertained that they do not exist: which is beyond the power of humans to prove. More commonly, people merely _assume_ they don't. And you know what happens when you assume..."

Luke vaguely remembered. "But this God you speak of? Would he let that happen? A global grand deception?"

The Caveman felt strong on this point, and counseled confidently, "Read the Book of Job. God allowed him to be tempted, so why not us? What is free will all about do you think? It means love is not compelled: how can it be? Not compelled intellectually either. It seems natural that the human mind would always be able to contemplate other possibilities to God, flawed though they may be. In the end, you choose what you want to choose. Nobody's going to beat you over the head with a club." (At this, the Caveman glanced at his stone club in the corner, as though he _had_ thought about it for a second, though. Cavemen have their instincts too I suppose.) "In the end, I guess all I can really tell you is this: Choose well."

Luke let that sink in for a second...thinking maybe this was one of those teachers, and maybe this was even one of those days that had been promised for him. But then he grinned and reached towards the fire with a laugh, "Mmm. I choose me another one of these groovy burgers." The Caveman laughed too, and gave him a pat on the back and a light-hearted 'help yourself', and they ended their discussion on that less-tense note. "I'm not totally convinced," Luke admitted as he ate, "This matter will require further investigation."

"Hey, fair enough. So long as you apply that same caution to both theories." The Caveman reminded.

They went on to eat a little more, and tell a few jokes, and compare notes on the fighting techniques of Cavemen and Huns, including trading tutelage in a couple rare tricks used by the masters of Club-style: Luke showed off the Sidearm Swat, the Backhand Blast and the Overhand Omygoodness, while Caveman demonstrated the Watchoutnow! Windup, the Woe-betide-you Wallop, and the dreaded 'Underhand Unconsci-fier', (though in keeping with a youthful vow, he refrained from revealing his years of secret training with the mysterious order of House Ajabro). At last Luke set out on his way, saying, "Thanks for the thought-provoking advice, and thanks for the chow. Ciao."

"Hey, thanks for your company," responded the Caveman. "And for that cool song--I will sing it to my cave every morning," he lied.

Luke walked a few steps west, then turned and asked, "Have you any ideas where I should go next if I wanna keep learnin' stuff, O Ancient One?"

"Hey. I'm not too ancient to kick your butt at hoops you'll recall," protested the Caveman. (Even though they split the series, the Caveman had won the last game, and technically had bragging rights.) "Try Chicago," he suggested helpfully. "They have a pretty cool library. Also some peculiar characters. Anything can happen."

"Ooh, that's the way I like it!" said Luke, and headed in that direction.

Caveman went back into his cave and put a leash on Brennan the Pterodactyl and took him out for a fly, so he could do his Pterodactyl-business. It was a lovely evening and everyone was happy.

# Chapter 5: Electric Man

"And the LORD God planted a garden eastward in Eden, and there he put the man whom he had formed. And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil." Genesis 2:8-9

A couple days later, Luke was well on his way to Chicago. He was in the middle of nowhere, walkin' through a forest. He was hoping it was Sherwood Forest, so that he might meet Robin Hood, coz Luke had little money left after living as a student for so long, and he was feeling mighty purr. So he was hoping somebody would just give him some money or something. It didn't work out that way. (It seldom does.) Luke got over it though. Because it was a beautiful day!

It was another sunny day, as most days in young summer are. The forest was pretty and peaceful, and precious golden sunbeams were dancing down through holes in the green leafy forest ceiling. It was pretty neat. Luke got to looking at the sunshine, and smiling at the way the pattern kept changin' as the breeze moved the leaves or as he walked and changed his position. "Cool! Light show!" he said. He gave the trees and the daylight a big thumbs-up to congratulate them on their teamwork, and nodded some props to the shadows as well.

Then, just in time, he looked back down to earth and watched where he was going. He had almost run into a wiry young man with a shaved head and a sleeveless blue tunic and some gray track pants, who was sitting in a lotus position, with his eyes closed, there amongst the trees. "Whoa!" Luke said, stopping himself in his tracks. "Didn't see you there, fella. Almost ran into you."

"Good thing for you that you didn't," the sittin' guy with the closed eyes said in a non-threatening manner. Even so, it still seemed like kind of a threat. But Luke didn't get bothered, because he was a laid-back unit.

"Say, fella," Luke wondered, "what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere with your eyes closed?"

"I was meditating, clown, what does it look like?"

Luke ignored the name-calling, and said, "Far-out! Are you a monk or something?"

"No, I'm just meditating because there's nothing much else to do here in the forest, and it makes the time go by. But I'm not a monk or any other sort of spiritual dude. I was a cod fisherman, actually. Once upon a time."

Luke liked fisherpeople, as a rule. He had known a couple, and he had read about a few others lately. So he knew enough to realize, "Hey fella: you are awfully far from the ocean. If you are fixin' to do any fishin', shouldn't you be around the water?"

The shaved head guy opened his eyes and looked shocked. He shook his head and said earnestly, "Water and electricity don't mix!"

Luke looked confused. "Excuse me? You lost me there, fella."

The shaved head guy with the blue tunic and gray track pants stood up. "I am Electric Man!" he said mysteriously. He bowed.

Luke looked skeptical. "Electric Man, huh. What's that all about? Explain."

Electric Man decided to be hospitable: "I shall. But it's kind of a long story; won't you have a seat?" Luke gestured with his open hands to indicate, Sure Why not What else have I got to do? Then he and the Electric Man both sat down cross-legged on the forest floor.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but all I have is water from the stream, and I don't have a cup or anything to bring it to you in, so you can go get a drink later, I guess," Electric Man explained awkwardly/generously. Then zhe got on with his tale: "They call me Electric Man because, quite candidly, I have electricity flowing through my body and my soul."

"That is somewhat unusual, isn't it?" Luke interjected.

"Not nearly so unusual as you might think. Many people have a small amount of electricity running through 'em. You can usually spot them because they light up a room--they're exciting and fun and they talk a lot and they like to dance. Me, I just got more than my fair share."

"How much is too much?" Luke wondered abstractly.

"Well, I've got enough current running through me to power a small city. Of course, that's not as bad as it sounds, since there aren't many places on the pretty planet of Timnalauren that even use electricity. But in any case, I've got enough juice to electrocute a person."

"Yikes! That is too much all right."

"Exactly," Electric Man confirmed. "That is why I have come out here into the middle of nowhere. There aren't too many people around, so there isn't much danger of someone touching me and getting electrocuted--if you knew enough to watch where you're going, that is."

"What made you flee to the wilderness? How did you discover you could electrocute someone who touched you? Did that actually happen?" Luke asked in morbid fascination.

"I would rather not discuss it," Electric Man said cautiously. "If I say no, I look like I'm a crazy making-things-up man, and if I say yes I'm branded a killer. Some questions are better left unanswered."

Luke realized that this was true, so he asked instead, "Well, there must be some other way for me to know that you're not crazy. Can you make sparks or shoot lightning bolts or something?"

Electric Man laughed. "No, of course not! Not unless I get injured anyway. See, as long as my skin is intact, all the electricity simply travels within me. It's like an electrical cord: it looks harmless and plain on the outside, but on the inside there is power and action."

"I'm kinda like that too, I think," Luke decided proudly.

"We all are," Electric Man mused. "There's always more going on under the surface than we can realize. Just in my case, it happens to be something dangerous." Then he thought about it, and said suddenly, "Oh, I guess there is one way I can show off my electrical abilities: I have this here tattoo of a Christmas tree on my biceps. When I flex my iron-hard arm, electricity surges through my muscle and lights up the tree!"

"Cool! Do it!" Luke begged.

Electric Man laughed. "Silly! It's summertime! You don't use Christmas lights until at least November. It would just be too weird."

Luke was disappointed, but he wasn't one to pressure anybody. "Okay, I understand. But at least tell me more about it. Have you been like this all your life? Were you born this way?"

Electric Man scrinched up his forehead and thought back, tryin' to remember. Then he told Luke, "Not always. I think it happened when I was about 12 or so. Puberty, mebbe? They say your body goes through a lot of changes."

"True, but not usually this one. Where does all the electricity come from?" Luke wondered.

Electric Man beamed. "That's the neat part! I figured it out: I've got a tiny nuclear reactor right here in my heart  In fact, I have to drink 'heavy water' to keep it cool. Good thing the crick's so muddy," he mused. "And sometimes when I eat Mexican food I can feel my chest and throat get hot, as it takes more energy to digest all that oil I think! Then comes the perilous part--all the extra electricity that's been generated looks for a way out! When I go to the bathroom it makes a noise like thunder and leaves what I can only take to be burn marks on the chamber pot!" This sounded dangerous to Luke all right. But it was enough information to convince him that Electric Man definitely had a special medical condition of some variety! Electric Man continued a little wearily, "The radiation will probably poison me eventually. But we all gotta go somehow, and this is prob'ly no worse than dying from any of the other poisons people put into their bodies."

Luke was impressed. "Wow. It's great that you can keep a positive attitude about it; I expect it must be quite a burden."

Electric Man didn't deny it. But he said peacefully, "Well, living out here in the open, it helps you keep things in perspective. People need to get outdoors more and just stop and look around and see all the wonder and say to themselves, 'Yeah, it's gonna be all right, there are bigger things here than me, and they're beautiful.' It kind of mellows you up."

"That's been my experience too," Luke agreed, remembering how, even before the final incident, he had felt amiss sometimes while on military campaigns with the rest of the Huns--noticing all the life and goodness of a summer's day, and wondering why the Huns themselves contributed only death and ruin. But then again, "Don't you get tired of it though? It must be about the same every day."

Electric Man disagreed: "Some days you have sunshine, and smile at the warmth. Some days you have wind, and can close your eyes and imagine you're flying. Some days you have rain, and it washes your sins and sorrows away. Some days you even have thunderstorms, to frighten and thrill you, and make you feel meek." Then he scratched his head, and added "I never seem to recollect very much about those days however." He puzzled about this for a second, then shrugged and went on: "This word came to me once: 'Joy lies not in experiencing new things always, but in seeing all things as if they were new.' And this word came to me a second time, helping me be able to do just that, with perpetual awe and wonder: 'Who knows what the Garden of Eden looked like? It might have looked like this.'" He gave a wave at the paradise of good forest and green hills all about them.

Luke was drinking it all in. He remembered later to write this meeting down on his Notes page, adding the word 'New' and the word 'Eden' to E-M's earlier word 'Wonder', and the Caveman's word, 'Choose'. He had to ask Electric Man, however, "These words came from whom?"

"God, perhaps? I think living out here with no walls between us, and depending on his providence each day, it ought to help draw me to Him."

"So you know about God then?" Luke asked eagerly, sensing a resolution to his own quest.

Electric Man laughed humbly. "Not much. Not yet."

Luke's face fell. "So how can you say it helps draw you to God then?"

A challenging question. "Well, I never believed at all before," Electric Man recalled. "Now I believe in part. Later, perhaps, I will believe all. I have lived part of my life, and I am partway towards understanding God. By the time I have lived all my life, I hope to know Him more fully. God gives us this time here to learn what we must learn: I trust that more words, and more lessons will be provided for me, if only I keep my ears open to hear them, my heart open to receive them, my mind open to believe them. In God's time, not mine."

Luke had a little moment of jealousy, at Electric Man's faith and his own lack, and at Electric Man's special pipeline of words and blessings. Until his friend added kindly: "He has a plan for you too, sir. Little by little, little one. _'In your patience possess ye your souls'_ "That made Luke smile and breathe a little easier. Then Luke asked something else he'd been considering. "You must have been out here an awful long time if you've been electric since your teens. Don't you miss everyone in the real world?"

Electric Man looked sad. "That's kind of a misnomer, 'The Real World'. How is it any more real than my world? Maybe it's less. To call it 'Civilization' isn't any more accurate--how civilized are they?" Luke nodded in agreement, gulping at his own guilt. Electric Man admitted, "But yeah, I miss them anyway. To live out here in the middle of nowhere is fine for a time, and I think it has really strengthened me and cleared my mind. But I don't think it's all that being human is about. To use an analogy: if the three sides of a triangle don't meet at it's corners, it's just some lines, it isn't really a triangle. Similarly, if human beings don't come into contact with each other by meeting down at the corner, are we really human?"

"Hmm. That is a hard question," Luke conceded. "I take it you are still feeling a little incomplete. Welcome to the club. If it's just some human contact you need, though, I think I have a solution..."

"Tell me, please!" cried Electric Man.

Luke smiled, feelin' felicitous. "Well, rubber is a good insulator, right? Well, you just gotta wear a rubber suit a lot, so there won't be any danger that people will get in touch with your electricity. And I was thinkin', since you're a fisherman, why don't you become a scuba diver? A scuba suit will protect you from the water, and it will protect other people from you, and you can go live in some neat place like Australia or Atlantis where there are nice beaches and life is happy. I would recommend Australia actually, coz they're all super-toughies and prob'ly would barely feel it if you _did_ accidentally electrocute them."

Electric Man was stunned. "Awesome brother. This is great! You have solved the last of my problems. Now I will have a great life. Except... there's one thing that's holding me back: where am I going to get a scuba suit? I have no resources in my pockets," as he patted empty pockets and looked forlorn. But he soon perked up, because Luke was a generous guy, and he reached into his own pocket and gave Electric Man the very last of his money: a gold coin, and an iron pyrite coin, and a chocolate coin wrapped in gold foil. Then Electric Man beamed a smile that lit up the whole forest. He sang a song of jubilation:

"I'm the one they call Electric Man; I have a nuclear heart,

I just met up with a cowboy, who, despite his looks, is smart.

I shall rejoin society, and boy won't I be cute,

Coz now I will be Surfer Man, and I'll wear a rubber suit.

I'm going to Australia, to stroll upon the sand

And meet some pretty Aussie gals; my gosh my life is grand!"

Luke was tryin' to give da man some accompaniment on the guitar, but it didn't sound quite right. "Darn," said Luke. "I know what would work with that song: we could call it The Electric Man Boogie, but I need some raunchier chords to go with your voice. This wimpy acoustic guitar isn't cutting it."

Electric Man had a neat idea: "Here, try it now," he suggested, as he touched Luke's guitar. Luke tried playing it, and Wow-ee! Wouldn't you know it, he now had an electric guitar! It sounded great, and it felt kind of exhilarating too! That tingle inside, like the Man of God had predicted, and Luke knew that this must be one of those blessed days. Electric Man sang the first verse again, and thought of a couple more that weren't hardly even that clever, but they didn't need to be, 'cause Luke's new electric guitar was carrying the day, with heavy blues chords and some sleek electric solos.

Eventually, the electricity went out of Luke's guitar and they stopped the song and just laughed. "That was fun," said Luke.

"Heck, it's the least I could do for you. Thanks for fixin' me up with this great plan! I owe you one."

"Just send me a postcard from Down Under," Luke told him. Electric Man smiled and promised, and they were about to shake hands on it and part, when they came to their senses. "Psyche," said Luke, pulling his hand away just in time and smoothing his hair. Then they settled for waving good-bye, and Luke headed west to Chicago, while Electric Man went east towards Sagueneen, where he caught a bus to the coast and sailed to paradise.

# Chapter 6: Reading, Riding, Short Division and Fractions (...you'll see)

"...of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh. Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man." Ecclesiastes 12:12-13

It was the middle of the next afternoon. Luke stopped walking, and looked at the big town in front of him. It wasn't pretty, but it was big and mysterious and vibrant, and Luke was glad to be there.

Luke entered Chicago, and walked along the bright blue summer afternoon street, between tall stone buildings, rubberneckin' like a foreigner, which he was. "Wow. This is some scene," he said to himself. "Where shall I begin? Perhaps at the library, like my friend Caveman suggested." Luke stopped a young lady who was walking the other way on the sidewalk. She was a beautiful accountant named Europa Callisto. But Luke didn't know all that, coz he didn't ask. Actually, he scarcely even noticed her beauty, because he was distracted by the burning question on his mind: "'Scuse me miss; Which way to the library?"

Europa smiled at him, and flashed her clever, bright eyes. "Hmm, the library..." she said josh-thoughtfully, "I might have to look it up." Luke missed the joke and was a little surprised when she then proceeded to offer directions. "Now then, to get there, you must continue down this street until you reach the intersection of Seven Mile and Eleven Mile roads. (Ah, but they do intersect--if you fold your map a few times at a 34 degree angle!) Then turn left and press on to Crazy Street. Go either way on Crazy Street, take sixteen consecutive right turns, and you'll be at Library Street."

"And the Library is there, I trust?"

"No, ironically. But there will be a bus stop, and you can tell the driver to drop you off at the library."

Luke's countenance fell. "Oh golly. What a shame. I am but a poor country boy, and I have no money for bus fare."

Europa smiled. "Here. Take mine," she insisted. "You need it more than I do. Besides, it's a gorgeous day, and I don't mind walking home." Luke was reluctant, but she insisted, and so he finally accepted the money she offered him. Then he gave her a high-five and a handshake and said, "Thank you so much, kind stranger." Europa gave a shaking-head smile and wished him well. Then she walked home whistling, to her tiny apartment and her tiny family, while Luke journeyed on to the Library.

After some twisting and turning on Crazy Street, Luke finally reached the bus stop. He stood and waited for the bus for a half an hour, during which time he met an elegant old lady named Ginger, and a young schoolteacher named Marianne (no relation), and a crafty lawyer named Wayne. They talked a while, and they-all told Luke a little about Chicago, while he told them about Hun-Country. Then he held their attention describing the legendary time when he had played football against the Mighty Cornhuskers! But Ginger outdid him, recounting the tale of how she had once been courted by the King of Thebes.

"The King of Thebes! How magnificent!" Luke exclaimed. "Why didn't you marry him?"

Ginger laughed and winked a still-starry eye. "I decided I preferred the King of Spain," she said dreamily, as she thought back on her wonderful romances. The others were awed by her celebrity, and they scrambled for the privilege to help her with her groceries as the bus arrived and they boarded. Deep-pockets-Wayne even paid her bus fare for her.

The bus driver was a solidly built young man with a red-hooded-sweatshirt and an old Tigers ballcap. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and also he was an all-around good guy, by the way. He chuckled when he saw that Ginger had been telling her stories again. Then he asked everyone in a loud but professional way: "Where to, y'all?"

Marianne told him, "My house on West Lafayette."

Ginger said, with a playful wink-wink, "You know where I live."

Wayne told him, "I need to go down to the police station to spring one of My Boys."

Luke implored the driver, "I would like to go to the Library, please. I wish I may, I wish I might."

The driver smirked and closed the door. "K. So hold on tight!" he rhymed, and then he did a little reckless driving, flying around the corners on Crazy Street with great speed and enthusiasm (the tires weren't the only ones squealing), as if he were the only driver on the road--which of course he was. True, there were a few horses, but they don't count. Eventually he got them all to their destinations, safe and sound and none the worse for the experience. Luke waved goodbye to his friends on the bus (including the really groovy bus-driver, whom he admired very much, oh very much indeed), and he went into the Library.

The Library was a truly astounding institution. There were all kinds of books and magazines and newspapers, more than Luke had ever seen before! All in alphabetical order, too!

Luke the Hun strolled over to the counter, and introduced himself to the lovely librarian, who was enough older than him that she could be looked up to, but still young enough to command attraction. "Howdy, ma'am! I am Luke, a wanderer and a wonderer. I have come from afar on a quest for knowledge and enlightenment."

The librarian smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Luke. I am called Mercredi."

"Marigold?"

She laughed. "No, Mercredi. It's French."

"Well, I'm not French, so I'll just call you M-K for short. Is that acceptable?"

"That would be perfect," she said agreeably. "Now then, Mr. Luke, how may I assist you?"

Luke looked around in a wide-eyed way. He waved his arm at all the books. "Look at 'em all! This place sure is somethin'. Tell me, where shall I begin?"

"See, that depends on what you're looking for," Mercredi explained practically.

Luke gestured broadly and said in a dramatic way, "I seek the Wisdom of the Ancients!" Then he bowed.

MK laughed. "Wow. That is quite a grand mission all right. I don't rightly know where you should start. Perhaps with Aristotle; he's quite wise."

"Then I shall end with him--save the best for last, so to speak. I reckon I'll just look around for a while first, and see what I come up with," Luke decided.

MK smiled and wished him good luck and encouraged him, "Don't be afraid to ask me if there's anything you need help with, and don't be shy about using our extensive card catalog: many people find it quite useful."

"Thank you," said Luke, and then he went to look around. Before long, he found some animated books by a fella named Dr. Suess. They had some far-out pictures, and used a lot of curious words with which Luke was not familiar. Luke was impressed by the clever use of rhyme, and foreshadowing, and symbolism, and he assumed that since the author was a Dr., the books must contain some great wisdom and significance, shrouded in surrealism. But not having a doctorate himself, Luke couldn't quite grasp the author's piercing commentaries, so he moved on to another aisle of the library.

He found a book of poetry by a famous beatnik named With-it Larry. He read it through, and found that it was mostly cynical trash, except for one short piece which contained the passage: "Man; life is a Groovy thing. Dig it?

Luke could dig it, and he was impressed by the beatnik's sudden wisdom. With-it Larry would have been upset with Luke, however, for taking the remark out of context, for the title of this poem was: This, Like Life, Is a Lie...

Luke, ignoring the title, went away from the poetry aisle feeling wise and blissful. He moved on to the music aisle, where he found a biography of Cesar Chavez by bass-player Stanley Clarke, with the interesting title, Never Lose your Heart; There Lies the Passion. "Cool. I agree," Luke agreed. Then he found a pamphlet by a singer named Belinda, containing several wise advices, including the suggestion "Live your life, Be free," and the philosophy, "If I'm a fool for Love, I don't care, I don't care!" Luke smiled and said to himself, "Yeah, right on. Love is worth being a fool over. I think I'll try it sometime!" Biding his time, of course.

Then Luke went and consulted the card catalog. Under the word "wise" he found a reference for a guy named Wise Joe. He went and looked up Wise Joe's work, and found a big ancient tome entitled Ways to Have a Swell Life. Luke opened it up and started reading. The first tip said: "Besides being a moral imperative, it is also in our own best interest to treat our fellow human beings with friendship, kindness, and decency. Especially when they have doughnuts."

Luke was sure immediately that Wise Joe was deserving of his nickname, and he proceeded to read the whole book, only to find that it really petered out after the big debut. (Although the lasagna chapter was also reasonably good.)

Next, scanning the shelves randomly, Luke was drawn to a colorful volume entitled An Illustrated History of Owen Sound. Opening it up and skimming through it, he found that it was an atlas of sorts: on every second page there was an elaborate map, and on the page facing, a verse explaining it. The first map, for example, showed only a large castle and a few huts, accompanied by 'the rhyme that spawned an empire, the lyric that created a legacy, the verse that inspired a generation':

"The King of Thebes was looking down

Not at you, but at a map of Owen Sound."

The next map showed the addition of a few more houses and a square brick hospital with a Swiss flag on top, and the verse:

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

enhancing my noble feeling.

Next time I promenade downtown,

I'll go to the hospital for healing."

After that came a great many more houses, supported by a grocery store, a delicatessen, and a bakery, described by the caption:

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

It was so good it made me go nuts.

Next time I go down to the wild west end

I'll stop at the bakery for doughnuts."

Doughnuts again, Luke observed. These book-a-writers really know what they're doin'. He turned the page to see an expanding city, and the description,

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

It was so sweet it made me heartsick.

Next time I get down to the river

I'll take my gal to the Park for a picnic."

By now the map was getting quite elaborate, and Luke had to read the text to realize what had been added on the next page:

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

It was so grand I wished I was there.

Next time I come in from the suburbs

I'll stop at the Cathedral for prayer."

That made Luke feel kind of holy and good, so he happily turned another page, to find even the corners of the map filling in nicely, and the cheery advertising slogan:

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

The best place of them all!

Why don't you come here for Christmas,

And shop at our wonderful Mall?

Okay, now they're just getting silly, Luke told himself. But he had come this far, and there were only a few pages left, so he turned one:

"I read a rhyme of Owen Sound,

It made me yearn for knowledge.

I'm going to spend six years on south campus,

And learn at the Community College."

When Luke turned the last page, he was taken aback by the change. The city map was an indistinguishable smear and the text was jus' about indecipherable too:

"I meant to go to college,

But instead we all went to the bar;

Rezum sizzum... lamma luggle... bobm...muml...

nite nite"

And the book ended abruptly. No more than the ramblings of a drunken grad student no doubt, but for some reason Luke was upset by the ending: somehow the way the peaceful village had grown up into a glorious kingdom, only to end in chaos and confusion, _had_ to parallel the effects of the Hun onslaughts on their unsuspecting neighbors. Oops. You never think about that stuff at the time, he realized.

Feeling sad and ashamed now (but he didn't cry: 'Shh, no sobbing in the library,' he remembered, having been warned more than once while cramming for finals at Iowa State!), he figured he better read his Bible for a while. A much nicer book, he decided. There he found a few words which seemed to comment on what he had read. The growth bit by bit of the city seemed similar to the process described by Isaiah: _'For precept must be upon precept, precept and precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little.'_ Luke decided that applied to his own search, and resolved to continue that process, keep the kingdom growing within him so to speak, and try to remember to avoid the type of ruin he had observed at the end. With discernment, diligence, dignity... "Or by just plain laying off the sauce."

Once he was over the tragedy of the Owensoundlanders, Luke went back to the shelf to see what else he might learn. A weighty volume named The Intriguing Account of The Skinny Guy looked like it might measure up to its claims. Once he had it open, he realized with some disappointment that it was merely a medical case study, which at first seemed like it would likely be a little bit dry. But fortunately, this one too was written in rhyme! And with easy words--because as the author explained in a foreword: "All yous med students gots enough heavy reading right? So I'll just tell yis what happened and you can put it in doctorfied language yourselves. Be good practice for ya. Also check out the rhymes: for use as a memory aid, see. Yeah, yis are welcome." So Luke slipped easily into the text:

(Act I) The Skinny Guy swallowed a bug.

It stuck out of his belly like a funny black plug.

Someone punched him out of exasperation,

And now, for life, he has constipation.

(Act II) The Skinny Guy sat on the pot,

He tried to go but he could not.

He sorrowed and grieved for his situation,

For all that came out was perspiration.

(Act III) The Skinny Guy went to the clinic,

Where they plied him with prunes and Triaminic.

Then they pumped his stomach and turned him loose,

With instructions to only drink apple juice.

(Act IV) The Skinny Guy kept suff'ring along,

With something inside him gone terribly wrong.

He remained unable to digest dinner

He tried and he tried, but failed, and grew thinner.

(Act V) The Skinny Guy soon wasted away:

He could move pretty fast on a windy day.

But he developed a condition called 1-D bones,

And slowly imploded, amid sighs and groans.

Luke sighed himself, to find that another promising book had turned out to have a sad and depressing ending. Not only did Luke feel sorry for the subject of this case study, but he felt a little sorry for himself that his much-hyped library outing was turning out like this! He had taken a moral from the Owen Sound book, but he couldn't even imagine what the moral would be in this case: certainly 'You are what you eat' fell a little short. And 'Pass the ketchup' just seemed crass. Perhaps he would have found a clue in his Bible again, but he didn't have time, coz MK was walking by with a cart of books just then, and he wanted to ask her: "Hey, what's up with all these sad books you've got in this liberry? People dying and stuff."

MK shrugged. "'S way it goes. That's mortality for ya. You want to read about eternal life, you keep reading that one you brought in with ya," she pointed out, reaching over and snapping the cover of Luke's Bible. "Or better yet, take a break. Go play outside, boyo. Get some fresh air."

"You like it outside?" Luke asked. This hadn't occurred to him. Call it a stereotype, but as a librarian, Luke had assumed that she must like reading books.

Mercredi dispelled that notion: "Love it outside! Hiking, Jogging, Cross-country skiing. You name it. What are you going to learn cooped up in here? Nothing more than what other men can teach you, and that ain't much," (she said knowingly.) "You're reading their books, you're living in their building... But if you want to find out about God..." She nodded her head towards the door, as in, Get Outta Here. "...He writes his words across the skies, and upon every hill and plain. And the Great Outdoors is the Cathedral where you can worship Him. It's not the only place, but you asked for my opinion, and here it comes now, are ya ready?" She point-point-pointed towards the EXIT.

Luke shrugged and smiled and went outside. Sure enough, it was a summer-grand day out there, and Luke had been missing out. He watched the land and sky for a while, trying to read those words she had spoken of, and then he decided it was all saying the same word she had summed it up with: He wrote in the back of his book, 'Cathedral'. But then, since he already had his book out, he decided to try and get another word or two from nature.

He struck up a conversation with a Junebug named June who was sitting on a branch. (Her mother had hoped to name her something captivating and unique, like Rania, or Tanith, or Manon, but alas, tradition had won out.) Luke asked her, "Hey lady, how're you doin'? Can I get your take on all this?" he wondered, gesturing. "Have you any stories and tales for me? Any Words of Truth you can share?"

The Junebug cleared her little throat, and was no doubt about to give him some precious insights now lost forever...coz just then, from behind, she was struck and cut in half by a praying mantis named Eagles that neither she nor Luke had seen.

Luke was disturbed by the sudden violence, and didn't know quite what to do, or what to say to this new company. Eagles settled that question by speaking first, with a kind of haughty bitterness: "You want Truth? This is Truth," indicating the corpse, with a bent arm. "You want a Word? Fear. By the way, thanks for distracting her. You can have the head if you want." (Who says there is no honor among thieves?.) Luke blanched and went back inside.

"Back so soon?" the librarian inquired, somewhere between puzzlement and mirth.

"Forgot to read Aristotle," Luke pointed out. Luke found some books by Aristotle and sat down to start readin'. But first, he took out his own book to add Eagles' word, as well as adding the word that he thought June Bug might have given had she had time: 'Precious'. Then he remembered to go back and add words to remind him of his friends on the bus: 'Memories' for Ginger; 'Loyalty' for Wayne; and for Marianne, who during their bus trip had shared the secret that "The more I teach, the more I learn; and the more I learn, the better I teach," Luke tried hard to make a decision, and finally added both words. They seemed to go together anyway.

Then he went to Aristotle for the rest. He discovered a lot of good ideas about The Good Life, about politics, about ethics, and about virtue. Finally, in the Nicomachean Ethics, he found this passage:

"It is not enough to know about Virtue, then, but we must endeavor to possess it, and to use it, or to take any other steps that may make us good."

Luke put the book back on the shelf, and said to himself, "I reckon that means maybe there's only so much to learn from books, and after while I've got to get out there and mix it up, and start doing good deeds and loving people. Real life, huh. Here we go." So he headed for the door.

Before he left, he met MK again. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked hopefully.

"I think I made a start," said Luke. "Say, can I ask you a favor? May I give you a hug?"

MK laughed. "Now why would you want to do that?"

"Because I love you," said Luke, ready to begin.

"You love me? Wow. Why is that?" she wondered. She was somewhat flattered and it made her kind of happy but mainly she was just amused.

Luke shrugged his shoulders. "I guess you're just a real nice lady. You seem like someone whom people ought to love."

"Why, thank you," said Mercredi, and they gave each other a hug and smiled. Then Luke thanked her for all the library-assistance, and he left the building, steering clear of the back yard.

# Chapter 7: Thunderhouse

"Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree, believest thou? thou shalt see greater things than these." John 1:50

Luke had been at the Library for quite some time, and by the time he hit the street sweet darkness had fallen, fresh and wild. Luke looked around for somewhere to go, coz he didn't have a home, nor did he have any plans. He looked both ways, and he spotted an intriguing joint down the block on his right hand. It was lit up and noisy, and there was peoples goin' in and out, and there was music playing. Luke the Hun grinned and walked on down there.

It was a Blues Bar named Thunderhouse. It looked like a happenin' club. So Luke went on in to see what was happening. Sure enough, it was some kinda scene. Kind of dark and smoky, and lots of good folks hanging about, most of them drinkin', and all of 'em enraptured by the cool sounds emanating from up on stage. Luke listened to the band for a while, and he was impressed. There was a one-armed trumpet player named Reuben, and a long-haired drummer named Luis, and a blonde maiden named Hosanna on the piano, and two saxophone players named Benson and Hearst. Playing guitar and singing and sizzling was an old grizzled bluesman named Sam. Stanley Clarke himself was there playing bass. They were really kicking it out: innovative Blues-with-a-Twist, the twists being Luis's use of clever Latin rhythms on some songs, and the fiery interplay of dueling saxophones on other songs, and Sam's occasional gruff rendering of one of Hosanna's touching gospel songs in between his blues anthems. They put together a pretty diverse set, and it kept the crowd on their toes. (Stanley Clarke didn't need to throw in any twists: that cat just flat-out _played_!)

After watching them for a bit, Luke approached the stage between numbers, and caught Sam's ear. "Fella. Lemme join you folks with my good Stevie Ray-style guitar magic."

The bandleader thought about it, and then he agreed, "K. Get on up here and show us what you've got."

Luke joined the band, and they jammed like a gun. He had a little trouble keeping up with their quick changes in direction, but he held it together, and he proved a sound addition to the band, and a strong complement to Sam's B.B. King-style guitar mojo.

The band was so skillfully blue that the crowd began to throw money up on stage. When they ran out of money and couldn't buy any more drinks, they realized their error, but at least they did get their money's worth, because Luke and the band sure put on a show! When it was all over and everyone was leaving, Sam turned to Luke and said. "Good job. You can play with us any time." Then he gave Luke his fair share of their tips.

"Thanks," said Luke. "It was a thrill to have the opportunity to play with this wonderful band. I can't promise that I'll be back though. I'm searching for life's answers, and they're not all in one place you know. So I move around a lot." He shook hands with his fellow musicians, and then he hit the streets, looking for a place to sleep.

He found a grand hotel, a beaut, the Hotel Cass, and they set him up with a room in exchange for some of his guitar-earnings. He slept great.

The next day, Luke was back at Thunderhouse having lunch with the pianist, Hosanna. He had decided to stick around for at least one more sold-out show, because he liked the band members, and he really didn't have any better ideas on where to go looking for happiness or enlightenment, and at the very least, playin' the Thunderhouse seemed like a pretty good gig.

Luke ordered a bottle of milk and a hamburger. Hosanna asked for a salad and a plate of spaghetti and a River Highball. Luke was payin', because he was a good guy, and because he kind of had a crush on Hosanna. (She's pretty.)

"So tell me, Miss Hosanna: What's a sweet innocent gal like you doing in a joint like this?" Luke wondered.

Hosanna smiled. "True, I'm a Christian, and true, this sure ain't a church! But y'know, I still feel like I belong here! For one thing, I'm also a musician, and this sure is a collossal musical experience. I mean, these guys are blues Giants! Also, I feel like I'm contributing a different perspective, maybe bringing some of the gospel to the band and to the audience, too? Sowing joy where there is sadness, light where there is darkness. Real _'Garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness'_ type stuff, I hope. It's a strange kind of missionary work, but it sure is fun, and it sure beats traveling abroad. Heck, it's hard to find a decent piano in some parts of the world!" Then she got a little more serious, as she took a document out of her bag, flipped it open to a certain page, and slid it across to Luke. "But there's another reason why I am here. I was told to wait for you."

Luke looked at the page she was showing him: "Why, it's me! Did you draw that last night?"

Hosanna shook her head and indicated the date written on the page. Luke realized it was a journal of some sort, and the sketch had been done earlier in the year. She nodded when Luke looked up in surprise and asked if it was for real. Knowing that she wasn't the type to lie, with a slight shiver Luke exclaimed, "Signs and wonders!"

"Miracles and blessings," she replied softly, almost like a countersign. Then she explained. "I drew that after I saw you in a vision, and was told to wait for you here."

That was the second time she said she had been told, and the question Luke was afraid to ask was, Told by Whom? Instead he asked the less direct question, "Wait for me why?"

"To help you to find God, I would guess. You are searching for God aren't you?" she asked brightly.

Luke chose the less committed, "I was told that I should".

"I knew it!" Hosanna exclaimed. "Glory to God! To God be all glory! How can I help you then?"

Luke wasn't sure. He still was a little doubtful about the whole bit about her being told to wait for him. "Would that happen? Would God basically put your life on hold, just for my sake? That doesn't seem to make sense."

Hosanna laughed. "Well, remember the parable about the lost sheep, and leaving the others in order to search for it? And would not the One who tells us to 'go the extra mile' be willing to go to great lengths Himself? _'More joy in heaven'_ my friend... The salvation of a single soul is im-measurable. A joy beyond measure! Besides... My life on hold? Hardly. This _is_ my life! If I can serve Him, if I can be a vessel for His blessings to flow to others, then my life has purpose. Especially if I can use this brief life to help gain you an eternal one! Imagine! I'm sure you'll do the same someday," she offered generously. Luke wasn't sure, but he did like the idea of his life having a purpose.

"But how are you going to do that? How will you show me God?"

Hosanna reflected. "I try to show people God by showing them love. By living my life in holiness and goodness and truth." Luke nodded, because he could totally see that in her, and was falling more in love with her minute-by-minute....until he received her next near-rebuke: "But some people will miss the point: some people start to see _me_ as good, instead of realizing that all the goodness that is in me comes from God! With those people, we need to figure out why they want to look at me, instead of wanting to see God. Sometimes something needs to be taken out of the way..." she suggested, hoping Luke might supply the answer.

Luke had to think it over. "I've been reading the Gospel," he told her, looking for acceptance. "Trying to at least give it some consideration at least. But I'm just not totally convinced yet, I guess."

"Nor will you ever be, if that's what you're waiting for," Hosanna said a little curtly. Luke's first thought was that this didn't exactly sound like an expression of confidence in the overpowering truth of her beliefs. But Hosanna went on to clarify: "You can never be totally convinced, because _until_ you actually become a believer and it all comes clear, you can _always_ give yourself reasons to doubt: old beliefs you hold dear and don't want to question, old habits you love and would hate to have to relinquish. And other people can give you reasons--tell you that Christianity is a crutch, or a cult, or other charges they can't prove. Or perhaps even the devil himself can put doubt in your heart, when you start to get too close to slipping from his clutches. So you can't wait for anyone else to convince you. Eventually you just have to choose. What is holding you back from making that choice, I wonder?"

Luke was just a little offended by this. "Why do people think it's that simple? How can I choose it before I believe it? And how can I believe it before I understand it? And how can I understand it before..."

Luke searched for what term must come next in this series of logic, but Hosanna broke in: "You're never going to understand it fully anyway. So don't wait for that. God is beyond our comprehension. But I see your point, maybe you just aren't ready to believe yet." A little sadly, she scaled down her ambitions. "Sometimes it's not just one obstacle you can put your finger on. Sometimes it's a lot of little things holding you back. Take them out of the way one by one, and you'll get to the Truth! But you'll get there, as long as you never stop trying! So what little thing can I help with? I know you are here for a reason..." She asked these last questions more to herself than to Luke, thinking aloud, trying to puzzle out what it could be. As she sized him up, she seized on it: "The way that you play the Blues. The way that you inquire and search for a salve. I see it now: you are a 'man of sorrows'. Tell me about your sadness, your weaknesses, your guilt. Do you good to get it off your chest."

It was quite an invitation. Even though Luke was a bleeding heart and an artist, and had no trouble sympathizing with others and helping share their pain, as a hard-nosed Hun he didn't yet feel comfortable sharing his own. But something about Hosanna... Those tender shining eyes! There was something special there. As he told himself later, it was 'As though she could with a single look see exactly what was hidden in your heart... and then forgive you for it.' So after a long pause, a thick silence, suddenly Luke's Confession poured out in a torrent. Not even in sentences, just insufficient words, trying to describe a single moment, a single image frozen in his memory.

"A sunny day. Hot. Flies buzzing, sticky sweat. After the battle. We were having a snack in the village we had just conquered, slight breeze, blue sky, birds still singing. The men laughing about something, feeling good. Another day of work, done by lunchtime, another victory for the Huns. Yay. And then... there was a boy. I saw him in the empty streets. I can see him still! Brown hair. That innocent face. That puzzled expression. Very tiny, two years old I would guess, not more than three... Walking, toddling about in the bleakness. Came out from somewhere, tired of playing 'Hide-and-seek' perhaps, and then..." Luke began to break down here, and by the end his confession was punctuated by sobs of grief. "Clutching a body... Shaking the man I had slain!" Luke began to shake too. "Can still hear his voice... his haunting voice... clear as a bell, everything else went quiet... Cold..." Luke shivered and wrapped himself in his own arms as he whimpered the rest in a child's voice: "Ake up Daddy! Ake up, Ake up, Ake up....!"

At last it was said; finally it was shared. Luke sobbed and shook, and Hosanna held him and comforted him, and wept gently with him, as she waited patiently for many long minutes as Luke tried to recover. "Let it out" she instructed when he tried to stop himself prematurely, and he did, weeping openly until there were no tears left.

Finally Luke continued, finishing the story, "That was my last battle, in my last campaign. I faked an injury so it wouldn't be desertion, and in the fall I left for school at Iowa State. I always made sure I had summer classes and summer jobs, so I wouldn't have to go back home to work in the wars. Haven't been back to Hun-Country since. So yes, you see, I probably am afraid to believe in God. What else can there be but wrath and hatred for such a wicked man as I am?"

Though she was saddened before by his confession, Hosanna was overjoyed now. "Luke, you are so wrong! And you are so close! You just need to understand: _'God is love'_! _'His mercies are new every_ morning'! How could He hate you? He hates what you have done, but so do you! That is repentance already! You have turned from that wickedness, renounced it, rebuked it, and put it in your past. The only thing left is to give it to God! Because you can't get to heaven by being a good man, and God won't keep you out for having been a bad one."

"What?" That last bit had gone over Luke's head.

"It is great that you have realized you were wrong, it is awesome that you are making yourself a better person now. But you will never, ever be able to make up for what you have done, never be able to take it back." Luke knew this, so it almost seemed cruel for her to say this, but she was trying to make a point: "The only thing to do is to give your past to God, ask for forgiveness and mercy, so you can concentrate on your future, and on becoming a new creation in Him! And this is what I mean by 'He won't keep a bad man out': What you have done is terrible, awful, you'll pardon me but I must even call it evil. But are you greater than God? Can any evil of yours be greater than His good? Are there limits on God? Bounds to His mercy?

"So you can tell yourself, Luke, that your hesitation is from respect and humility and considering yourself unworthy, but God knows better. Deep down your hesitation reflects an underestimation of God, a failure to put God on top, an unwillingness to give Him the glory due His name. It's as though you said, 'God may save the good people, and the part-timers, but He can't redeem the really dedicated full-time sinners like me'. What an insult! That attitude of denying God is still sin: that's why no matter how good you make yourself, you still can't earn your way back on your own--Because the very act of attempting it is continual sin! Yes, you are unworthy. Go to God anyway. God uplifts and changes the unworthy. That's why they call it salvation; that's why they call Him God."

"But what about the man I slew? What about his son?" Luke asked skeptically, not willing to believe that a change of heart and a few tears could simply wash everything away.

Hosanna looked sad, and she squeezed his hand. "That was a tragedy. Nothing can undo it. It helps, at least, that you won't be adding any more tragedies to it. All you can do is pray, now. Commit that man to God's care: yes you slew him _here_ , but when you get to heaven you might just meet him _there_! What you took from him was precious, but eternal life is infinitely more precious! He is in God's hands, as we all are. As for the boy, yes what you did to him is terrible too, but remember the story of Joseph, whose brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt and it wound up turning out well? He told them _'You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.'_ Possibly that child who lacks a father will be quicker to look to God as a Father. I have _absolutely_ known people for whom that has happened, Luke! Pray always that God's will be done; sometimes you may not understand it, sometimes it appears to be hard for a time, but it turns out in the end--everything happens as it is supposed to. How could it not?" Hosanna looked baffled, as though unable to even conceive of it.

"What exactly is prayer?" Luke wondered, coz it had now been recommended to him several times, but he didn't really grasp the concept, certainly not well enough to use it himself.

Hosanna was happy again: "Prayer is our conversation with God. Talk to God, He hears you Luke! Your confession today was priceless by the way. Beyond... price. But anything you can say to me, you can say to Him!" Then she thought a little more and extended her definition. "Sometimes we pray out loud, and sometimes we think the words in our head, and sometimes we can't find the right words at all. But it doesn't matter, God hears before we ask Him. At its heart, prayer is simply a spirit turned towards God--offering our requests and our tears in our sorrow, and sharing our thanks and our praise in our joy."

"My request is simple," said Luke. "I just want to do what I'm supposed to do. I wish I knew what that was!"

Hosanna tried to help again. "God gives us gifts and talents we can use for His glory. Try to figure out what you do well, and maybe you'll see your place in life."

Luke passed by the part about being good at burning and looting, coz he was pretty sure that was the wrong answer--and he didn't want that part anymore anyway. All that left was, "Football. And my Masters degree in Agriculture. Oh, and for a while I was being groomed to lead a nation."

Hosanna seized on that. "Why didn't you say so? It almost seems to fit: after having been a man of war, you can now become a Man of Peace! If you have the skill for leadership, I would suggest that you run for office, get elected, and then get us some World Peace. Be a blessing for everyone, if you ask me. After all, it's never the people who declare wars, it's always the government. So if we get some peaceful folks in office, Hey, Hooray, no more war!"

Luke considered it, and grinned. "You know, Miss Hosanna, you're pretty naive. But then, so am I! I think I'm going to try it!"

Just about then, the rest of the band started to arrive, because they had to practice that afternoon so that they could play splendidly that night.

"Hooray!" interrupted Reuben the one-armed trumpet player, "Our guitar warrior is still with us!"

"Yes, but I reckon this is my last show. Hosanna and I have been talkin', and we decided I should go into politics," Luke informed the band.

"Yikes!" exclaimed Sam in his deepgruffgravelly voice, "Here in Chicago? Man, that would not be wise. Everyone knows that Chicago politics is synonymous with corruption. In the real world, the innocent vote with their hearts, and the realists vote with their minds. But here in Chicago, the innocent vote with their money, and the realists vote with their swords. Kid, they'd eat a naive young country boy like you alive, and you wouldn't hardly even be a small snack for 'em. How do you think Reuben here lost his arm?"

Luke looked shocked, "Gosh I don't know. Was it gangsters, sending you a political message?"

"No," said Reuben honestly. "It was a jealous husband. The gal told me she wasn't married. Learn a lesson from it, Luke: it's wrong to tell a lie. Not only can you get hurt, but so can the ones you love. Now how does that tie in to Chicago politics? Well, it's wrong to get into politics in Chicago, too: not only can you get hurt, but so can the ones you love!"

Luke looked intimidated. "Gosh, I didn't realize. I would hate for anything bad to happen to Miss Hosanna here. But what shall I do? I've got to get into office somewhere so I can bring about World Peace."

The band thought about it. Finally Hearst the Sax-man spoke up: "Luke, why don't you try the town of Chair? It's a nice town, with a liberal-arts college, not too far south of here, and I hear they're havin' a mayoral election soon. They've got some nice folks around there too. I think you would fit right in."

Luke considered, and then he decided, "Sure, why not?"

"Swell; that's settled then. Now let's get set up and go over these arrangements," hurried Sam. "I've got some ideas on how we can better exploit Luke's guitar tonight, and I want to try something new on one of Hosanna's numbers, and maybe even try to work out a cover of Bob Marley's 'Hurting Inside'." Enthusiastically, the band followed Sam's directions, and they had quite a fruitful practice session. Later that evening, they put on a legendary show.

After the concert, before Luke went back to sleep at the Hotel Cass, he walked Hosanna safely home, which gave him one last occasion to say "Thanks for the advice, I love you, and Goodbye," and to give her a hug and a good-bye kiss.

Hosanna wished him well and promised to pray for him, and asked him again to give it to God and trust that it would all work out in the end, promising gaily, "After all, if _'the fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much',_ how much better when a righteous woman is praying for you!"

Luke grinned, tucked her tales of God's mercy into his memory, and slept just a little bit more peacefully, that night and for nights to come.

# Chapter 8: The Extra-Value Meal: Burgers, Fries, and Prophecy

"But he said unto them, I have meat to eat that ye know not of... My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work." John 4:32,34

Luke had been walking for almost an hour. His feet were startin' to feel tired. "Man," he said to himself, "I have been doin' too doggone much walking lately. I ought a find me a horse. Let his feet get tired for a change." Then he kinda reconsidered. "No, that would be unethical. Exploitation, so to speak. Unless the horse and I really loved each other. Then I think it would be all right."

Luke sat down on a hollow log that was alongside of the dirt road, in the woods. He took off his football shoes and kicked back. He was takin' a break. "Man, wish I had a banana or somethin'. What good is a break without a small snack?" But were there small snacks in sight? No. Alas. There were none.

Just then, Luke's luck changed, and a great thing happened! A rainbow-colored bus came ripping down the road, going towards Chair. When the bus got to where Luke was sittin', the bus driver slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt. He opened up the door and leaned out. "Hey fella," he told Luke, "If you wish, you may get on this here good bus with the ace-groovy paint job, and you may catch a ride to the Town of Chair in the Gregdom of Greg. P.S. Ain't I a great guy?"

Luke hurried to put on his shoes and get on board. "Thanks, don't mind if I do," he told the driver, a drop-dead gorgeous young toughie with a red-hooded sweatshirt and a dirty Detroit Tigers ballcap. Luke paid his $1.30 and sat down in the front seat of the otherwise empty bus. "Hey, you look familiar," he said to the bus driver.

"Certainly," the bus driver said humbly, "I am a local hero, loved by one and all. Hence, I am also well-known. P.S. You also met me when I was driving the route in Chicago."

"Of course," Luke remembered, (welling with admiration once again).

"Hey, you want a banana?" the driver asked him, opening a brown paper bag and offering Luke part of his lunch.

Luke took the banana, and bowed. "I thank you, and your country thanks you," he said in a dramatic, noble, patriotic speech.

The driver looked at him suspiciously and responded with a patriotic speech of his own: "Yeahwhatever." Luke shut up and ate his banana. The bus rolled down the empty dirt road at high speed. The World went by them, going the other direction at high speed.. "Far-out," thought Luke, as he watched out the window. "They don't have these things where I come from." (He was talkin' about the bus, not the World.)

"So, who are ya, anyway?" the bus driver asked Luke.

"I am Luke the Hun, Top Notch Guitar Player from Up North in Hun-Country. And you?"

The good-looking bus driver with the crafty Tigers cap replied, "I cannot tell you my real name-- coz that's how rumors get started. But folks generally call me either Hammer, or The Really Cool Guy."

Luke nodded. "I can understand why they call you The Really Cool Guy, but how did you acquire that happening nickname 'Hammer'?"

The Really Cool Guy looked proud. "It is because I am so useful."

"You certainly have come in handy," Luke agreed, "By giving me this ride, and this here banana."

"Also, because I can hit hard," added Hammer. Luke was thankful that Hammer did not demonstrate.

"So it's probably safe to assume that you aren't a Wise Man," Luke ventured a little disappointedly. Growing up with the Huns, Luke had learned that Toughman and Wiseman were usually mutually exclusive. (Or maybe it was just _Hun_ and Wiseman that were mutually exclusive, he reconsidered.)

"Why, what's up?" Hammer wanted to know.

Luke was forthright. "I'm out to acquire the Wisdom of the Ancients is all."

The Really Cool bus driver looked upset, and he pulled his rainbow-colored bus over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes and kicking up a cloud of dust. He turned to face Luke. "Listen man, I've got something real important to tell ya. No disrespect, but I think you may have inadvertently gotten onto the wrong track: What you need to be happy is not the Wisdom of the Ancients, but the Wisdom of Youth!"

Luke looked puzzled. "But Hammer, the Ancients have seen more of life than we have; they prob'ly have forgotten more than you or I know. That's why we have to recover the knowledge that has been forgotten, by reading up on old geniuses at the Library." (A little bit pleased with himself for already having done so.)

The bus driver shook his head, and then looked sly: "Granted, the Ancients have seen a lot more than we young punks. But they've seen the past, and we have the future!"

"Are you saying you can see the future?" Luke skepticized.

The Really Cool Guy with the red-hooded sweatshirt shook his beautiful Tiger-cap head. "No, man. Not see it, but _feel_ it! The future is inside us, a part of us--and we a part of it."

"Wow, heavy. You are a latter-day philosopher," Luke complimented, half-seriously.

Hammer started his bus rolling again, and shook his head. "No, fella. Just a bus driver. But a young one, and a fearless one, who is willing to challenge conventions and replace them with Truth."

"What is Truth?" Luke wondered in a Pilate way.

Hammer shrugged. "It's a hard thing to put your finger on. But it's bigger than you or me. That's why we can't grasp it by thinking about it. Thinking is something you do with your puny little mind, no offense. And Truth is something that you have to get in touch with through the Soul."

"And how does one get one's soul in touch?" Luke challenged.

Hammer's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Dancing!" he stated authoritatively. "There's a swell spot in Chair called Gina's Disco Emporium. I recommend that you check it out. I'm not promisin' you a miracle, but it can't hurt! You might start to feel the Wisdom of Youth, and the Future Inside. Plus, you may also meet some good-lookin' damsels."

"Right on," Luke nodded approvingly. They continued their pleasant-quick bus ride to Chair, on a good summer's day with the windows down, singing ABBA songs.

By the time they got to Chair, Luke was well on his way.

The bus rolled into the lovely Town of Chair at high noon. "Where shall I drop you off then," asked the bus driver.

"Well, seeing how it is high noon, maybe I should go for lunch. Do you know if there's a Diner about?"

The Really Cool bus driver nodded. "I can take you to Tom's Diner, or... I can drop you off at Ramin's Produce Market and you can buy some apples and grapes! I shop there all the time! Ramin is a pretty cool guy! We play One-on-one sometimes. He's got pretty good range on his jump shot, but I usually beat him in the paint. Oh yeah, and he doesn't charge much for his produce either!" (Remembering to get back to plugging for his friend the shopkeeper.)

"I shall take it into consideration," said Luke, who had too big an appetite for just grapes, "but for now I guess I shall go to Tom's Diner." The Really Cool Guy took him there. "Hey Hammer, come on in and I'll buy you lunch," Luke offered, in a generous, nice-guy approach, still flush from those sold-out concerts.

"No thanks, remember," the bus driver told him, as he showed Luke his brown paper bag. "I brought my own."

"K. Suit yerself," said Luke. Then Luke thanked him for the ride, gave him a high-five, and went into Tom's Diner, while Hammer drove his rainbow-colored bus to the other side of town, where he picked up an old lady named Grammamiller and gave her a ride to San Jacinto to see the rainbows.

In the diner, Luke the Hun met a chef named Tom. He was gettin' rather bald, so he was wearin' one of those fancy white chef's hats. He was a real good guy. "Hello, Tom-brother," Luke told him. "Can I have some lunch."

"That is what I am here for," Tom agreed. Then he went and started cooking a couple of hamburgers and a bunch of french fries, so the two of them could have lunch. There was a good deal of sizzling, simmering, scorching and smoke. While Tom was in the kitchen, Luke took advantage of having a hard surface to write on, as he got his Bible out on the table and added words with which to remember Hosanna: 'Confession', and 'Prayer', as well as keeping her exclamation intact, 'Miracles and Blessings!' And why not add 'Hope', which is what she had given him! And 'Holiness', which was the word that described her. Then Luke also jotted down some of the bus driver's words: Youth, Feel, Soul, Dance. Four for $1.30, not a bad bargain, he thought to himself.

"Whatcha got there?" Tom asked, coming back with their plates.

"Oh this? I am making some notes, as people give me angles on how to find joy, truth, and meaning in this meaningless world. Say, you got anything for me?"

Tom thought for a minute, and then since his beloved pastime was golfing, he came back with some golf tips, time tested and sure to brighten anyone's future: "Think where, not how far." (Luke coulda saved himself a lot of walking, both on and off the golf course, had he written that one down) "and, Control your swing, and you control your game."

Luke was confused. "Game? Huh?"

"Golf, son. Maybe that won't solve all your problems, but it will sure save you some frustration on the links."

Luke looked sad. "I don't play golf. I play football."

Tom reflected. "Then again, the same principle may apply. It doesn't matter how hard and fast you run or throw the football if you're not on target either--if you miss the block, miss the tackle, miss the receiver. Hey, there's a trick for you right there! Try to see how any one principle or piece of advice fits other situations. Maybe get yourself two or three good ideas instead of just one! 'A little thinking can save you a lot of working'. See, that one is true in house repairs, and on the golf course too. Bonus."

"Control, huh? Like maybe if I get my life under control, I'll be able to go in the right direction more often?" Luke asked, trying to apply the golf metaphor to his search.

"Now you're cooking," chef Tom complimented. "But remember the other half of the equation too: usually what costs you control in golf is trying to hit the ball too hard. Maybe in life you can try too hard as well." Luke wasn't sure what that meant, so Tom went ahead and fleshed out what he was thinking: "What happens if you try too hard to control your life and your destination? You get control of your life. That can be good, but maybe to be truly great, you need God to be in control! The harder you work at it, the less you allow Him to work."

Luke looked a little uncomfortable, coz he was still struggling with that whole idea, still not getting it. Tom wondered if Luke might not be ready for such super-size theories and all-encompassing ideas just yet, and maybe some good old, plain old, practical tips were in order instead. So he turned to his other great passion, and began giving cooking tips. "Wash your pan before you cook." He nodded knowingly-- experience being the great teacher. "Put the burgers on five minutes before the fries..." (Three minutes, Luke made a mental note, coz the burgers were just a little tough) "And, Never cook more than you can eat," Tom finished a little sadly, gesturing at the almost empty diner. This one was kind of like 'Don't bite off more than you can chew,' except better suited to Luke, coz if a Hun bites off too much, they just spit it back out and then finish it with a couple bites anyway. _Yum_.

"Now you givin' me stuff I can use," Luke said happily and hungrily. "Pearls." Then he added, perhaps trying to negotiate a lower bill: "About makes up for this dinner you gave me. The french fries are awesome, but I think you kinda burned the burgers."

"Sorry man, this is kind of a second job," Tom explained. "I only got into the business to pay the bills, because I wasn't making too much money in my chosen profession."

Luke was curious; "And what profession might that be? You must be a farmer? Or maybe a teacher?" he guessed.

"No, I am a prophet," Tom said softly.

"Well, I'll be sand-blasted," Luke exclaimed. "I am honored. One doesn't meet too many prophets in this day and age."

"Nor does one meet very many guys named Tom," Tom pointed out.

"True!" Luke agreed. "Not nearly enough! You are a rare breed indeed. Well now, seein' how the burger was...um, Crunchy, maybe you would be so kind as to hit me with some free prophecy?"

Tom the Prophet thought about it, as he ate his french fries. "Okay," he decided, "since you are a paying customer, I guess I can do that for you." Then he stared deep into Luke's eyes, and tried to get a fix on 'im.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Luke said nervously. "Aren't you supposed to look into a crystal ball or a palm full of tea leaves or something?"

Tom reproved this occult superstition with narrowed eyes and a tightened jaw, then shook his head, and said softly, "No, my friend. We must both look into your heart."

"Yikes; What do you see?" Luke asked bravely.

Tom first looked hard into Luke's eyes to discern where Luke was going in life; then Tom closed his eyes and looked to God to discover where Luke was _supposed_ to go. Tom the Prophet offered up a prayer, and received back a prophecy: he went to God with his own words, and came back with God's words. (Talk about trading in and trading up!) Then he rubbed his chin slowly, stared a faraway stare, and proclaimed in reverent, mysterious tones. "Luke, it shall soon come to pass that you will see a sign from heaven, upon the earth. And your life will be saved, if you take heed and obey."

"Right on! You're kinda talkin' in riddles, but I like the part about my life gettin' saved, anyway. Good stuff! Gee, thanks for everything, fella. Here, have some pay, and have a nice day. (And I'll be on my way!)" Luke cheerfully rhymed. Then he gave Tom three coins of nickel and one of uranium, to pay for the meal and the prophecy. They shook hands and wished each other well, and Luke left the building.

He walked out into the sunshine, and looked up and down the yellow dirt road in front of Tom's Diner. He smiled at the day, and patted his belly, and decided to go down the road towards his left.

Luke traveled down to the end of Tom Street, and was about to round the corner onto Gina Street, when he noticed a tall, metal road sign on his right. It was triangular, and in its center was the word YIELD. Now, it caught Luke's attention because there weren't very many road signs on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, because there wasn't too much traffic, because there weren't any cars and only a handful of autobuses. So Luke figured he better pay it some heed.

He cautiously peeked his head around the corner of the brick house on his left; and it's a good thing he did, because just at that moment a rainbow-colored bus came careening down Gina Street (en route to San Jacinto) at a high rate of speed, and Luke was forced to jump back out of the way to avoid being demolished.

A few of the great people of Chair saw the incident, and they hurried over to see if Luke was okay.

"Hey kid, are you okay?" asked an old geezer called Willy. Luke said yeah he thought that perhaps he was. Willy turned and shook his fist after the rainbow-colored bus. "That darn Hammer. He's always driving too fast! 'The Future' comes to all of us at the same pace, regardless of how fast we move ourselves. The only thing you can get any sooner by driving fast is Killed! That's why we put up that sign there; to try to keep people from getting killed. We've tried to get Hammer to slow down, but you just can't talk sense to that stubborn kid. He acts like he owns the road--and in a way I suppose maybe he does. But being the only driver on the road still doesn't excuse his recklessness. After all, the fewer vehicles, the more pedestrians, right?" Willy shook his fist after the long-gone bus again, purely on principle.

"Wow," said Luke. "I have learned some important safety lessons today. Thanks. But even more than that, I thank you for putting up this heaven-sent sign in the first place. It saved my life, just like Tom said it would."

Willy nodded. "Tom's a good guy. Still, don't be too certain this is what he meant. Prophecy is a tricky thing to understand, and Tom has fooled me once or twice, wise though I am."

Luke agreed. "Yep, it sure was wise of you to put up this sign, anyway."

"That's my job," said old Willy. "I'm the Mayor, so it's my responsibility to look after my people and help them out any way I can."

An ordinary cynical individual might have doubted the politician's claim, but Luke was pretty trusting, and he was impressed both by the mayor's seeming sincerity, and by the fact that Willy was the mayor. "Wow. What luck," said Luke. "I have come to this town to run for Mayor! Maybe you can show me the ropes."

Willy was happy to be shown respect, and he responded with kindness. "Why sure, son. I'm retiring of course, so I can move south and relax in my old age. But the least I can do for the people of Chair is to leave them in good hands! You seem like a nice kid, the kind who cares, the type of guy who wants to make a difference. Say, what brings you to the Chair political scene anyway?"

"My friend Hosanna thought that if I got elected, I would have some power to bring about right-on changes, like World Peace."

This time it was Willy's turn to be impressed. "Boy, you sure are a gentleman. Pure of heart and of honorable intentions. Yes, I'll be glad to help you get elected. Come by my house tomorrow morning, and we'll start working out a campaign strategy. Now I've got to be going, son, you must excuse me. I've got to visit those who are sick or in prison. (And those who are sick of being in prison!) Anyway, please look around my town, have a great day, and I'll see you tomorrow." Then Willy hobbled away and went to the hospital, climbed to the fifth floor, and went to Room 311 (the Small Cheek Wound Ward) to commiserate with Dorothy, who had been injured in an industrial accident, and to rap with a madical street fighter named Sam of the Border, who had been gashed while practicing his craft and sullen art.

Luke wandered around the Town of Chair for a while, getting the feel of it and doing a little window-shopping. In the evening he went to Gina's Disco Emporium, as The Really Cool Guy had advised. It took him awhile to get into it, but eventually a graceful girl named Kylie-Ki started flirting with him, and they danced for a while, and soon Luke got into the swing of things, and had a great time disco-dancin'! He couldn't be sure if Hammer had been right about its effects on the soul, but it was good for the legs anyhow.

# Chapter 9: A Business Trip to Bohemia

"Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." Proverbs 3:5-6

Well after midnight, Luke yawned and found an alley--fixin' to crash below moonlight, to sleep beneath shiny-glorious stars. But as he reached that alley, a tall thin young man with a neat beard, cheap sunglasses and a red skullcap, leaning against the stone wall, shot out an arm to bar Luke's path. As though to give his recommendation weight, he first introduced himself as, "With-it Larry: Famed Poet and Cultured-up Dude," before warning Luke gravely, "My fellow human being, Take my advice: I've been down that road before, and it's not worth your trouble. That road, like life, is a dead end."

"Um, I just lookin' for a place to sleep," Luke replied, and the beatnik relented and stalked away, reading wounded poetry in the dark, after disdainfully getting in the last cryptic word: "Sleep... is the slumber of the weary. And, like life, the simple sleep right through it."

At about seven in the morning, Luke was wishing he had followed the beatnik's advice. Luke was still a little sore from all that dancing, and sleeping on gravel all night hadn't helped! (Hindsight, eh?) So he followed the standard recipe for remedy that his high school football coach had taught him years before: that is to say, he was walking it off. He was starting to feel better. It was a knockout day, as the reliable sun had risen up to make everything so so pretty.

Luke turned the corner from Melissa Row onto Gepetto Street. He was in a pleasant middle-class residential neighborhood, and there were lots of trees, soft dawn sunshine, and birds a-singin'. Luke smiled and waved at the birds. Then he met a kid made out of wood, who was riding a Big Wheel. ("Gepetto's Kid", the Mayor would later explain, "Pino somethin'. I forget. Pino Rizzi? No that's not it.") The kid had a funky three-cornered hat with a feather in it, and he had a long nose, and an honest face. He was wearing shorts, because it was summer, and a gray and blue T-shirt with a lion logo and the words "Property of the Detroit Lions". (Poor kid.)

"Hey Kid, aren't you up kind of early? It is Saturday, Sleeping-In-Day," Luke reminded him.

The Kid smiled. He had no teeth. "Yeah, man, but that means it is also my Dad's day to sleep in. That is why I got up early and 'accidentally' woke him up. That is half the fun of being a kid. The other half is playing road hockey with the neighbor kids. I think I'll go wake up them and their parents now, so we can get a game up and make lots of noise and wake up the old retired folks whose kids are grown!"

"Gosh, you are a mean-spirited little guy, aren't you," predicted Luke.

"Oh no," Gepetto's Kid denied. "I have the noblest of intentions. I figure somebody's got to wake up the neighbors so they won't miss this ace-beauty day. It's a dirty job, but hey, I am up to the challenge." He winked in a rascally fashion. "Hey, do you want to join us?" he offered.

Luke begged off, warning of his inevitable roughness, wrath and rule violations. Besides, he had an appointment to keep.

"Okay. See you later Mister." Then the wooden boy pedaled off on his Big Wheel, as loudly as he could, down the gravel road. _There's_ your wake-up call, people.

Luke continued on his mission, and soon he found himself on Bigshot Street. The houses were even bigger than the ones on Gepetto Street, and so were the yards. Luke checked out those fancy homesteads and concluded, "The Mayor must live in one of these here expensive homes, since he works for the government." Luke didn't know which one the Mayor lived in, so he took a wild guess. He picked the largest palace on the corner, in stunning white marble, with a red picket fence and a Bohemian flag draped off the balcony. Luke went up and pounded on the door, looking for Willy.

An old guy with a cane and a gray beard answered the door, wearing a dark blue silk bathrobe with a lightning bolt on the chest, and a yellow beret. He was smoking a pipe, and he looked exceptionally classy, and moderately sleepy, and a little bit like Ernest Hemingway.

"Hey, what luck; it is Mayor Willy!" Luke exclaimed.

"It is good to see you too," Willy said politely.

"Oops, I didn't wake you, did I?" Luke said apologetically.

"Oh, don't worry about it. When you get as old as I am, you don't worry so much about the time--you're just happy to be able to wake up again at all. I know that sounds terrible, but really it's a good thing. When you're thankful and happy to be alive each morning, it helps you have a great day."

"Say, I suppose it would! Thanks for the tip," Luke thanked him.

"Hey, I'm here to help; that's why I'm the mayor."

"With that in mind, how 'bout you help me get my election campaign underway," Luke suggested.

"Of course! Come on in. I'll be with you in a few minutes, I just have to get dressed. In the meantime, you can hang out and read my Huskers Illustrated. It's on the davenport."

"Wow, Thanks!" said Luke. (In awe.)

Mayor Willy came back in a few minutes, all showered up and wearing khaki pants and a Barry University sweatshirt, and a pair of sandals. He started lookin' through the kitchen cupboards. "What do you want for breakfast, Son?" he called into the living room. "Here, I found a box of peanut brittle! How 'bout that?"

"For breakfast?" Luke asked doubtfully, with a furrowed forehead.

Willy shrugged. "It _is_ Saturday," he offered.

Luke could get behind that. He put down the magazine and joined the Mayor at the kitchen table for a plate of peanut brittle and a glass of milk. "Crunch crunch. Yum! Hooray! Thanks!" said Luke. Finishing their healthy meal entitled them to licorice for dessert. Ah, a bachelor's life. Then they got down to business. "So tell me, Mayor Willy, how shall I go about getting elected?" Luke asked earnestly.

"Well now, the traditional course is you give a few speeches, put up a few posters, and kiss a few babies."

"Why babies? They can't vote. I would rather kiss some of the pretty young women in this town. I think I would get more votes that way, and I know I would have more fun!"

"True, but you could also get into more trouble," Willy cautioned.

Luke remembered the story of Reuben and the jealous husband. "Oh yeah. See, that is why I consulted you--you are a learned political veteran."

"Yep. Anyway, we've got to write some good posters and speeches. We need to use big words and catchy slogans without really promising anything. Politics is all about image. And you know, I think you've got the right image to pull this off: an innocent, big-hearted, country-boy. It'll make the people think you're one of them, and they'll elect you. Pretty sneaky eh? Coz then you get to live in this big mansion!"

"Intriguing. But won't I be at a disadvantage, being a stranger?"

Willy shook his head. "Of course not; Chair is a big town. That's the whole thing about politics: the world has gotten so populous that nobody really knows anybody. So people don't really know whether you're a good guy or not. That's why image is so important: it's more important to _seem_ like a good guy than to actually be one. Sad but true. Fortunately, you have both substance and image at once... oh just like me of course," Willy remembered to brag. "That is why I want you to become the new mayor!"

"Crafty," Luke praised, catching on. "Okay, so what slogan shall we use for my campaign posters?" Willy thought about it for a while, before Luke interrupted him: "How about this one, which we used to coax people to sign up for a pool tournament back home in Hun-Country: "Multiple pockets; Everyone wins!"

Willy wrinkled up his nose. "Clever, but inappropriate for an election. It sounds like you're offering to buy votes, or take bribes, or something." Then he thought it over and reversed himself: "On second thought, maybe we _will_ make a couple posters with that slogan, for some of my special 'supporters'."

Luke tried again: "How 'bout, 'A vote for Luke will help get Luke elected, and you will like that because Luke is a real nice guy who believes in honesty and peace.'"

Willy shook his head, and put his fingers close together: "Better trim it down to something shorter," he advised.

"A vote for Luke is a vote for peace?" Luke said hopefully, only to be shown the 'shorter' gesture once again. "Vote for Luke?" he finally tried, and this time the Mayor gave a big thumbs-up.

"Time-tested," he proclaimed, from his storehouse of experience. "We also gotta get some of the niche markets though. Bring aboard some of those country-music loving, working-class voters. Hey, I know! Let's try something like: 'Oh joy! Luke's a Good Ol' Boy!' And we'll have a picture of you and your Stetson and your gee-tar. Just a pickin' and a grinnin'. But lemme see--they might get the notion that you're simple or something, so we need another one to let the idealistic college kids know you've got a brain in your head. Maybe something simple like: 'Real Smart, Big Heart.' And we can have a picture of you scratching your chin and looking thoughtful. And smiling--smiles always go over well."

"Right on!" Luke agreed. "You sure know your stuff. Hey, where are we going to get a picture of me? We have no camera."

"True," Willy admitted. But I have a friend who can draw quite well: Jean L'Artiste. French dude. From France. We can go see him later this afternoon. But first let us write a good campaign speech for you."

Then they hunkered down and put their heads together, and crafted a pretty good speech, remembering to use lots of big words (like 'ignominious', 'truculent' and 'spatula'--a lot of lesser campaigners overlook that last one!)

Later that afternoon, after participating in a road hockey game with the local youth, Luke and Willy headed downtown to see the Mayor's artist friend.

Luke had been reluctant to join the game for fear of hurting one of the kids with his aggressive play, but the Mayor had convinced him that joining the neighborhood kids in play would be a public relations coup. Luke's assessment was more on target than the Mayor's optimism however--for sure enough, Gepetto's Kid had been laying the lumber quite a bit, and his sharp wooden elbows had helped create a combustible situation. Luke finally got fed up after being slashed one time too many, and he wound up getting in a scrap and breaking the kid's nose.

"Hardly an auspicious beginning to your public relations campaign," the Mayor scolded him, making use of another one of those big words I warned you about.

"Hey, he asked for it," Luke said sheepishly, trying to justify beating up the kid. "That kind of stickwork has no place in the game. And if he didn't want to go me, he shouldn't have messed with me."

"Still, it doesn't look too good. Luckily, he's a tough little kid, and I know he's not going to make a big thing out of it. He's had his nose broken before, and it always heals up like magic. Also, no one will believe that little liar anyway when he tells them what happened. Good thing for you, Tough Guy!"

"Hey, I'm a Good Ol' Boy, remember? It's part of the package."

By this time they had reached the downtown, and they turned left from Small Business Street onto Artist Alley. An arch spanned each entrance. Artist Alley was a groovy scene! It was a narrow dirt track flanked by several wooden row houses, and a cafe, and an apartment building that had balconies even! The sun was shining, and all the people on the street were smiling and loving one another. They had colorful clothes, and were wearing Lennon-style tinted sunglasses. Sitting on a bench writing poetry, sporting a purple scarf and a rakish pirate's cap, was the dashing young poet Emily the Kid: who was famed for skirting the shores of the surreal, marauding with meter, raiding with rhyme, falling suddenly upon the slumberers, attacking with angst, firing salvos of sentiment, pursuing you like truth, grappling with the hard issues, invading with imagery, flogging you with fancy, keelhauling you with compassion, and capturing your heart--then marching you off the short plank of the known, and into the cool and cleansing oceans of possibilities... and all the while, never-once-ever using too much alliteration or over-extending a metaphor, as lesser writers are wont to do! However... she was alternating rapidly between smiling, glaring, and looking thoughtful (as poets must), which quite unnerved Luke and made him shrink from approaching her.

So instead he met a tall blind Egyptian named Yassin Amal, who was painting a desert scene, with camels. He was also smoking a Camel. Luke stopped to watch the painter, as Willy the Mayor bustled about, pressing the flesh and speaking to some of his 'boosters of substance'. Luke was quite impressed by the blind man, and wondered out loud: "The mayor said we were here to see Jean L'Artiste for some campaign posters, are you him? he?? ...dat guy?"

The blind artist shook his head sadly. "I could use the work, and you can see I have talent, but the mayor doesn't want my help because I am a recent immigrant and hence I have 'no political capital'. Not only has Jean-L' been here longer, but his roommate is quite a famed figure with lots of influence. So he gets the work, and I gets the shaft. Them's the breaks. All in a day's work (or lack thereof), for a starving artist." Then he went on to explain how his specialty was drawing murals of a Pyramid with a big Eye hanging over it, for optometrists' offices of course, but "There are only so many optometrists in town and they all have their murals by now! So no more glory days for me. Now I just hope to sell a painting a day to survive." (Sigh, a very sad story.)

Luke wanted to help the man out, but he didn't really have anyplace to hang a painting, since he himself was still mainly staying in the house without walls. Besides, here was Mayor Willy tugging at his sleeve...

Mayor Willy was pointing at a window above the cafe, in which a French flag hung. "Our man Jean L'Artiste lives up there in that garret. You wanna go see him?" Luke indicated Let's-go-for-it, and they did.

They went into the Maison Francaise Cafe, and looked about. It was a pretty smooth joint, lit by several skylights and an oil lamp. There were colorful abstract paintings hanging on the walls, and a contemporary sculpture made out of tin, chintz, and treacle. There were lots of plants, including an elm tree that grew right up through one of the skylights into the a propos sky. There were lots of people hangin' out and talking about life: mostly artsy types. There were also a couple big bikers with leather jackets and beards sitting at the table nearest the door, and they were arm-wrestling. They looked a little out of place in this avant-garde cafe on Artists Alley, but looks can be deceiving, eh. Deep down, they were really sensitive guys. (Ahem, no, not that sensitive.) One was a writer, the other a talented cellist.

An Anarchist named Brian was sitting behind the bar, minding the store. He was eating Tofu. He was kind of pale, but he compensated for it by dressing in black. He didn't look real tough, but we can't all be perfect, can we? As Luke and Willy entered, he Grant-ed them his attention: "Mellow greetings, citizens. What shall I get for you this afternoon? A cup of espresso? A plate of Tofu? Some Guava Jelly?"

"No thank you, we are just passing through, on our way to see Jean L'Artiste," Willy told him.

The Tofu Anarchist pointed disinterestedly to a spiral staircase in the center of the Cafe, and then he ignored them and returned his attention to his friends the bikers. "Hey fellas, I get the winner," he warned them. (After that they made sure they fought to a draw.)

Luke and Willy climbed the intricate iron staircase to the second floor. They emerged upon a small landing before a bright red door. They knocked on the door. (Knock knock.)

"Who's there?" said a French guy with a French accent on ze other side of ze door.

"The Mayor," Mayor Willy told him.

"Mayor who?" French Guy asked in a somewhat cautious, somewhat knock-knock-joking way.

"Mayor Life be filled with peace, love and joy," Willy responded generously.

"Hey, you sound like somebody real friendly. I will let you in, eh." Then the French Guy kept his promise. "Hey, what do you know, it really _is_ the Mayor!" he said excitedly, feigning surprise, as he opened the door and they came into his cool apartment.

"Yep. I hate to say I told you so, but...Didn't I? Anyway, it is good to see you again too, Jean L'Artiste. Oh, and this here is my young friend Luke. He plays guitar and picks on kids, and now he is running for mayor. We were hoping you could fix us up with some cleverly drawn campaign posters."

"Well, I am clever, and I do draw, so it seems that you have come to the right place. Have a seat and strike a pose, Luke."

Luke did as instructed. He sat in the center of the room, on a wooden apple crate stamped 'Frank Lane Orchards'. He looked around. It was a very tiny one-room apartment, with bunk-futons in the corner to the right of the window, and on the left a walk-in closet hung with colorful clothes. Beside the red door, on the closet side of the room, was a moneysworth bookshelf (piled high and two-deep), and then an old couch. On the opposite side of the room there was a door to a water-closet. There was a French flag in the window, and Jean's sketches decorated the walls. From the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier, and on the ceiling above the futons was a poster of Marilyn, (though nobody actually seemed to realize who she was). The apartment was a mess, but a tasteful mess.

"Pardon my place, eh. It's not much. Mayor, you must have a seat on my ancient couch. Everything in here is old, for poverty becomes an artist, even as an artist becomes poor. Oh, except for the chandelier, eh. It is brand new, you know? We stole it from the Louvre, my roommate and I."

"Your room-mate?" Luke inquired. "Isn't the place a little small?"

"True. It is awfully small, this apartment," Jean L'Artiste said apologetically. "Everything is cramped except my style. But nevertheless, it is financially prudent for me to share my humble abode with a fellow counter-cultural icon, the esteemed beatnik poet With-it Larry."

As if on cue, the esteemed beatnik poet With-it Larry came through the red door. "Oh Wow. Company," he said calmly, trying not to get too happy. "It is good to see you fellas again. But I shan't get too excited, nor shall I get too attached to you; because I know that you, like life, will soon be gone."

"Um, thanks, it's good to see you too, Larry," the Mayor responded dryly. "You're right, we can't stay long. We're just here to have my boy Luke's portrait drawn for our campaign posters. Then we gotta go put 'em up. You can help if you wish." Mayor Willy sounded hopeful.

With-it Larry looked at the Mayor coldly and condescendingly. "Willy. You will forgive me, but I will not assist you in this provincial effort. By their very nature, such election campaigns are both insufferably arrogant, and intolerably divisive. Luke presumes to become mayor by brandishing the both-dubious notions that we need a mayor and a government to lead us or to oversee our affairs, and specifically that he is somehow extraordinary enough (or grandiloquent enough) to fill that role. What egotism, what elitism convinces you that you are better than us, and should become our leader?"

Luke didn't have a ready answer. He hadn't thought that much about it. Later on, he thought of a few points he could have made in his defense, but at the time being he paused--and that was all With-it Larry needed, to continue with his diatribe: "Furthermore, Interloper, I resent the divisiveness and partisanship of political campaigns. Assuredly, you'll make some propagandic speeches and try to rally support for your cause, and try to beguile people to get on your side of the issues. And your opponent will do the same. And in so doing, you'll first blindly ignore all the alternative perspectives that aren't encompassed by your two campaign platforms. Even once-wise and adaptable policies and positions rapidly become entrenched and intractable. (To say nothing of ludicrous and clichéd.) But what's worse, you'll then present your one-sided views as fact, as 'the only appropriate conclusion for reasonable and non-wicked working families to support.' Opprobrium replaces equilibrium, and conflagration casts down co-operation. Finally you aggressively disparage the ideology and malign the character of the opposing camp, until they're smeared, besmirched and sullied. (Not to mention a little bit ticked off.) For what purpose? With battle metaphors flailing, it becomes necessary to 'win the culture war', to 'defeat' the 'opponent', and to advance your own cause at the expense of all other viewpoints--rather than truly trying to serve the wishes of all."

"You can't please everybody," Luke interjected, repeating a political rule he had learned from his dad, Chief Otis of Hun-Country. (Luke tastefully omitted the second half of the saying, which had never once failed to silence Chief Otis's erstwhile critics: 'But you _can_ kill everybody...!')

With-it Larry put his face right in front of Luke's, looked him square in his wide round eyes, and asked piercingly, "How do you know? Have you tried?"

At this point, Willy came to Luke's defense. " _I_ have. It honestly can't be done."

"Or maybe you just aren't the one to do it. And maybe if you really cared about the proletariat as much as you claim, you would have thought about that before you went and got yourself re-elected six times in a row." Turning to Luke he asked, "I assume you knew that's where his name comes from? Everyone always wondering 'Willy run again?'"

Mayor Willy fired back, "As long as we're being candid with the lad, admit it: Why are you really criticizing the system and me? Isn't it simply your selfish anger at my decision to cut funding for the arts?"

"True, that is a big part of it," With-it Larry conceded. "Art, like life, is my life." Then With-it Larry asserted his independence, "But, my friend, we wouldn't _need_ your funding if you didn't first take our income away with the heavy hand of taxation. Then after your mansion is built, you dole back a little of our own money and call yourself a 'benefactor'? Give us liberty instead."

This startled the Mayor a little: "I thought you were Radical Leftist Man. You're sounding positively conservative with that last quote. What happened?"

Though he hadn't really examined it before, With-it Larry had no trouble putting his finger on it now: "Well, there's a thin line between the two if you think about it. They both hate the government, but the liberal thinks the government needs to be doing more to solve problems and make the world better for everyone, and a libertarian thinks the only way for the government to ever solve those problems is to stay out of them! So I guess you could say the big difference between the two is their faith, or hope, in the potential of government. I guess I lost both of those before the end of your fifth or sixth term, Your Majesty!" He curtsied incongruously. "After that, it's like being dissatisfied with any other service: you just want your money back."

Willy sighed, "You poor thing, so young and yet so jaded! I think perhaps you've spent a little too much time downstairs with the Tofu Anarchist..."

"Well, we don't have room for a spacious kitchenette, and we do need to eat sometimes, Starving Artists though we may be," Jean spoke up.

"My point is, it is easy to criticize, but it isn't so easy to find a better answer. Could you really solve the problems of society so much better than I, With-it Larry?"

"Not I, nor even my friends and I, but the people of the _whole world_ and I! Working together, we can solve the problems of the whole world! So how do we get all the people of the world to work together? Perhaps it is now too late, perhaps the damage is irreparable: though if so the blame will lie with the political parties and the political leaders and the political boundaries which have long taught separation and sown hatred. Still, that _should_ be our question, that _must_ be our goal! We must reinvent society, based on virtue, love, compassion and peace, rather than on strength and control and pride and exclusion. As cynical as I often appear, still I will hold out hope for an end to all politics. For political divisions, like life itself, are absurd. And as long as division exists instead of beauty..." Larry concluded, (here reversing the formula for dramatic effect), "It almost seems that our lives, like your eloquent political speeches, are meaningless."

"Well, I wouldn't go quite that far, but your point is taken. I guess you want us to get our posters and our butts on up out of your apartment," Mayor Willy supposed.

"No," With-it Larry surprised them. "What I want is just this: I want your protégé here to give account of _why_ exactly he's so eager to be mayor of Chair. If he has a satisfactory answer, I'll even help you put up the posters!"

Luke was forthright: "Well, my friends and I, we figured World Leaders have the most power to declare war or peace. I want to be the one who brings peace!"

With-It Larry was pleased by Luke's sincere motives, but wondered, "But why Chair? We always have peace here anyway. Look about you; we aren't exactly the type of community that would declare war on others. (And wouldn't that be an amusing sight?) And who would attack us? There's nothing much here worth taking: half the people are college students, who are notoriously poor, and the other half have graduated and become starving artists, need I say more? The only thing really worth having is probably the Mayor's mansion...and the easiest way to gain that has always been to run for Mayor." He cleared his throat accusingly, Ahem. Then he finished: "Besides, Luke, real leadership is found not in wielding power, but in the quietness of the wise and the patient strength of the masses. And real peace lies in loving and living honorably--and politicians are _not_ honorable and do _not_ preach love."

At this point Jean, who was a recent Christian convert, couldn't help wondering, "Luke? Did you pray about it?" A little embarrassed, Luke admitted that he hadn't. Jean reassured him. "That's okay. But do keep it in mind for next time." Luke promised to remember (and promptly forgot.) "Assuredly God brought you here for a reason anyway. Prob'ly not to listen to this guy though," jabbing his thumb towards his roommate--who at the first mention of prayer had steered Mayor Willy towards a corner to continue their debate more privately, leaving Jean to address Luke one-on-one. "So maybe there's something _I_ can tell you. All I know is, 'The easiest way is not always the best way, the convenient course is not always the true course.'"

Luke was sad inside now, trying to figure out what to do, because Tom the Prophet had warned him against trying too hard! Luke told that story, and asked a little crossly, "So which is it?"

Jean tried to reconcile the contradiction: "Oh, it's the same warning actually. It's possible to try too hard, and search all over, and rack your brain to think of what to do. Or you can take it easy and expect the very first option you consider to work out fine. But you go astray in either event, if you fail to 'Let God provide the way'."

Luke still felt a little put out. "I can't pray, or let God do anything, until I believe... but I _am_ trying to learn to believe. Shouldn't God honor that? Why would he bring me here then if this is a misstep?"

Jean was nonplussed. "We learn from our mistakes, we gain resolve from our defeats, and we are forced to trust in God when our own ways fail. It's been said that, 'God will not look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas, but for scars.'"

Encouraged, Luke the one-time warrior shot back, "Oh, then I'm _in there_!"

Jean continued, with an experienced laugh, "The quickest way to trust God to guide your steps is to take a good look at where your own steps take you! Maybe they'll bring you money, maybe they'll even gain you friends, but they'll never, ever, carry you to heaven. You may even manage to build a temporary and fragile peace somewhere, but you'll never, on your own, discover _'the peace that passeth understanding'._ "

And Luke was left to mull that over, for at this point Jean finished his second sketch of Luke, so Mayor Willy paid him for the work and bought some tracing paper off him, and then he and Luke shook hands with Jean and Larry and headed towards the red door. They left on good terms, because despite their disagreement, both Mayor Willy and With-it Larry prided themselves on being big enough to respect the other idiot's opinion; while Luke the Hun and Jean L'Artiste had formed the beginning of a sacred bond.

Luke and Willy went out the red door, and they spiraled down the iron stairway to the cafe. They waved good-bye! good-bye! to all the good people of Artists' Alley, and they went back to Bigshot Street.

It was still a sunny day, and quite warm, and skies the color of peace kept in remembrance the hopeful vision of world harmony that With-it Larry had described. As they lay in the sun, in the big yard of the big house on Bigshot Street, tracing campaign posters from the wonderful drawings that Jean L'Artiste had rendered, Luke said to Mayor Willy: "Mayor, do you think he was right? I mean, I know some people want to get elected so that they can soak the poor by living in a big house. But I'm out to bring about World Peace. And maybe he's right: this may not be the best way. I reckon any true and lasting peace must lie within the hearts of the people--it can't depend on a temporary elected official. And while a political leader does have some clout, as Hosanna suggested, maybe it takes more than clout to get this problem solved. Maybe it takes all of us pulling together! And I guess I can't bring that about all by myself, but I can help: not by bein' political, but by bein' peaceful, like Larry said. Maybe instead of being mayor, as a simple Concerned Citizen I can better become part of the solution, not part of the problem."

The Mayor laughed out loud: "Oh, now won't this be ironic! With-it Larry talked you out of running for mayor...so now _I'll_ have to run again! Oh, he'll love that! Maybe _that's_ why God brought you here--some say He has a sense of humor. But kid, I think you're making a mistake. I think you could get somewhere in politics, and I think you could be quite an effective diplomat, in an innocent, friendly way. Oh well. You may be right, and even if you aren't, it's your mistake to make. Do me a favor, though--sleep on it, K?" Willy patted Luke on the shoulder and smiled. "In the meantime, let's get these posters up, just in case."

Luke agreed, and they went and put up the posters in the twilight. They put one of his "Good Ol' Boy" posters up in Bo's Country Roadhouse, and another at Tom's Diner, and a third at the prison. They put his "Real Smart, Big Heart" posters up on Money Street, and at Chair Community College, and at the Observatory. Then they went back to Willy's Mayoritorious Mansion, and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, Luke woke up from a vague sad dream, knowing simply that it was time to move on, and to be himself. There might be a time to take office. But it would not be here. It would not be now. He left the mayor a thank you note explaining, and while he was writing he took out his Bible and added Tom's sign, 'Yield', With-it Larry's word 'Together', and Jean's phrase, 'Let God'. Then, smiling, he _almost_ even added the Tofu Anarchist's greeting, 'Mellow'.

He had to think harder to discover what the Mayor had taught him, but finally realized that he was most grateful simply for the way Willy had gone out of his way to try to help him, and so added the general word, 'Help'. Then Luke smiled and slipped quietly out of Chair.

# Chapter 10: All the Way to Penetanguishene

"And when ye come into a house, salute it. And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet. Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment, than for that city." Matthew 10:12-15

After leaving Chair, Luke had been forging his way north towards the military Kingdom of Penetanguishene, on the salty banks of the Crimea River. "If ever there was a place that needed peace, that's the one," he told himself, hoping to pull his concerned citizen routine and convince them to knock off all the warrin'. "Any place that even puts 'anguish' in their name, needs somebody to bring them peace and happiness!"

Stumbling through the thickness of the forest, he suddenly found his path blocked by a tall chain-link fence with concertina wire up top. Having no desire to cut himself up going over the fence, Luke followed the fence around for a while, looking for a gate. He didn't find one, but after a little while he came across a wooden sign mounted on the fence. It was written in black permanent marker, and it said, "Penetanguishene. Keep out. Trespassers would hafta be brave and crazy."

"Brave and crazy. That's me," Luke bragged. But he wasn't quite crazy enough to risk climbing the fence, so he pushed his way onwards through the brush, along the fence, until he found a place where a tough, free-spirited dog named Max had tunneled under the fence in order to go play in the woods with his friend Shoppity. Luke got down and wriggled under the fence. Then he stood up and dusted himself off, safe and sound in Penetanguishene; Voila.

Then a sniper with a crossbow shot a quarrel at Luke's head, and it lodged in his white rawhide Stetson and made him look like some colonel from an old Cowboys & First Nations movie. Luckily, Luke himself was not injured, although the bolt did part his hair quite neatly. He was a little ashamed to have been so easily detected, but not much, coz it's hard for anyone to stay stealthy and subtle while wriggling.

"Yikes!" said Luke. "Hey, hold up." Two sharpshooters with rugged camouflage clothing and coonskin caps and dark beards stepped out from behind a couple of big maple trees, and approached Luke cautiously, with their crossbows leveled at his chest, and their swords ready at their sides. They looked pretty tough, actually.

"Why have you come to Penetanguishene?" asked one of the border patrolmen softly, as his mean-looking, keen-looking, green-looking eyes scanned the woods for signs of other intruders.

Luke said cheerfully, "Why, I thought I might make friends and influence people. Did I come at a bad time?"

The tough border patrolman looked Luke in the eye and said sharply, "What are you, a wise guy? Well it wasn't very wise coming here. You nearly got yourself killed."

"Still could," the other added menacingly.

Discerning his peril, Luke shrewdly followed his married father's maxim: "When facing someone who can smell out a lie, you'd best make up something true." So, carefully choosing the word 'important', rather than the word 'official', Luke presented himself: "Howdy. I am Luke the Hun, from Hun-Country, eldest son of Otis the Chief. I have come on an important mission of peace. I must meet with your King, the Right Honorable Scrapper Jim."

Now, the two patrolmen were kinda taken aback by this latest news, because they really hadn't expected an important international figure to come crawling under their fence like that. One of them asked suspiciously, "Okay then fella, if you're really a diplomat instead of an invader, why did you come crawling under the fence, instead of arriving by the road and checking in with the troops at the gate?"

"Road? I didn't know there was a road from Chair to Penetanguishene! That would have made my journey much easier, though perhaps less scenic."

"Yeah, well, see, there isn't any one road that can take you from there to here, so I can understand your confusion. But it can be done--the quickest way is to go north on The 401 as far as The Kingdom of Camlachie, and then take Highway 12 north and west through Candlemeria and Schultzhagen. (Now _that_ place is messed up)," the picket explained helpfully.

"Thanks. Next time I'll know," said Luke appreciatively. "But it was prob'ly just about as fast my way anyway, since I don't have a bus to drive or a horse to ride, and since, as you know, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line."

"Speakin' of which, let's make a beeline to Fort Frances to see King Scrapper Jim. If you are who you say you are, you're too important to be standing around in the rain, getting directions from the likes of us. Let's go," said the soft-voiced soldier. They started towards the Fort. Then he thought of something. "Hey wait a minute. You're not ta-rickin' us or anything, are you? You're not really an assassin, I hope."

"Gosh no," Luke said innocently, "I am a Good Ol' Boy." (The two are incompatible, see? To be an assassin, you have to be a 'terrible man', whereas the other requires that you be, well, a good ol' boy.)

That answer seemed to satisfy them, and the soft-voiced soldier blindfolded Luke so as not to espy their defenses, and escorted him to the Fort, while his partner went back to lurking.

Fort Frances was quite a fearsome citadel. The whole countryside for miles around had been cut up into a huge maze, where tunnels of doom and trenches of fury were flanked by thick stone walls and underground bunkers and hideouts, so that anyone trying to get to the Fort could be shot down at the defenders' leisure. The Fort itself was a castle on the top of a hill at the center of this nasty terrain. It was big and dark and imposing, of course, with towers, turrets, buttresses and barbicans, and an eerie storm cloud permanently swathed around its top. There was even a moat dug out around the castle, and filled with piranhas, and topped off with oil that could be set on fire in case of emergency. Luke was lucky, however, and he didn't get shot down or eaten away or burned up, because he was being escorted by one of Penetanguishene's own, so everyone knew he was okay. The soldier who was accompanying Luke called to some guys inside the castle, and told them some passwords, and they let down the drawbridge and raised the portcullis so that he and Luke could enter. They went inside, and he showed Luke into a waiting room and told him to wait. So Luke sat down on a loveseat and read a magazine.

After a while, an athletic guy with a red shirt and blonde hair came into the waiting room and said, "Are you the emissary from Hun-Country?" Luke nodded yes. "The King will see you now," said the blonde-haired herald. Luke got up and followed him, and was shown into a big old office, with paintings and a bookshelf and a balcony. A banner on the wall proclaimed the Penetanguishene motto: "Bones must be broken!" There was a sturdy fella with long black hair and a mustache and a crown, sitting at a desk. The blonde guy with the red shirt announced, "His Majesty, the Right Honorable Scrapper Jim!" and then he left.

The sturdy fella with the crown got up and shook hands with Luke. He had a hard grip, to match his iron eyes and his ferruginous face. "Howdy, guy. You're the ambassador from Hun-Country, I understand."

"Yes sir. Luke the Hun, Man of Peace and Dreams."

"Well, it's swell meeting you. So how can I help you?"

Luke smiled and suggested, "Well your honor, I was hoping I could convince you to mend your ways, and not be so warlike."

The black-haired guy from Penetanguishene looked startled. "Well now, that's kind of an unusual demand. You'll have to give me a minute to decide how to respond to that." He offered Luke a cigar, lit one himself, then turned his back and walked to the balcony and stared out into the stormy nighttime sky, puffing and pondering. After a couple minutes, he came back from the balcony, walked right past Luke without saying a word, and left the room.

A moment later, the blonde guy with the red shirt came in and sat down at the desk.

Luke was confused. "What's up?" he asked. "Did I do something to offend His Majesty?"

The blond guy laughed. "Oh no, of course not! Sorry to mess with you like that. See, _I'm_ the King. Scrapper Jim at your service." He leaned over the desk and shook hands with Luke.

"So then, what was that other guy all about?" Luke wondered, still not getting it.

Scrapper Jim laughed again. "Oh, that's just our way of guarding against assassins. See, if you were any kind of a bad guy, you would have taken a stab at my man Pedro while his back was turned. So now we know you're harmless! I know, it seems shabby to let Pedro be the one to take the risk, but believe me, he lives for that kind of thrill. Besides, I'm the King, eh! If I can't stick someone else with the dirty work, what kind of King would I be? Anyway, like I said, he doesn't mind: he can take care of himself, he's a big-time kick-boxing champion. Big-time."

"You guys worry a lot about invaders and assassins and stuff, huh?" Luke observed.

"It comes with the territory. We get in a lot of wars, you know. So you always have to be ready for someone to strike back. Now in particular, since we're at war with Cuba, and they have some first-rate devious assassins. There's a master of disguise named Macmillan who's said to be particularly sly. And we just captured his partner Bloedell, so we're on high alert right now, and I can't take any chances." He pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal that he was protected by a gleaming rathmantite vest. Then he continued, "But enough about all that; let's get down to business. I hear you have come to get me to mend my ways and be peaceful."

Luke smiled and nodded excitedly. "Yeah! How 'bout it?"

Scrapper Jim shook his head. "Sorry, fella. I'd like to help you, but my hands are tied. I've got a job to do. Responsibilities. I can't just back out of all these wars we're involved in. It's all about commitment, son. In for a penny in for a pound; if you cut and run they'll run after you; and so forth and whatnot. But don't worry too much, Luke: we're not figurin' to get into anything with Your People anytime soon. Those Huns are some dedicated scrappers, so we leave 'em alone! Besides, you folks are usually dirt poor; even when you steal some treasure it's soon squandered. War is a money game. Needs a payoff."

"Well thanks, I appreciate the gesture, but _all_ people are my people. It troubles me when anyone is suffering."

Scrapper Jim might have been touched by the gentle sentiment, if he hadn't been so astounded and amused by the irony. "Oh really? This from the next Chief of the Huns? Take the beam out of thine own eye, brother. You could bring just as much peace if you got your Huns to try being peaceful! Don't you think you should try that first? Perhaps? As heir to the throne?" Luke was silent, hung his head, reddened a little. The truth was, he was scared to try, and sure that Huns would never go for it anyway. Much easier to talk peace to those for whom war is a business, than to those for whom war is their nature. Businesses often go under, but tigers never change their stripes. Scrapper Jim laughed bitterly, "Besides, have you forgotten your history? Penetanguishene wasn't always the famed military power you see today. Remember? For a while there we were a humble agricultural nation--until the Huns came along and kicked the crop out of us! A peaceful people, until the year when the Huns beat the peace out of us!"

Luke gulped, remembering now the glory-stories he had heard as a boy, of the Third Year under General Strike, the year that the Huns had captured the Bus Station in Winter Park--and how they had subsequently cut a dashing image riding into villages, smashing through stick huts, and then offloading hundreds of husky Huns to sack each defenses-down town (until the buses had finally run out of gas and been cursed, kicked and abandoned, like a child who couldn't fight.) The year the Huns had acquired the favorite rallying cry: "All the way to Penetanguishene!"

"So, that's quite a noble sentiment, Luke," Scrapper Jim continued. "And hey, I don't like suffering either. But these things happen. In a perfect world, there would be no war: but I can't make this a perfect world. We're human, eh. 'As long as there are men, there will be war...'" he quoted. "No matter how nice a guy you are, someday, somewhere, someone isn't going to like you. And they might even try to do you harm. So we don't bother being nice guys anymore. It's safer to be tough guys."

"Except, no matter how tough you are, someday, somewhere, someone will be tougher. And that's when this whole dirty business will come back to haunt you," Luke warned prophetically.

Scrapper Jim didn't deny it. "True, true. Someday I will go down. But that's a soldier's duty. We've lost a lot of boys down in the Andes, and we had a nasty campaign against the Kingdom of O'Neil. I've held dying comrades in my arms, Luke, and it's not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. I understand that. But everyone of 'em went out with the satisfaction of knowing that they'd served their country, and helped to win independence, safety and prosperity for the wives and children they left behind. That's what this is really all about, Luke. If someone does me wrong, it doesn't matter. But if they threaten those I love..." King Scrapper Jim held up scarred hands, as if to say, There's no telling what I might do. He repeated, "It's all about commitment. It may be well and good to turn the other cheek, but is it right to force my children to turn theirs? And anyway, we don't look at war as the continuing cost of freedom. We look at it as a temporary evil, thinking, Hey, I hope someday everyone will know that we're the toughest around, and will pay tribute instead of requiring conquest. It's a philosophy called Peace through Strength."

Luke listened carefully, and then he drawled country-boy slowly, "Well, I've got a philosophy of my own. It's called Peace through Bein' Peaceful." He paused to let that sink in, before continuing: "And you speak of your commitment to your family and your countrymen, but what about your commitment to everyone else? All those foreign soldiers you fight against, are they any less human? Is it any less tragic when they die in battle? Don't they also have families and loved ones they're protectin'? Aren't we all _connected_? It ain't right to go flyin' your flag and pretendin' you have to look out for your own, because we _all_ belong to each other, and we have to go lookin' out for _everybody_. I know you love your family, but you gotta learn to love everyone else's family too _. It's all about love_ ," Luke countered. "I think maybe we gotta find ourselves a Bigger Love, that includes everyone, not just a few. Don't be gettin' nationalistic and drawing lines between yourself and others just because they speak with strange tongues, or live far away, or look a little different, or call themselves by a different name. It ain't right, King. So cut it out."

Luke realized he was sounding idealistic and goofy. It was insufficient. So he leaned in, locked his gaze on the King's steely eyes, and breathed slowly, adding the theme he had thought about throughout his tortuous years in Iowa. "No, it's worse than 'not right'. Killing is the worst evil you can do. Every time you take a life, _you destroy your own equal_. It's an act of undoing. Unmaking. _Everything_ you will create, every goal you will achieve, everyone you will love and honor and bring joy to _for the rest of your life_ ... is canceled out by what might have been done by the human being you have ended." They regarded each other coolly in silence, one with guilt and one with annoyance, for a long moment after Luke finished quietly: "Tell me Your Majesty... how many lives do you suppose we've taken, between the two of us?"

Unprepared to guess, unable to argue, but unwilling to change, Scrapper Jim finally looked away, and laughed, and wrote Luke off instead. "Hey, I like it; you've got some beautiful ideas about Peace, Unity, and Havin' Fun. But until everyone else agrees, we'll be keeping our guard up. Everyone wants peace, but everyone's afraid to be the first one to lay down their arms! That's the irony of the soldier's life, Luke: we all hate war, but we'll get into it whenever there's an opportunity! Maybe it's because strength is our most familiar way of solving our problems? Or maybe it's because we're just plain fools! You're right; we probably are foolish to fight and divide instead of loving. But then again...maybe it's human nature to be foolish... And as long as that's so, I'd rather be a live fool than a dead one! So I don't reckon I'll be demilitarizing Penetanguishene just yet, Luke. But thanks for tryin'. Who knows, at some level your advice might sink in and soften my heart, and maybe now I'll be not quite so grim, and somewhat less likely to kill on a whim, (though in hoops I'll still take it hard to the rim!) No promises though. After all, I'm Scrapper Jim, and fighting is what I do best!" (Cracking his knuckles.)

Luke wondered guiltily which was sicker: his Huns, for failing to even see that war was evil, or this nation, which seemed to know what war was, and justified it anyway. He shuddered in disgust and segued into disappointment. Then he looked out the window at the darkness and he sighed. "Hmm. I prob'ly wouldn't have any better luck talkin' to any of the other mean kings, would I? Any other advice on what else I could do, your Majesty?"

The blonde guy with the red shirt and the chip on his shoulder tried to be helpful: "Well Luke, I'd say that World Peace may just be a little bit out of your power. But keep doing what you can! Be peaceful yourself, and keep talkin' sense; but try to keep your mind off what's inevitable. Maybe get a wife and kids and a house in the country in some peaceful out-of-our-way place. Oh yeah, and one more thing some people try: Pray for peace," he suggested unsurely. Not that he had ever tried it himself, but it seemed that Luke might find it more comforting than his own military experiences and mercenary philosophies.

"Thanks, I'll keep it in mind," Luke said awkwardly, suddenly remembering that he was already supposed to have done that! He wondered whether forgetting to pray had cost him a golden opportunity here in Penetanguishene, or whether the cause had been beyond help. He could almost hear Hosanna's voice, as he imagined what she might tell him--that _no one_ is beyond help, and _nothing_ is beyond God's power! Luke suddenly regretted the way he had approached his whole Peace Crusade: First he had tried to wield power, and then he had tried to talk sense. Instead of just talking to the One who supposedly had the most sense, and the most power! So Luke sighed again and was sad.

The Right Honorable Scrapper Jim got from his desk put his arm around Luke's slumped shoulders, and led him out to the hallway. "Come on," he told him. "We'll fix you up in the guest room tonight, and I'll have them bring you some dinner."

He showed Luke to his room, and then the servants brought Luke a big, tasty dinner: lettuce, peanuts, oatmeal, fish sticks, raisin bread, spinach stew, an apple, a bologna sandwich and a tumbler of milk, plus an ice-cream bar for dessert. Luke was real hungry because he hadn't had too many square meals while roamin' through the forest between Chair and Penetanguishene. So he ate it all up, licked his lips, read his Bible, felt a little better, and went to bed.

As soon as the door was closed, however, Scrapper Jim instructed his soldiers: "Give him till about five in the morning. Then sneak in, seize him, and throw him in the Instinkerator." (That was the Kingdom's garbage disposal: cheaper than lighting an incinerator, and it paid for itself twice over--after letting the garbage compost for a while, they could sell it as fertilizer to farmers just across the border, at exorbitant prices, kind of like charging protection money. Also, it made a handy dungeon, carrying a public shame factor, sorta like being placed in the stocks, coz everyone in the kingdom could smell out who the deviant was.) Scrapper Jim gave a bitter laugh, coz the only thing he liked better than getting somebody, was pretending to be their friend and _then_ getting them. Later on, he passed the word to his generals: "If they're sending us this guy, the Huns have gone soft! Circle the date in red on your calendars: next spring we march on Hun-Country!" Even so, perhaps Luke's forthright appeal was already sinking in--there was a time when he might have followed an even more sinister impulse, to 'give the voice of peace a tracheotomy'.

Meanwhile, Luke was having a great dream, that everyone was happy and peaceful and there was a rainbow and a shinybright sun and the houses were made of gingerbread. He also had an even better dream where he was given a kiss by a calm, funny, pretty blonde gal named Trilby! Want overwhelmed him. Longing filled his heart. Unfortunately, Luke woke suddenly from sweet dreams into drab granite, where he realized both dreams were just fantasies and was sad.

Something--he was not sure this time if it was his Hun instincts, or something better--was telling him it would be dangerous to linger. So he got up and snuck down the corridor into the King's office, found a letter opener in a drawer, and carved a peace symbol into the expensive oaken desk: There. "For a memory," he grinned.

Then Luke moved quietly out to the lobby. But here, with a chill, he realized the severity of his plight: he had been allowed in, like a squirrel into a trap; but going back out, with no escort to see him safely through the Penetanguishene defenses, might be a tricky business indeed, even for a Double-Secret Super-Scout Warrior.

There was a guard at the drawbridge, with his back to Luke, peering out through a small window into the night. Luke could feel a rush of adrenaline, and Hun instincts proposing a solution: ' _Take the easy kill, get out of the castle, and run the gauntlet_.' His feet remembered the way he had come, even though he had been blindfolded. With any luck, he could sprint by a few of the sentries before they even caught on, and then could hope not to be struck by more than a few arrows on the way out. Huns have thick skin and hard hearts, maybe this would be enough protection to allow survival and escape. Wouldn't it?

He drew his blade for a strike on the broad back of the gatekeeper, but then hesitated, as the horror and hypocrisy of this plan struck him. Strike down an innocent fellow man? (A man with children perhaps...) After having already confessed, repented, and forsaken that wickedness? Luke sickened at the idea, but he wasn't sure he was ready to do the right thing--surrender, and possibly forfeit his own life--either. So he put away the knife, and paused awkwardly, trying desperately to think of a better way.

In the moment's pause, the keeper moved. He had sensed Luke's presence. He had divined his intentions. And now he moved his hand quickly towards a lever beside him...

Seeing the motion, Luke gasped--thinking it was an alarm, believing himself undone! Then gasped again as he saw the drawbridge drop open!

The gatekeeper turned and explained calmly, "You have come in peace, so you should leave in peace."

Surprised and suspicious, Luke asked hopefully, "These orders are from the King?

"I owe allegiance to the King of Penetanguishene. But I owe greater allegiance to the King of Heaven. _'I had rather be a door keeper in the house of my God than to dwell in the tents of wickedness'_ , you'll remember," he quoted. "I must do the right thing, and it's not right to see you made a prey, just because you trusted our 'Penetanguishene hospitality'. Come, I can help you." The gatekeeper tugged Luke's arm, and led him out over the drawbridge.

"Can you just do that? Leave your post? Leave the gate wide open?" Luke worried that desertion of duty could mean death for a Penetanguishene soldier. As anxious as Luke was to leave, he balked at accepting his own safety at the expense of a friend's.

The gatekeeper was fearless, calmly accepting the risk: "We are called to show the same love as Jesus, who said, and proved, that _'there is no greater love than that a man lay down his life for his friends.'_ But hopefully, it's a decision I'll get to make more than once: I'm not going far..." They reached the first sentinel. "Here is Murphy. A fellow Christian. He'll take you the rest of the way, blindfolded again, and it will look to everyone like this is from the King. (Which it is, just not the one they mean...) And when they ask me about it tomorrow, I'll just tell the truth: Since your business was completed, we saw you out with an escort, by the book. At worst they'll consider it bad judgment, not treason."

Luke tried to thank the gatekeeper before they parted, but the man was already on his way back into the castle, with a smile and a wave, and a cheerful, "Pray for us!"

Luke had to honor the request. After Murphy guided him swiftly and silently through the labyrinth and towards the border, Luke said his first prayer since childhood: "God? If you're there? Protect these your faithful servants, and let there not be too angry an investigation! (please.)" He wasn't sure if it even went through, but he hoped.

Then Luke journeyed on, with no destination save destiny, on a misty-bright early morning.

The air (like God's children, Luke decided gratefully), was pure and good.

# Chapter 11: The One About the Bird

"Sing praises to God, sing praises: sing praises unto our King, sing praises. For God is the King of all the earth: sing ye praises with understanding." Psalm 47:6-7

Luke sat down on a stump. It was about three o'clock on a summer afternoon. Sunny, sorta warm, soft breeze, hope-colored skies, blue and white ripple. All that kinda good stuff.

Our man Luke the Hun was feelin' a wee bit lazy, because that's the kind of day it was, and because he had already been walking most of the doggone day, and that can weary you out. After leaving Penetanguishene with no results and no leads, he had been heading south and west for a few days, looking for something that would speed his journey, something that might teach him about God. A clue, a friend, a quiet whisper: he wasn't certain what to look for, just _something_.

And now he was sitting on a stump in a yellow meadow. His mouth was a tad dry, but other than that, he felt great. He played a bit on his guitar, just trying some stuff. It was kind of slow and soft and pretty, and he smiled and said "Yeah."

Then he smiled at life ('Iss nosso baaad'), and looked about, and watched the birds flying to and fro. There was a loud little cardinal-bird who caught Luke's attention. He was sitting in a birch tree and singing softly, "Cheep cheep cheep."

"Hey," said Luke fakesternly, "Are you dis-a-respectin' my guitar playing?"

The loud little cardinal-bird laughed. "No, fella. I am not sayin' cheep about you. I am just sayin' it as a neato, clever bird-type song. I am a very promiscuous song-writer. No wait, I mean prodigious."

Luke was surprised when the cardinal-bird started talking back to him. He had met other talking animals before, but it still always caught him off guard. "Hey," Luke told the bird, "you can talk."

"Oh yeah son," said the cardinal-bird. "You're pretty sharp."

"Yeah, well, I'm just kinda surprised, that's all," Luke replied.

The cardinal-bird was curiously amused. "Surprised? Why? Don't you hear us birds talking and singing to each other all the time? We are real sociable critters. I don't know how the term social butterfly got coined, coz yeah they're pretty but they're awfully quiet. They should use the term social cardinal-bird: me, I'm pretty _and_ outgoing!" Puffing his chest out a little proudly.

"So I see," Luke agreed. "But still, I thought you guys kept to yourselves, and just talked in bird-language."

The cardinal-bird ruffled his feathers and dissented. "No way man! I'm not a snob. I don't mind associating with those of low estate. After all, it ain't your fault you're landlocked. You were just born with some tragic deformities, so that you have no feathers and too-big legs, and a thick heavy tail, and narrow little wings..."

"Hey! They aren't _that_ narrow," Luke objected, looking at his actually-pretty- muscular Hun arms. Then, frowning, he craned around to check his tail too.

"They won't get you off the ground," the cardinal-bird insisted. "But don't get upset, I'm on your side. I'm one of those sensitive few who understands that just because you're funny-lookin' doesn't mean you're less valuable. I'm sure you have a good heart; and after all, it's what's inside that counts."

"True. Hey thanks for bein' so sensitive," Luke gratefulled semi-sarcastically.

The cardinal-bird smiled proudly and said humbly, "Hey, I am just an understanding type of guy. It's my calling. I am kind of the clergyman of the birds. That's why they call me Cardinal."

"Neato," Luke concluded. "Hey Cardinal Bird, tell me: where did you learn to talk people-talk so well?"

The little red cardinal-bird moved his wingtips around somewhat, trying to talk with hands he didn't have, as he said, "Well, it comes from listening to folks. You can learn a lot that way. And obviously, I'm a Good Listener: if I didn't have a trained ear I wouldn't be such a great clergyman, nor would I be such a skillful singer."

"Speakin' of which, why don't we sing some songs together?" Luke suggested. "I think it would be swell. You have a fine alto voice, and I am a crafty baritone. Plus, I can play this here guitar like crazy. I think we could get some pretty interesting sounds."

The cardinal-bird was enthusiastic about this idea, so he flew down from his birch tree perch and landed on Luke's knee. The cardinal was a pretty friendly bird, but he had been postponing this particular friendly move for a spell, because birds as a rule are slow to trust and quick to evade. A self-preservation phenomenon.

Anyway, once he got there on Luke's knee, they got to talking and comparing notes, to see if they had shared knowledge of any songs. They didn't seem to know too many of the same ones, since Luke mainly knew jazz, blues and rock, whereas Cardinal Bird mainly knew bird-songs. They eventually found a few that they could sing together, however: Luke remembered a few hymns his Mama used to sing with him as a child, (before Chief Otis had put a stop to it), and the cardinal remembered a few from back in his younger days when he used to hang around the rafters of a Lutheran church and learn musical method from observing their talented choir. "They had a really good choir director," the cardinal-bird explained. "A good old guy named Harold, except I guess he wasn't that old way back then. Anyway, I learned a lot. I also got to hear some of the Bible," he couldn't help adding. "It's great! My favorite verses, (and I've converted quite a few birds with just these three by the way), are: _'Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.'_ How good to know that we are in God's hands and he provides for us! The same comfort is given in this one: _'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.'_ And we have this promise of what is in store for us, when he _does_ take us home! _'The kingdom is heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: Which indeed is the least of all seeds, but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.'_ Imagine! All of us birds lodged in the branches of the tree of life, and singing up a storm!" the Cardinal finished excitedly--and then felt the need to break into song, of course.

Luke and his fine feathered friend sang Nearer My God to Thee and Amazing Grace. The guitar was a poor substitute for an organ, but their singing made up for it, because the cardinal was quite a virtuoso, and Luke, true to his word, was a mighty crafty baritone.

After that, they realized that they had another thing in common: they had both been children, so of course they both knew children's songs. They sang the one about the Itsy-Bitsy Spider. (The bird really liked that one, but it made him hungry. "Just a sec, K" he said, and flew off. He returned a minute later, chewing on a spider, and he had brought another one in his foot for Luke. Oh, very nice.) After their small snack, they sang the one about the elephants.

They were singing so nicely, they decided to break some new ground. The cardinal-bird gave Luke a crash course in bird-language, and Luke picked it up quite nicely, though for some strange reason when he sang the bird-words he had a calamitous Euchranian accent. They sang the one about the bird-feeder, and a ballad about a hawk and a sparrow, and a bird translation of O Susanna, and then, since Luke was a blues fan, the cardinal taught him a song called Broken Wing Blues. Luke kinda took over on the guitar, and turned it into a masterpiece. But the Cardinal didn't really like blues, so after that he made Luke play the Blue Sky Boogie.

Thrushes and wrens beat their wings in applause, owls and orioles whistled and hooted to say "Way to Go!" and an eagle austerely nodded approval. Luke and Cardinal took their bows and smiled and waved to all their bird-groupies. Then they quit singing for awhile and had a nice conversation.

"So tell me my friend: what do you do for a living?" asked Luke.

"You're looking at it," the redbird declared. "I sing for my supper. I am such a good singer, the other birds bring me snacks when I give concerts. Plus, I am a music teacher, and they pay me to show their kids my tricks. It is a good life and a simple life. That's what we bird-folks are all about!"

"Man, it does sound kind of pleasant. I'm interested, see, because I'm still trying to find my own calling. Right now I'm not sure what I want to do with my life." Luke rested his chin on his hands and looked thoughtful.

The cardinal-bird got lively and serious, as he told his friend Luke, "Fella, let me be the voice of experience: I think you would like the music business. You get to do something you love, obviously, and yet people pay you for it! What more can you ask for in life?"

"Gee, it does sound tempting," Luke agreed. "But I was hoping to do something meaningful, to make a difference somehow."

The cardinal-bird got friendly-angry and said sharply: "Hey! Don't disrespect the entertainment industry, son. You've got a great gift here, an ability to bring people joy. People love music. Everyone likes to sing--if not with their voice, at least with their heart. Be a part of that, Luke. Every time you write or even sing a song, you bring into this world a work of art, a thing of beauty, a good deed. No mean feat and no minor calling, that!"

Luke looked the cardinal-bird in the eye, and said happily, "True. Thanks for showing me the importance of this field. I may well pursue it full-time in the future. I still have to consider my options, of course."

"As long as you're considering," the cardinal suggested brightly, "let me put a bug in your ear: if you like the idea of bringing a thing of beauty into the world, and spreading joy, you could also try working in a birdseed factory! Birdseed is great!"

Luke laughed. "Wow, I never would have thought of that. I suppose you're right though, it must be a very noble calling."

"Or you could be a veterinarian!" Cardinal announced. "They're the guys we all admire. Instead of singing blues songs about broken wings, you could actually fix 'em up. That would be a good thing."

Luke smiled and his eyes brightened as he looked around at the big world. "Wow! So many options! I only wish I could do it all. But it looks like whatever I choose, something good will come from it."

Cardinal-bird smiled knowingly: "Exactly! That's the neat thing about life," he proclaimed. "You can't lose. It's just an inherently good thing. A gift. Every day, there is something to be happy about: if it rains, you get to splash around and take a bath in the puddles. If it is sunny, you get to lay out in the warm sun and take a nap and feel contented, kinda like a cat, pardon my language. If times are good, you can find seeds and worms to eat, and you will feel full and fat and happy. If times are bad, at least you will lose some weight, and then you can fly faster and higher and feel like a monster athlete. If someone hurts you, it gives you something to write a new blues tune about, and it makes you appreciate the ones who treat you right. And if someone helps you, you make a new friend, maybe even someone you can fall in love and build a nest with! So you see, all things work for good."

Luke laughed, "My goodness, you sure are a positive soul. I like that attitude! And I think you are very wise in what you say."

"Thank you," said Cardinal. "That is why they made me birdclergy. But actually, most birds are fairly positive. You don't read of too many bird suicides, do you? (Except for a couple that crashed into windows, whom we were never sure about.) And how can we help but feel good and look at the bright side of things? It is hard to feel too glum when you sing songs all day! They say if you make yourself smile, your brain takes it as a sign that you are happy, and you actually start to feel happier! How much more so when you make yourself sing! Some people are afraid to just stand up and sing out, because they are afraid of what others might think of them. But who cares what others think? What's more important is that God himself thinks enough of you to have given his only begotten Son for your salvation! Other people worry too much about what they will sound like. But all singing sounds good to God! It sounds like joy! Like he has blessed you so much that your heart runneth over, and it pours out as song!"

Trying to be guilesome, Luke countered, "Hmm, so if I don't sing, maybe God will think he hasn't blessed me enough, and he will bless me more..."

The Cardinal grew stern, not pleased with Luke's trick: "But he _has_ blessed you more! If you had the first clue as to how much he has blessed you, you couldn't keep from singing if you tried!" Then he summed up, "So that is my advice for you, Luke, and for everyone: Sing a lot."

"K. I shall. Hey, my friend Hammer told me that dancing was good for the soul," Luke remarked, drawing a parallel.

"Ah yes," C.B. agreed. "We dance in the sky sometimes, big flocks of birds, soaring and rolling and tumbling in a self-made sirocco. We have a ball."

"I'm getting tired out just thinking about it," Luke decided. Then, following the Bird's sunny-day formula, Luke got down off his stump and lay down in a bed of long grass with wildflower pillows, and curled up and went to sleep, with the sun and a smile on his face. Cardinal Red Bird opened his beak to laugh a silent laugh, and then he flew down softly and nestled his tiny head in Luke's chest and he fell asleep too.

When they woke up from a well-spent afternoon of dreaming in the warm sun, (Luke had a dream about a sexy soccer-player named Lisa, Bird had a dream about a giant bird-feeder. Then he dreamed he could fly.) Anyway, like I was sayin', when they woke up from that, Luke was just a wee bit disappointed, but then he remembered to write in his Bible, adding the gatekeeper's word 'Greater' and the Bird's short word, 'Sing'. This made him hopeful and he headed on. Meanwhile, the cardinal-bird discovered that he really _could_ fly, so he sang a song and smiled a lot and danced in the boundless sky. Improbably, Luke thought of Jesus' disciples watching as he was taken up into heaven, as he watched his friend rise and fade.

# Chapter 12: Trees Like Baptists

"Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and in his law he doth meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." Psalm 1:1-3

Several hours before daybreak, several days later and farther west, Luke woke with a chill. He was startled and scared, to behold some sort of spirit or wraith floating in the air, wailing sadly: it certainly wasn't an angel, and not quite a demon. More like a ghost, but a crazy Irish ghost. He recognized it, from the stories he had read at his leisure in the library in Iowa, as a Banshee! "A Banshee named Sheenagh," she introduced herself self-confidently.

"Far out," Luke decided, recovering his composure. "Say, I would be interested to hear your perspective on life," Luke told her eagerly, having never talked with a Banshee before.

"I don't have one," she replied.

"A perspective?"

"A life," she corrected him. But then she searched her memory to see if she had any knowledge from beyond the grave which might be useful to him, and decided to warn him with:

The Ballad of the Late, Great Juan Carlos

There once was a ghost named Juan Carlos,

Who played net for the Toronto Marlboros,

He took a puck in the head

and he ended up dead,

The ghost of a ghost named Juan Carlos.

Luke wondered aloud what he was supposed to learn from that. (Inside, he wondered why a ghost would be playing hockey, and whether the whole story might not be apocryphal, but he didn't wish to offend.) "Always wear protective equipment when playing sports?" she attempted. Luke looked unconvinced so the Banshee tried a more personal elucidation instead, saying sadly "You never know when you're going to go, so you better make your peace with God today." That was of more value to Luke, who wrote 'Today' into his notes, while she went off into a brief howling jag, the self-pity of the lost soul.

"Anything else?" Luke asked hopefully, after Sheenagh had pulled herself together.

She thought again, and pointed out that her favorite quote, quite a useful policy in the haunting biz too, was from Machiavelli, "'It's better to be feared than to be loved.'"

"How do you know? Have you ever tried being loved?" Luke wanted to know.

She admitted that she hadn't, whereupon Luke motioned for her to approach, as though he might whisper something secretly to her. But instead, when she drew near, he stood on his tiptoes and gave her a quick kiss. It was kind of creepy and felt kind of wet (for both of them.) But afterwards, she felt kind of happy and loved, and thought that perhaps she was that much closer to just giving up wailing and haunting people, and being able to Rest In Peace now instead. "But I'll have to sleep on it," she said cautiously.

"K, U do that," Luke allowed, thinking at the very least this would allow him to get a little more sleep himself.

But before going she turned the tables on him, thinking if he had helped her that much, what else might Luke know? "Say, you seem a knowing lad. Maybe _you_ have some helpful thoughts for _me_!"

What to tell a troubled spirit? Luke wasn't presumptuous enough to create a remedy of his own, so instead he merely offered, a little uncertainly: "Um, well, I've been reading some comforting stories about Jesus, who died for our sins and was raised for our justification... Does that help?" (thinking: if nothing else, at least this heavy theological stuff would keep her mind occupied and keep her quiet till morning.)

The Banshee was suddenly ecstatic. "Ah, Jesus! That's the name I was forgetting all these years! Why didn't I think of that? Too busy wailing no doubt! OK, toodle-oo. I'm off," she proclaimed confidently, and faded off into the night.

Luke shrugged and took his nap. After he reawakened, she was nowhere about. Luke took this a good sign, but he wondered, Can it really be that simple?

In the blue early morning, Luke met up with a team of English teachers. "Great," he sarcastasized. (They all stopped in their tracks at that last word, wincing.)

On the pretty planet of Timnalauren, English teachers habitually travelled in fours. Not only was it good company for euchre at lunch and golf games after work or on the weekends, but it allowed them to share the workload as well: there was one to give the assignments, a second to mark the assignments, and a third one to hold you down while the fourth one laughed at you for goofing up the assignments.

Knowing it was a bad idea, Luke asked anyway, since it was what he had come to do: "Hey there, any good advice for me?" They pushed that door open and barged right through...

Mr. Schultz started the ball rolling, with the short, sweet summation, "Respect is owed to everyone who doesn't reject it." Even had a little bit of offbeat rhyme, but Luke liked it best because it reinforced the words one Mr. Carson had taught him during a summer job in Iowa--construction workers can be teachers too. Not his own words, but they were good words, a direct quote from Muhammad Ali, he claimed. ("You knew the Champ?" _"Oh yeah son, I was a boxer then, we did charity work together. He was a friend. He was everyone's friend."_ "Far out.") "Kindness is the rent we pay for our time on earth." ("So pay it only about once a month then?" Luke had joked. _"More than we can ever manage to pay!"_ Mr. Carson had corrected him. That sank in, and sometimes afterwards, Luke had remembered to do the right thing, to do good things for others, thinking to himself dutifully, 'Time to pay the rent'.)

Upon further reflection, Luke wondered if there were more than that to Mr. Schultz's remark: judging from some of what he had read, maybe it kinda summed up God's attitude too? Grace is given to all who accept it. So don't reject it. Simple enough. Luke hastily scribbled the words into his Bible: 'Respect', 'Kindness', 'Grace', 'Accept'.

He then turned his attention quickly to Mr. Sutton, who was expanding the theme:

"Our goal is to do good. Our goal is to make the world a better place. One mind, one heart, one life at a time." Mr. Sutton said that's what he thought being a teacher was really about. What being a human being was about, even. "One at a time. Begin where you are. Do what you can. Every little bit helps. But if everyone follows the rule, Voila! this'll be a rockin' place soon!" 'One', Luke wrote.

The third teacher, the beautiful, charming, enchanting Ms. McRitchie, hadn't had her morning coffee yet, so she got a little flustered and couldn't think of anything impressive to say just then. She was mainly just there as the one who held you down...

(Oops, what were we talking about? I got a little flustered myself just then.... Oh yeah, fourth teacher...)

Finally, an ornery tough named Mr. Young added his experience. "When someone wants to get somewhere, it's best to set out all the obstacles, all the problems right at the start. I like to be brutally honest with them. Whether they're looking to be a good student, or to be a good teacher. But not just because I'm a mean cuss. No," he laughed. "It's to help them! Because the sooner they realize what changes need to be made, what tasks need to be performed, the sooner they can get to it! Not only that, but they can better see their progress. As they make each improvement, they can measure how much closer they are to becoming what they want to be. With that comes hope-- whereas if you keep moving the bar and adding new burdens, people tend to give up."

"Don't they give up anyway, if you pile it on too thick at the beginning? Wouldn't that make something seem like a massive, daunting task?"

"Sometimes. But then, maybe those people aren't cut out for that line of work anyway. If you're going to decide that 'it's not worth it', then perhaps you'd best use your time finding a goal that _does_ seem worth it, coz you're not going to be any good at the first thing anyway, with that kind of attitude! Does this apply to your situation at all?" Mr. Young wondered, thinking maybe he had departed from the question a little.

"I was looking for God," Luke stated seriously.

Mr. Young wasn't even knocked off stride. "See, it does apply. I won't dare tell you to 'find something else that is worth it' then. That part of the advice has to go! But the part about getting the right attitude, to give your all and do whatever it takes to get there is on the money! If you're not willing to do that, what kind of believer would you be? Read Luke 14:27," the English teacher instructed, giving a homework assignment. "Jesus says just what I told ya: _'And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple.'_ "

Luke thanked the four for their help, as he noticed they had begun checking their watches more frequently. They hurried away to get to school in time for first period.

In mid-morning sunshine, after journeying on, Luke took a break, sat down among flowers, and thought about what Mr. Young had said. 'Lay it all out at once, so you can see what needs to be done.' So Luke began to make a list of what he needed to do to 'make his peace with God', as Sheenagh had called it. His knowledge of the Bible was still being pieced together, and he feared he was taking too much liberty in condensing it, but still, he tried to make a start (you always have to start somewhere, as Mr. Sutton had said), and to list the things he needed to do to get on God's side.

Luke's List

1) Repent: Confess sins and turn from them.

2) Believe on the name of Jesus Christ, and be saved.

Luke looked over his list. "Is that it?" he said aloud. Now he was sure he must have left something out. Not knowing where exactly to look, Luke remembered to look up the reference Mr. Young had given him. Seemed as good a place to turn as any. Reading the rest of the passage, he realized that it did seem to support the idea of taking stock before proceeding, just as he was doing, so that seemed to encourage Luke that he was looking in the right place. But when he got down to Luke 14:33, he was pleasantly surprised nevertheless, to discover a third item for his list! He read, " _So likewise, he that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple_." Luke was quite pleased to find this passage, and after some thought about how best to summarize it, added to his list:

3) Give your whole life to God.

Luke became somewhat less pleased when he looked over his list. Not because it was still short, no. "I don't think I have enough to answer an essay question" Luke conceded, but there was a completeness to it nonetheless. What disappointed Luke, however, was to realize what hard things those three items could be!

He could kinda cross off #1, coz he had repented somewhat, though maybe he had other sins he didn't know about yet, so perhaps this was an ongoing process. But certainly it was one he was willing to work at, anyhow.

He wasn't all the way to fulfilling #2 either, though perhaps... he wondered... maybe he was part way there? Like his friend Electric Man? He hoped so.

But #3 was the deal-breaker. Luke was not ready to give his life to God or anyone just yet. "I only got but one life," Luke observed. "And I'm busy a-usin' it my own self."

Then he pondered. "Who is to say? Perhaps I could at least consider it if I was more sure. If I saw a miraculous sign or something." But he recalled reading some words which _definitely_ applied to him! ' _An evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given it, but the sign of the prophet Jonas: For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale's belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth_.'

"So no more signs for the likes of miserable me. And I already missed out on seeing that good one," Luke thought, lamenting his poor timing. Resigning himself, he said to his friends the wildflowers, "Oh well, at least I still have you guys."

Then, he didn't know what prompted him, but he got the urge to pick a flower, and then to pick _on_ that flower. He tugged off the petals, one by one, like he had seen the young maidens do. And as he pulled each one, he said his own variant of their chant: "God loves me...God loves me not...God loves me...God loves me not..." He was happy when it ended on 'God loves me'! (He would have been happier still if he had had the first clue what this actually meant.)

It didn't take but a minute for the satisfaction to fade, however. Doubt, or what-have-you, forced Luke to try it again. This time, when it ended on 'God loves me', Luke was not pleased, but curious. The third and fourth time it happened, he was not so much curious, as unsettled: "Hey, what's this all about?" The fifth and sixth time, he was more careful to pick flowers without first looking, just in case he had somehow influenced the outcome by unconsciously counting the petals before starting. So when these flowers also told him, "God loves you!" Luke was even a little frustrated. Finally, after six straight God-loves-me's, Luke took a few steps to pluck a small, pretty flower, off on its own, as the one he chose "to break the tie." Like the others, she gladly gave her life to try to assist Luke's salvation. (And like the others, she wished the boy had been a little quicker on the uptake.) When her last petal fell, and Luke ended once again with the simple statement hanging in the quiet air, "God loves me," Luke was impressed.

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully; and then, while still not ruling out other possibilities, added grudgingly, by way of allowance, "So maybe God really does love me."

It was mid-afternoon. The sky was a very lit-up shade of gray, the kind where the sun is just waiting somewhere behind it, teasing through, recharging its batteries and biding its time. The kind of gray that sort of makes you feel excited, because you know it's not gonna last, and something new and amazing is about to happen. Luke could hardly wait.

Sure enough, something good did happen right about then: as Luke was walking between the moist and breezy pumpkin fields, he saw a house and a barn, and he heard a joyful sound--the sound of someone bouncing a basketball! Luke continued around the corner of the barn, where he found a tall guy _"with very long arms but relatively short hands"_ wearing warm-ups and taking shots on a rim that was mounted on the broad side of the barn.

Luke laughed. "Right on!" he exclaimed. "Fella: some one-on-one or what?"

The tall guy said Yeah. He introduced himself as Rasheed, and Luke introduced himself as Luke, and they shook hands and got down to business.

Luke took a few shots to warm up, and then they started playing. They played six games up to 15, and Rasheed won all but one. He was virtually unstoppable in the paint and on the boards, even though Luke was a pretty strong monster-athlete from Hun-Country. Rasheed also had an infuriating hook shot. But his forte was defense: as he swatted away shots, all gleaming teeth and laughter, he would taunt Luke with queries like, " _If Rasheed blocks a shot in the forest, does it make a sound?"_ Then, as he promptly blocked another, <Wocka!>, he would answer his own question: _"It sounds like... Victory."_

Luke finally got his outside jumper working to beat Rasheed in the sixth game, since by that time Rasheed was also getting a little tired and a little too cocky.

After that they took a break to get a glass of water and to catch their breath.

They were sitting there on the back steps of the farmhouse, drinking cool, tasty well-water on a cloudy day, when Rasheed suddenly proclaimed, "Basketball cleanses the soul!"

Luke looked at him. "Does it? Wow. I did not know that."

"Sure," Rasheed insisted. "It's a scientifically proven fact."

"You must play a lot of basketball," Luke said, in a subtle-compliment style.

Rasheed nodded. "Of course. It's more fun than pumpkin farming."

Luke agreed, but pointed out a practical aspect: "Yeah, but playing ball can't put food on your table like farming does."

Rasheed grinned. "Haha! Little do you know. I just signed a pro contract with the Kingston Kings. An eight-year deal worth forty-four million dollars."

Luke was quite impressed. "Wow-wee! Gee, no wonder you kept beating me!" Then he thought about all that money and tucked an idea away for later.

"You are what you eat...and I been eatin' my Flintstones vitamins!" Rasheed boasted in a sing-song voice, in what Luke took to be some type of slang. Then Rasheed looked at his watch. "Hey, it is about time for me to head for Kingston. Rookie camp starts in a couple days." Then he went inside the farmhouse and asked his Dad, "Hey Dad, can I borrow the wagon to go to Kingston?"

His Dad said, Sure-as-long-as-you-have-someone-bring-it-back-hotshot-I'll-need- it-to-truck-my-pumpkins-to-town-before-too-long. (He kind of ran his words together because he was real tired from farming nineteen hours a day. Farmers are hard-workin' guys. They say that the love of money is the root of all evil; well, might not farmers be the root of all good? Because they plant plants, and plants are good, and plants have roots. Follow? ...Ah, but what if God plants the plants?) Anyway, Rasheed told his Dad thanks, and he went out to the barn and hitched the horses up to the wagon, and away they went.

Luke rode along for a little while, until the road forked, and here he hopped off, waved goodbye, and took the road less traveled, as was his custom.

In the quiet early evening, Luke sat down under a single tall shade tree, by a still blue lake, and read his Bible in the pale, peaceful light. Then, there was just such a gentle breeze, that Luke leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes: not sure himself whether he planned to take a nap, or just to relax and enjoy the evening. 'Maybe just let sleep make that decision for me, as always,' he thought, smiling.

But after a few minutes, he opened his eyes suddenly, as though he had heard something! A far-off voice, perhaps?

Looking all around, and out to the horizon on the open prairie, Luke saw nothing. So he closed his eyes peacefully again. And heard the sound again!

After standing up, holding his hand above his eyes like a visor, and scanning slowly and carefully in a full circle, Luke sat down again, and kept his eyes open, as he tried to quiet his heartbeat so he could listen carefully again.

This time, when he heard the voice, Luke could see that there was no danger, nobody near, so he was able to take the time to listen to what the soft voice was saying.

Once he heard the words, it didn't take long to figure out that it was actually the tree talking! or chanting, or singing, or praying...

What the Tree Said

My roots nurse... at the God-filled earth.

My trunk stands... on the God-graced land.

My branches sway... all the God-blessed day.

My leaves spin... in the God-breathed wind.

My roots creep... through the God-wrought deep.

My trunk remains... on the God-loved plains.

My branches dance... at each God-given chance.

My leaves shine bright... in the God-scattered light.

My bark keeps me warm... in the God-thrown storm.

My leaves' work is done... in the God-raptured sun.

My twigs look nice... cased in God-hardened ice.

My sap runs strong... like a God-measured song.

My roots dig down... through the God-forged ground.

My thirst I slake... at the God-granted lake.

My life goes on... each God-promising dawn.

My branches extend... towards God my friend.

I rustle my pleas... to the God-bearing breeze.

I am cleansed of pain... by the God-made rain.

I release my prayers... in the God-whispered air.

I stand ever loyal... in the God-shaped soil.

After that, the tree began repeating the same or similar verses over again, slowly, deliberately, with a respectful rhythm. Maybe tomorrow it would add a new verse. But trees are known more for constancy than creativity. They're very grounded.

Luke was quite impressed with the good fortune that, the first time he had ever even heard a tree talk, it was kind of talking tree-poetry. (He couldn't have known, but that's just the way trees always talk! Never a sentence that doesn't carry God's name, either--what else is worth saying? they figure.) Luke listened and enjoyed it for nearly an hour. The more he listened, the more he started to feel like the tree felt--which brought peace, but also made it hard for him to get around to leaving! Eventually, fearing lest he put down roots of his own, Luke got up, hugged the tree, and went on. He was glad to have had a chance to learn from the tree, but didn't know what exactly he could have said back to it. How does one make conversation with a tree? 'Read any good books lately?' would hardly be a good opener! Better not to interrupt, Luke decided.

He felt happy and peaceful as he walked on.

But by dusk Luke's feet were starting to hurt from so much walkin', which put him in not as great a mood. Then to top it all off, in the dimming light he stepped into a rabbit hole and kind of twisted his ankle. It hurt kinda bad. There was a lot of cussin' and swearin'.

"Hey," thought Luke. "I just realized something. I don't swear." He wondered who had been doing it then, and he looked into the rabbit hole. There was a little old person, about a foot tall with a beard, lying in the rabbit hole, looking somewhat squashed. Luke helped the little person out of the hole, and apologized: "Oops, sorry about that, little fella."

"Who said I was a fella?" the little person with the little beard said aggressively.

"Oops, sorry ma'am?" Luke corrected himself.

"I didn't say I was a ma'am, either. I ain't sayin' one way or the other. I keep my personal life to myself. You got a problem with that?"

Luke shrugged and said he thought that was fair, but he had to ask, "So what should I call you then?"

"The name's Gynander. Gynander the Gnome. You can call me Ginny... or Andy... But I won't tell you which!"

Luke stooped down to shake hands. After being trodden upon, the Gnome was reluctant, but relented, and Luke said, "I am Luke the Hun."

"We don't see too many Huns out this way," Gynander noted. "Is this an invasion or something?"

Luke flinched at the hard-to-live-down warrior stereotype, but he answered matter-of-factly, as he gestured at the wide open spaces, "Think about it. This is the prairie. What is there to invade?"

"Good point," Gynander agreed; then reconsidering and deciding Luke's tone of voice was not very respectful, the Gnome added: "Hey, don't be knockin' my homeland, you rascal."

"Speaking of homelands, what are you doin' out here, livin' in a prairie-dog hole in the prairie? Don't Gnomes usually live in caves in the mountains, or trees in the forest, or something?" Luke interrogated, trying half-heartedly to do some stereotyping of his own.

Gynander smiled proudly, and boasted, "I reckon I'm a pioneer. The very first Gnome Cowboy! Or Cowgirl, as the case may be." The Gnome rustled up a cowboy hat from down in the hole, and struck a pose.

"Way to go," Luke encouraged. "But say, don't you need to ride a horse to be a cowpoke?"

The Gnome shrugged. "I had a nice white one, but it left. I was too small to mount it very easily anyway, so maybe it's better that we went our separate ways. Anyway, if you're gonna get technical like that, I prob'ly need some cows, too! But one thing at a time, y'know. I've got the hat, and that's a start."

Luke agreed that yes, it was, and he told the Gnome that he liked its laid-back, not too hasty approach to living. Gynander thanked Luke and told him, "Hey that's the first lesson you learn when you're old and wise and you live on the prairie." Luke asked what other neato lessons Gynander could share with him, and Gynander pointed out, "When lookin' for a rabbit hole to hang out in, try to find one without a rabbit! They may not look so tough, but they can put up a heck of a fight when you're only a foot tall."

"But I don't suppose you have any crafty insights into what life is actually all about?" Luke asked hopefully.

Gynander smirked. "If I did, would I be where I am?"

Luke was more direct: "My friends have told me about God. Do you know anything about him? I don't suppose you know where I should look if I want to find him?"

Gynander thought about it, and at long last spoke these not-altogether-original words of wisdom: "Go West, young man."

"Is God in the West?" Luke wondered, responding with a quotable remark of his own.

"I don't know, son. You may not find what you're looking for, but you'll probably find something. The West is a wild place. But strangely enough, you can think clearly there--I think it has something to do with the pure air: it cleans your mind and scrubs your soul. Maybe that'll help you figure out what you need to do."

Luke thought the prescription was a little vague, but he didn't have any better ideas, so he decided to go west.

Before he left, Gynander talked him into playing a few cowboy songs together, Luke with his ace guitar, and Gynander on his/her Gnome-sized banjo. Then Gynander told him to "Get along little dogie," and away Luke went, under gray clouds without rain, somewhere on the lone prairie. Gynander looked around in all directions, surveyed the situation, and wisely decided to retrench and take a nap.

Somewhere just west of the lone prair-ee, a white horse with no name came up behind Luke, and nudged him to silently offer a lift. Luke was thankful for the help. It made the journey go a lot faster. "Thanks Horse. I love you," Luke told it tiredly, as he fell asleep hugging it. It carried him through the night and into a bright tomorrow.

# Chapter 13: Corn and Sorrow

"For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death. For behold the selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge." 2 Corinthians 7:10-11

Somewhere west of the Run, Run, You Better River, Luke and his beloved white horse came to the top of a sandy bluff and looked out at the wide world. It was kinda pretty. "I guess this is it," said Luke. Horse the Mystery Horse (he thought this sounded more exotic than his given name Charlie) carried Luke gingerly down the hill, and across a little more grassland, and then they found themselves in a straw field.

Luke was a pretty perceptive cracker, and he realized: "Hey, straw fields don't get planted by themselves. We are on some kind of farm." It turned out to be a ranch, actually, but they share a common theme.

Towards the middle of the field, they came upon a young man suddenly. He was smiling knowingly, and wearing blue jeans, a white shirt, a gold watch, a brown hat, and some football shoes (Luke felt an instant sense of brotherhood) with a ubiquitous, intergalactic Swoosh logo. He looked familiar. " _Unknown, and yet well known."_ As though the twinkle in his eyes and the strength of his grip and the spring of his step and his sing-song heart represented a vision larger than just himself. "An archetype and an anthem," Luke recognized instantly, the words leaping to him from his study of both literature and music. The kind of man Luke would follow unashamedly, in hope and loyalty. "Bertralamus Jefferson Loreword, at your service," the youth announced slyly.

"Hi. I'm Luke," Luke said tiredly.

"So you are," the young man confirmed. "Welcome to the Rancho de la Raunchy Lawrence Ranch. What can I do for yis all?"

Luke thought it over, and said at long last: "We are looking for the West. Have you seen it?"

The good-looking young man crossed his arms in front of him, pointing both ways in a tangled-up Oz fashion as he scarecrow-imitated, sayin', "Some people go that way. But then again some people like to go _that_ way," pointin' crossways in the opposite direction. Then he dropped the charade and said straightforwardly, "But if you're lookin' for the West, son, this is it. You can go farther west indefinitely, but ironically enough you wind up in the East again if you do. Strange how life works like that. So at some point, you've just gotta say, Faa, far enough, and quit your walkin' and come in the house and eat supper. And this is as good a place as any. We eat a lot of corn here."

"Great, I like corn. How 'bout you, Horse?" Horse the Mystery Horse nodded Yeah-buddy, and the young man led them casually back to the farmhouse of the Rancho de la Raunchy Lawrence Ranch.

Supper was all laid out for them, and there was plenty to go around, so Luke just had to rustle up a plate and dig in. The young man introduced Luke to his two fellow corn-eatin' comrades, Peter Crowfoot and Lawrence. Lawrence was a gaunt old-timer with a mechanical arm and a shock of white hair. He kinda looked like Moses (except with less arms, fewer beards, and worse hygiene.) "He owns the ranch. He is a hard-workin' old guy, but he doesn't say much," Bert told the newcomer. Peter Crowfoot was a slim and simple, silent ranchhand with three toes on each foot. "Hence the classy name," Bert explained in hushed tones.

There was no talking during dinner, coz the eating was imperative. But between dinner and dessert, Bert proposed a contest: "What say we all compose a three-way rhyme, to tell a little about ourselves, by way of introduction for the new guy? Whoever makes the best one, gets the last doughnut. I'll even go first..." Then he tried to wow the judges with obscure references and wordy formulations, like a Golden Age poet:

"I'm four parts Hoplite and one part helot,

If the world is a mighty oak, I will fell it,

...And if my life is perceived as a Hollywood adventure, filled with romantic trysts and intriguing plot twists, femmes fatales and shady characters, I want Ewan McGregor to play me when they tell it!

Bert proudly interpreted their silence as awe, until Lawrence began roughly, "If that rhyme was a penny stock, I would..." He trailed off, coughed, and finished more charitably, "We should probably hold our applause until everyone has finished."

As Bert sat back down, Peter leaned over and whispered helpfully, "Last line has too many beats."

"Think so?" Bert's lip curled into a semi-smirk and his fingers worked as he playfully pretended to count them.

Peter Crowfoot stepped up next, began his rhyme mysteriously, and ended it somberly:

"I'm one of the secret few who know

How oats, peas, beans and barley grow.

...but I'd trade it all for a fourth and fifth toe."

Raunchy Lawrence took this sympathy vote strategy to a higher level, however, stating succinctly,

"I'm not big on charm,

But I sure know how to farm.

...Oh, except for that one time, when I lost my arm."

Wow, Luke didn't know how to beat an entry like that, so he tried the other route, butter up the judges instead:

"Putting all my values to the test,

To gather wisdom is my quest;

...and of all the steaks I've tasted, this surely is the best!"

They all had a good laugh at the good effort, but the doughnut went to poor old Lawrence anyway. Being a good winner, however, he remembered there was also still a box of oatmeal cookies in the cupboard, and he got those down for the other competitors.

"So what brings you to these parts?" Peter Crowfoot asked Luke between cookie bites. "Tell us more about this quest."

Luke rolled it over in his head and then said honestly, "I was looking for God, I guess."

"In West Dakota? How novel," Bert commented. "What made you think He lives here?"

"Gosh, I don't know where God is. So I figured this is as good a place as any to start lookin'. Besides, the Gnome told me that there was something special about the West, that might help me see things clearly and figure out where I'm going."

"There's nothing special about the West," Rancher Lawrence interjected, in a seventy-years-of-living-there-and-kind-of-disillusioned way.

"Well, if you want help finding God, I think you're barking up the wrong tree," Bert confessed. "Neither I nor my friends are experts in that area. We just raise crops and cattle and barns. Oh yeah, and I am a rather decent bowler (...always using the Lucky Purple Ball!) But we're hardly authorities in things religious." Peter nodded confirmation, gravely. Luke looked rather disappointed.

Bert asked him curiously, "Say, what leads you to look for God anyway? Seems like most people I've met either think they already know all about God, or else they just plain aren't that interested."

Luke reflected. "I guess I'm somewhere in the middle. I don't know much, but my friends told me that God is the answer. I think they're probably right--I know I'm missing _something_ intangible and good."

Bert smiled knowingly, and supplied an alternate theory. "Indeed, you were missing something intangible, something beautiful, something we have to hold fast forever in order to be satisfied, in order to be ourselves! It's called Freedom! Let me guess: you felt it slipping away as you started to get tied down to one home, one career, or one girl, so you panicked and set out looking for Freedom. Didn't you?"

"I...guess that sounds plausible," Luke agreed hesitantly, thinkin' back. "But if it's Freedom I'm seeking, where should I look?"

Bert the Young Man Lively laughed at the irony, and said slowly, "Son, you're already there. How does it feel?"

Luke thought about it, and realized that Yeah, he was pretty free, wasn't he? And he kind of smiled as he thought back on some of his recent roamin'. "It feels great!" he decided.

"Don't it?" Bert said smugly, reflecting on the best days of his own freewheelin' lifestyle.

Luke thought hard, and realized there was something maybe missing from Bert's philosophy of life: "Um, freedom to do what?"

"Anything!" came the answer. "Follow your heart at every turn, and you will be happy."

"Yeah, but my heart still has to decide what is the best thing to pursue at every turn," Luke pointed out. "That's what this search is all about: what is it that I should want from life? For what end should I _use_ my freedom? What will bring my heart happiness?"

Rancher Lawrence, the steadfast old man who looked like Moses, suddenly roused himself from his silent reveries to declare loudly, passionately and mysteriously: "The Sea!"

Luke, Bert and Peter were taken aback, and fell silent. In the space, Lawrence continued on, while his companions listened intently to the surprisingly wordy lesson. (Bert and Peter had never known him to say much more than a gruff _'Time to turn in'_ , or _'Get those cows in, won't you?'_ , or, with what they could never tell was deadpan humor or grim irony, _'I sure could use a hand over here.'_ )

"The Sea, my friend! Whatever you seek, you will find it in The Sea. If you look for God, does He not fill the Sea? If you wish to find yourself, you will discover your soul's reflection in her waters! If you look for the wisdom of the ancients, you will see that The Sea is ancient, and you will learn to hear her wisdom when she speaks! If you seek peace, you will come to realize that there is no peace--only the turmoil of constant motion and teeming life! Yet you will come to cherish the teeming. If you are looking for the love of a woman, you will understand that The Sea is like a woman: unpredictable, brooding, yet strangely comforting and with inexplicable beauty...And you will fall in love with The Sea, my son."

The three young guys weren't quite sure what to say, so there was an impromptu dramatic pause, which seemed rather appropriate anyway. Then, after sitting there stunned for a spell, Bert pointed out, "Um, Lawrence? Aren't you a rancher? When have you ever been to sea?"

The old Rancher nodded slowly, not exactly sadly but rather pensively. He sipped his coffee and spoke in a far-away voice, to no one in particular. "The time comes, my young friends, when you must choose. You must accept your station in life, and honor God with your labor. I was called to work The Land. But The Sea still calls."

"Called by God?" Luke asked.

The phantom trace of an imaginary smile flickered briefly. "By my father, at four o'clock every morning. In this house they were co-equal in authority."

"And now you wish you had chosen The Sea instead?" Luke asked, trying to clarify.

Lawrence pursed his lips and squinted his bushy-gray-eyebrow eyes, and said thoughtfully and honestly, "No. The Land has been good and faithful to me, and I have been faithful and good to her. I can honestly say that I have no regretssss..." (He hissed the word, dwelling on it, thoughtfully) "But no matter how sincerely I or anyone else may tell you that, we always _do_. No matter how satisfied we are, one always _wonders_... what was missed." He nearly stopped, lost in memories... then cleared his throat and surged on.

"But there are two types of regret, and it is important to decide which type you have. There is the sadness of not having done God's will, and this is the great sorrow... But it is a sorrow which may yet _lead_ you to do God's will--and that is the great comfort! The other type of regret is, when you do the work God has given you, and yet you wish you had not. This is faithlessness, and is always unnecessary, and unproductive." He paused to insert a disapproving Harumph after the last word. After this explanation, Luke looked a little comforted, whereas Bert, with a cough, just looked away.

Lawrence carried on. "It is human nature to question, but...we should always remember that God is our answer, and so not to let those regrets overwhelm us! Does He not put us where He wants us to be? I still wonder what mysteries the Sea might hold, but I am more blessed in this--that God has allowed me to tend the land, to watch the thriving life that He constantly creates anew, and to help it grow and flourish. Sometimes salvation takes root slowly, with your hand upon the plough." Lawrence paused for a moment, sipped his coffee, and looked at the glow of sunset through the yellowed windows of the weather-beaten log house, before saying slowly: "All I can really tell you is this... if God has called you to search, search carefully, search thoroughly, search thoughtfully...search lovingly. And when he calls you to plant, or to fish, or to preach, do each as earnestly. Meanwhile, the only way to find what your calling might be ...is to go and see."

Luke took the advice to heart, and promised, "I shall." Then he cleverly suggested that maybe it would be easier to 'search thoughtfully' if he slept on it! The other fellas rapidly agreed quickly with this suggestion, because it was evening after all, and they were all tuckered out from a hard day of hard labor and a big satisfying meal. Plus, they were ever mindful of the fact that they would have to get up early-early-early in the morning to do it all again.

They found a sleeping bag up on the shelf in the closet, and they set Luke up in the sitting room, (which was a misnomer in this case, coz who has time to sit around when there's work to be worked and a ranch to be ranched?)

Anyway, Luke fell asleep pretty fast, because he was especially skilled at it, and he was especially tired from crossing all those time zones on his trip west, and he was lying on an especially comfortable couch. The other guys went to bed in their respective bedrooms. Luke had a dream about a figure skater he had known at Hun State--an attractive transfer student.named Shillee. (Sparks had flown briefly between them, but she was too smart to get mixed up with a Hun). Peter had a dream where he was singing "Miii-ning for gold, mining for gooold!" as he tunneled through the snows of Baffin Island. Lawrence, of course, had a dream about The Sea. Then he had another dream, in which his favorite cow Bossy was being real stubborn, and he had to yell at her. He woke up in a cold sweat feeling stressed and guilty, until the reassuring confines of his messycomfortable bedroom smiled him back to sleep. Bert didn't have time to dream, but took only a brief but concentrated, knuckle-down nap before getting up and getting dressed in the middle of the night. He was up to somethin'.

Bert went into the sitting room where he auditioned the new man for his new role by giving Luke a literal kick in the side. "Hey. Get up," he argued persuasively. Luke opened his eyes somewhat, and squinted at Bert in the dark ol' night, and he mumbled sadly Wuzzup. Bert grinned and revealed: "It is time... (kick) to get... (kick) goin!... (kick) Prepare thyself. I will show you what Freedom is all about. I am a Master." He dragged Luke out of bed and into the barn. Luke protested a bit, saying tiredly, Heyshouldwereallybetakinofflikethiswhat- abouttheranch. Bert assured him that Peter C. was a hard worker, and that he and Lawrence would be able to handle it on their own. "Besides," he pointed out, "I left a note telling him we went to Sea! Lawrence will be happy we're living out his dream for him, I bet. One of those vicarious kinda phenomena. You heard him...'To find your calling, you have to go to sea'."

"Didn't he say go _and_ see?" Luke protested.

"Knock-knock," Bert replied, changing direction abruptly to keep his sleepy friend off balance.

"Um.... Who's there?" Luke finally played along.

Bert changed the format again, from a joke to a riddle, annoyingly answering a question with a question for good measure: "What's the difference between a conjunction and a preposition?"

"Um, couldn't tell ya," Luke admitted, still drowsy, but now a little put-out.

"So how's a senile old man going to keep them straight then?" Bert pointed out. "But you heard all that stuff about 'the Sea'. Brooding woman, blah blah blah. Yep. Go to sea. I'm sure that's what he meant."

"So _are_ we going to Sea?" Luke asked curiously, waking up a little.

Bert laughed. "Who knows? Perhaps. That's your first lesson of being free, son: always play it by ear."

"I play the guitar by ear," Luke chipped in, willing to mend fences.

"Attaboy," Bert praised him, with a bona fide pat on the back.

Then Luke saddled up Horse the Mystery Horse, and Bert saddled up Pony Meroni the Two-Legged Italian Wonder Horse. Pony was missing his right front leg and his left rear leg, from an accident with farm machinery several years ago--he had gotten lazy and decided to stop while plowing on a downslope, and the plow kept right on goin' and ran old Pony over. It wasn't pretty, but he had bounced back quickly because, (as Bert explained), he was "Elastic, Fantastic, and a Rock & Roll classic".

The boys headed west, in the nighttime, feeling slightly sleepy, moderately excited, and incredibly free.

Round about breakfast time, they found a banana tree and had a snack of bananas. Then they rode for a couple more hours in the cool, casual, moist morning blue. After that, they took a nap, in the kind morning sunshine, lying in the grass. Life was good! And for a smooth, careless moment, freedom kicking in, Bert and Luke knew it: "Can't fool me," Luke said laughingly to life. Then he slipped into sleep, where his dreams were teased by the familiar silhouette of the alluring but elusive Libby St. Clair.

# Chapter 14: Second Opinions and Second Shift

"Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life, which the Son of Man shall give you: for him hath God the Father sealed." John 6:27

By the time they got up, it was goin' on lunch, so they shook down a Skunk named Shaggy. After threatening that they might have to eat him (Mmm, tasty), he instead showed them a berry tree and they all ate berries together, like old friends. Then he waved goodbye with his tail (carefully, prayerfully, and let's-not-go-therefully), and Bert and Luke rode on, making a little conversation.

"First thing I want to ask you is, where did you get the fancy name?" Luke inquired. In Hun-Country, you had to be royalty to rate more than two syllables, and usually not even then. (sigh.)

"Bert? Yeah that is fancy," Bert acknowledged. Then laughed and explained the long version. "A child is a new creation, half its mother, and half its father. (Except for the soul, which comes from God.) So anyway, my folks decided to give me a name that reflected that heritage. A name that meant something to both of them. So, 'Bertralamus' is a combination of my mother's favorite philosopher Bertrand Russell, and my father's third favorite gland, the hypothalamus. (You're a college lad, you'll figure it out...)"

"Say no more, say no more."

"Jefferson comes from my American mama's favorite patriot, and my dod's third favorite City in Missouri (after Blue Springs and Wentzville, one has to expect.) As for the last name, well you don't exactly choose that, but they observed, just for fun, that it could almost be thought of as kind of a combination of my daddy's third favorite book, The Lorax, and my mum's favorite, Look Homeward Angel."

"Are you your father's third-favorite child or something?"

Bert laughed. "I'm an only child... but he always warned me that he liked those well-behaved neighbor kids quite a bit..."

Luke hadn't missed the part where Bert gave credit to God for the life of a child, and had to ask: "Are you a Christian?"

Bert was knocked off his rhythm by the unexpected question, but recovered himself quickly and parried, "Well if I am, I'm not a very good one..." Which sounded to Luke like a confession, until Bert added the exuberant explanation: "...I'm a drinker, a stinker, and a dirty-thought thinker!" Then it sounded like a boast.

After this, Bert turned the tables and asked back: "Let me guilelessly ask you a question. Why are you so concerned with God and Christ, if you're not even a believer? Coz how can you claim to be on a quest for truth and wisdom, and yet make up your mind at the beginning? If you already _are_ so sure of the answer, why do you need to keep seeking at all? And if you're not sure yet, then maybe it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion..."

Luke noticed at this point that he must be at least part way towards believing, because although this would have made sense in the old days, Bert's suggestion now sounded frighteningly like blasphemy. Luke thought hard about why this might be, and offered this explanation to his friend Bert: "I don't know, the Man of God was pretty convincing." Luke thought a little further, and added, "Actually, I think I have been given second opinions already, by _several_ others: the Caveman, Hosanna, Tom, Jean-L', and the Gatekeeper of Penetanguishene. They all agreed with the first, and each was as credible as the last."

"And no one yet has challenged you about it? Tried to sway you from your course?" Luke shook his head, Not Exactly. "Then allow me..." Bert volunteered, perhaps too eagerly.

Luke had a bad feeling about this. Maybe it was just the fact that he felt he had been getting somewhere, just starting to understand something, and he was afraid he might lose it, forget it, become confused or change his mind. So as not to offend his friend, he explained that this was the reason that he would prefer that Bert didn't.

Bert sighed. "Luke, let me remind you of a couple verses you might not have read yet, or might just have overlooked. I remember at one point it says that _'Perfect Love casteth out fear.'_ You say you're afraid I'll set you back, but if you had that perfect love for God, you wouldn't be afraid at all! You would be unshakable."

Luke thought this sounded like an accusation, and responded defensively, "I know I don't have it yet. But I'm trying. It's what I want." His face brightened at the declaration.

"Absolutely, and I want you to have it, too. But what was the parable about the seed that was scattered by the wayside, and on the stony ground, and among the thorns? You want your life to be a seed planted in good ground: which means you want to make your commitment right the first time. You're talking about a lifetime decision, it's something too important to back into, or to make by merely pretending you believe it. You really want to choose it, for certain and for keeps, over everything else! Now the best way to do that is to at least give a decent consideration to everything else, if only so you can reject them and choose God more honestly! That's all I'm asking you to do--I'm not trying to trick you out of finding your faith. It's like holding up two oranges beside an apple: if there's anything to this God thing, there's no way you'll get it confused with anything _I_ could show you! If anything, the contrast will make it stand out, so you can be even _more_ sure that it's what you want."

Luke started to get a little hungry with all the talk about food, coz the berries had been good, but not very filling. "Mmm, I _do_ want an apple," he affirmed.

"See? This isn't so hard. Tell me this, to get us started: Before you talked to the Man of God, what made you even start on this quest? What made you feel that you might need God?"

Luke remembered, and realized he still mostly felt the same way: "I feel like there's something missing in my life, a hole inside me where something good should be. I don't know what I should do to make my life worthwhile. Chief of the Huns is a pretty violent occupation, it's hard to see how I could have made the world a better place that way."

Bert summarized, skipping past most of what Luke had told him, "So in other words you didn't like your job. Hey, that's a good place to start. You spend the largest portion of your waking time there, so if you find a good job that makes you happy, it'll take you a long way towards feeling fulfilled overall. Ah, the value of Work!"

"Nay, nay!" Pony Meroni full-blasted his dissent at them telepathically, trying to warn them that work was no fun. (It wasn't that he couldn't talk...he was just a little hoarse.)

Luke didn't think that finding the right job sounded like the solution to all his problems, but then it couldn't hurt either. "We don't have any career counseling in Hun-Country," he admitted. (It would have been kind of pointless. What would a career counselor recommend to a teen-age Hun? Once every thirty years they might tell a promising successor, "You'd make a good career counselor." But for every one else in the meantime it would merely be: "You'll make a good warrior. Take a pamphlet.")

Bert tried to think what Luke should try, and finally concluded: "Perhaps it doesn't matter so much what you do for a living. The more complete solution is just to have a positive attitude. It's possible to 'choose the life you like', but it's better to decide to 'choose to like your life'. That way it depends less on luck, and more on you."

This was a little unsatisfying to Luke, because of its implications: "In that case, I could even be Chief of the Huns as long as I learned to smile about it."

"You probably could," Bert agreed. "It's up to you to find a way to make that job enjoyable. That's your responsibility. It's not God's duty to give you a perfect life: you ought to find the perfection in what He gives you."

"You sure you're not a Christian?" Luke asked suspiciously, coz Bert was still talking about God a lot.

Bert laughed, and repeated his indirect answer, "If I am, I'm not a very good one."

At this point in their travels, they just happened to pass a factory made of cement blocks and corrugated sheet metal. There was a woodburned sign (like a Quiet Riot plaque from days of yore), saying "Industrial Dave's Good Auto Parts". It didn't look very inviting. Bert shrugged. "Small steps," he said. "We can try this place out for now. Maybe it'll be a good job for ya. More likely it'll be good practice for our positive attitudes!" So they tied their horses to the bike rack and went in.

There were lots of machines, but most of them were idle, and it was pretty dark. But there were some lights on at the far end of the shop, so they went down there. They found several machines running: presses, and coilers, and conveyor belts, and automated grinders, but it took a minute before they saw any people. Finally, in a corner, working frantically slapping brackets together on an assembly machine, they found a man with a round head and big hands. Bert ventured a small cough and said, "Hello."

The man gave a little jump, but then smiled when he saw them. "Ah, reinforcements. He sprang over to a circuit box and flipped on a few more lights and powered up a few more machines. "You want work? Pick a machine. I am very far behind schedule, I appreciate any help." He shook a bag of coins. "The better you work, the more I pay."

Bert liked this capitalist promise, but Luke was still a little awed: "Are you Industrial Dave? Are you alone here? Where's everyone else?"

The man looked a little perturbed at the delay. "Yes; yes; and there is no one else. I run the factory by myself, except when help arrives. So far, just you two. And sometimes in the summers I am visited by the incomparable Jonnathinn Halley, Master of All Trades, Jack of None." Industrial Dave looked at a clock and added, "He should be here any minute."

As if on cue, Jonnathinn Halley came drifting in, waved, and started turning on presses. Later in the shift they spotted him repairing machines, and then heard him driving a Hi-Lo around in Shipping. (This last service was especially pleasing to Industrial Dave, who lacked a Hi-Lo license and usually resorted to pushing the shop tubs around with his hips or his hands.)

"See, that guy sets a good example. Hurry, pick a machine and I'll be there in a second to train you. Come on. Snap snap. Second shift is starting!"

Industrial Dave brought them safety glasses, gloves and earplugs, saying, "You'll want to protect your ears so that someday you can hear your children playing. You'll want to protect your hands so that you can walk hand-in-hand with your wife in your old age. And you'll want to protect your eyes...SO THAT YOU CAN ALWAYS WATCH FOOTBALL!" he shouted over the noise. (Gotta be clear on _that_ point.) Then he took a couple minutes training each of them, before leaving them alone to run their machines until lunch time. They started out kind of slow and cautious, but got quicker and more confident as the day went on. There was only working, no talking, as they were too far apart and the machine noise was too loud for conversation anyway.

Luke felt very uncomfortable and out of place at first, among the yellow walls and dim electric light and pounding noises. They sure didn't have anything like this in Hun-Country! And watching the clock just made the time go slower; he feared lunch would never arrive. But then he started getting into the rhythm, watching his piece-count and making a game out of trying to get parts out efficiently. "I guess it's fun, in a way," he tried to convince himself. At the very least, the solitude let him be alone with his thoughts...

He thought about God, and about the Bible stories he had read recently. Then he wondered if thinking this might be a good sign, if it meant he was indeed making God his top interest, like seeing the apple between oranges. Luke realized that he was smiling, and decided that maybe Bert was right, you could find a way to like anything with the right attitude...

And the right attitude was to focus on God?"

Before Luke had a chance to finish thinking this through, the 7 o'clock lunch bell sounded. 'But that's good too,' Luke told himself. Thinking 'bout those apples and oranges again had got his stomach grumbling!

Industrial Dave showed them to the break room, and all four men bought snacks and sandwiches out of the vending machines--including an apple, which Luke pared and shared (because he cared) with the hungry horses. They all took their food outside to the picnic tables, coz it was a nice summer evening outside. They also brought out a deck of cards, because it wasn't everyday that they had four players for euchre!

As they ate and played, and enjoyed the brief release from the industrial desolation, Luke tried to learn more about the place: "So what-all do you make here?"

Industrial Dave shrugged and pointed at the sign. (His conversation skills had atrophied from working alone in the factory for too long.) Jonnathinn Halley, who had some knowledge of the plant himself, filled the void: "We make auto parts. Basically whatever you might need to make a bus or even a car: bumper brackets, wiper arms, engine and transmission springs... even plastic roof racks!"

"Car?" Luke asked, confused. He remembered buses, but, "I've never heard of cars."

"I'm not surprised!" Jonnathinn Halley laughed. They haven't been invented yet. So we're having to warehouse a lot of parts for now, and break even from the sales of our bus parts alone. But once someone invents the car, all those stored parts are pure profit," he explained happily, in a deferred gratification, down-the-road-looking, unaware-of-rust manner.

Now Luke was even more confused, so Jonnathinn Halley tried to explain a little better: "Haven't you ever heard the question, 'Which came first, the chicken or the egg?' Well, the answer there is simple, the chicken, because God made it. But God didn't make cars, so the answer there is less certain. I tend to think you need car parts to build a car. Don't you?" This sounded plausible to Luke... he guessed. "So we build car parts, waiting for someone to get the great idea to put them together and build a car!"

Now this made sense, except Luke judged that there was something still amiss: "But if you know just what parts to make, and if you have the idea that you are making them for a 'car', why can't you guys just go ahead and invent the car too?"

Bert, who had already been smiling at this irony, couldn't help interjecting, as a possible explanation, a paraphrased Star Trek exclamation that went over their heads: "I'm a laborer Jim, not an entrepreneur!"

Jonnathinn Halley smiled: "True. But never fear, in a capitalist society someone will always appear to fill the gap eventually. Industrial Dave was miles ahead when he was just building bus parts, too, but then along came those famous inventors, Messieurs Rimington, Steinkuhler, Glover, Shields and Taylor, who invented the bus so that lots of big guys could ride to a football game instead of walking. You show up in Oklahoma tired from a four hundred mile hike and you're gonna lose anyway."

"They must have been great men," Luke offered.

"Geniuses all!" Industrial Dave finally spoke up, eyes moist, clearly moved.

That was all that needed to be said about that. They played euchre for a few more minutes, hoping that lunch break would drag on just a little longer.

Suddenly, just before the buzzer, Bert cleared his throat and spoke out grandly in ringing tones, reciting a kind of poem he had been composing while checking out the striking late-blue sky:

"The sky is like a little child...

She calls out to me,

'Look at me, Look at me!'...

And then she hugs me

And she tells me that she loves me."

There was a startled pause, and then, thinking him finished, Bert's three fellow-laborers were about to applaud and congratulate him, when he silenced them by continuing sharply,

"And then I sss-lap the sky, and tell her to go bother her mother!"

Bert looked proud of himself. Seeing that the others were at a loss for words now, he volunteered with a shrug, "Poetry should not always please and edify, but should also sometimes shock and offend."

"I feel the same way about union contracts," Industrial Dave growled menacingly.

Fearing lest they lose their health care and pension, Jonnathinn Halley shrewdly steered the conversation back to the previous topic:"So you're a poet then?" he asked Bert, with what might have been a mocking smile.

Bert shrugged again: "In school my peers nicknamed me the Para-poet (even though I'm still single.) I'm not a full-fledged poet, but I'll do in a pinch. I also worked for a while as a paramedic, and a paralegal."

"Well, let's hope nobody here gets injured and sues me then," Industrial Dave critiqued gruffly, just as the buzzer sounded. They got up and returned to work.

The next few hours flew by, and soon it was 11 o'clock, shift change. They all were ready to go except Industrial Dave: "Someone has to stay and work the midnight shift," he explained dutifully.

"So when do you sleep?" Luke worried. Coz they had seen him working day shift when they arrived.

Industrial Dave shrugged. "If you work three shifts, you get three lunch breaks. I don't need to eat three lunches." As if that explained everything. The others shook their heads, accepted their day's wages in copper, chromium and jade, (Luke was a little confused and disappointed to see that Bert got three of each type of coin, and he himself only got two), and rode off.

"So, what did you think?" Bert asked his friend. "Did it feel good to be doing an honest day's work for a change?" (He was assuming that a Chief's son must not do much work. Luke didn't challenge the phrase, convicted instead by the qualifier 'honest'.)

Luke assessed the day's events. "It was all right I guess. Yeah, the part I did like is that I felt like I was creating something new, something that wouldn't have existed if not for me. Maybe that's the highest calling: to imitate God in 'creating'?" Then Luke thought twice and added, "I guess I still like Lawrence's idea better though. If you tend the land, you know you're helping in the creation of something _good_. I'm not so sure that auto parts are good! But I guess they're not evil either," he concluded, deciding they were certainly less destructive than the savage implements that Huns wrought out of metal!

Bert was pleased: "Now you're getting somewhere. See, I told you, the best way to live your life is to jump right in. At the very least, the more stuff you do, the more you can compare. You worked in a factory and came out convinced that you would rather be a farmer-- you're not the first, believe me!"

'I worked in a factory and came out convinced I would rather be a Christian' Luke thought to himself instead. He kept this discovery inside, where it warmed him. And when they spotted a good sleeping-ditch and made camp, Luke lit up his candle, took out his Bible, wrote 'Freedom and Regret' for yesterday, and then added 'Positive', 'Perfection' and 'Work'. Then he read all of Romans in honor of the great day.

# Chapter 15: Tattoos, Tutti Frutti, and Tearful Good-byes

"I said in mine heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth, therefore enjoy pleasure: and behold, this also is vanity. I said of laughter, It is mad: and of mirth, What doeth it?" Ecclesiastes 2:1-2

There they were in the morning, two hip, happenin' young ramblers, lookin' about. It was a good, healthy morning: blue skies, but enough tame gray clouds to keep the sun from getting in their eyes; air cleverly cool, the kind of cool one can relax in; long grass darker than it would be later in the day, and still rather moist--enough to make their shoes soggy but not enough to make them waterlogged.

They looked around and winked at each other and at the world, and then they saw something new, down on the far side of the mountain.

"Hey is that a road down there?" Bert asked hopefully, feeling sly and intrigued.

Sure enough, it was a mysterious dirt road, coming out of nowhere and going some unknown place groovy.

"I reckon it is," Luke affirmed. "Guess we're going to follow it, huh. I mean, what choice do we have?"

"We always have a choice," Bert advised; "That's what being free is all about! But in this case, I agree with you--being the curious and crazy cats that we are, I can't see choosing anything else! So let's hit it!"

They woke up their dependable horses. "Hey Pony Meroni! Wake up, it's daytime: time to stop dreaming and start daydreaming." Pony Meroni got up and smoothly made the adjustment. Horse the Mystery Horse did the same.

Away the good guys rode, la la la. It was a pleasant morning for a trip. First they ate some breakfast as they rode: berries from the day before, and then a special treat that Bert had wisely slipped into his pack before leaving the factory--what else, apples! Luke laughed and gave him a high five. The horses were happy about it too. Horses have good taste. After they ate, they stopped beside a convenient river, and they had a long drink of cold water. Then they got back on the road and on they rode. Luke and Bert talked a little more about Freedom and The Good Life, and all that meaningful stuff, but they quickly decided that it was too early in the morning to be thinkin', so they told each other a couple jokes, and sang a few cowboy songs, and then they just rode on in silence, enjoying the wow day.

After a few hours and a dozen miles of nowhere, they saw something up ahead. It looked like a big tent.

Sho 'nuff, when they got a little closer they discovered that yes indeedy, it was a big tent. In fact, a number of tents. Traditional white and pink stripes, and inside'm, you guessed it, a Circus!

Now, it may seem quite odd for a big ol', fun ol' circus to be set up in the middle of nowhere, miles from any kind of town or city, and the same thought crossed Luke's mind. But Hey, people come from miles to see the Circus don't ya know. Sure enough, people had come from somewhere, because there was a good crowd, and there were lots of horses and a few horse-and-buggies and a couple covered wagons, and a stage-coach, and a big rainbow- colored autobus, and a gold Rolls-Royce in the parking lot.

Bert wrangled around in his pockets and found some money to pay the Circus fees with, two coins of copper and one of jade. He gave the money to Lenta the Pretty Ticket Lady, and she smiled, and they smiled, and they passed her tollbooth and entered the grounds.

First they played a few carnival games of skill and fortune, like throwing baseballs at the bottles and hitting the thing with the bell on top with a sledgehammer. They both won prizes, because they were strong and gifted monster athletes. Oh yeah, by the way, maybe these are Fair-type games, but this was the Super Deluxe Circus, so it had everything... Even a small zoo with a hippopotamus, rhinoceros and a porcupine, and a buzzard, a woodpecker, a wolf and a wombat, to say nothing of the unicorn, chimera and cockatrice which Luke regarded suspiciously.

After that, they checked out the freakshow, and then, inspired by the tattooed man, they stopped at the tattoo shack to get tattoos of their own. Bert thought about getting LOVE and HATE inscribed on his knuckles, like the guy in Night of the Hunter, but it had been done before, so he opted instead for a small Canadian flag on his chest ("Completely original. That's the important thing!") Luke thought about getting a skull on his skull, but decided that was way too hideous, and chose a Conan warrior on his bulging biceps instead. "I'm getting in touch with my roots," he claimed, as he readied to let some of his tough-Hun-spirit show. But then he changed his mind just before it was his turn, remembering that he had read something about the body being a temple--and though he had never been to a temple, he doubted the stained glass would have pictures of Conan.

"Wimp," Bert accused. "I knew you wouldn't do it."

They were kind of sore after that--Bert's chest and Luke's pride. So they bought ice cream cones to make themselves feel better. "I'll have chocolate," Bert ordered, then added scornfully, "he'll have Tutti Frutti." Then they went to the Big Top to see the main attraction.

It was really something! There were lions and tigers and bears, oh my, and there were magicians doing tricks, and there were daring acrobats flying through the dangerous air and walking on perilous wires without falling. There was a pretty diver named Jen whose golden hair, bright smile and warm soul reminded Luke of summer (so he nicknamed her Summerjen), and who dove courageously from a high platform into a small tub of liquid, without hitting her head. Everyone was suitably impressed. Best of all, there were clowns! They hammed it up and did some skits and some slapstick, and dressed funny, and everyone laughed. Bert and Luke really admired the clowns.

For a moment, in the euphoria of circusdom, Luke considered joining the circus, but then Bert reminded him: "That's a big step, why not try it on for size first. They're putting on another show in a couple hours, let's ask if we can play too."

They filled out one of those on-the-spot applications, and were hired on the spot. The other clowns took Luke away to help him put on his face, and Bert took a job selling snacks. 'The shortest distance to a fool's money is through his stomach', as they say, (mixing two and a half metaphors, or none at all.)

When the show started, Bert was especially sure he had chosen well: If the circus makes people happy, and snacks make people happy, then the guy who sells snacks at the circus makes people double-happy, what an honor! Plus he had a good view of the show, as he roamed the bleachers with his tray of peanuts, and could laugh at his boy Luke making a fool of himself. "Ca-lassic!" he exclaimed. It looked like Luke was having fun too.

After the show, Bert and Luke went out to their horses in the parking lot, and they were standing around waiting for the traffic to thin out a bit, and talking triumphantly about what good times they had just had. Just then a wiry man in a tuxedo and top hat approached them with a can't-say-no deal. "Hey fellas, I am Harmonica, the President of the Circus. Are these your horses? This two-legged Italian Wonder Horse is quite a curiosity. He would fit in well with our sideshow freaks. And that white horse looks pretty strong, I'll bet it could help with the moving, and even train to work with the show, carrying the pretty acrobats around. So whaddaya say, fellas? Can we have your horses?"

"Wait a minute. We need our horses to get where we're going. What will you give us?" Bert traderly demanded.

The top hat man grinned. "That's the good part. Behold, our latest invention!" Another circus assistant wheeled up a brand new two-seater bicycle, and made some hand-model motions, to show it off.

Luke and Bert were rather surprised, and they circled the strange contraption, murmuring "Neato!" Then they told the President that they would have to talk it over. They asked each other, and they both agreed, "Let's go for it!" They asked Horse the Mystery Horse for permission and he said, silently, with a wink and a nod, "Yah-whatever. I'm easy. When I get tired of the Circus, I'll just leave." Then he caught himself being casual, and added more grandly: "...When the wind blows, and the Spirit calls, then I'll go a-racing: Leaping all fences, breaking all bonds, and flying like dreams to where I am needed."

Pony Meroni the Two-Legged Italian Wonder Horse was willing too. He neighed to tell them, "Yeah, you guys make me walk too much! Besides, there's good food scraps at the circus. And I exchanged longing glances with a fun-looking frilly little filly named Kaytra... be a nice change after farm-girl horsies, they're all work work work. Gets to be a pain in the mane." Then he admitted that okay-he-would-miss-them-too, but not to let that change their minds.

Luke was concerned though. "Do you really want people to stare and laugh at you, Pony? That doesn't seem like a very dignified calling," (said Luke the Clown.)

"As long as I get to stare and laugh at them too, we'll be even, won't we," Pony Meroni pointed out in a whinny.

So Bert went ahead and made the transaction, after he tough-negotiated to get the President to throw in some circus popcorn and a little money. Harmonica said he would send someone out to get the horses, and he personally went down to the concession stand to fetch them their popcorn.

As they waited, they talked about their great day. "Forget that stuff I said about finding a good job, and the value of Work," said Bert. "I'm sure as a responsible Chief, you probably just have too much stress--all you needed was a bit of Play! Right? You feeling all filled up inside and groovy now? No more 'holes', no more blues?"

Luke seemed strangely sad. "I did enjoy it. All that playing, it was like being a kid again." His own childhood had been disconcertingly brief. "But what's the saying? 'Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there?' There was something not quite real about it all--as though it couldn't last, and it was like we were just putting off the return to reality. That was what was depressing about it. All the laughter seemed so temporary! Not only that, it all seemed like counterfeit joy: the magicians don't really have magic, the freaks aren't really freaks, and the clowns aren't really even clowns. They're just people like me with painted faces."

Bert shook his head, disappointed. "Luke, luke. You just gotta get in character is all. Keep being like a Kid-again, all the time. Once you've been doing this a little longer, you'll discover: There really _is_ magic, the freaks really _are_ freaks," (Giving their two-legged horse a last playful dig in the ribs with his elbow as he called him a name), "And, Luke? You _are_ a clown!"

At this point, The President of the Circus came back with popcorn and a stablehand, so the boys kissed their horse-buddies goodbye, wept unashamedly (just kidding), and rode away on their special, exciting bicycle.

They fell down a few times, but eventually they got the hang of it. Later they realized that it was harder on the legs than letting a horse do the work, but hey, a little exercise never hurt anybody.

"So we didn't stay. Oh well. It ain't as necessary to be part of the circus, as it is to have the circus be a part of you," Bert stated, to sum up their adventure.

Luke agreed to try to remember to take that spirit of youth and wonder along with him, jotting the President's word, 'Curiosity' into his notes. Then he ate popcorn and grinned a corn-tooth grin.

They kept the Bike for a few more days, until they got tired of skinned knees, and tired of Luke's guitar case banging against his back as he pedaled, and until they got closer to the coast. Then they gave the bike away as a kind gesture to the kids in an orphanage, and trekked on like troopers--coz that's what they were used to anyway.

# Chapter 16: Fellowship and Fooly-cake, Lacrosse Balls and Altar Calls

"For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother." Matthew 12:50

One week westward, Wow! Luke thought as he looked around at the beauty-full day. He took a greedybig breath of fresh, far-from-the-city afternoon air, and he looked at the warm blue sky and his joy pretty near exploded. Maybe it was just the last few days of ruling things out, and the feeling that he must be getting closer to finding what was missing. In any case, "If this is life," Luke said with a laugh, "I think I like it!"

"There ya go," Bert added more calmly. Barefoot, they strolled green-grass happy to the top of a gentle hill, and from there looked out at the whole world and said "Yeah!"

"Breathtaking!" Luke praised.

"Breath-giving," Bert countered, as he gulped a big breath and savored it, before explaining lyrically: "It's like being given mouth-to-mouth by the sky."

Luke was amused, and grilled his friend mischievously, "Now, would that be the same sky you slapped the other night?"

Bert squinted playfully and smiled suspiciously. Then he wrapped himself in solar robes, turned shining eyes skyward and proclaimed confidently, with a cherubic smirk, "The heavens hold no grudges."

Then Bert looked back down, and noticed what seemed to be some kind of settlement, in the valley before them. He pointed, and Luke's curiosity was aroused, since they had seen so few settlements since the circus, and what a good time that had been! Also, since it was a curious settlement... There was an old-fashioned log fence--which was appropriate, because it was the olden days, after all. (Though no one realized it at the time). Bounded by the fence was a pleasant-looking compound with vegetable gardens, soccer fields, greenhouses, longhouses and outhouses.

Bert and Luke went down the hill to see what it was all about. There was a big old gate, which was wide open, and above it was a colorful hand-painted sign proclaiming that all were 'WELCOME'.

"Cool," said Luke. "So let's go on in." They put their shoes back on, went on in and started roaming around the camp, looking for signs of life. They didn't see anybody.

"Maybe they are taking a nap," Bert speculated. Just about then they saw an attractive young lady hurrying across the camp towards one of the longhouses. Luke smiled and waved, in a friendly, casual way.

The woman stopped when she saw them, and she looked a little bit surprised, but she recovered herself quite nicely and said, "Hi! You must be new here?"

"I reckon so," Luke agreed. "We were walkin' along and saw this here place, and it looked inviting, so we came down to see what it was all about. If we're not welcome, we could leave," he offered.

"No, please!" the woman replied enthusiastically. "Y'all are just in time for dinner, actually! Won't you come join us?"

Bert flashed a smile and flirted, "How could we say no to one so beautiful as you?"

The young woman smiled back and replied politely, "Thank you. You're very kind," in a flattered, friendly, but clearly-not-interested way. "Come on, let's go get some food." Then she led the two hungry travelers to a longhouse filled with good people and good food. Luke was grateful. (Bert was forgetful.)

Luke helped himself to some salad and some peaches and some rolls and some lima beans and some rice, and fresh French bread with marmalade, and a tall, cool glass of apple juice. He noticed that there was no meat being served, but the rest of the food was so fine that Luke didn't mind. Bert minded a little bit, "What, we're not allowed to eat meat here? he wondered out loud.

"You can eat whatever you like, but we're not obliged to provide it," someone corrected him. Bert shrugged, and stocked up on the cookies and potato chips. After that he was okay.

The whole group prayed (even Luke and Bert showed respect by bowing their heads with the others), and then Luke sat down and ate his perfect meal with the lovely young gal who had befriended them upon their arrival. Bert smiled coz this gave him a reason to sit with her too. Luke had a lot of curious questions for her about this place, but first he ate most of his lunch, because he was a Hun, and when Huns eat, they generally mean business. After he had got the better part of his hunger settled down, he introduced himself to the lady who had brought him there. "Oh, I'm Luke by the way. From Hun-Country."

"Ah," she said knowingly, and possibly a little disapprovingly. Luke blushed, ashamed of his past and displeased with his people.

"Bert Loreword," Bert chimed in. "From Canada."

At this the woman looked confused. "Sorry? Canada?"

Bert tried to help her out, but merely fired off three more references that also escaped her: "You know, Canada? Home of such notable figures as Governor-General Ray Hnatyshyn, hockey giant Curtis Leschyshyn, and Kip Brouwer the Electrician?" She still shook her head, so Bert shrugged and ate.

Luke felt bad that they hadn't introduced themselves sooner. "Sorry, we didn't mean to be rude, just we were kinda hungry."

"Dinner time is dinner time," she said understandingly. "I forgive you. I am Rebecca, and these are my friends," she told him, gesturing at the whole crowd. Luke looked around, and estimated that there were about 140 people, including a disproportionate number of teenagers and young adults. There were a handful of older people, but even they looked like they were probably young at heart.

"It's nice to have friends," Luke said contentedly, scanning all the smiling faces.

"It's even better to have dessert!" Bert pointed out, for the chefs were bringing out some kind of tasty-looking orange cake. Bert said he would bring them some, and hurried up to wait in line.

Luke took advantage of the opportunity to chat with the fair Rebecca. "What is this place exactly?" He wondered.

She was careful: "Some might call it a cult. But we call it a church! A community of servants of the living God! It's fun: we work a little, we play a little, and we Worship all the time!"

Luke pricked up his ears. Another woman to show him the way? He had a good feeling about it, a hopeful tingle, after having come fresh from days of Work and Play himself. He took out his pen: maybe 'Worship' was the word he had been missing! He hoped so, but first he had to find something out: "That sounds great. But don't you like it here? You look a little sad today."

"Oh. Do I? Sorry, that's not usually me. I just got a letter from my sister is all, back home on Prince Edward Island."

"Is everything okay?" Luke asked, concerned.

Rebecca smiled. "Of course. Dad's still running the Bar and Grill, Jenny's still helping him with the farm. And they still only hear occasionally from my brothers, who ran off to become pearl divers in Bonimo Bay. 'Short, happy messages' are all the boys send, Jenny says. So, it sounds like everything is the same as always. That makes me miss home even more!"

Luke got kinda puzzled, and wondered, "Miss home? Isn't this your home?"

Young Rebecca sighed, and agreed. "It is. But still... I do wish I could see them all again."

"You can't? Can't leave here? ...Or can't go back _there_." Luke didn't quite understand.

Rebecca shook her head. "Everyone here is free to leave any time they choose. I'm just not ready to leave yet. Still growing in His Word; still strengthening myself through the promises of Christ. This place is so good for me, Luke! These people are such a blessing! Besides, this is my home now, and my family. For now. It would be too hard for me to go back right now; but maybe later I'll be able to visit them. I'm not sure they understand why I came here, and I don't think I'm strong enough or wise enough to make them understand."

"Why _did_ you come here? Make _me_ understand," Luke suggested, counselor-style.

Then, since Luke was a non-threatening third party, Rebecca did just that, opening up and telling him where she was coming from: "Y'see, it's like this--'The Garden' is a kind of religious commune, a refuge... our very own holy place. We took the name partly from the Garden of Eden, to reflect that we are reconciled to God through Christ; and partly from the specific work we do to serve Him." (Luke remembered the greenhouses he had spotted.) "We worship God here, and live our lives the way we believe is best. And it's very different, in many ways, from the way other people live. Consequently, most folks are very suspicious or even hostile towards us! Aren't we always afraid of what we don't understand? They think kids get 'sucked in' to a cult, or something sinister like that. Well, maybe some are like that, but here at The Garden, everyone has chosen to be here, because we like it here and we all believe in what this commune stands for."

This was what Luke was anxious to learn. He interrupted curiously, "And what is it that you folks stand for?"

Rebecca smiled with her eyes, and said softly, enraptured, "We believe in Love!"

"Oh, right on!" Luke approved enthusiastically.

"And we believe in God, of course!" Rebecca continued blissfully. "God is Love. The Bible teaches us that; but even better, so does experience! And so a number of us have gathered here to immerse ourselves in God, and to celebrate one another, and to live our lives in peace and joy, sharing everything. It is beautiful, really."

"What, the cake?" Bert interrupted, returning with three plates. "Yes It Is!" Then he sat down and dug in, while Luke and Rebecca continued talking, barely even pausing for foolycake!

"Wow, it sounds quite marvelous--so pure and innocent and happy and simple and good." Luke conceded. "But how does it work out? I expect it would take a special type of person to pull it off. Everyone would have to be awfully unselfish and loving."

"We are!" Rebecca excitedly ensured him. "Because we're all friends for one thing; but also because we all believe in Jesus, and we ask God to give us the strength and the goodness to follow His loving ways and be like Him. Right now, we're all still human, and imperfect--but when we do fail to do the right thing, we forgive each other, and everyone stays happy!"

"How astonishing," Luke said admiringly, then added the sad observation, "I wish the whole world could be like that."

Bert was more skeptical, however, and asked between cake-bites, "But tell me-- what happens if a rrrebel like me comes to your camp--someone who maybe believes differently, and isn't even necessarily your friend. What if you are infiltrated by infidels? Overrun by outcasts? Does that ever cause trouble and strife in your innocent little community? Or are motley hooligans such as I simply not allowed at this place?"

Rebecca laughed and shook her irrepressible head full of love. "Everyone is welcome here, but sadly, most people tend not to stay here long if they don't agree with our views. Those who do stay, we teach! And forgive. After all, _'Love bears all things...'_ "

Luke was growing more and more impressed. "You sure sound like good people," he praised.

"Actually, that's what we call ourselves, 'The Good Guys'. We thought about calling ourselves the Children of Hope or the Children of God or something like that, but those names were all taken. Good Guys is simple and to the point, and it conjures up all the connotations of the heroes in a storybook. We think that is neat."

"Indeed," Luke agreed. At that point the cakely aroma got to him and he had to shut up and eat.

The foolycake was excellent. It tasted like manna, except with food coloring and fruit flavoring. "The chef has a gift," Rebecca explained.

Bert finished first, and was peering up at the serving table wondering if there would be seconds. While waiting for the others to finish, he wanted to know, "Why do they call it foolycake?"

Rebecca shrugged, and guessed, "Maybe just because it's not quite cake? I've heard it called foolybread and foolypie as well."

Luke had a different explanation: "When my mama made it for us, back in Hun-Country, she told us it was called that because, after you eat it, you feel foo-ull." Luke patted his belly.

Nope, that wasn't it, Bert decided, as he slipped up to catch a second plate.

At last a guy in overalls at another table stood up and led the group in another prayer of Thanks, after everyone was done eating.

"Thanks is right," Bert agreed. "What a great meal; how much do we owe you?"

This question took their young hostess by surprise. "You are our guests," she explained. "There is no charge for the meal. We are just glad you enjoyed it!"

Bert tried again, "I'm not a socialist, lady. More like the Anti-Socialist. In the real world we know there is no such thing as a free lunch. So, how much?" But Rebecca waved her hands, declining again. "You guys can use the money more than I can," Bert insisted, offering some money. "Take it, please."

"True, we are not rich, but... God will provide," Rebecca explained, refusing him again.

Bert started to feel a little insulted, and pleaded, "Look, I don't like to be in anyone's debt..."

After this much badgering, Rebecca got a little stern, and reproved him, "But you already are, Bert! And more than you can ever pay! This meal was not given to you by us. It was given to all of us by God. God, who creates every living thing. God, who gives us the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we eat. You owe him your very being, Bert, your whole life. And you think to pay with a ... pewter and a kryptonite coin? His gifts are beyond price! But if it's in your heart to do so, you can give those not as payment, but as an offering, if you care to stick around for the worship service."

"I knew there was a catch," Bert smiled smugly, casting a playful wink to Luke. Rebecca rolled her eyes.

Since dinner was done, Rebecca suggested to Bert and Luke that she could show them around the camp if they liked. Luke said sure. Bert said why not. Away they went.

Rebecca led Luke carefree and glad through the summer evening warmth across the camp, pointing out the attractions. Bert tagged along behind, sizing it up. "The longhouses are where we sleep," Rebecca told them, pointing in a tour guide way, "except for that one where we eat, and that one where we meet for Bible study, and that one we use as a recreation center, with a roller rink and basketball hoops and such. If you want to stay with us for a while, you can stay in one of the guys' longhouses: there are two for guys and two for ladies, and one with separate apartments for married couples, though there aren't that many of those here yet. Marriage is a serious thing, so we don't usually rush into it."

"That is very wise," Luke said wisely, with a wise grin.

"Oh, and there we have the outhouses," Rebecca pointed out, "Ahem. In case you're feeling too full after that big dinner." Luke said that he would keep it in mind, and they walked on to the far end of the camp, a jungled up, overgrown, lots-of-plants area. There they found the greenhouses. "Come on in," said Rebecca. "These are great!"

Luke followed pretty Rebecca into a greenhouse, and he was amazed. There were flowers everywhere! Beautiful flowers, all different kinds and colors: red flowers, yellow flowers, purple flowers, white flowers, pink flowers, blue flowers, and even some pretty fuchsia-colored flowers (which no one could remember the name of), all living together in harmony. Luke wasn't a gardener, so he couldn't tell what all the different flowers were called, though he thought he recognized some roses. He loved the flowers so much that he wanted to hug them, but you can't hug a flower so he hugged Rebecca instead. Then he apologized, but she wasn't sore, just amused.

"What do you do with all these flowers?" Luke inquired. "Do you make floats for the Rose Bowl Parade, or do you just come here to look at them and be happy?"

"Sometimes we come here to be happy. But we also grow these flowers for distribution."

"She means they sell them." Bert explained to his less worldly-wise amigo.

Rebecca laughed and shook her head smiling. "No! Whoever heard of such a thing? We give them away. Flowers make people happy, and we love to make people happy because we love people. So we give them flowers! They are usually surprised, but that makes it even more fun, for us _and_ them. Actually, that's how I learned about this place: I met a girl from here who was giving folks flowers at the college in the town of Delightful, and I liked what she told me about their camp so I came all the way out here and joined them. And you know what? I'm very happy here. And you know what else?"

"What?" asked Luke.

"I think you would be too."

Luke was a little startled because he hadn't really been thinking about staying, but when he thought about it he realized, "Well, I'm happy so far. Why don't you teach me some more about the camp, and we'll see if I feel like staying."

Rebecca was glad to. She led them back to the other end of the camp, and the soccer fields. On the way, she talked about their self-sufficient agrarian economy, and their simple, wholesome lifestyle. Luke liked the sound of all that, coz he was a simple country-boy his own self.

When they got back to the soccer fields, most of the people were already there. A lot of the young ladies were dressed in soccer uniforms, and they were about to get a game up. Luke was interested. (He kind of had a thing for lady soccer players, since he had known a gorgeous one named Karen, and of course his amazing friend Lisa!) But Luke was even more interested by what was happening on the other soccer field: the boys were dressed for lacrosse! When he saw the prospect of getting in a lacrosse game for the first time all year, Luke was thrilled. "I guess I can stay a little longer," he told Rebecca slyly.

Good Guys that they were, they let Bert and Luke join the game--on the visiting team, since Fort Wayne always had trouble scrounging up enough guys anyway. They borrowed extra sticks, and someone came up with some old helmets and gloves for them. And by thoughtfully planning ahead, they were already wearing their football shoes, so they were all set ta go.

As the teams lined up, Bert couldn't resist talking a little trash, now that he was back in his element. As he took his attack position, he made sure to single out the biggest, toughest defender, a rough customer named Kip, and get in his face, warning: "I will fool you; I will school you; and I will RULE you!"

Though not usually given to foolish talking, Kip wasn't about to let that challenge drop unanswered, so he responded softly, strongly, certainly, "I will rock you; I will shock you; and when you're face down in the mud, I will mock you."

The game commenced. True to his word, Kip knocked Bert flying, right off the draw, and drew a penalty which allowed Bert to score a quick goal with the man advantage. Bert wondered if it had been worth it as he rubbed his ribs, and on the next draw he stayed a few feet further from the danger.

Luke was taken aback by the pace and skill level of the game, partly because he was rusty, and partly because I guess he expected a bunch of choirboys to be pushovers. After he got fooled on defense by a couple quick headfakes that led to goals, he got his own head in the game and he started taking the body like a true Hun. He knocked everybody over at least once, (including several of his own teammates. Hey. Accidents happen.) And he flattened one guy named Bill Burke so hard that Bill lost his helmet and lay on the ground for five minutes before limping to the bench. Luke also went on a rush and got an assist, but while he was up there attacking he also got sandwiched by two of the tougher choirboys, the juggernaut Kip and a wiry middie named Mike. 'No free lunch is right', he reflected.

All in all, it was a great game (the Good Guys won 13-12 in overtime), and they all left the field feeling beat-up and tired, yet strangely rejuvenated. That's the magical thing about lacrosse. Then they watched the end of the soccer game and then everybody got cleaned up and they went to Bible study in the meeting house, as night began to fall.

Luke was a little nervous because he was a stranger and he didn't know much about their faith. Bert acted like he had seen it all before. Rebecca and several of her friends were in their study group--an innocent man named Mark, and a lively, lovely, shy yet bold girl named Shelley, and a thoughtful young thing named Louise. They were helping Luke (and trying to help Bert) to understand what they were studying. Luke was grateful.

Shelley tried to explain what they believed in, starting from scratch. "We believe in God, who made all things--the rain, the earth, the people. He's everywhere and in everything, but you can't really see Him because He's spirit, He's not physical like you and me. Have you got that so far?"

Bert nodded, then shook his head instead. "I'm sorry, what? I kinda got distracted when you started talkin' about you and me bein' physical," Bert truthfully joked, winking at his friend Luke.

Shelley laughed, but she also scolded him, "Don't talk that way in church, please. Be serious, this is important stuff." Then she went on, confident that they would pay better attention. "We also believe in Jesus, who was a man but he was also the Son of God, so He and God aren't really separate, but they are one."

"Whoa, you lost me there," Luke said honestly.

Mark laughed. "We lose everyone there. It's hard to understand the mysteries of God, because God is too awesome for us to understand! So don't worry if you're confused: all things will be made clear in time. _'Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then shall I know even as I am known.'_ I suppose I could quote you something from one of the creeds: they are useful at setting in order just what we believe...

'For this is the true faith that we believe and confess: That our Lord Jesus Christ, God's son, is both God and man. He is God, begotten before all worlds from the being of the Father, and he is man, born in the world from the being of his mother--existing fully as God, and fully as man with a rational soul and a human body; equal to the Father in divinity, subordinate to the Father in humanity. Although he is God and man, he is not divided, but is one Christ. He is united because God has taken humanity into himself; he does not transform deity into humanity.'

Luke still looked puzzled, so Mark smiled and continued. "But the phrase that always helps me the most for now is, _'God was manifest in the flesh'._ Also _'In him all the fulness dwelt bodily.'_ Or, simply, as he said Himself, ' _I am in the Father and the Father is in me.'_ "

"Anyway," Shelley continued, "Jesus did many miracles and healed everyone He met, and taught about Love and Faith and Obedience to God. Then He was crucified, and by dying in our place, Jesus paid for our wrongdoing so that we don't have to die."

"What a great guy," Bert interjected, with questionable sincerity.

"True!" Shelley exclaimed, overlooking Bert's tone. "But here's the best part: He rose from the grave, and He lives forever, and we will live forever with Jesus, if we believe and follow His example!"

Luke had to sit there and sort through that for a minute. Finally he said "Far out." Then he thought about it a little more and said, "This is the same story I have been reading about. It does make it a little clearer when you boil it down like that, but..."

Eager to help, several of the others each asked, "Yes?"

"But how do I know any of it is true?"

Bert smiled proudly. "There it is. Don't forget to ask the important questions, little buddy."

The believers weren't afraid of the question, however. "A good question," Mark admitted. "And this may not be the answer you want... I'll admit, at some point you just have to trust." Bert nodded Aha, but Mark went confidently on. "But there's nothing unusual about that. Heretics and Heathen trust too, in their own stories, or their own judgment. We just trust in someone else's story... the martyrs'. The Bible is a great historical account of what happened long ago--but it's not just a story. It is confirmed by the witness of the early disciples--all of whom were willing to give their lives for the Gospel, and most of whom actually did! These were the same people who personally saw the miracles, the signs, the healings, the mighty works that Jesus wrought. Now if they hadn't really witnessed, if they knew these Bible stories had never happened, would they all give their lives for a lie? How absurd! And we have the same beliefs, the same sacred church, passed on through good and honorable Christians, _trustworthy_ people, man to man and woman to woman--friend to friend --from the original eyewitnesses right down to the present day.

"So yes, we trust that: A) the testimony has been handed down to us faithfully--not such a hard thing to comprehend that when you remember that Peter called it ' _the words of eternal life_ ', with all the care and sacredness that deserves; B) the testimony describes miracles witnessed firsthand, when Jesus walked among them in all his power. ' _For we have not followed cunningly devised fables when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty_.'-- second Peter 1:16. And we trust that, C) these miracles which they witnessed show that God was with Jesus, and His claims about Himself are therefore true. John 5:36-- ' _for the works which the Father has given me to finish, the same works that I do, bear witness of me, that the Father has sent me_.' Listen: even if you're not ready yet to trust, at least _consider_ the possibility, at least _investigate_ the claims, at least _search_ to see whether all the martyrs and witnesses might really have known something that you don't. You owe them that much respect at least. You owe _yourself_ that much respect!"

When Mark finished this orderly argument, Shelley eagerly added, "But here's the best part! You can start to believe because of the other witnesses, but once you believe? You'll become a witness yourself! You'll be able to see God working in your life, and your eyes will be opened to see all the goodness and truth you once were blind to! Faith may draw you to God, but experience will keep you."

Bert, who was from Earth, thought this sounded remarkably similar to the slogan of the Detroit Pistons' sponsor Dunham's Sporting Goods, and couldn't help wise-cracking, "'Our big names bring you in, our low prices bring you back.'"

At this point, Rebecca decided that Bert wasn't taking their efforts seriously, and like two rambunctious kids, maybe she had better split them up, so that Luke's study's at least would not be hindered. "Bert, why don't you come be in a new group with me? Kathryn and Susan are by themselves, we can join them."

"That seems like the sign of a cult, Luke," Bert warned. "They trying to divide us and outnumber us so they can brainwash ya better, maybe."

Louise resented the accusation, and responded with a warning of her own. "We all have to appear alone before the judgment throne of God. So you better take this seriously, and start using this occasion to get prepared, like Luke here."

"Trouble-y woman," Bert muttered. But he changed his mind and perked up soon enough, when he realized that Kathryn was a cutie and Susan was a beauty, and he already had a sea-rush on Rebecca too, so... 'Hmm, maybe it will be kind of fun to have my defenses broken down!' He grinned slyly, and went with Rebecca to the corner table.

Luke had a lot to think about, so he asked to be excused for a minute, and took advantage of the reshuffling to slip outside for some air.

Luke stood outside in the tender night, as a light and pleasant rain brushed over him. He stared up at the sky and out at the horizon, and he watched a distant lightning storm and he felt a chill. He tried to think about what they had told him, but the thoughts didn't come right away. When they did, he thought to himself, "The Gospel...What a remarkable story it all makes! I hope it's true; that would be so excellent! But it is so extraordinary, I can barely imagine that it could be! I know my friends wouldn't lie to me or make this up, but couldn't they honestly be mistaken? ...Or they could be right. I have felt that I'm missing something, but is this it?" That was the only question that mattered, but Luke didn't have the answer, and he didn't know where he would find it--didn't know how to move from hopeful to faithful. He stared into the storm and felt strangely lost.

Around about then, Louise came out to stand beside him and see how he was doing. "Luke, what are you thinking?" Louise asked softly.

Luke told her straight-up: "I like you guys. I think I'd like this life. I _know_ I'd like Jesus, if all that I've read is true. But I still don't know whether it's true or not. Maybe I have to see it to believe it."

Louise shook her head. "That's what most people say. The strange thing is, you usually have to believe it before you can see it! Maybe that's because God is Spirit, so you have to see Him with your spirit, by believing. You're welcome to stay with us--take all the time you want. And maybe we can help you learn what's true," she offered gently.

Luke weighed the offer carefully, but concluded, "I think you've already told me all that I need to know. Now it's up to me to find out the truth for myself...though I don't rightly know how."

"Look within," said Louise. "God writes truth there. Search your heart, and search _with_ your heart. And pray. Pray, pray, pray!" Luke thought the advice was kinda strange, especially the part about praying, since Luke wasn't sure if he really believed in prayer, so why would he pray that he would believe? Louise saw that Luke was thinking hard, so she reminded him, "If you have questions, never be afraid to ask."

So Luke asked. "If I don't believe, how can I just pray all of a sudden? How can I just start talking to someone I don't even know exists? What kind of prayer would that be? Be hard to put my heart into it, wouldn't it?"

Louise was thoughtful. "So don't do it 'all of a sudden'. Do it little by little if you have to. So long as you do it!" Then she tried to explain it: "Let's say, you are here, and God is way over there." She pointed off into the distance. "It's not like that, it's never like that, but I know it can feel like that. So how will you meet him? One big jump? No! Take some steps, get a little closer. Take some more steps, closer still. Then walk up and shake hands. It's not hard. Just start! And move as God draws you. Patiently... Carefully." Looking to where she had pointed, she extended her example, speculating, "You could walk that far in a single afternoon, I bet. But if it takes days, or weeks, or even years: God will still be there, wanting you to come! Like a Father watching his baby take its first steps--is He going to give up and walk away? Just don't give up on Him, either, Luke."

Luke liked her gentle, tenacious efforts, but was still a little confused. "So how does that work with prayer, specifically?"

"Have you never prayed?" Louise asked, trying to gauge how much knowledge of it Luke had, and what way to explain it.

"As a child, briefly, but I don't remember very much. Nowadays, no, never." Then he remembered the exception, and told her about his awkward prayer for the good men in Penetanguishene. Louise made him try to remember it word for word, and Luke felt quite awkward all over again, especially for having to share such a humble prayer with such a prayer expert.

But Louise reassured him, "That's an excellent prayer! Like the woman with the two copper coins: God judges what we give based on what we have to give. If that's where you were then, no problem. Maybe next time you'll move a little closer, instead of ' _If_ you are there,', make it 'I _think_ you are there' Then next time, 'I _know_ you are there.' And finally, 'I know You are there _and_ I want You in charge of my life!' Just don't force it--there is no magic formula. The only formula is to be sincere, and willing, and to let God do all the rest. Let Him draw you closer, let Him teach you the right words. Trust in Him to hear your humble prayers and know, Luke, _know!_ that He will respond with love and mercy.

"This I guarantee you Luke, as one who has experienced God's faithfulness, God's grace, God's wonderful promises kept: I _guarantee_ it. Carve it in stone, or write in your heart, or do both at once if you have to. 'If God has sent you out, know that He will lead you in again too. Whether it's this very day, or down the road, God's good plan must be fulfilled.'"

"But did God send me? Did he start me on this search?"

"You're here, aren't you?" she answered summarily. That was proof enough, to her. But then she remembered that Luke himself was probably still wondering what he was after, and possibly thinking his whole search might merely be due to loneliness, or grief, or fear. Anticipating these thoughts, Louise spoke out against this error in advance: "What is loneliness, or grief, or fear, but the absence of God in your life? Tell me if I'm wrong, but I would be willing to bet that, the little voice you've heard telling you something is wrong in your life? The little voice telling you to seek and get healed? That voice is the voice of God Himself, drawing you to Him! Jesus said _, 'No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him: and I will raise him up at the last day.'_ And you are coming to Jesus. Make no mistake about that! You'll come to Jesus if I have to pray for you every day for a thousand years! And since you're coming to Jesus, that means the Father has drawn you. And He will raise you up at the last day--make no mistake about that either!" she concluded, suddenly quite happy. Louise gave Luke a little hug, and then tugged his sleeve and took his hand, as a muffled melody wafted out of the chapel. "Come in, come in! They've started _singing_!"

They went back inside the meeting house, and with the press of bodies, and the woodstove radiating, it seemed just so welcoming and warm compared to the stormy evening. The warmth made Luke content, and the music made him glad, and the beaming faces of his great new friends made him happy, and their certainty that this all was true, and that he would soon know God, this almost made him joyful! He started to sing along.

Bert sang too, but Bert was a good singer, and sometimes sang just to hear himself sing. Everyone else sang songs of praise and worship directed to God. Luke couldn't yet direct it to God, but surely participating sincerely in a song directed to God was something too? Not quite the same, true. But a step, Luke decided, remembering the example Louise had used. _A step closer to God._ And he sang even more exuberantly at the thought!

He didn't want it to end; and the music did go on for quite a spell, but finally the songs stopped and they had to sit down and listen quietly for the preacher to do his part.

There were prayers, and Luke participated in the prayers the same way as the song-worship: not-quite-prayers, not yet personally directed to God, but still Luke kinda tagged along with the others in spirit, and felt _something_.

Then there was a bit of a speech (a sermon, was their word for it.) He didn't follow it too closely, as he was still distracted by thinking about what he had learned so far, and as it was still a little deep for Luke's shallow understanding anyway. But once in a while, (usually when the preacher got louder to make some point seem more important), it would break in on Luke and impress him. Finally, he heard the preacher citing a familiar verse, one he had read earlier himself: _"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven..."_ This reminded Luke that Oops, maybe the time for reflection was on his own time, and that maybe he should try to keep listening and learning while the preacher continued:

"' _Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation."_

The words echoed through Luke's spinning head, with a weight like truth: Now the day, now the time... Was this the call of the Holy Spirit? or just the power of suggestion and repetition? For the mood was shifting, the congregation was suddenly participating, prickling with excitement, beginning to repeat the preacher's phrase like a chorus:

"Now is the time to confess that we are human, to admit that we are frail!"

" _Now is the accepted time..."_ they echoed.

"Today is the day to come before God and ask for His mercy!"

" _Now is the day of salvation."_

"Now is the time to leave our sins in the past!"

" _Now is the accepted time..."_

"Today is the day to begin a new life, in love and holiness!"

" _Now is the day of salvation."_

"Now is the time to give up our grief and our doubts!

" _Now is the accepted time..."_

"Today is the day to take hold instead of eternal life! through Jesus our Savior!"

" _Now is the day of salvation."_

Having established that, the preaching changed abruptly again, into questions and answers. "Are any of us perfect?" the preacher asked his flock.

Parishioners piped up, from around the room. _"Not us, Lord." "Only Jesus..." "Thank God for mercy!"_ Then last of all, with a pause for comic timing, just before the preacher carried on, Mike the Middie got the last word in: _"Not this bunch!"_ Luke smiled and looked a little startled, to discover how much fun they all were having.

"But is God perfect?" the preacher followed his thread. The affirmations were vociferous. _"Glory, glory!" "Make it known." "Praise the God of wonders!"_ Then goosebumps up Luke's arms, to realize how earnest and reverent they were as well, as a last speaker, Susan, raised her answer clear and bold above them all, simple and ringing: _"He Is!"_

"So, can any person earn their way into His perfect kingdom?"

And the congregation answered: _"No way!" "By what works?" "Help us Father!"_ Again a last speaker, a middle-aged woman named Joanne, gave a word that felt to Luke like prophesy _,_ embodying both their humility and their confidence: _"By His grace."_

Once more, the preacher showed them the contrast: "But can God make a way for us?"

" _Absolutely!" "Praise Him for miracles!" "All power belongs to thee O God."_ And then suddenly Kip added a word, and Luke was on the edge of his seat rooting them on, stunned by the love and loyalty of a disciple sticking up for his Lord, insisting gruffly in his deep voice: _"Give it a name!"_

The preacher smiled and took over again. "Amen, children. God did make a Way, and He did give it a name! The name of Jesus!...the Way to the Father. The perfect sacrifice!...pure and holy. To pay for our sins!...freely and completely _._ To reconcile us to God! _..._ forever and ever." Then he slowed down, and let their attention linger in suspense for a moment, before adding one last question, looking right through Bert and Luke: "Is there any reason then, why you shouldn't come to Jesus and receive God's mercy?"

Luke thought that over, head swimming and heart fluttering, as the preacher surged on to the end of his message: "Because make no mistake: there _is_ One God. The maker of heaven and earth. The savior of all men. What do we have that He has not given? _'For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen.'_ And if God has both created us, and redeemed us through Christ, if we owe our entire existence and all of our hope to God, ought we not therefore to live our lives for God?

"Because we have One Life: one life only. Brief and precious. Use it carefully. We have a simple choice this day, and each day: live for ourselves, or live for God. Remembering this only, that _'He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.'_ Why? Because _'this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.'_ That, dear friends, is the life, the joy, the good way which we can never find on our own! No man can earn it, no woman can buy it." (With a wink, still having fun in the joy of the truth. Then continuing seriously:) "The only way we can know God is to yield to Him. Yield our hearts, yield our lives, and trust Him to lead us into life eternal.

"Will you yield this day? Or will you continue to wander in the wilderness?"

The end came suddenly, and the congregation bowed their heads in prayers of thanks and worship, as they made their choice. Luke was left a little breathless, trying to think quickly and figure out the answer to that last question, when another offer was abruptly tendered:

"If there is anyone here who has not yet chosen to give their life to God and to accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, and if you would like to, please come forth now. Come down to the altar and we will pray with you... And God Himself will come and heal you! _'Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation'_."

It was certainly an attractive offer. But Luke stood still.

Then suddenly he thought, Yes! and started to move!

But he felt someone grab his wrist, and he paused. It was Bert, leaning in and whispering: "I'm not trying to stop you--but are you sure? This is a lifelong commitment. Best not to do it unless you're sure. Even the Bible says: _'Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay'._ "

Luke blushed a little. He had _thought_ he was sure, but once Bert made him think about it, doubt crept in. Then the moment had passed, the service had moved on, and pretty soon it was over, with Luke still wondering what had happened, and whether he had missed his big chance.

Louise convinced them to stay the night at the camp, in extra beds in the men's longhouse, rather than traveling in darkness, in the rain. Luke agreed gladly, Bert reluctantly. Before bed Luke wrote down Louise's word, 'Steps', and the preacher's word 'Now'. They got a good night's sleep and had an early breakfast with their Christian friends. After they had eaten, Bert sidled up to where Luke was standing with Rebecca and Louise. "Bacon would have been tasty..." he teased. But despite his jokes, Luke could see that Bert was restless to leave, and since it was Luke's journey after all, Luke figured he better go be a part of it too.

He sadly said good-bye to his friends, Rebecca, Shelley, Mark, Louise... even Kip. (hey, why not?) They told him that they would miss him, and they reminded him that he should come back whenever he felt ready or willing, and they all promised to pray for him. "Your time will come," Louise assured him. "God has a plan for you!" Then she leaned close and whispered, like a code between them, the words that Luke would remember her prayer pledge by: " _A thousand years..."_ Overwhelmed by the enormity of the vow, Luke drew her close and held her long, so she would not see his sudden tears. Finally he forced a bright grin, and gave her a quick kiss good-bye and a heartfelt thank-you, though these seemed like such small tokens in return for all her care and endless love.

Then Louise tapped a finger into Bert's chest, and though still smiling, warned seriously, "I'll be praying that your cynicism doesn't stand in the way of Luke's hope."

Bert smiled yeah-yeah; but then he smiled for real when she gave him a prayer promise as well: "I'll pray for you too Bert..."

"Oh, rill-aaay?"

"I'll pray that your cynicism doesn't stand in the way of your own hope, too," she said gently.

Bert thought maybe he could take advantage of the touching moment to give her a hug too, but she was on to his tricks. So he laughed, waved, and left The Garden with Luke.

# Chapter 17: Tricky Shaky

"Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord;" Acts 3:19

It was later that day. Bert and Luke walked west under partly cloudy skies, tight-lipped: Luke in thoughtful and sad silence, Bert in the careful quiet you put on when you know someone is mad at ya and anything you say will just fall flat or start a fight anyway.

Finally, Luke broke down first, and had to let out his feelings. "Goof!" he blurted.

Bert feigned surprise and offense. "What?! What are you talkin' about? I was helping ya."

"My one chance to do the right thing in life, and now it's gone," Luke lamented, accusing himself as much as his friend.

"Gone? Whatever. So go back. First of all, I didn't stop you, I _cautioned_ you. And if you're so sure about it, there's no reason you can't go back anytime. Repent, sing your songs, give your life to Jesus, the whole works. Any: Time." Bert reminded him.

Luke thought about it. "True. But I won't--because I'm not sure _now_. Not sure they are right, not sure it was real." Then Luke gritted his teeth and explained with some bitterness and regret, "But I _was_ sure _then_. For one brief moment, it all seemed clear! Now how am I going to get back to that? It was tough enough the first time. Between my hard heart, and my foolish mind, and my bad attitude. Prob'ly be harder now, coz I'll always be trying to remember and recreate how I did it the first time, instead of just letting it happen."

That was an interesting point, which Bert stored away in his own complicated thoughts, before he defended his actions: "So is that what you want then? The kind of certainty that lasts for a moment? Or the kind that lasts for a lifetime? Coz if all you lost was the first kind, then I didn't really set you back much, did I? Remember the story I referred to earlier? The one about 'good ground'? It's a good idea to get 'conversion' right the first time, so no thorns can choke ya, and no birds can come along and eat ya," Bert said, making the parable more personal.

True, Luke didn't want that, but wondered, "Wouldn't God make the ground good? Pour some _'living water'_ on it to soften it perhaps?"

Bert was impressed that Luke had obviously been doing his reading, and was certainly making progress to show that kind of trust in God's providence and to leap to God's defense like that. He praised Luke for it, conditionally: "Good, but...Further still to go," Bert pointed out: "There will come a time when you won't say, 'Wouldn't God?', but 'God will!' So maybe this _is_ His way of making the ground good: take you through some more places, some more days, some more lessons."

"Maybe," Luke agreed, and then asked suspiciously, "Hey, when you talk like that, it almost makes you sound like you are a believer too! But you were calling it a cult a while ago..." Luke remembered, not understanding the dichotomy. (He wouldn't have understood the word 'dichotomy' either.)

Bert clarified: "Always listen carefully, Luke. I didn't say Christianity was a cult. I implied _their_ particular brand _might_ be. Not everything that is taught or done in Christ's name is true. Everywhere are charlatans and thieves, robbers and frauds and miscellaneous culprits, The government, the corporate world, the singles scene... Ha. Why should the church be immune?" He considered a solution. "Always one needs to use good judgment and question everything. Compare it with Scripture is how those in the know do it. Coz if it doesn't square with that, they're prob'ly just making up their own stuff. Comparin' it to experience and common sense also works kinda well for the rest of us in the meantime," Bert recommended. "And when the two standards start to give you the same answer, then you know you're ready to be a believer, I guess."

It was a helpful answer, but a little indirect: The question Luke had meant to ask him, and he went ahead and asked it more precisely now, was, "So are you, or aren't you? A believer."

Bert still found some wiggle room somehow. "Who me? I'm the Bad Guy, remember."

Taking this prematurely as a No, Luke still wanted to know, "But were you once? Your knowledge of the Bible tells me you used to read it anyway. And that part about the good ground and the wayside and the thorns, that sounded like there was some personal experience with it. Did something happen?"

Bert smiled slyly. "Ah, he asks about my past..." Still smiling, he changed the subject: "You said you wanted God to water that ground? Well I got good news for you, brotha: we getting close to the coast! All the water you could ask for..."

Luke's next question was going to be how did Bert know his way around this region so well, but they never got to carry on that discussion, for at that point there was a sudden movement just ahead of them. As they approached, a thin man in a dusty, worn tuxedo with a light blue scarf, rapidly bolted from a spot behind some berry bushes and fled from their presence with scared-man speed.

Bert and Luke exchanged a look, and then automatically sprang after the runner. One always wants to know 'what's up', after all. (Don't rabbit unless you want to be chased, the police officers keep telling me.)

It was not an easy chase. The scared man led them in a long circle through brush and brambles, bristles and thistles, canyons, minefields and ravines. (He always seemed to slip through easily, being thin, and his muscular pursuers always got snagged. 'Or maybe we're just careless' Luke reflected later, as they licked their wounds.) He forded a raging river, climbed a high cliff, traversed a highland, and ducked behind hedges and trees for hiding purposes, but always his pursuers managed to stay in close contact. Luke's Battle Days had provided lots of practice in overtaking those who 'retreated', and Bert too had a little practice in tracking down evasive opponents, even if it was only by cutting off the ring during his Boxing Days at the Kronk Gym--a skill that strangely somehow stood him in good stead here as well.

So they were not far behind, when the thin man came to a barbed wire fence, and hastily opened his combination lock, and breathlessly slammed the gate shut behind him, just as Bert and Luke crashed against the fence.

Huns and Canadians only count the cost later: so they went fearlessly over the top of the fence, getting gashed a little for their troubles. They lost some ground, but they sprinted quickly enough to catch up in time to see him just ahead, as he shinnied up a wide tree and clambered into a waiting tree-fort at the very top. There were no steps cut into the tree, so Luke and Bert had a devil of a time scaling it with elbows and knees, but finally they got to the top, to find the trapdoor locked from the inside.

"This guy and his locks," Bert muttered crossly, then hung down from his branch so that he could swing up a foot and crumple the cheap door with a superhuman kick. Bert and Luke climbed in. They had no right, but after all the hardships he had brought them through, they felt like they did.

They looked around in the tiny tree-fort, wondering where the man had gone. There was an old humble-bed with a green blanket, and a cheap home-made table, and a cupboard with a single plate, a single bowl, and a single tin cup, a dull steak knife, a bent fork, and Lo, two spoons (ah, from the days when he had been respectable!) But no tuxedo guy.

"He had plenty of time to get out a window (nice climbing, hotshot), but we would have seen him leave wouldn't we?" Bert contemplated.

Luke looked under the bed. Then looked there again, since it was the only hiding spot. "We are perplexed," he admitted, speaking for both of them.

Finally, just kidding around, Bert joked, "When I used to clean my room at college, I just swept all the dirt under the rug." Just to check, Bert tried to lift the bad rug in the center of the room. It wouldn't move.

Further inspection soon revealed that the rug was affixed to another trapdoor, which they wrested open furiously. They realized that this second trapdoor clearly led them back down into the inside of the actual tree trunk, which they could now see had been half hollowed out. "Well I'll be," Luke exclaimed, exasperated. "This guy sure is good at running and hiding," he reported, in a not-a-compliment observation. Though he had discarded the Huns' penchant for violence, the disdain for cowardice was still ingrained. At least there were some bark chips nailed as steps, so they could climb down through the inside of the tree a little easier than they had gone up the outside. Tight fit though, coz they were not as thin as the thin man.

So by the time they finally got to the bottom and emerged into a small, underground bunker, they were a little peeved. The thin man was there, cringing on a hard, wooden chair, with his eyes screwed shut, and his hands covering his face: hoping they would go away no doubt. "Guy, what's up?" Bert asked crossly. "Why did you run from us like that? Got us all curioused up, scratched up, worn down and weary."

The thin man moaned, and rocked helplessly in his distress, hands over eyes, pleading, "Oh, I am sorry, I am so sorry!"--though not necessarily in response to Bert's list of grievances, for Bert eventually had to grab him by the shirt front and repeat the question to even make him respond: "Why did you run from us?"

The scared man took his hands away from his face and peeked at them, and looked a little surprised at what he saw. "You don't look like much," he decided. "I heard you mention the name of God. I thought you must be His messengers, sent to slay me."

The absurdity of it all--the barbed wire, the locks, and the trick rug, to hide from God--struck Bert as funny and he laughed roughly. Luke was curious about the poor man's plight, however, and asked earnestly, "Why would God slay you?"

The thin man started to answer, and couldn't stop his confession from tumbling forth. "Because I have sinned! Transgressed against God! Betrayed His Spirit! Violated His Covenant! Robbed His Temple! Insulted His Grace! Offended His Righteousness! Scorned His Gifts! Departed from His Guidance! The only thing left for me is at least to humbly accept His Wrath and Sacred Vengeance." He put his hands back over his eyes, as though expecting it at any moment.

"Wow, you had a busy morning. So what did ya do?" Bert asked, amused by the thin man's seeming exaggeration.

"I took something that didn't belong to me," the scared man said softly, with two shivers and a quake, three trembles and a shake.

"Pack o' gum?" Bert joked, still flippant.

"No, this." The man opened a small chest and pointed to a huge shining ruby, afraid even to touch it. Dazzled, his visitors stepped back. "It is one of the Pope Jewels. The treasure of the Church. They were all stolen from the Pope Building itself, several years ago. And I took part. I, Shadrach the Peasant, who was then a servant, even a priest of God. Can there be a more grievous sin than that, do you think? A worse betrayal?"

Bert was still staring at the gem. A look of horror and recognition passed briefly over his face, and he gulped, but he recovered himself quickly to jest, "Neato. Hey, it almost matches the one I've got at home," and gave Luke a wink.

Luke was confused, however, by the man's misdeeds seeming so out of step with his evident sincerity and piety. "So why did you take it then?" Luke wondered. Not that the taking of treasure often confused a Hun, but if this guy was so sure it was wrong...

Wailing and tears. "I don't know! Haven't I asked myself that every day? Haven't I repented every moment since? Haven't I been weary of my very life, carrying this burden, this grief?" Then he struggled to yield some kind of answer: "The former Pope was... troubled. He was not as godly as I expected him to be, I think. Or as sane." Then hastened to add, lest he add sacrilege to his sins, "The new Pope is much better, I hear. (From the fishes, from the trees.) And the old Pope is getting help, they say. I guess I thought I could help him? Save him from greed, by showing greed of my own? Not quite what the Bible means when it says to _'bear one another's burdens'_! I know that now. But I was consumed. Confused. By jealousy. Anger. Self-righteousness. I questioned God's servant, and by implication, questioned God who sent him. And thus fell to worse sins myself. Is that irony? Or justice...?"

At this point, Bert suddenly began to make a speech, in a vastly different tone than he had used up until now. Luke was appalled by the transformation. Unsure whether it was a practical joke, audacity, or actually God speaking through Bert, he kept silence and did not interrupt. And Shadrach heard what he had been expecting to hear all this time, so the change in Bert's tone went unnoticed. Possibly he hadn't even realized Bert was the one who had jested earlier, since he had been so distracted by his own woe, (not to mention havin' his hands over his eyes and whatnot.)

Bert began: "Will a man hide from God? God, who knows all things, and sees all things? Will a man _run_ from God? God, who made all things and fills all things? If your sin at first was grievous, your sin in this defiance is tenfold! Kneel now before your God, and repent of this evil. Come forth from this exile and hide no more. Seek His mercy and be saved.

"Have ye not read, _'Behold, the LORD's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear; But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear'_? Indeed, your sins have separated you. But God Himself will take away your sins, that you may draw near once again. Your sins are great, but God is greater than all.

"Is it not written also, that _'neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'_ Shadrach also is a creature of God, and unable to separate himself from the love of God, though he burrow into the earth, though he hides his eyes, though he hides his heart. Shall not the LORD break through with love? Behold, even here in the depths, has he not sent you His witnesses? For God himself has called you to be a servant, a child of God. Though you have made yourself a useless servant, can not God make you useful once again, for that to which He sends you?

"This you must do, however: Repent of your sins. Not only the theft of light things such as stones, but the theft of a good servant, the theft of precious years, and the theft of withholding God's blessings from all those who might otherwise have heard and learned from you, had you not hidden your body under the earth, and hidden your heart behind the curtains of your own grief and shame.

"This you must do: Come forth. ' _Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works.'_ Will not God be with you once again, to lead you in just paths? For His mercy triumphs over your wickedness, His holiness outweighs your wretchedness, His grace saves you out of your weakness: that you may be a witness of His glory, to a people who have not heard..."

Bert ran out of stuff to say. He shrugged, and seemed himself once more. Apparently it was enough, coz Shadrach was down on his knees, praying and repenting, for many minutes. There was silence, and Luke bowed his head and kinda tried to pray himself, but wasn't very sure about it yet, though he did manage to offer his spirit in agreement with Shadrach's contrition, a "Lord, hear his prayers,"-type request for the poor man.

When Shadrach finally stood up, he wore a look of cautious joy. He had recovered his firm faith that he was forgiven, but still held the consciousness of sin, and had added to it the sad realization that after years of hiding, he was out of practice talking with God--and that even though that relationship might be mended, the years lost would never be replaced. But at least they were talking again. "It's strange," Shadrach said to Bert, "But another verse of Scripture came into my thoughts while I was praying. Only, I don't know whether it is meant for me, or for you? " _'But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.'_ Does that mean anything to you? I guess it'll help remind _me_ to make my words always prayers to God, or testimonies to his mercy. That'll be a hard habit to get back into."

Bert softened a little, but he saw this as an opportunity to share a little more advice. "They say that God is everywhere, but still, sometimes there's a place where you might feel more in touch with Him? Go there, and pray, and learn and recover and reconnect. Prob'ly get you back to where you want to be a little quicker is all; slide right back into those old habits that much easier. Right? For me, my spiritual place is Kansas..." Then he told the story, and Luke was startled, to see Bert looking fuller, of peace and power, than even when he was making his previous speech!

Memories of Kansas sing through my blood

like the haunting cry of her sweeping wind:

the bright gale that sweeps the white sky blue,

the warm breeze that drives the good gray dust,

the swirling storm that shattered me with rain,

the airy grace that blew me back to youth.

Memories of Kansas preserve my youth

in amber: as vital as my pulsing blood,

as sanctified as Holy Water rain,

as powerful as the soul-propelling wind,

as true and bright as her March morning blue,

as lasting as the windshield-coating dust.

Memories of Kansas raise me from the dust,

restoring me to when I was all youth:

when gray skies loved me just as much as blue,

when grace infused my breath, my sweat, my blood,

when I skipped, laughing, down the wind,

and God baptized me secretly with rain.

Memories of Kansas refresh me, like rain

revives dying flowers in the dust:

giving me strength to stand against the wind,

giving back the blossom of my youth,

giving cool moist kisses to dry blood,

imparting joy on days when I am blue.

Memories of Kansas are filled with rich sky-blue:

the newborn hue that follows after rain,

that sends a sense of wonder through my blood,

that courts the spring-green trees and sun-white dust,

then brings back childhood summers from my youth,

to scatter cares and fears along the wind.

Memories of Kansas carry me like wind:

like the lifting hand which swept out of the blue

to save me from the folly of my youth,

by the cleansing, soothing touch of healing rain,

by the cry of faith that rose up from the dust,

by the holy fire awakened in my blood.

In Kansas I shed blood, work in the dust,

cast my past to the wind, drown in green rain,

and in dawn-blue memories, am born into youth.

Shadrach thought about it. "Hmm, must be quite a place. Well... maybe I'll find a different place for myself later, but back in the old days I always used to use an actual prayer closet! Just shut out the world and pray one-to-One." He looked over at the closet, and laughed. "For such a humble abode, this little place actually has quite a bit of closet space! One of the big selling points, actually. That and the barbed wire."

"Oh yes, loooove the barbwire," Luke flattered. Then observed, "A back door would probably help add property value too. Or a secret passage if it's the most you can bear. But you could have had plenty of time to slip out, while we were fumbling around upstairs. Just for future reference. If you decide to do any more hiding out."

"My hiding days are done," Shadrach affirmed, with restored reverence.

"Attaboy," Bert commended, giving him a proudofya-pat on the back.

Then they went out the way they had come, though this time Shadrach climbed out with them and unlocked the gate at least. They waved goodbye with Thanks and Bless-you's all around. As long as they were talking to a religious feller, Bert figured he might as well take his old salutation out of the mothballs: "May God bless you with 'mighty blessings and groovy blessings', and any other kind ya like," he said playfully, to Shadrach's sage nod.

As they journeyed on, two questions occurred to Luke. "Where's Kansas?" he wondered, having never heard of some of those swell Earth place names that Bert kept dropping.

"Kansas? Somewhere south of the Emwyobi River," Bert said secretively.

Thinking that was the answer, Luke played along like he knew his way around. "K, Thanks. I think I know where that is." Bert got a kick out of that. Then Luke asked the second question, somewhat dryly, paraphrasing the one that had been asked about Saul: "Is Bert also among the prophets?"

Bert had to laugh a little, "Oh, that? No, I was just preachin'. As long as you say what's already in the book, anybody can do that."

"I was surprised to hear _you_ do it though," Luke admitted. Bert raised his eyebrows, How-So? " You being 'the Bad Guy' and all," Luke added.

Bert considered for a second, and said, "Well, it's stuff he needed to hear. You could tell the guy was still a believer. He just got too wrapped up in his regrets to remember to have faith. 'Member how Lawrence warned us about that? So it was a simple salvage job, I didn't have to tell him anything he didn't already know. Just put the guy back on his right path, and let him live happily ever after. No biggie. I was just acting as a conduit for somebody else's message anyway: kinda the same way as I channel Bruce Lee and Joe Louis when I fight."

"Both of them?"

"To devastating effect," Bert bragged, with a wry right-side grin..

Returning to topic, Luke queried, "But was it from God? Or were you just talkin'?"

That put Bert on the spot, but he slipped out of that one too. "Oho, you askin' the wrong guy, now. If you want to know if that was from God, you'd have to ask God. I think it served His purposes, didn't it? Probably called back a better servant than you or I would ever be. I remember something about _'by their fruit ye shall know them_ '. So maybe bringing some good fruit here makes my tree a little healthier? I could use it!" he laughed. Then, a little more seriously, he reconsidered, and added self-deprecatingly, "But then again, the LORD spoke to Balaam from the mouth of an ass! That story is a lot more likely to pertain to this encounter!" Then Bert humbly assessed what he had done, and summarized: "Maybe I'll even have to repent later for going beyond what I had the right to speak. Wouldn't be the only thing I'll have to repent of! Just put it on my tab..."

This line of thinking reminded Luke of his friend Garabandal the Vandal, from the football team at Iowa State: a rumbling, stumbling, endzone-tumbling, never-fumbling, opposing-coaches-grumbling-as-their-Defense-is-crumbling, 250-pound rock-hard trainwreck of a fullback. He had come to Iowa State in the same class as Luke. The coach had added quite a few JUCO transfers that year to try to add some toughness to the team: Luke from Hun State at QB; Garabandal, from Vandalburg College; a Viking named Thor at offensive tackle; _both_ kinds of Spartans--Haggerty the Hoplite from Sparta U. at safety, plus a pretty cute cornerback named Mimi from the Spartan Athletic Club in St. Kit's; also a big rough Russian linebacker from Cossack Community College; and one really crazy Mexican dude. And let's not forget everybody's old friend Flagrant the Vagrant--who wasn't really from a junior college at all, though he claimed he had attended the School of Hard Knocks. Actually they just picked him up as a bum off the street, wandering around lost--"He'll fit right in with the rest of our offense," the frustrated head coach had bitterly observed. Yet he became a surprisingly good running back. (Who'd want to tackle him?)

Anyway, Garabandal's big hobby during the offseason when he got bored was to go around and sucker punch people in the head, Kronk! (he was still surprised how often it sounded like wood), and to warn them to _'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!'_ The great part was, as their heads swam and they saw stars, many of his victims _did_ start praying, and some of them actually traded their near-death experiences for eternal-life conversion experiences. That justified it, in Garabandal's mind: it was like a license to goon (renewable each year for only $15.) Though it had begun as a belligerent prank, he had quickly come to believe that he was doing legitimate missionary work. "I'm having fun and racking up big points with God all at the same time," he had explained to Luke once. Luke was never entirely convinced...

Luke shook off his memories, for Bert was continuing: "But, although it's true that I am probably unworthy to even talk about God, Shadrach was worthy enough to hear about God. That's what matters."

"Even after what he had done?" Luke wanted to know, questioning how Shadrach could be worthy.

Bert had a ready answer: "None of us can be worthy because of anything we have done. We are worthy of hearing about God because God decides we are. It's worth it to _Him_. Because He loves us. That makes Him consider us worthy of love, of lessons, of salvation, even when we aren't. Although, once God gives us His word, His hope, His instruction, we _become_ worthy for real--again, not through anything we do, but because we are 'found in Christ'. We cling to the one guy who was worthy, I guess. You take some of the Lord's Spirit upon you--then you've got something in you worth saving." Bert's explanation came awkwardly, as he was always struggling to understand it himself, and by this point he was struggling to remember it, and to remember whether he even believed it.

It made an impression on Luke however, who insisted: "You _talk_ like a believer. Whatever happened before, you haven't completely fallen." Luke said it more like a pronouncement, but Bert wasn't quite ready to admit the certainty of that or any proposition, so he took it as another question, and deflected it once again,

With a laugh, "Ah, he asks about my present..."

# Chapter 18: The Troll Handled His Sledgehammer Masterfully

"There were giants in the earth in those days..." Genesis 6:4

In the long-lasting evening, after a long walk, Bert and Luke saw a city up ahead in the distance. "Behold," Bert said knowingly. "You were sore at me for dragging you out of that Christian commune, so I'm making it up to you! That there is New Owen Sound, where the Pope lives. If you wanta get saved, give your life to God, and what-not, he'll be the guy to talk to."

Luke felt like his friends back at the Garden had been good for him too, but he appreciated Bert's gesture all the same. Meanwhile, he was wonderin', "Gosh, Bert, how d'you know so much about this territory? Ya always seem to know right where we're goin'."

"I drew the maps for this region," Bert replied casually. "Well, for the whole world, actually."

Luke was surprised and intrigued. "Really? You seem pretty young; wouldn't all that mapping take a lot of time, a lot of years?"

Bert grinned, shrugged, and winked. "Depends on the quality of the maps."

"But the whole world? Can I assume you've traveled all around the world then?"

"I've been here and there," Bert answered vaguely. "Seen parts of it anyway."

"Um, don't you actually need to see it all before you can draw the map for it?" Luke probed suspiciously.

This time Bert laughed, as he repeated his answer with hands raised, "Depends on the quality of the maps!"

Luke shook his head, then laughed too at his too-strange friend. Then he gave Bert a nudge and a "Come on," and they picked up their pace to a quick walk, and then a jog, and then to an open run, as Luke hurried to see what was in store for them in New Owen Sound.

As they reached the walled city, Bert's hand on his shoulder slowed Luke down, as Bert reminded him, "Business hours are over, we'll prob'ly have to wait for morning to meet the Pope anyway." That made Luke a little sad. They circled the city slowly, catching their breath.

Eventually, they came to a place where the wall was marked by a Bronze Brick at the bottom (the builders had considered gold or silver, but they didn't want anybody takin' it), and a plaque with this inscription:

"At this place, on the 13th day of the 4th month, in the 2000th year of our Lord , we began to rebuild the wall, having already rebuilt the city by God's grace. With Him, our ruins are made ramparts. By Him, our tatters are made towers. Through Him, our wastelands are made walls. In Him, our dust is made dreams. This day we trade grief for glory, misery for meekness, horror for healing, pity for praise, as we commit our city and our souls to the Lord God of Heaven, and humbly implore His blessings and protection thereupon."

Luke was so-so-pleased by this discovery! He remembered being saddened by the ending of the Illustrated History of Owen Sound, back in the library in Chicago. He hadn't been sure if the city had met a bleak end, or if the last confusion had merely been from the intoxication of the author. Now he knew. At some point, the fair city of Owen Sound had indeed fallen. Possibly their drunkenness and debauchery had helped to undermine them? While the actual cause of their downfall remained obscure, the NewOwensoundlanders had made sure to leave to doubt as to the Cause of their building-up! Luke was overjoyed to find that they had made this a Christian city, and he couldn't wait to get inside and find signs and miracles, blessings and lessons, and all kinds of other good things. "Even if I have to sleep on the Pope-step and wait for him," Luke resolved, "I'm going in there tonight!" He ran around the wall again, looking for the gate.

But his spirits fell when he discovered that the gate was locked and the path was blocked. As they hurried up to the city gates, they found their entrance impeded by the gatekeeper, a formidable troll named Kevin, who was seated at a desk, with a steel sledgehammer by his side. Beside the gate was his little hut, and his (comparatively) lovely troll wife Karla, who was tending their vegetable garden and singing spirituals.

Kevin the Troll put on his sunglasses, and leisurely placed a cigarette in his mouth, but didn't light it. He just liked making himself look that much tougher. 'Overkill' was his favorite word, especially the third syllable. He mean-mugged 'em for a minute, then at last commanded gruffly, "Line up." There was an X on the dirt in front of his desk, where the line was supposed to start. After scanning quickly to reassure himself there were no traps, no pianos about to fall from the sky on that spot, Luke shrugged and stood on the X. Bert, less respectful of "authority", took up a position close enough to Luke to make it look like he was lining up, but stayed a step behind him and a step to his left, so that, technically, in no sense would they actually form a line. (Unless it was a diagonal line.) The Troll looked at their line a little suspiciously, but didn't challenge them on it yet, asking instead, "So whaddaya want."

Luke pointed at the city. "You see that there city? I was fixin' to go in there, if I might." Luke pointed at the heavy stone city gates. "And I was wonderin' if y'all would be so kind as to open up that there gate for me, so's I can get in."

Kevin the Troll picked up a pair of dice that lay on his desk, blew on them for good luck, and rolled them. Then he frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and took off the sunglasses to better give Luke and Bert a sympathetic look, as he informed them, "I am sorry, my friends. I rolled a thirteen, and it would be bad luck for all of us if I let you in. The die has been cast, and the verdict is given: You may not pass."

Luke, who was still working his way back from an acute case of the blues, suffered a sudden relapse. He took on a pained expression, and he looked around helplessly for help. "Gosh darn it, for real?. You mean just because the dice came up a certain way, I can't come in? I don't get a personal interview? Or an appeal to a higher court? Or a re-roll?"

Kevin hung his head. Then looked up, brightening, as he remembered the one way that people could win an exemption from the rules. Trial by Ordeal. "Would you like to fight?" he asked eagerly, reaching for his massive sledgehammer.

Luke sighed. Bert grinned and nodded Soitenly!

"Would you prefer kick-boxing, hockey-style, or Viking warfare?" the Troll politely offered them their choice.

Bert unstrapped his pewter warclub from his backpack, turned sideways for defense, and answered predictably from his profilious position: "Free-style!" So the skirmish commenced, using elements of all three major fighting disciplines. Luke felt bad for drawing his blade, but he wasn't about to be the only one unarmed in this struggle, especially after a swift sledgehammer swing nearly smashed in his ribs. It proved moot however, as the small knife could barely scratch the hard hide of the eight-foot-tall monster. Neither Luke nor Bert held their weapons for long anyway, for the troll handled his sledgehammer masterfully, and deftly disarmed them early in the rumble. After that they fought cautiously, staying out of his range as much as possible, and relying on foot-sweeps, eye-gouges, shoulder-blocks and butt-kicks to counterattack.

After an hour of well-fought warfare, their appetites were itchin'. So they all got up, shook hands, shook off their wounds, and went to the kitchen.

"How about a mug of iced tea and a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats?" Karla suggested. She had stopped gardening in the dusk, and was now puttering about in the kitchen. "Have a seat, boys," she insisted. "Everyone can use a bowl of Mini-wheats now and then, when things get stressful. The sugary frosting makes you feel like a kid again."

It did exactly that, and Luke and Bert and Karla and Kevin started getting quite silly as they ate their cereal, amusing themselves by telling Knock-Knock jokes. _"Luke who?"_ "Luke through the window and see, why dontcha."; _"Bert who?"_ "Bert-er let me in quick, I gotta pee."; _"Karla, Darren and Donna who?"_ (The proud mama lovingly worked in the name of their sleeping twins.) "Karla police, Darren accident Donna street!"; _"Kevin who?"_ "Kevin the Troll, open up or I'll rip the door off its hinges!" The others paused, not sure whether Kevin understood the formula, but Kevin himself Laughed and Laughed like it was the funniest thing in the whole world, so finally the others cracked a smile; and then they played euchre once they realized they had four people for once!

Kevin poured himself another bowl of Mini-wheats, as he waxed philosophical: "Life is like a bowl of Mini-wheats. The sweet side is more enjoyable, but the not-so-sweet side is better for you. It helps you grow."

"K," Luke agreed, "But I thought meeting the Pope might help me grow. So how is your not-so-sweet act of turning me away from the city going to end up being better for me?"

"Oh, say, little buddy, if it's the Pope you're looking for, I've got good news," Kevin told him. "He sold the big, fancy downtown Pope Building to the city as an art museum, and gave the proceeds to the poor. They relocated to a small office in a little church south of town. It's just a few minutes away, but you'd be surprised how many parishioners didn't follow them when they moved. Keeps out the part-timers I guess. Those who forget the injunction that ' _if someone compels thee to walk a mile with him, go with him twain.'_ Or maybe some of them miss the fancy digs? But as the Pope said in one of his sermons, 'Are you here to look at stained glass, or are you here to keep your eyes on God?' ."

"South of town? So I don't need to get into the city to go see him?" Luke interrupted, hardly believing his good fortune.

"God directs our steps," Karla the Troll pointed out: "Sometimes you don't get what you think you want, but pay attention--you might find that you are getting something better!"

To confirm his wife's point, Kevin added on a personal note, "First time I ever had Mini-Wheats, was after I sent her to the store for cornflakes!"

Luke searched to see how this particular insight might apply to his case, and came up doubting their theory: "But I started this journey looking for God? What's better than God?"

"Nothing. But did you really?" Karla asked knowingly.

Luke remembered and admitted. "No. I guess the frog-doctor and the man of God put me on that trail. What I really started looking for was...some kind of peace. Peace of mind maybe? So will I find something better than that?"

"Much better!" Karla proclaimed excitedly.

"Better than peace?" Luke was still skeptical.

"Better than the peace you were looking for," she clarified. Then she explained how peace of spirit was better than peace of mind, and the peace of God was better than worldly peace. Any day!

Luke reflected, and added, "Also, I guess I was looking for my place in life. Still am I guess."

This time Kevin made the proclamation, imitating his wife's prudent formula: "It's nice to find what you think might be your place in life, Luke. But it's even better to find God's place for your life." Karla nodded Good Work to her husband.

Bert interrupted, to get them to finish up their euchre game: "It's better still when somebody PLAYS A CARD! Don't make me take you outside and work you over again," he warned with feigndrath and jestfury, pointing falsangrily at Kevin the Troll.

They had to go outside anyway after the game, coz they could see through the window that another traveler was approaching the gate. Kevin went to the desk, made him line up, then rolled a 9 and let him into the city. Luke watched a little enviously, until he remembered what the Trolls had taught him about being better off.

Karla set up a tent for Bert and Luke to sleep in, and then she sat at the desk to work the nightshift as gatekeeper. (The Minotaur would relieve her at daybreak.) Kevin hung out with the two cool pilgrims for a while, telling ghost stories before they bunked down. It was kind of spooky and fun, except for the fact that Kevin would end each ghost story with the same line, and if someone else was telling the story, he would generously supply the ending for them too: "AND THEN A BIG TROLL CAME ALONG AND FRIGHTENED AWAY ALL THE GHOSTS! RAAAA!" It was funny the first time, but Bert got tired of it quickly and said, OK, Bedtime. As Kevin left to go inside to his bed, he reminded them how what they had discussed earlier applied, noting: "See, you guys wanted to tell ghost stories all night, but instead you get to have a good night's sleep! 'Sometimes when you don't get what you want, you get something better'. Nighty-night fellas."

In the morning, after refreshing sleep and another bowl of 'Wheats, Bert and Luke were on the porch, making ready to leave. They gave their Troll friends handshakes and pats on the shoulder, and Bert the Hack thanked them for their hospitality, commemorating the occasion with a hastily-devised Limerick of Appreciation:

"There once was a guy named Bill Heshwanedderah

Whose sexual orientation was hetera-

Faced with my situation,

Without hesitation,

He'd say 'Thanks for the small snack, et cetera.'"

(The best thing to do with that ridiculous effort was just say a quick "You're welcome-and-so-forth," and move on, the Trolls decided.)

Luke was more thankful for the insights they had given him, regarding finding something 'Better'. But he had been thinking about it, and had to ask before going: "So if the way I think I should be going isn't always the best way for me to go, how will I ever know if I am on the right track?"

The Trolls answered in unison, with the other word Luke would add to his notes: "Trust!" Then Karla elaborated, "As long as you are willing to be led by God, trust God to make the track!" Luke was satisfied, and he and Bert said more good-byes and thank-yous, and waved until they were well south of the hut.

Then, looking down, Luke realized that there was indeed, at their feet, a well-worn track. Smiling, they followed it south to the Pope's Office.

# Chapter 19: Bridgette Takes Care of the Pope's Light Work

"And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you: To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints." 1 Thessalonians 3:12-13

Luke the Hun and Bert Loreword rambled down a narrow, winding, dirt trail between a sunflower field and a cow pasture. The sky was a miracle blue, and there were two or three shiny-white clouds up there dancin', and it was just late enough in the morning to be getting first-warm. A mile or two south of the city, they soon saw the Pope's Office, there on their left. It was a small, unassuming brown trailer, in front of a barn-looking, nice white church, with a big hand-painted red-letter sign proclaimin', "This here is the humble office of the Pope of the whole world. Come on in."

Luke beamed and leapt up the steps and knocked on the screen door, as Bert walked more calmly up behind, with a slight smirk. Through the door, they heard a pretty female voice say cheerfully, "Please come in!"

Luke was surprised, and thought to himself, "Wow. A lady Pope? The times they are a-changin'!" In they went.

They found themselves in a small room, with lots of sunlight, a tile floor, and young children's pretty watercolor paintings taped on the walls, and an old, good, wooden desk acquired at a rummage sale for a buck ninety-eight. Behind it sat the receptionist, a striking northern nymph with raven hair, bright blue eyes and a diamond smile. "Hello", Luke greeted her, bowing. "Are you The Pope, Your Holiness?"

The young woman laughed. "No, sir. I'm Bridgette, Assistant to The Pope. And you are?"

"Luke the Hun, Guitar Champion and Laid-Back Cracker."

Bridgette checked her notebook. "Did you have an appointment with The Pope? I'm not finding it here."

Luke looked around at the many other people he now noticed waiting in chairs along the walls, and admitted sheepishly, "No, no appointment. Sorry. What shall I do?"

Bridgette was friendly, reassuring him, "That's okay, walk-ins are welcome; you'll just have to wait in line for a while. An hour or two maybe?" she estimated optimistically.

Luke realized that he should have expected this, remembering what the man of God had said about The Savior of the World being a busy occupation, and reflecting that the 'Pope of the Whole World' must be a pretty busy servant too. Too busy for Bert, who tapped Luke on the shoulder and told him, "So I'll be back in an hour or two, K? These kind of places make me uncomfortable."

Luke was a little sorry that his friend was leaving, and a little cross that Bert didn't seem to be giving religion a fair chance. So he pointed out bravely, "It's not always bad to be uncomfortable, Bert. Sometimes squirming a little makes you question whether you're right or wrong, and then think about how to be right! What did Kevin say? The not-so-sweet side helps you grow?"

Bert flashed a wise-crackin' grin: "Yeah, but he also said we couldn't go into the city, so what does he know, eh?"

"You're going to try to get into the city?" Luke asked interestedly.

"That's what the walls are for, isn't it?"

"To keep you out?"

Bert gave a little wink. "To give me something to climb over! I'll bring you a souvenir," he promised; then gave beautiful Bridgette a little leer and left.

Luke found a chair close to the door, and close to the desk, and sat down to wait. After many long minutes of silence, his mind began to wander, a thought crossed it, and like a simple lad, Luke blurted out his question: "So how does one become Assistant to the Pope, exactly?"

Bridgette looked up from her work, and took the time to answer thoroughly. "Well, one puts in an application, and then there's a three-step interview process... that's less of a burden if you have a local address, and I happened to be living here on the west coast already... Oh, but do you mean what skills are required? Well, one needs to be a longtime Christian, with a heart full of love and goodness and innocence..." She didn't mean to flatter herself, and so blushed a little here, and dropped her head modestly for a moment before finishing, "and it helps to have some organizational skills, time management abilities, and some experience with shorthand for taking dictation." She paused for a second, and then added playfully, with a wave towards the city, a gesture clearly meant to indicate Luke's friend Bert, "Oh yeah, and a black belt in Kung Fu to keep out the riff-raff!"

Luke the long-time warrior was impressed: "Do you really have a black belt?"

That part had been said purely in jest, and she hadn't expected him to take it seriously for even a second, so Bridgette couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Tinkling like a brook, it was the happiest and most charming laugh Luke had ever heard! It made him want to talk to her more, so he tried again, "Well then, do you really have a heart full of innocence and love?" (Even more impressed, coz these were harder to come by.)

She blushed again, and then considered for a moment before speaking: "I try to. It's not always easy. But what else is worth having, in this world? That's the best way to defend your innocence, I've found--always ask yourself that question. I wrote it out and taped it to my bathroom mirror to remind me: 'What sin, what folly, is worth the loss of a single day of innocence?' There: start every day with the right questions, and you allow God the opportunity to give you the right answers!"

Luke was falling more in love with her with every word: her modesty, her sincerity, her commitment and discipline, her tender eyes, her gentle voice, her joyful laugh. He caught himself, and remembered what Hosanna had warned him, and decided Bridgette would feel the same way--how he ought to first remember that all that was good in her, all that he was in love with, was from God... So he ought first to love God?

It was somewhat prescient of Luke to contemplate such things, for Bridgette was going on to answer the second half of the question: "As for love, that's the easy part! I've invited Jesus Christ into my life, into my heart, Luke, and once you know Him, your heart practically bursts with love! God is Love! So, if we allow God to fill us, we will be filled with love! Right?" She looked for Luke's agreement, or at least acknowledgment. He kind of nodded, coz logically the equation held together, except... "Except the hard part sometimes is letting God fill us," Bridgette continued, hitting on the same idea that Luke had paused over. "The best way is to pray every day, and ask for that to happen," Bridgette pointed out. (' _Every day?!_ ' thought Luke, alarmed.) " _'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you,'_ " Bridgette quoted.

"Um, actually, I did knock, and I still had to open it myself," Luke joked, pointing at the screen door that led out to the sunshine and butterflies.

"Ya got in, didn'tcha?" Bridgette shot back. Then she thought quickly and decided Luke's point was valid. "Sometimes it's true there's a little effort required on your part too. You can ask God to work, and to fill your life, but if you're living in a way that basically says He's not welcome... well actions speak louder than words, don't they?"

"So there are actions that keep God out?"

"Nothing can keep God out!" Bridgette surprised Luke a little, by the tone of authority she took on. No mere clerical help, she. She surprised him again by referencing the same verse Bert had given to Shadrach! _'Nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'_ She followed up, however, by explaining: "Nothing can keep God out, but not everything helps to draw Him in, either, does it? What did the Apostle Paul say? _"All things are permissible for me, but all things edify not?'_ That's the key, Luke. Try to live in a way that edifies, a way that helps make you more like Jesus. Not because that helps God, but because that helps you."

"Be like Jesus? That's kinda hard isn't it?" Luke asked, knowing that he couldn't do the miracles or even the goodness, and sure wouldn't want to do the crucifixion part! "Besides, I'm not a believer yet anyway, so I don't think that applies to me. If I started trying to live right before being sure I believe, wouldn't that be like buying a house before deciding where one wants to live? Maybe I'll just hang back and wait a bit..." Luke was sorry to see that this response distressed Bridgette a little. He had meant to sound cautious, but when he heard it spoken aloud, he realized it just sounded lazy.

"But you _do_ know where you want to live, Luke!" she protested. "In God's Kingdom! Where else would you go?" she wondered, unable to even conceive of any comparable possibilities. "No one's saying you have to buy the house yet. Just show some interest in it, and He'll hold it for you!" Then she grew serious, as she admitted, "It's true that the Bible talks about the cost of following Jesus. He said ' _Whosoever forsaketh not all he hath cannot be my disciple.'_ So in that sense it costs everything. But it's an empty everything, isn't it? Luke? Isn't it? And in exchange you get everything God can bless you with! Show me a real estate agent who will make you a deal like that one!"

After a thoughtful pause, Bridgette the one-time wild child continued her explanation with a heavy-metal song lyric, and a Bible verse: "It's a long way to the top, if you want to rock'n roll," she offered, and then applied it: "We all have a long way to go to be like Christ. (That friend of yours especially!) So move a little closer now, and move a little closer later. Come to the threshold on your own, and let God draw you the rest of the way. But it's never too soon to begin!" Luke swelled with hope when he realized how much like Louise this part sounded. 'A second chance...' Luke thought hopefully, smiling to find that the Trolls had been right about him still being on the right path.

Bridgette was still teaching: "What do you think this means? _'Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you. Cleanse your hands, ye sinners, and purify your hearts, ye double-minded.'_ You'll go farther faster if you make an effort--even though it's not our efforts that help us to heaven, but God's grace! At least it's a good faith gesture, and God will honor and bless that."

"So what do I have to do then?" Luke asked, genuinely interested and convinced, but also eager to make up for his earlier misstatement.

Bridgette quoted Jesus: " _'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.'_ "

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard then," said Luke, facetiously.

"Come as close as you can," Bridgette reminded him gently, "And God will respect that. He knows we're human. He will help you to do better later. Of course there are some practical tips that help too..." Luke seemed interested so she went on. "Well, it can't hurt to remember that God created us all. So all other people are your equals: when you look at them, you should see a person just like yourself, and treat them with as much dignity and kindness as you would hope for. Jesus said it best. (He always does.) _'Therefore all things whatsoever that men should do to you, do ye even so to them'._ But remember also that God created us not only equal, but also in His own image! Kind of demands a certain respect, doesn't it? Means you have to try to see the good that God has put in every person; you have to treat people the way you would treat God Himself! Yikes." She paused, and Luke could tell she was saying an inside-prayer, quickly repenting for some secret forgetfulness.

Then, feeling God's forgiveness herself reminded her to share this advice also: " _'If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.'_ Kind of the same idea I guess, but I just wanted to share with you how important forgiveness is to love. If you can't forgive someone for something, how much do you really love them? True, some things are very hard to forgive, and some people are hard to forgive! It might be harder for you to forgive strangers because you love them less, or friends, because their wrongs against you seem like treason. But in either case, you have to try! The harder it is, the better it will be for you when you do it. Like lifting heavy weights makes your muscles stronger, lifting heavy burdens makes your spirit stronger too. But with spiritual struggles, you don't just lift them up and bring them down and lift them back up again like the Bench Press." (She was a workout queen too.) "But you lift them up to God and get them off your chest or off your back for good, and are free of them! That makes for a _joyful_ spirit, as well as a strong spirit! Yes, it's hard and it doesn't always come right away, but you just have to practice, practice, practice. And when you practice kindness, or patience, or generosity, or mercy, or forgiveness, you are really practicing Love. And Love is the one thing worth practicing! What else are we here on the pretty planet of Timnalauren for, do you think? We are here to learn how to love. So that we will be better able to return God's love. And then there will be completion: the fulfillment that you seek. So by all means, yes, start today," she wrapped up. Then she smiled sweetly and began to finish a stack of paperwork.

Luke smiled and said "Thank you." Inside he resolved to at least try. He remembered what Bert had said about being careful with vows, but how can you go wrong with a promise to try? The only way to break it is not to even try to do right and practice love--which for Luke, after all he had seen and heard so far, was no longer an option. In fact, he had already been trying for some time to find out and to do what he was supposed to do. 'But maybe it makes it easier when you resolve, and think about it, and consciously remind yourself to keep trying?' Luke thought hopefully, and was grateful for Bridgette's assistance.

As he pondered her words, and her eyes, and her laugh, and her gentle grace, this description occurred to him: "As though God had tired of the wickedness of man and wanted to prove that he could still make perfection, so he made Bridgette." Luke hated to interrupt Bridgette's work again, but couldn't help sharing what was on his mind again, and blurted out the praise, "You have a beautiful soul." Not that Luke was an expert, necessarily, but in her case it was obvious to everyone, or should have been, except,

"Takes one to know one," Bridgette retorted, with her head still down over her work. (As the only receptionist in a high traffic area, she was used to deflecting people who hit on her. But this time, the unusual compliment did make her smile inside, and she had to be careful not to become too proud.)

Luke tried to read his Bible for a while, but then he decided he had better try to work out what he wanted to say to the Pope, whose time was tight after all. As Luke rehearsed his coming encounter, he began to get more and more apprehensive. As though he was unworthy to stand in the presence, to seek an audience with God's ace-#1 servant. Then Luke kinda laughed at himself, and felt a little better as he realized, 'Everyone keeps tellin' me to pray. If I'm going to have to seek an audience with God himself one of these days, this should just be a relatively small step, here.'

He was still a little heart-beatery however, so when Bridgette pointed to a sad guy going in to see the Pope and said, "You're on deck, sailor; when that guy comes out, you can go right in, OK?", Luke looked around at the rest of the people in the waiting room and hemmed and hawed and found an excuse.

There were some lame, some blind, some with other grievous physical maladies to be healed, among the many people who had come to see the Pope. Luke felt bad going in before them and told Bridgette, "Maybe I should wait a little longer. Some of these people could go before me, it looks like they might have it worse than I do."

"What is worse than a wounded spirit?" Bridgette pointed out, and then pointed to the opening door, as a now-happy guy was coming out. Luke was struck with a small moment of fear , but was calmed when he saw Bert returning through the screen door. The familiar helped to reassure him. Bert gave him a wave and a Good Luck, and Luke took a deep breath and went on in.

The Pope was a little shorter than Luke had expected, but he had bigger forearms. Used to be a blue-collar guy. He gave Luke a hard-grip handshake and asked cheerfully, "So how can I help you this morning?"

Luke tried to remember what he had rehearsed. He showed the Pope his Bible. "All the stuff in here, about God making man, and man falling to sin, and Jesus coming to save us from our sins. Is it true? Did that stuff really happen?"

The Pope had a bright smile and a brief answer. "Absolutely! All of it! Quite true!" Then hitting the intercom button, "Next appointment, Bridge."

Despite having to fend off Bert's advances (oh, for that black belt she had joked about!), Bridgette had the presence of mind to pause a little on sending in the next customer, knowing that Luke usually had more questions coming.

Luke did have another question. It was reassuring to hear the Pope's certainty about the existence of God and the truth of the Gospel, but the obvious question still begged an answer: "So where do I find God then? Been lookin' for a while now."

"' _The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for behold, the kingdom of God is within you.'_ " quoted the Pope, in response to all Luke's 'lookin''.

Like most Huns, Luke had taken the biology course at Hun State as his science prerequisite. Coz it was the only science course they offered, for one thing. (A few students had gotten away without one, after roughing up the Registrar and getting him to substitute that as an extra Brawling Practicum.) They figured you could kill people easier if you knew where the heart, spleen, and esophagus were, for one thing. Also, to tear someone limb from limb, you have to first be able to identify which ones are the limbs. But on none of the diagrams had Luke ever been shown 'the Kingdom of God.' The 'Islets of Langerhans' yes, but he was pretty sure that's not what he had wandered halfway across the world seeking. So his confused response to the Pope's statement was the always-Hun-elegant: "What?"

The Pope tried again to describe God's omnipresence, going to the prophet Jeremiah: " _'Am I a God at hand, saith the LORD, and not a God afar off? Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the LORD. Do I not fill heaven and earth? saith the LORD.'_ "

Luke had a little laugh at the 'hide in secret places' part, remembering Shadrach's attempt to do just that. Then, thinking about the biology charts again, he started looking at his hand, flipped it over and still didn't see anything. "A God at hand? Ya think?"

The Pope grabbed Luke's shirt-front with rippling forearms and gave him a little shake. Either Luke was playing dumb deliberately, or he just wasn't speaking the Pope's language. Either way, a little shake was almost always in order. The Pope made a last attempt, from Psalms: " _'Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.'_ " Luke was still looking puzzleheaded, so the Pope leaned close and raised his voice: "GOD IS EVERYWHERE!"

Luke looked around slowly at Everywhere. He still didn't see anybody. Nor did he appreciate being grabbed and shaken. So he drawled slowly in his tough, almost-ready-to-fight voice, "He must be pretty skinny."

The Pope sighed, not used to dealing with the limited dimensions of Hun thought, and its materialistic, corporeal, tangible, direct lines of sight. He decided to try another tack. "Maybe we're asking the wrong questions," he told Luke (remembering to use inclusive language to defuse the potential conflict. They teach that in Pope School, mind you.) "Instead of 'Where will I find God?', maybe the question is merely ' _When_ will I find God?'"

Luke played along, "K. So? When will I find God?"

"Whenever you like," the Pope offered generously, hoping Luke would accept the implied invitation.

Instead Luke started to get mad, and raised his hands in a 'Hello! What kind of answer is that?' gesture, thinking the Pope was mocking him, or speaking in riddles deliberately.

The Pope finally realized that the Scripture which said ' _But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost.'_ might yet be the cause of Luke's resistance. Truths which are self-evident and axiomatic to believers are often incomprehensible and unacceptable to the unsaved. So he stopped trying to give Luke an instant fix, a magic word that would snap him out of it, and changed his answer to a more patient, understanding and realistic, "When, you ask? It could take some time. How 'bout coming to Church with us tomorrow? All the good people of New Owen Sound will be there. We'll sing a little, talk a little, pray a little. Learn a little. Maybe get a little closer to understanding God. Then we'll do it again each week! Set up another appointment with Bridgette, won't you? We can try this again in a few days. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want to work with you..."

Luke remembered what Bridgette had told him about forgiveness, and calmed himself down, but had to answer honestly, "I don't know. Maybe. I can't say for sure where I'll be tomorrow."

"You should be wherever God wants you to be," the Pope counseled wisely.

But Luke, who wasn't wise yet, thought the Pope was doing it again. He was about to throw up his hands again and shout an exasperated "WHERE'S THAT?", but he checked himself, and just repeated a grudging "Maybe."

Their interview over, Luke headed back out the door, and into the waiting room. "C'mon, let's go," he said to Bert. Then he stopped briefly beside Bridgette, not to make an appointment, but to politely kiss her hand, and mumble "Good-bye", in case he didn't make it back. (Usually when you start wrapping up the loose ends like that, you already know you're not coming back.) He couldn't manage a smile though, so he turned away, sullen and forlorn.

"Wait! What's wrong?" Bridgette asked, genuinely concerned. She liked both Luke and the Pope, so she was sorry things hadn't gone better. "Are you okay? What happened?" She kept asking questions until she got an answer. She didn't want him to go away mad. "Don't just leave, Luke: Try to figure out what went wrong! Sometimes we get off on the wrong foot, sometimes we have a bad experience with the Church, or someone in it. But is that typical? Is that the pattern you can expect to encounter? The only way to discover _that_ , is to give it a second chance! That's fair isn't it? After the huge Second Chance that Christ gave us?"

Luke finally turned and got it off his chest. "I don't think I like that guy."

Bridgette was genuinely surprised. "The Pope?" This had never happened before. Just a personality conflict, she supposed. Or maybe the Pope had been dealing with cardinals and bishops so much that he was out of practice talking with absolute beginners, she speculated. (Or maybe Luke had just been less patient than the first time he was told about spirit, coz the Pope was less pretty than Louise!) "The Pope is a lot like Jesus..." Bridgette explained, "you'll definitely like him better and better the more you get to know him!" The part about the Pope being like Jesus reminded Luke of what Bridgette had told him earlier, about everyone being made in God's image, and trying to see the good in everyone. Feeling that he had already blown that assignment, the least he could do to make amends was to stop and let the Pope's assistant put him on straight paths again.

"So what happened?" Bridgette repeated, once she saw Luke would talk.

Luke tried to put his finger on it. "I guess I just didn't understand what he was saying. Something about God being everywhere. So how come I'm having so much trouble finding Him?"

"First of all, you got upset pretty quick. Let me tell you, in my humble opinion, that I think mostly you're disappointed because you went in with high hopes, and your conversation didn't measure up. The Pope didn't give you a special blessing or a divine oracle to make it all come crystalline. Well guess what. The Pope is just a human being like you and me. He's not the answer to all your problems. That role is reserved for Jesus. Does that mean the Pope can't speak with the voice of God? Of course he can, if he lets God speak through him. But you still won't hear it unless you're also listening for what God will say to _you_! You were too busy listening for the Pope's words, maybe you forgot to let God prepare your heart for His actual message. Always keep your eyes on God, never on man. Any man. But..." she got around to answering his question at last, "as to the part about God being everywhere? _'God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth'._ You will never get to see God with your eyes. You have to see him with the heart. Have faith; believe that the things you can't see still exist anyway! Remember, you aren't the measure of all things. Your eyesight doesn't encompass the limits of existence."

Luke's head was starting to hurt again, and Bridgette could tell she was losing him, so she gave a couple examples. "Where are you from?" she asked, to involve him.

"Hun-Country."

"Can you see it?"

"Not right now. I could when I was there. (Except for that time in my freshman year when I got really drunk and had blurred vision.)" Luke remembered honestly.

"But did it cease to be, when you left? Or do you still believe it exists?"

"I hope it does!" Then more seriously, "I'm sure it does."

"Because you have reasons to know that it does. You've been away and returned to find it unchanged, that type of thing. So you believe it's not just a memory in your head, it's a real place. Well, we have our reasons to believe that God exists! We can teach you more about that if you stay," she hinted. Then she resumed teaching, with the topic, "God is spirit. People have bodies don't they?"

"Of course."

"But if they die, the bodies are still there, aren't they? So there must be something more to people. The life which animates the body, and later leaves it to return to God, we call 'spirit'. You can't see it, but you can tell when it leaves. You can see the difference it makes, at least. Well, God is a really really big Spirit. Fills the whole Universe, and then some! And you can know that God is there the same way: because the Universe moves, has life, is filled with Love. All things that wouldn't happen without God!"

The next-to-last thing she had said reminded her of a third example she could give Luke: "Can you see Love? Can you hold it in your hands and say 'I see it, it is this shape and this size'?"

"No."

"But do you believe that Love exists?" She looked at him pleadingly here: please don't say no.

The look was unnecessary. Maybe as a youth Luke had flirted with power and violence, but ever since leaving home and leaving that Hun-hard lifestyle, Love was constantly becoming, more and more, the one thing Luke did believe in. "Of course!" he reassured her.

"Good! So start with that," Bridgette advised him, satisfied. "Maybe tomorrow you'll learn more. Maybe tomorrow you'll believe in more things. You are coming to Church with us?" She blinked her wide, bright eyes innocently yet still enticingly.

Luke looked at Bert, and Bert was mouthing the words 'Let's _Go_!', edging a step at a time towards the door throughout their whole conversation. Too obviously. "Not sure. Maybe," Luke half-promised.

Bridgette had a feeling Luke wouldn't make it back, so she gave him one last remark to remember. "Luke, I don't know what your journey holds or where it will take you. It could take many days and lead you halfway around the world. Already has, no doubt. And maybe on the way you'll meet some people you are supposed to talk to, gain some tools and ideas that will help you serve God later. But I do know this--for sure and for real Luke, for honest and for ever: If you really want to journey to God, you'll find him quicker on your knees than on a ship or a bus or on horseback. One day, or one night, is all that it would really take. If you filled that day with prayer... Real prayer! Not just words. An _outcry_ of need and longing. Heart open to God's grace, mind ready to understand as much revelation as He gives you, spirit that desires God, will submitted to His will. You would meet God that very day! He would come to you that very night! 100% guarantee it, Luke. Then you can get about the real business, of learning what He has in store for you, and how to serve Him faithfully and joyfully forever." Bridgette had fun hammering home the power of God with dramatic speeches like that. One of the perks of bein' Pope's Assistant, see. She could see it had an effect on him, Luke was definitely leaning, so she asked again, coyly, "Sure you won't come tomorrow?"

"He'll have to sleep on it," Bert answered for his friend, as he physically grabbed Luke's arm and steered him out of there. Luke grinned and gave her a wave at least.

"Hey, we was talkin'," Luke protested, as he and Bert walked back towards New Owen Sound.

"Yeah, well; we gotta get going. Hafta buy some new duds for our big sea voyage!"

"Our what?" Luke wondered what his friend had been up to.

"I found a ship. They are leaving in the morning. I signed us up as sailors! Remember Lawrence: 'The Sea!'" (Bert did his best crazy, passionate, old man impersonation.) "Now we'll finally get a look at it for him. You're in, aren't you?"

Luke was hesitant. "I don't know. I was kind of wanting to see how this Church thing goes. They might be able to help me. This could even be the place I'm supposed to be," Luke speculated, thinking of Bridgette, and how good she was for him. (Later, adding up the day's words, he would put in 'True', 'Within' and 'Everywhere' for the Pope, but added a whole bunch of words to recall the things Bridgette had said: 'Innocence', 'Equal' and 'Image', 'Forgive', 'Practice', 'Completion', 'Second chance', 'Spirit', 'Prayer', and 'One Day' and 'One Night'.)

"What are you talking about?" Bert asked in disbelief. "I was sitting right by the door. I heard him! _'Uttermost parts of the sea'._ Said God would be there, didn't he? You telling me the Pope personally gives you a commission and you're not going to go?"

Luke struggled for a second, unsure what sophistry Bert was wielding: coz it sounded familiar, he thought the Pope had said that. (And Bridgette had called him sailor, too!) But, "I'm not sure that's what he meant. He also said to come in to Church tomorrow." Luke tried to reconcile all the things he had been told.

"But if you go to Church, the ship will be gone. Decisions, decisions. See, like I told her, maybe you better sleep on it. One hates to be hasty," Bert the Young Man Impetuous said with some irony and a crafty smirk.

That sounded reasonable, so Luke stayed with Bert, they used Bert's homemade grappling hook to scale the city walls on the side away from the gate (Kevin the Troll was tough enough in a playfight, they sure didn't want to scrap him for serious), and they did some shopping. Bought Luke some warm pants, and they each got a pea-coat from a farmer named Mike and a P-hat from a mathematician named Pevler, so they would be all set for seafaring. Also Nebraska Cornhusker sweatshirts, "Coz it gets cold on the stormy seas," Bert explained. Luke had looked hard for ISU Cyclones merchandise instead, but found none. As the first half of the Hun saying said: "Beggars can't be choosers." ('Conquerors can!' was the rest.)

In the evening, they went down to the docks, and Bert led him onto the good ship TrogDogJonah. "Is that a good name for a ship?" Luke asked doubtfully, remembering all the hard times at sea had by the Jonah of the Bible.

"Oh, so you believe those stories?" Bert replied playfully. Luke shrugged and said Kinda, Maybe. "Then you should believe the story about Jesus calming the waters and the winds, too," Bert pointed out, then reassured Luke with the promise, "There's more power in the name of Jesus than in the name of any boat. Don'tcha think?"

Feeling better, they shook hands with the Captain (he introduced himself as Jack), and he hooked them up with some bunks. "Go ahead and get some sleep. We embark in the morning. If you change your mind between now and then, I'll understand. You can go, no hard feelings," he said generously, after Bert had explained Luke's situation.

They turned in soon enough, but first Bert took Luke up to the deck for one last bit of salesmanship, pointing to the starry skies and the night seas. "Look at it: The Sea! It goes on forever, almost. And what does it hold? Miles of promises, leagues full of wonders. And what will you find there, do you think? What treasures for Luke? What secret blessings? The only way to know is--like the old farmer said--to Go and See." Bert winked as he acquiesced in that old argument, and turned Luke's tingle into Hey!

It was a peaceful night, and the gentle motion of the waves helped rock them to sleep. The fact that they were tired from walking partway across the world prolly didn't hurt either. The last thing that passed through Luke's thoughts before he drifted off was a relevant poem he had once read and liked, back at the Iowa State library, in the days when he had dreamed of being a mariner: _"The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging sea."_ 76 He smiled, swung slowly and slept.

# Part 2: Searching by Sea

# Chapter 20: "Sling the Sloopy Keel Ye Starboard Wenches"

"And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us." Romans 5:3-5

Unfortunately, Luke was wakened by a storm in his stomach and its contents slowly swinging. In the dark he couldn't remember how to find the Head, but he did find the staircase that led up to the deck, and hurried to the rail.

When he got done looking down, he looked up, and around, and realized there was no wharf beside them, and indeed, no city lights either. They were out on the open sea! In contradiction of all promises, in violation of all pledges. Luke's heart fell. As soon as he had stepped on the boat he had felt out of place, and he had suspected that the church at New Owen Sound was more likely the place for him.

It wasn't that he didn't want to go to sea. The Huns had been an earth-bound, dirt-footed, water-allergic tribe, ever since the day the original Chief Derelict, seasick and sick of the sea, had sailed his bold-prowed schooner upriver to the most landlocked country he could find, and ran it aground, burned it, and sprinkled the ashes on his breakfast cereal. The natives of that land had happily relinquished it to the Huns and moved West to the Lunatic Fringe (where it's safe), since they were tired themselves of being such a vulnerable target, right in the middle of everything, at peril from everybody! Location, location, location. As a visiting military scholar had once pointed out to the professors at Hun State, "Hardly a defensible position you've got here. The problem with being in the center of a continent like this, is that you can be attacked from any direction, any direction at all." But as the Huns, ever eager for a fight, had pointed out in return, _"Yeah? So?"_ The flip side was that the Huns could also _attack_ in any direction, which at least gave their summers a measure of variety.

Ever since first studying military history at Hun High, however, Luke had been enamored with the Vikings: their style of raiding simply seemed much more fun and glamorous than that of his own people. The destroyer from across the water, the raider appearing out of nowhere. The Huns were good at their profession, but there was an artlessness to it, a predictability and ploddingness. They raided the same countries, on the same cycle, and only ever went as far as a half-summer's march before having to spend the other half marching home. But a ship! A ship could cruise and glide to anywhere! Anywhere in the world. The only limits were your water supply and your courage. Luke, with his artist's soul, had always admired that potential for improvisation, for achieving something new. Perhaps merely a matter of the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence, or the water being bluer on the other side of the shore... His younger brother had confronted him with that possibility once _: "So how come you like Vikings so much? What have they got that Huns don't?"_ Trying to find an actual reason, Luke had tried to explain, "Huns can fight, but Vikings can sail, and swim, and fight!" _"So in other words, they're only part-time fighters,"_ DavidGorki had summed up, dismissing them.

Rational or not, still somehow Luke had always held onto a yearning for something better, a hope to go beyond. Even the Hun rallying cry "All the way to Penetanguishene!" reflected that common desire to exceed the ordinary. Where Luke had departed from his fellows however, was in actually trying to find a way to make it so. He had read up on seafaring and navigation, he had even ventured into a swimming pool once to try to learn to swim (courage is called for!), and upon first leaving Hun-Country to go to Iowa State, he had inquired earnestly after the boat schedule--only to discover sadly that there were no ships leaving for Iowa anytime soon.

In any case, he had long dreamed of being a mariner--even after he gave up raiding and ceased so admiring the Vikings. Sometimes the desire continues even after the cause has gone. So it was with some surprise, and a warm sense of comfort, that Luke realized how much he wanted to stay on shore! It wasn't that he didn't want to go to Sea. It's just that he wanted the other life even more! The feeling had grown through the night, as he had happy dreams about singing and learning, with Bridgette and a happy congregation of believers; and when these dreams were followed by sickening dreams of the sea, its storms, its tumult and its troubles, he had known what decision he was going to make. And when he had woken to find that the part about the sea's sickness was true, well that just made him all the more certain that he wanted to pass on this voyage!

To find himself bereft of the choice, however, was a crushing disappointment. Huns not being used to wallowing in self-pity, Luke looked around instead for someone to blame... "Where's the captain?" he demanded of the first sailor he saw.

"The Admiral?" the sailor corrected him mirthfully. "He went to bed. Hafta wait till morning to speak with him. Better remain at your post till then." He gestured mockingly towards the rail. Luke didn't like to be made fun of, but... as another wave of nausea hit, suddenly it seemed like a good idea anyway! Luke rushed back to his post, disgusted and ashamed as his stomach helplessly told its tales to the tide. Part of him wanted to stay there, hugging the rail and waiting for the next round, but he also wanted to speak to the captain, right away. Perhaps there was still time to turn the boat around, Luke thought naively. At Luke's demand, the sneering sailor pointed him towards the "Admiral's Quarters", and Luke knocked loudly at the door.

After Luke had pounded for several minutes in an I-am-more-stubborn-than-you display, Admiral Jack finally opened the door and snapped impatiently: "What?"

"You said I had until morning to change my mind. Well, I have decided. I don't want to come on this trip. I have a pressing engagement at Church in the morning."

Jack looked up at him (he was kind of a little guy) with beady eyes, and said shortly, "Well that's just tough, isn't it? We go when the wind goes. And the wind blows north."

That kinda scuttled Luke's hopes for them to turn the boat around, and he protested, "But you said..."

Later Luke would read in his Bible, _"It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man"_ , and nod and say Oh-yeah-son, been there. But for now he simply had the Admiral's curt answer: "That's the way the world is. That's the way people are. Try not to take it too hard."

Normally, Luke was one to play it cool, and probably could have rolled with the reversal of fortunes, except, "Hey! This is my eternal fate we're talkin' about! I'm trying to get my soul right with God! How 'bout a little appreciation of that? A little help even." Luke was somewhat mad, but it was hard to focus on putting on his intimidation face and his full-fledged wrath, coz he was busy having to concentrate to keep from being ill again.

The Admiral refrained from repeating the old saw 'God helps those who help themselves', but said in the same vein, "Well if your salvation is such an important issue to you, you should never have placed it in someone else's hands, should you?" That said, Jack was about to head back to bed, but then softened a little and tried to reassure Luke, stating proudly, jerking his thumb at his chest: "Don't worry. New Owen Sound may have the Pope, but the TrogDogJonah has The Admiral!"

The obvious implication was that the Admiral would somehow have all the right answers and powered-up advice Luke might need. Luke wasn't too sure about that. He wasn't even sure why they called him the Admiral. So he asked: "Coz it may be my scout-trained eyes don't work as well over the water, but I only see the one ship. Don't admirals command a fleet? Or an armada?"

This gave Admiral Jack an opportunity to get started on the advice-givin'. "We all start small in life. But you won't become big until you think big. Dream Big, Be Big," the little man-boy stated like a mantra.

"I want to be a child of God," Luke declared. "Is that big enough?"

Impressed, the Admiral acknowledged, "There it is. Aim high. Once you know what you want, the rest is just a matter of time." Speaking of that started him in on sharing his own secrets with Luke, telling him how much money he had squirreled away, all his own big plans for building a second ship, etc.

"Go back to bed!" Luke told him, partly to avoid being bored, but mostly to free himself up for another rush to the rail. The Admiral was used to being the one giving the orders, but who argues with a Hun? He went back to bed, and Luke went back to his post.

After several attempts to return to his berth, pre-empted by several more upheavals, Luke soon realized (necessity bein' the mother of invention), that he could kind of doze right there on the deck, with his chest on the rail and the cool night wind singing past his ears.

In the daylight, Luke awoke from rough sleep to find that more sailors were about, including his friend Bert. Orders were being given, instructions barked. Though he had read some maritime literature back in the day, there was quite a difference, Luke was discovering, between reading and doing, between thinking about something and knowing about something. Face-to-face with it, the sea life seemed quite complicated. So many different terms, so many commands being given! (Compared to the Huns, who only had to remember two commands, _March!_ and _Fight!_ And of those, only the first ever needed to be verbalized.)

It all came as an aural blur. Directions from all directions, orders from all quarters: "Sling the sloopy keel, ye starboard wenches! (Har!) Raise the aft yard-arm or I'll drop you with a forearm! Spar with the stars and heave the rolling sheave-hole--the Admiral looks a-stern! Trim the tipsy topsail trusses, ye leeward lushes! Bilge the briny brace-boomkin and drink some port! Hoist your petard and take a bow! Send the volley cheer on high, shake down the thunder from the sky..." (He looked up and smiled to discover that last part was just Bert, messin' with him, and that he needn't really attempt it.)

Luke felt guilty that he wasn't helping out. He started to get up, but realized he still had some guts inside that needed to be puked out. Bert motioned to him not to bother trying to join the fray just yet: "Don't worry son. I signed on as an able-bodied seaman, but I signed you up as an able-bodied landlubber. They expect you to take a couple days to get your sea legs (and your sea-belly.) It's OK. Just watch and learn for a while. Your wages won't start until you start working, but hey, in the meantime you still get all the free food you can eat!" Luke didn't appreciate the joke, and voiced his displeasure to the waves.

Bert stood on the foredeck and had a grand view of the sky, the sea, the crying gulls and the leaping fish; to go with the scent of sodium and the sound of timbers slapping water. Bert gave a wild laugh coz to him it was beautiful. Just happy to be back at sea again, his joy spilled out in a rhyme (the rime of the youthful mariner?): "Life is Exciting, Inviting, and it Strikes like Lightning! (never in the same place twice.)"

Too queasy to get very excited, Luke merely added interestedly, watching the trail of floaties in the water, "My puke never lands in the same place twice either."

Bert grinned, gave him a game show announcer's exaggerated "Con- _grat-_ ulations!" and went back to work.

"That kid's got it worse than most," one of the sailors observed some time later. "He's spent half his time hugging that rail like it's the last thing that reminds him of land, and the other half clinging to it like he's practicing to survive a shipwreck."

Worried, some of the men figured they better say a few words to Luke, reassure him somehow, ease his grief or help him cope.

"Hey, look at the bright side," said a mariner named Morel. "You were throwing up every few minutes this morning. You were on like a faucet! Now it's down to twice an hour!"

"Whoo'oop-de-do" Luke managed, not quite consoled.

Morel stayed cheerful: "What I mean is, I think you're getting better. Getting stronger. Adjusting to the sea. Life is a constant series of adjustments, after all."

"I don't feel stronger. Maybe the muscles that make my stomach turn are getting stronger. They're sure gettin' a workout anyway."

This skeptical attitude invited a prompt rebuke from a senior sailor: "Whatsagivin' on behind yer forehead, bruzzer?" scolded an energetic Ensign named Edwards, who had sailed the salty Seas of Sydenham since he was a skinny scamp, "Oh, we sees yous 'uffering. But ain't thassa good thing? Suffering brings strength! Strengfa mind, strengssa soul, strengka purpose, strengta f'will."

"Strength of odor," Luke added, wiping his mouth, yuck. "Suffering is a good thing? Maybe you'd change your tune if you were the one suffering."

"I _was_ sa one! We all whats! Afore wesacame veterans, wesa all novices. You hollerways begin atza beginning. You walks beforucan run, no? And you dossa boats beforucan sail! Land-bebbies fallso few times before they get good adyt. Well, we Sea-children have stuffa fallout a fuss! But effentually use'll get the hang of it. Practice makes perfect, dozen dit?" He slid to a stop: "Hokiedokie. Here's my wordz. What saz you?"

"I'm getting jus' about perfect at puking anyway," Luke agreed, as he stuck his thumb into the air to check the wind, to prepare to aim his next delivery. (Wondering whether that would ever be a valuable skill in later life. He sure hoped it wouldn't!)

A good kid named Brian was the next one to help. 'Chains' was his sea-name, coz one of his particular responsibilities was the raising, lowering and maintenance of the anchors. Bred about the briny banks of Barrie, he had seen hard times of his own on the Stormy Seas of Simcoe. Feeling Luke's pain, he offered, "As my uncle Macleod once told me, 'Life is going to be tough at times, so don't waste time hoping it will be easy, instead plan to be strong during those difficult times.'"

"I _was_ planning to be strong," Luke recalled. "Sometimes things just don't work out the way you plan, I guess."

"But you _are_ strong," another man offered. Luke later found out this was Che Vanier, their Christian Caribbean cook. " _'When I am weak, den am I strong'_ rememba? Dis is prob'ly de most 'elpless you have ever felt, no? Humbling, yes? _Thot's_ where you _begin_ , mon! When you get lost at sea, you look to day stars. When you get lost in life, you look to God! Here you are...weak, 'elpless, powerless! The others are right, it won't last forev-ah! You will get true it! But the _memory_ of dis moment should last forev-ah, my brotha. Keep it wit you! Because this is a lesson for you, for de one who has always taut himself so strong: Dis body, dis mind, dis heart, dis life: dey are only as strong as God has made t'em. Pray dat He will continue to make t'em stronga!"

Last came Bert, finished with his shift and feeling good, filled up to glowing by a few extra minutes of sea-staring and water-watching. "In the meantime," he counseled, "Make use of all this free time you have been given! Who was it that said 'Know Thyself?' So-crates?" Bert asked, using the standard Bill and Ted pronunciation. "That's good advice I think. Especially at the start of this new leg of your journey. If ya know who ya are, that will help ya figure out what you want to get out of the trip. Which will..." he drum-rolled his hands on the wood, "...make it that much easier to achieve it."

"Kinda vague though," Luke mumbled, as his tummy rumbled. "Know myself how? Don't I already? What does that mean exactly?"

Bert the Hack tried to help. "You know what I would do? Make yourself a Credo. A description of yourself. Start with one, then when you find out more about yourself, you maybe write another. Here is my example, of the way I feel these days:

Like rain, I slide sidelong through the sky: Throwing punches at the day,

Blowing kisses at the night.

"Different slogans for different times," Bert acknowledged with a chuckle; "In high school I settled for the simpler: 'I'm everything that a young man should be: I'm Wittay, Grittay, and downright Prettay... _and_ good at football.'"

Luke had to concede that these sayings did capture much of Bert's rough and gentle restlessness, his exuberance, and his extremes of emotion. Hmm, why not try? he told himself, and he worked on writing his own, on and off for the rest of his belly-wrestled Time of Troublations. Eventually, the next morning (it took him a while coz he was a music major, not a poetry guy), Luke arrived at a formulation he was satisfied with:

"Out of a bloody red past,

I sail through a cool blue present

Towards a clean white future:

With hard hands empty

I reach towards sanctuary."

He decided he liked it better than the one Bert had written for him as an example, to try to get him started: "I'm a rough-and-tumble, hammer-hard Hun; I can beat you with either the pass or the run; and my proverbial phaser is never set on stun!" So he resolved, "Let that be the theme for this voyage." Then added, "For every voyage!" Then recalling Che Vanier's injunction to pray, Luke started the journey out right with a cautious but hopeful prayer: "God? I want to believe the things that are true. Please help make me stronger on this journey, and show me the things you have put me here to learn. Thank you. -Luke. PS: Can I please stop puking soon?"

Now, maybe it was just like Morel and Edwards had told him, and he was just getting the hang of the sea. Or maybe God _had_ intervened. But the very instant he finished that prayer, he started to feel a whole lot better, and within minutes the nausea was gone completely. "Neato," Luke decided. (Later "Neato" would become "Thank you", but hey, small steps.)

# Chapter 21: "Good Deed Doers"

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" Matthew 25:40

The first few days of their voyage were sunny ones, as they sailed north along the coast. It was downright hot, which is unusual because they say large bodies of water are supposed to moderate the climate. But I guess nobody told the sun that. The sailors were sweatin' a lot and playfully shaking their fists at the mirage-blue sky.

When the Admiral had said that they were sailing for 'Parts Unknown', Luke had pictured a trip westward into the great wide open, searching for new lands and loads of mystery, not a tame cruise up a settled coast. The Admiral had meant, however, that they didn't know quite what parts they were sailing for because they intended to play it by ear, being guided by the winds, the currents, and of course the ever-changing rumors of riches. Luke was mildly disappointed of course, but Bert was rather impressed by the Admiral, an unhindered and unpredictable individual after his own heart: Gotta have the freedom, but cha gotta make the money too.

In any case, the journey up the coast was somewhat tiring and demoralizing for the previously fired-up crew, because the hot sun takes a lot out of you, including their appetites, leaving them with less energy later in the day. (Shoulda brought some of those Mini-wheats, Bert reflected.) It might have been quite a pleasant, scenic cruise, except they didn't have time to sit back and enjoy the scenery, because the Admiral had 'em all working like crazy--as Jack always made sure to get his money's worth. It was a skeleton crew, too, which added to their workload: there were about eighteen or twenty men all told, which is quite a few but not so many for a medium-sized oceangoing vessel. Besides, there would probably be a few fewer by the end of the voyage, since sailors have a tendency to fall overboard and drown at times, especially in wild, dramatic epics like this one.

The TrogDogJonah was charting a course up the coast on this particular day because the Admiral, Jack, had heard rumors that the peoples who lived north of New Owen Sound might have furs to trade, and furs are quite valuable (especially if you are an animal.) So north they had flown, the trade winds at their back.

It was mid-afternoon when they encountered the coastal locals. The boys were fatigued from working at sailing the ship all day, (sailing is harder than it looks--Luke could tell that just by looking), and they were getting kind of tired of the whole aquatic business. Yeah, it was still the first week out, but they hadn't got their second wind yet, so to speak.

A tall, skinny, strong native youth named Wal-ter! hailed them from the shore, and the Admiral knew they had arrived. They cast anchor and moored in the mouth of the Ukwaffenah River, and the Admiral ordered his crew to load a longboat full of special, secret boxes from the cargo hold. Finally, some mere muscle work for Luke to put his back into! Then the Admiral selected a handful of trusted associates, including Robespierre the Harpoonist, to accompany him to land. About an hour later, the trading party rowed back to the ship, laughing and singing and joking around, with the boxes gone, replaced apparently by bundles of furs.

"Gosh, what are you guys so happy about?" Luke innocently asked, as he helped them unload. Robespierre laughed. "Ha! Two things! First of all the joke's on yous guys, because you had to eat lemons and potatoes and fish here on the ship while we got treated to a steak dinner and wine by our good-natured hosts. Second of all, the joke's on them. Because we ripped them off!"

"Ooh, that wasn't very nice," Luke commented, in a bleeding heart, sensitive-to-ggoppression way. "Why, what did you trade them?"

"Jewelry, of course," the Admiral bragged. Luke was puzzled, because that just didn't seem like such a shrewd deal, until the Admiral explained, "Fake jewelry."

"Isn't that fraud?" Luke reproved them.

Jack grinned to congratulate himself, and winked conspiratorially. "But _they_ don't know that, and by the time they find out they're fakes we'll be long gone," he explained, as Chains raised the anchor and they sailed on. Then he amended the terminology, amused with himself, "Not fraud--good business!"

Sure enough, the fur-traders didn't discover the bait-and-switch until some time later, when The TrogDogJonah was leagues away. Coincidentally, this was about the same time that the Admiral and his not-altogether-scrupulous-but-hey-that's-free-market-economics-baby traders discovered that they themselves had received cleverly-crafted-yet-not-worth-much artificial furs! So who is the joke on really? Maybe it's on all of us. Except Bert--he had taken advantage of the Admiral's departure and had caught forty-four winks.

Saddened by having played even a tangential role in the rip-off, Luke resolved to keep a closer eye on these fellas.

Not long after putting to sea again, the lookout up in the Crow's Nest gave them a holler that he had spotted another ship. There was a frenzy of activity as the crew turned their ship to intercept the other. Luke was pleased to finally be able to help sail the ship--he had learned that it wasn't necessary to learn all the lingo at once, for when they wanted his help the other sailors were helpful enough to put it in his terms: Hey, hold this rope; Guy, help me turn this wheel; Dude, pull my finger; and so forth. To his credit, Luke had only fallen for that last gag a couple of times. "You cat-chon quick, bruzzer," Ensign Edwards had complimented.

In any case, Luke was so focused on putting his muscles into the job and making up for his earlier inactivity, that it wasn't until they were almost upon the other ship, a small and unassuming vessel called the Hat Sass, that Luke noticed that swords were being drawn. One was offered to him but he declined, refusing to participate any more in what promised to be theft and violence. The first mate who had offered looked a little surprised--he had heard that Huns were so warlike--but there was no time to argue, and several sailors needed to stay and steer their own ship anyway.

About a dozen raiders, swords drawn, leapt onto the deck of the Hat Sass as soon as the ships came together with a bump. The small crew of that vessel was unprepared for the well-timed and well-executed attack, and even the few who had weapons quickly relinquished them when they saw that they were overpowered. Faced with the old dilemma "Your money or your lives!", the men of the Hat Sass quietly made the right choice. Some of the raiders secured the prisoners, while others searched the hold and brought up everything that looked valuable: money and treasure, spices and pottery, hides and metals, and even the tastiest items from their victims' larder: cheese and sugar and such.

"So this is piracy?" Luke asked when the boarding party returned, still startled to see it take place in real life.

"Just good business," the Admiral repeated his favorite euphemism.

"Yeah it's piracy, so what?" Bert admitted more candidly after the Admiral had moved away.

"Stealing is wrong," Luke admonished. Though he had learned this rather late in life himself, he was still surprised that Bert didn't know it by now.

"Except it wasn't technically stealing. Coz we captured their crew, and then took their treasure as a ransom. Piracy on the high seas is considered an act of war, and as you know: All's fair in love and war," Bert rebutted.

Luke had trouble wading through the moral semantics of that line of argument, so he responded intuitively, "That still doesn't make it right."

Bert felt a little guilty, coz he had been enjoying all the swashbucklin' fun and storybook stuff, but now that Luke accused him, Bert realized someone could have gotten hurt, and certainly some feelings had been hurt at least! He pictured all those sad sailors on the Hat Sass feeling a sense of loss and disappointment, coming home to their children emptyhanded. So he defended himself instead with a timely cliché: "Possession is nine tenths of the law. Which means it's our stuff anyway. How can you steal your own stuff?"

"So what about the other tenth?" Luke asked, determined to pin Bert down. He was feeling guilty himself for having let the assault go off without a word, as he now remembered a button one of his R.A's had worn at the dorm at Iowa State: 'Silence is the Voice of Complicity'. True, more good would have come had he said something _before_ the event, but maybe some advantage could still be salvaged? Also, it was hard to address the whole crew with his concerns, but if you can't talk about things with your close friends, who can you talk to?

But Bert slipped out of that charge too, stating nobly, "The other tenth we give to God: Tithe your 10%, after all."

Luke was ap-palled! He couldn't put his finger on the exact Bible reference offhand, but it sure seemed like a pretty shady thing to do. Luke pointed this out, and this time Bert felt a lot guilty: "K, so maybe I promise no more piracy, no more bad guy." Luke liked that idea, but still neither of them felt completely absolved, until Bert added another promise: "And the next time you see us making a mistake, point it out ahead of time, and I'll help you prevent it."

"Agreed," Luke agreed.

Several hours later and farther north, on a misty evening under overcast skies, they got their chance, as Luke discovered the darker nature of the venture he had naively joined.

The boys were taking a break, and hanging around lazily on deck: Luke strumming his guitar; Bert playing euchre (the favorite card game of heroes, legends and archetypes) with Chains, Morel and Aussie Joe; Che the Cook whittling a toothpick from a block of driftwood; Robespierre polishing his harpoon...you get the idea. Suddenly a small, mousy sailor named Gonzales gave a shout, from where he was sitting up above them in the Crowsnest, spyglass in hand. "Whales Ahoy!" he cried.

Jack quickly and excitedly appeared from below-decks, half-dressed and hastily slipping on his platform shoes. He started barking fevered orders to his crew, as they prepared to go a-whalin'. Within moments, the crew had all the sails unfurled, and The TrogDogJonah was in hot pursuit of the kindly, unsuspecting whales, with Robespierre the Harpoonist perched menacingly in the bow.

Luke was kinda stunned, because he hadn't realized this mission was mainly going to be about whaling. Some fishing, yes. A little exploring, of course. Some trading, even better. Even the fraud and piracy hadn't killed anyone. But this? Now Luke had a genuine moral crisis on his hands, because he vaguely remembered an issue from his college days, and how a devastatingly beautiful Portuguese maiden named Liz Leal, with a strong jaw and strong opinions, had convinced him to get on the bandwagon in a movement to Save the Whales! (That had been a really popular college cause, in those days, among all those innocent Iowa whale-lovers.) Luke really hadn't thought about it too much since, but now that the matter was at hand, he searched his conscience and decided that he still felt the same way. And although he wasn't in the most desirable position to stand up for what he believed, this time good ol' boy Luke stood up anyway. He walked up behind the Admiral, who was standing by Robespierre in the bow, eagerly watching the chase, and Luke stated calmly, "Save the Whales." The Admiral didn't react, so Luke repeated himself, more loudly: "Save the Whales!"

Admiral Jack turned around, and asked sternly, "Excuse me? Did you say what I think you said?" Jack sounded none too pleased. Luke set his chiseled jaw, smiled proudly and nodded slowly. The Admiral growled an I'll-deal-with-you-later type unhappy growl, and turned back to focus on the chase.

Luke realized that his protests weren't getting the job done, so, ever the man of action, he sprang to the bow and shouted at the top of his voice, "Hey Whales: Duck!"

The whales looked back over their shoulders to see what the commotion was all about. Then, seeing the dangerous harpoonist and the glint of his steel weapon and his steely eyes, the whales decided that Luke's advice was Not Bad, and with a wave of their giant flukes to thank Luke, down under the water they slowly dove, never to be seen again by the crew of The TrogDogJonah.

The crew was shocked by this strange and nefarious turn of events. They all wanted to know why Luke had gone and done that. But they didn't ask him to explain, because anger outweighs curiosity. So first they started coming after him, with Robespierre growling and leading the charge. Luke stood his ground fearlessly, because as we all know, a Hun with a good left hook is more than a match for a Frenchman with a harpoon. Sure enough, Luke dodged Roby's hateful thrust and smoked his foe with a tap in the ear, which sent him sprawling to the deck. The First Mate lunged in next, but Luke received him with a powerful two-handed thrust to the chest, which flung him backwards and stopped the others in their tracks. But the First Mate heroically snapped his fingers and motioned for his assistants to continue the battle. There was a brief pause, and the surrounding ring of sailors began to constrict once more.

This time, it was friend Bert who stopped their advance, stepping up like a renegade to Luke's rescue, Canadian fists at the ready. He decimated the First Mate's First Assistant with a machine-gun rapid combination from his Kronk-trained arsenal: Ba-da-da-Pow. Two others leapt at him, but Bert quickly felled the first with a simple clothesline and chest-stomp, and the other with a vague flurry of head, hands, elbows and knees that onlookers remembered only as 'a rush of ruthlessness followed by a slow trickle of blood'. Then he stood over the bodies, laughing and beckoning. This last gesture is what drew the sailors up short. While Luke's secret ferocity had startled them, they were absolutely baffled by Bert--not only raising his fists before fifteen men, a hero or a madman, but fearless enough to laugh, and beckon, and taunt. No one wanted to be the next one in and the next one decked, and besides, it wasn't their fight anyway they realized, as they heard the Admiral's screechy voice.

"This is Mutiny!" he cried, to egg on his men. "Get them!"

The crew seemed skeptical. A two-man mutiny? Unusual. A moment of thought was needed, the First Mate's Second Assistant Third Class decided, especially since he was next in line to step up! After pondering quickly, he came up with a way to pawn off his thankless task. It didn't necessarily come from the Maritime Code, but he knew he had heard it somewhere... "Darers go first?"

Admiral Jack was rattled by this unexpected turning of tables, and while the rest of the crew looked to see what his reaction would be, he decided it was now a good time to instead apply his Admiral's skills of wisdom, discretion and diplomacy, and ask questions first, la la la. "Okay, Luke, so why did you scare the whales away like that?"

"Save the Whales," Luke repeated. Then he elaborated, "Whales are an endangered species. Therefore we shouldn't oughta go killin' 'em off."

The rest of the crew looked sympathetic, but a big, curly-haired, earring-wearing swimmer named Scott expressed their concern: "Yeah, but that's how we make our livin'. If we don't catch some whales, how will we support ourselves?"

Luke pondered and remembered, "Fishing is an honorable profession! We could catch fish instead of whales." Someone wanted to know why that was so much better, ethically speaking. Luke thought it over, and realizing that there was no pure animal rights argument that would necessarily distinguish between a fish and a whale, he fell back on pragmatism, and the consoling cliché, "There's plenty of fish in the sea?" The crew thought that sounded like a reasonable explanation for a justifiable compromise, and they agreed to focus most of their hunting and gathering efforts on catching fish, from that day forward.

Nevertheless, the Admiral was still sorta sore at Luke for usurping his authority, and he gave Luke a lot of dirty jobs later to make up for it. But Luke, ever the team player, realized that it was worth the sacrifice, if his own suffering could help the lot of all those poor unfortunate whales. What a kind, compassionate guy, eh? Kind of like Aquaman, minus the Funky or-ange suit.

The Admiral ordered the crew back to work, figuring maybe they would forget his inglorious moment of trepidation sooner if they didn't get to stand around gossiping about it! As the crowd dispersed, Luke and Bert leaned back against the rail for a short minute, catching their breath after their victory. Bert grinned and slowly breathed the proud word that seemed to sum up their poise and power, their bravado and brawn, their righteousness and resolve: "Cruuui-zer-weights!" Luke had to smile too, adding an answering "Wocka."

Seeing that look, Bert seized on it: "So? How do you feel? Pretty good? Maybe that's what you needed to make your life complete: Do good for others! Save the day! Stand up for a cause! Do the right thing! Ya think?" He seemed hopeful, that he might have helped Luke find his niche.

Luke did feel kind of good; he was glad he had been able to help the whales. But, he still didn't feel complete. Maybe they had done a good thing, but maybe it was only a small part of a bigger Good. He thought about it and tried to put it into words: "I want to do the right thing. True. But can there be a 'right thing', if there is no Right and Wrong? And can those exist without a God who judges? So maybe this is only a sign, to help lead us to God..."

"Maybe everything is," Bert said shortly, and went back to work. Luke wondered a little sadly whether he had somehow upset his friend with his thoughts, or whether Bert had just felt the evil eye of the Admiral beating down on him.

Feeling that frosty glare himself all of a sudden, Luke looked around quickly, for a rope to hold, a wheel to turn, or a finger to pull...

# Chapter 22: Cold Sea Conversations

"Who art thou that judgest another man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth. Yea, he shall be holden up: for God is able to make him stand." Romans 14:4

They kept sailing north, and the colder it got, the more Luke wished that they had sailed west. Huns handled the cold weather pretty well, (comes from sleeping in tents all year), but that's a different thing from _liking_ the cold. It's like a slight earache or toothache--a mild discomfort that stays with you all the time, no escape from it, until eventually it gets on your nerves. "So why are we going this far north anyway?" Luke wanted to know, as they started to meet the polar ice cap. "Even the fish know better."

"Well, we would have hunted the elusive Narwhal, the strange whale with the beautiful horn," the Admiral sighed dreamily, then added, more down-to-earth, "Get some money for that, I'll tell ya! But no, you spoiled that plan. So now we're just trying to get from there to here, from the west to the east."

"By going north."

"Precisely."

It seemed a little complicated to Luke, until Bert later explained that they were going north, _then_ east, then south again. "Can't just sail straight east, coz there's some, uh, land there," he pointed out, slightly mocking. "So the ship would get stuck. Unless..." he built suspense with a pause, "Unless you had one of those cool _new_ ships..." ( _"Yes?")_ "...called a bu-us!"

Without whaling, there wasn't too much to keep busy in the north, and most of the crew could stay below decks and play euchre. But not Bert and Luke: maybe it was the mutiny incident, or maybe the Admiral was still trying to find jobs that landlubber Luke could handle, but in any event, they sure wound up with a lot of shifts on ice detail.

They had timed their voyage with the late summer, so the ice had had some time to melt and thin, and they mostly had open water. But still there were times when the ice would start to pack in around them, or they would sail into large ice floes. The Jonah had a little bit of metal plating just on the bow, at the waterline, to help protect her, but it wasn't enough to bust right through (no nuclear powered icebreakers on this world, just sailing ships.) So that's where Bert and Luke came in: Ice Detail involved tying a 'misery cord' around you, and when necessary, rappelling down to the ice to break it up and pry it apart with sledgehammers and pikes. Sometimes you could stand on footholds outside the hull of the ship (like a mermaid figurehead, 'cept not as pretty), and kind of lean out and just steer the ice to one side with a pike. But other times it was necessary to take a little more rope and walk out onto the ice and start swinging.

Luke liked the 'swing away' part. Good exercise, and a good opportunity to vent some aggression at a harmless target. He swung a little too exuberantly, fell through and got a cold soaker once, and after that experience he was more careful to watch what he was doing--or better yet, what Bert was doing. "Pound it when necessary, but give it a slight tap-tap once you are getting close, and then when you feel the tremor and see it splitting, climb off it quick!" the veteran taught him.

Once they had this task mastered, it was kind of a fun job, certainly not the dirty job the Admiral had intended. The best part was, there were long periods of open water, and open time. Just waiting, watching the weather, feeling the silence. "The silence of holiness," Luke described it in one of his stronger moments, and wrote both words into his Bible.

Also there were conversations with Bert, since they were together a lot. Luke had tried to make conversation with Che Vanier the Christian Caribbean Cook, but he was usually busy working when Luke was off duty. It was hard talking to the man when he was cooking: always eggtimers being flipped, and food going in and out of this or that oven, being stirred, whipped, beaten and finessed, and Che always mostly engrossed in his art. Keeping those ovens quite busy for the sake of their heat. "If you ohnly rememba one ting I teach you, rememba dis," he had begun. Then Luke had to wait a while for it as Che basted some chickens. Finally he finished: "Anyone who tell you de gospel of Christ isn't true, hasn't known Him. Anyone who tell you it is, has! So, who are you goin' to believe, mon?" A moment of banging ovens, and then Che forgot it was his own question, and supplied the answer too, "Trust day ones who _know_."

Turned out that _was_ about the only thing he remembered learning from the Cook. Luke always felt that he was in the way in the kitchens, and so he had to settle for the next best thing, talking with his partner Bert.

One night when they were waiting in the bow, like children waiting spoons-in-hand for ice cream, ("Bring us more ice, please!"), the sun actually sank below the horizon, and gray turned to darkness. It was a big event coz they had been living in that midnight sun for quite a while. Summer must have turned to fall, or they may have dipped back below the Arctic Circle. Luke was too baffled in this new milieu to keep track of either calendar or co-ordinates. In any case, it brought quite a response from Bert. He stood in the bow and watched the darkness fall with elation. "Ah yes, the night!" he proclaimed, and launched word-for-word into Pozzo's exquisite soliloquy from Waiting for Godot.

Luke didn't get much outta that, but did ask, recalling also _'Blowing kisses at the night'_ from Bert's earlier credo, "You like the night don't you?" Then, playfully, "Is this the best night you've ever seen?"

"It might be," Bert replied thoughtfully. "We haven't seen her in so long--this night, this Young Night, this Forever night. Each day she leaves us, and each day she returns. Each evening she arrives with a fresh new face, and falls anew, the Young Night, with a sense of wonder. With her fairytale moon, her fabled stars, and her storied darkness." He sighed and smirked simultaneously. (Luke had never seen that done.) "Yet... each day she _remains_ , merely circles the globe, visiting all the other nations, all the good peoples...and then comes to _us_ again, bringing presents: dragging soft and exotic scents from the east, carrying strange noises and wild voices from distant nations, and singing and whispering the things she has learned, down through Forever! The Forever Night, with the wisdom of the long ages, the seasoning of eternity; and the Young Night, with the innocence of just beginning, the joy of first being! Both rolled into one! And now she comes back, after weeks away, and who knows what gifts she might bring, what things she has seen, what treasures she has lovingly stored up for us?" Then he took a deep breath of cold night air, held it in anticipation with his eyes closed for a thrilled moment, and then let it out with a laugh.

Luke liked Bert's personification of the night, and resolved, with a contented smile, "I want to be like that too."

"You are!" Bert exclaimed excitedly. "Have you read this part yet in your book? _'If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.'_ Or this one: _'His mercies are new every morning'._ Every day is a new chance, Luke. You sleep and then wake, like a miracle! Alive from the dead. Is it still you? You remember some of what you learned before, no doubt, but you also have a clean slate, a fresh start, a new opportunity to make your life wonderful. The trick then, is to make the most out of each day. I've heard various theories about how to do that..." he teased, waiting for his friend to ask.

"Okay. So go on," Luke demanded eagerly, prompting Bert to continue.

"Well, some people say you should 'Live each day as if it were your last'. Coz it could be, after all," Bert reminded him, gesturing out at the dangerous dark waters and the menacing ice. "Live as if it's your last chance, your only time to show love, to do right, to enjoy this place--the good sights, the clear sounds. Do the things you always have wanted to do. Treasure each moment. Speak your feelings honestly. To yourself. To those you love. To God. Ask yourself Bruce Cockburn's question: _'If this were the last night of the world, what would I do that was different?'_ And follow up on the answer."

"Not bad," Luke decided. There was a fullness to it, at least. It would prevent wasted moments, help you remember to savor.

"Aah, but you'd be sayin' good-bye and weepin' a lot. It starts to get on people's nerves," Bert joked. "The opposite way is described by what I saw written on a desk one time back in University. I even made up a poster with a rainbow and this slogan, and hung it on my dorm room door. '!st Day of Life'. I like that one too. Try to see each day with new eyes, as if it was your first day here: a brand new miracle, a brand new blessing! Full of new potential, new opportunities, new things to learn, new friends to meet, new tastes and feelings to enjoy, a new person for you to become. I love it. That's mostly what my whole Freedom speech boils down to: the possibility to choose what we believe in, what we want to live for, without being restricted to what someone else chooses for us, or what our own past habits have condemned us to."

"Even better," Luke agreed, (jotting 'First' and 'Last' into his notes, below the cook's word 'Know'.) Coz he had a past of his own that it would be nice to be free from.

"Yeah, but like the other, it's hard to do," Bert pointed out. "You can use them both as a guide, a memory aid, to try to get more out of life, but you can't really do it. To really sincerely convince yourself that it's either the first or last day of life is hard. But to do it every single day? It kind of becomes pretending. I have an easier way..." Bert promised.

"Lay it on me," Luke said with a laugh.

"My personal philosophy? Is to Live each day as if it was the Weekend!" Bert explained. "A little drinkin', a little fighting, a little partying, some taking it easy... and a whole lot of having fun!"

This did sound like an easier regimen to stick to than the others had been, Luke had to admit. "So what about Sundays? Do you have those on your 'weekends'?" Luke asked, trying to pin Bert down again.

Grudgingly, Bert gave a vague reply again, "A little bit of that too."

Another thought occurred to Luke. "So you must not work very much? If every day is the Weekend?"

"You've seen me work. I work hard," Bert said proudly. Then came the tie-in: "Just I always make them pay me time and a half!" It came clear to Luke at last--this explained the wage discrepancy at Industrial Dave's. He got a little jealous briefly, but had to crack a smile again as Bert explained, "Hey, if I can be part of a Two-Man Mutiny, why not a One-Man Union? A 'Union of One', to borrow a slogan."

"Where did you learn all this stuff? All these ideas, all these tricks?" Luke asked admiringly.

Bert answered with an offhand reference that startled Luke until he remembered they had read the same book, after all. "Oh, here a little, there a little. _'Line upon line'_ don'tcha know. The religious stuff I learned at Wingham Bible Chapel, in Ontario. But it was a Texas Italian named Tomicic who told me to 'Try to learn something, to take something good, from everyone who affects you.' I guess _that_ lesson is what I took from him! So, I've accumulated some ideas, here and there. You sift, and try not only to remember the good ones, but to apply them."

"I was told that you can remember the good ones better if you write them down," Luke chipped in.

"I'll have to write _that_ down," Bert said wryly, with no paper.

Then Luke had to ask about all the unusual placenames Bert kept dropping. "Wingham? Ontario? Texas? You talked about Kansas and Canada earlier. Where are all these places? You must be from far away."

Bert got a kick out of that. "You have no idea!" he laughed. Then, why not? He decided to let Luke in on the trick. "I'll let you in on a little secret," he confided. "I'm not from the pretty planet of Timnalauren. I'm from the not-bad planet Earth." This went way over Luke's head, so Bert tried to help him understand. "All the stars?" Bert said pointing, "They're far-away suns, that's why they look so little. Some have planets around them, just like this one. I lived on one of those other planets." Bert tried to describe the differences briefly, mentioning subways, overpasses and satellites, torpedo boats, supersonic fighter squadrons and fast-drying paint. He also bragged beneficently about having spared the inhabitants of Timnalauren the perils of quicksand and the machinations of the bubonic plague. "Yer welcome." None of this meant much to Luke.

Luke wasn't too lost to pose the obvious question, however. "So how did you get here then?"

That was a long story...

Good thing Luke was sitting down, Bert thought, coz this would floor him: "We designed this world, my friend Joshua Feldspar and I. Drew the maps, made up the characters, sprinkled in some monsters. Kind of a fantasy world." He laughed, thinking about it, and admitted, "Some of it was us being creative, and some we just borrowed from Earth: threw in all the cool placenames and people we liked, like Penetanguishene and Muhammad Ali  Set up a world we liked for a game we were playing, 'Tunnels and Times'. A make-believe game, real fantasy-type knights and castles stuff. Role-playing--we pick a character and pretend that's us, and control what they do, send them on adventures and stuff. Well, after our party defeated the mighty dragon Duncan Speedboy, I had my character Simonus Prayicus rub a magic lamp from the treasure hoard, and have a Genie named Simmons grant his wish--that I, Bert Loreword, was here on this planet..."

"And here you are," Luke supplied, skeptically.

Bert nodded. He tried to remember word-for-word: "What was it that Guru Jim Splitlevel told me about that, in a later encounter? 'Genies got magic. Magic is magic. That's why you're here.'"

A simple enough explanation no doubt, but Luke didn't buy it. He actually seemed a little insulted by the whole idea. He gestured towards the sea and sky. "So, you're saying all this is just a fantasy world. Made-up." He looked at his own hands, then cracked his knuckles and said gruffly, "It seems real enough. _I_ seem real enough." He gave Bert a stern look, as if daring him to contradict this. The Huns had their own variant of Descartes' famous formulation. 'I fight, therefore I am.'"

Bert shook his head. "No, I thought that _then_. But I can see for myself now, this place is as real as what I was used to before! I even met Simonus, did some jobs with him, but I couldn't control him. We think a lot alike, but we had our differences and parted ways. But he exists, as surely as I do. You aren't contingent. Timnalauren is a real place." He laughed. "The Guru said something about that too: 'Some scientists say that space is finite, that the universe is curved and has an end, that they can measure up how much it weighs and how far it stretches. But dig: I figure way out where no scientist has ever been, there's probably a little more, hiding somewhere. That's where we must be.' I think what he was saying was, there's room for all of us, all possibilities. Since the Universe was created by an infinite God, even if it _is_ finite, it _approaches_ infinity. Like one of those mathematical thingies: what's the word, hyperbole? Parabola? Certainly not a parallellogram," Bert said to himself, sifting. "The stars would get stuck in the corners."

"So now you're saying God created this world. I thought you said you created it." Sometimes Bert was hard to figure out like that.

"No," Bert clarified, "I said we _designed_ it. Discovered it might be a better word. We sat down, used our imagination, and put it on paper. But where was it before that? In our thoughts? In our minds? Listen, if God is omniscient and omnipresent, He knows what's in our minds before we do. Knows all thoughts, all ideas, all words, deeds and actions--from the moment of creation until its end. So anything we imagine, anything we create, already exists in the mind of God. So does that minimize what we did? It's humbling no doubt, but it's good to be humbled. But I would say that, rather than diminishing _us_ , to realize that all things, all thoughts, begin first with God, gives glory to God! We thought we were creating our own imaginary utopia. Is it disappointing to find that we were merely imagining something that God had already created? Hardly! It's a high honor! a joy! a fulfillment of that incomparable promise, that we are made in God's image!"

"So you believe in God, then." Luke finally had the man on the spot.

"Obviously. But _'even the demons believe in God, and tremble'._ The more pertinent question is, do I worship and serve Him?" Bert helped out, providing the question for Luke. Then he added the answer too, (somewhat sadly, Luke thought.) "Not so much. I used to, though."

"What happened?" Luke wanted to know. He had a sick feeling creeping back into his stomach, terrified to discover this strange new possibility, that even if he finally found what he was looking for he might lose it again anyway.

Bert's wary eyes bored into Luke like X-rays, judging him, deciding how much to share. Luke had long since learned that his freewheeling, haphazard, reckless running-mate nevertheless seemed to need to be watchful and in control when it came to releasing his own personal background. The other side of self-contained, Luke supposed. At last Bert shrugged. As long as he was spilling secrets, why not? "My father died. He was too young. Too good. It wasn't right. In our world there was a poet named e.e. cummings, who wrote one once that said how I felt about my dad too: _'My father moved through dooms of love, through sames of am, through haves of give. Singing each morning out of each night, my father moved through depths of height...'_ You should read the rest if you ever make it to Earth." A sudden memory made Bert's face brighten: "Did you know that my father was the first one to teach me how to box?"

"I don't know anything about your father," Luke admitted.

Bert's face fell just as suddenly as it had lit. "Neither do I. Not anymore. Nor ever again." His eyes closed slowly, to banish tears, and Luke looked away and scanned the icy skyline to honor his friend's pride. He waited, and finally Bert spoke again: "Anyway, it's not that I blamed God exactly, but I just couldn't reconcile what had happened with what I thought God was supposed to be like. It just didn't make sense. And that's when I stopped praying, praising and worshipping. I just didn't feel it any more. Maybe some day I will again. But I'm still waiting."

Luke had a shiver. "That's kind of weird. The death of your father made you stop seeking God. The death of my mother made me start. Ironic? Just a little?"

"Especially since I'm the guy who told you about having a positive attitude!" Bert remembered. Then, more thoughtful, Bert furrowed his brow and tried to puzzle out the incongruity. Perhaps it came down to _'_ Practice what you preach'. He felt a sudden sense of his own failure in that respect, but rather than dwell on it, he used the opportunity to teach from it: "See, that's the flip side of what I said about each day being a new opportunity! It could also hold an opportunity to lose, a chance to falter, the potential to forget. That's each day's burden then, brother--the responsibility to keep moving forward, getting better, seeking God. Coz once you start moving away, you _keep_ moving away... If I neglect to pray one day, I'm that much further from God, and that much more likely to forget to pray and worship the next day too!" He paused, laughed a little bitterly. "Backsliding, backslidden, backsludge," Bert conjugated, with equal parts sarcasm and self-reproach. He paused, and then pronounced sentence: "Each morning we wake to a new self, cannibalizing the old one for parts. Well, I got distracted and left some good stuff behind, I think," he said gloomily, then shrugged and quipped, "I can't remember."

Luke was sad for his friend's loss, he could see that Bert was still pretty upset about it. "But what about heaven?" Luke wondered. It seemed a little surprising that a Christian would lose faith over a little thing like death, when the great joy of the gospel was Christ's victory over death! "Don't you think that God has a good reward for your father, a merciful plan?"

Bert gave a slightly bitter laugh. "You know, I felt that way too, when other people died. But my father? We were just too close. I tried to tell myself that, but I had trouble believing it. I kept repeating to myself, 'Must trust that God is just.' But that felt kind of insincere, coz what I _really_ felt in my heart was _"Why?"_ and _"No!"_ Somehow that made me question whether I had _ever_ been right about God, or just telling myself stories, deluding myself all along."

Luke felt the cold getting to him and hunched his coat tighter. He felt a great need to try to prevent Bert from going down that road. Maybe Bert's faith was already shaken, but at the very least Luke still wanted to protect his own budding faith from being subverted, or choked by doubt's tendrils. "Remember what Lawrence said?" (It seemed right to think about him, since they were at sea.) "Don't let the questions and doubts overwhelm your faith!" Then, though Luke was afraid it was the inappropriate thing to say to a grieving man, Luke decided that loyalty to the living is more useful than loyalty to the dead, and tried to help Bert keep his God-first perspective, reminding him, "Doesn't the Bible say that _'he who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me?'_ "

Thankfully, Bert took that remark well. He had read it himself. "That's probably it," he acknowledged. "But if that's the sin that separates me from God, how can I repent of it? You can't repent of love. Should I love my father less?" he asked, with an uncharacteristic hint of ice.

"Or love God more," Luke suggested, completing the equation.

Bert smiled at a perceived paradox, and countered, "Oh, that I would have gladly done...if only he hadn't taken away my father."

"Aren't you scared though?" Luke asked. "If even the demons believe and tremble, and you believe... don't you tremble too? Knowing that you should choose God?"

Bert, master of the half-truth, the half-smile, and the half-laugh, gave a trademark slight chuckle and a left-side smile, as he saw a chance to dodge again, and tell a lighter story...

The Story of Death and the Old Maid:

Once upon a time there was a groovy gracker named Bertralamus J, who was hanging around in a secluded grassland at midnight when wouldn'tcha know it, along came the Angel of Death, wings tucked stylishly beneath a dark cloak, with a black hat and a big bag for the bodies. Bert assumed the Angel of Death (hereinafter referred to simply as Death) had come to do him in. Better put a stop to that right quick now, he thought, and took a small rectangular object from his shirt pocket. Was it a pocket New Testament? Nope; it was a deca-cards. "Behold. Cards," Bert challenged. "Want to play?" Jacob wrestled with an angel, but Bert knew his limits. Better pick something you can win at. Death shrugged and indicated sure,if-ya-want, and sat down beside him.

They proceeded to play Old Maid, in a variety of ways. They played in a sneaky way, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played in a competitive way, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played in a casual way, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played in a solemn way, and Bert became the old maid. They played in a wild way, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played for fun, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played for money, and the man in the black hat became the old maid. They played for keeps, and Bert became the old maid and got a chill up his spine in the bargain! They played in a rough way, and the man in the black hat just barely became the old maid. They played in a friendly way, and the man in the black hat definitely became the old maid. (He still had seven or eight cards left when Bert went out.) Bert decided that his friend Death was destined to be the old maid. Then he revised this attitude, and decided that Death was determined to be the old maid. Then he revised this attitude again, and decided that Death just plain had no tricky (Too predictable after the whole Death-and-Taxes fiasco).

So they switched to Crazy Eights. In the middle of the game, the Angel of Death asked Bert an extremely odd and personal question, which was cleverly disguised by the context of their sports conversation to appear normal.

" _Speaking of the Colorado Buffaloes..." Death segued smoothly, "there's a rumor going around that you have cancer. Is this true?" Death wanted to know ._

Bert was kinda surprised, and he wondered who could have started a weird rumor like that, but he decided to play along. Last chance to play a practical joke on anybody, perhaps. One would hate to waste it. Bert looked Death in the eye and grinned. "Of course I have cancer. Don't you?

" _No."_

" _Want some?" Bert asked, taking out of his pocket a small, metal figurine of a gnome with a cudgel, and offering it to Death._

" _No thanks," Death said resolutely._

" _Come on," Bert coaxed, offering the metal figurine. "It's okay. Everyone has it. Look at me, I've had it since I was twelve and it hasn't hurt me any. And it makes you feel soooo good!"_

" _No thanks," Death said, less resolutely._

" _Hey man, I thought you were cool. You're just a big chicken. Do you want all of your friends to say that about you? That you're chicken?" Bert asked, donating peer pressure. He held the metal figurine out towards Death. "C'mon, buddy. Try a little! Just take it. You'll love it."_

The man with the black hat took the metal figurine.

He and Bert looked at each other for some time, in silence.

" _That ain't cancer," said Bert. "That's pewter." Death looked at the metal figurine with confusion. There was a long pause, and a great silence broken only by the noise of a cricket and the wind. The man with the black hat hesitantly asked Bert what he meant. Bert explained the subtle difference between cancer and pewter. "Pewter is good. Cancer is bad," he said with a shrug._

" _What's your lifespan?" Death countered ._

" _I don't know. Why does it matter?" Bert asked._

" _I am Death," said the man with the black hat. "I must know these things, so that when it is time for you to die, I will be there to do my duty. I figured I better ask, since you're not from around here and I didn't quite know what to make of ya."_

Bert was relieved that Death had only come for an interview. He perked up and became his regular sneaky ol' self. "Hey there, Death. Do not fret. I will tell you when it is time for me to die. After all, I'll know best anyway. Until then, don't do anything to me. We wouldn't want you to take me too soon, eh? That would be a pretty serious mistake. You wouldn't want your Boss to get mad atcha."

" _Talk about job stress," Death agreed._

" _And hey," Bert added, "you better leave off the sickness and the aging, too. Those would set me up for my time of dying, but the time isn't yet right."_

" _I think I can arrange something," said Death, passing Bert a business card. "You promise you'll let me know when though, right?"_

" _Ohhh, ab-solutely!"_

" _Well that's a load off my mind," Death said, relieved._

" _Mine too," Bert concurred, clapping Death on the shoulder like old buds. They finished their game of Crazy Eights and moved on. Bert headed for Siltanen Shores, on the rainy banks of the Rasanen River, and Death, as always, headed for Detroit._

"So that's the ace you have up your sleeve? A deal with death?" Luke sounded dubious. (He wasn't even sure if Bert had actually had that encounter, was craftily employing enigmatic allegory, or was just plain tellin' tales. Knowing Bert, none of the three would be a surprise!)

"It's worked well enough so far," Bert said defensively.

"But you must have read this part, if you used to read the Bible ," Luke upbraided him, and quoted Isaiah: " _'And your covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell shall not stand.'_ You might cheat death, but you can't cheat Judgment, Bert. Even if you somehow fooled an angel, you still won't fool God."

"Very good," Bert complimented him, impressed that Luke was both remembering to use his Bible, and even sounding like he believed it! "But does it not also say that _'it is impossible for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come, If they fall away, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame'_? Scary stuff, huh?" Bert added, as he saw Luke's countenance fall. "So maybe my tricks won't save me. But it could be they're all I have left! If I can't fool God, at least I can fool myself, no? And thus enjoy my last few days fearlessly... But you see why I wanted _you_ to be sure, before you go making your vows!"

"Maybe you didn't do that though," Luke argued, trying to stay hopeful. He still didn't like the idea of falling away. "Wouldn't God's love hold you fast? Catch you when you fall? Like the stuff you told Shadrach. _'Nothing can separate us'_?"

"I want to believe that. I do." Bert had a sudden thought which amused him, and gave a half-laugh: "The gospel according to Belinda Carlisle! 'True Love Never Dies.'" I've always believed that. So maybe you're right, maybe it _hasn't_ died. But the other possibility remains: Maybe it was never true..."

Luke was confused by an ambiguity: "What was never true? Your love for God? Or His love for you?"

The question caught Bert off guard. "Either or, I guess."

For once, Luke showed pretty good logic skills, for a Hun. "Well... if your love was never true, if you never really tasted and knew, like that verse says, then you can't be the in-big-trouble guy it talks about! All you need to worry about is trying to fall in love _now._ "

"Maybe, but what about the other case? If His love for us is a myth, a story, not really true?"

"That's a pretty big if," Luke reminded him. Then made an offer, "So let's look into it! Together. Keep talking about it, thinking about it..." After a pause he even went so far as to add, "...praying about it." He wondered whether he should invite Bert to pray about it together, then and there, but hesitated, not sure he was up to that, not sure he knew how to pray well enough yet himself, and not sure whether it was Bert's place, as the senior somewhat-believer, to make such a suggestion. So they played a kind of 'spiritual chicken', and they both lost. Missed the opportunity, and felt bad after the fact--just like in the Garden, and just like leaving New Owen Sound. Luke prayed later that night however: "God, please help me and my friend Bertralamus Jefferson Loreword who sleeps in the top bunk" (to distinguish him from any other Bertralamus Lorewords in the area) "to know more about you, and to believe in what is true. Maybe you could send one of your servants to win him back, like you did for Shadrach! Thank you very much."

At the moment however, Bert was tendering his response. "Hmm... Maybe... We could..."

"Maybe look into it?" That seemed a fairly feeble level of commitment, for such a big important issue like one's eternal spiritual destiny. Luke gave a little push to try to get a little more. "Maybe is pretty tepid, don't you think?. If you say Yes, you're going somewhere. If you say No, at least God can change your mind and make it Yes! But Maybe? That just sounds like you can't be bothered. I'm afraid this other warning from God might apply now, Bert! _'I would thou were cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm_ 91 _, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth.'_ "

"True," Bert acknowledged. "But maybe later I _will_ find my way back. Could be that deal I made with Death will at least buy me a little more time to do that! Besides, I've got a feeling God will swish me around for a while before he gives up on me and spits me out! Coz my soul's got flav-a!" Bert boasted.

Luke shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. He was about to try to come up with something else serious, to get Bert motivated sooner rather than later, but he wasn't quick-thinking enough. And then their relief had appeared, their shift had ended, and they were tumbling tiredly into their bunks for some sleep. And when day woke them, they found the ship a bustle of activity... The Admiral had appeared on deck, Chains was lowering the anchor, and they were uncovering the boats, to put ashore on the cold coast of a barren island.

# Chapter 23: A Guy From Up North Tells Him How to Play it Cool.

"But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content." 1 Timothy 6:6

As luck would have it, it wasn't just any old island; it was Baffin Island! "Cool!" Luke exclaimed as he looked about. The place was cold, all right. And snowy and rocky and empty, but they were still happy to be there, because hey, they'd never been to Baffin Island before. But after a brief look around, they quickly got bored and they got down to the business of accomplishing what they had come ashore to do. They needed to replenish their fresh water supply. Sure, there had been plenty of ice around them all the while that they were making their polar passage, but its awfully hard to defrost an iceberg at sea. (They keep bobbing around.) Now that they were on solid ground, they found some dry wood and built a fire, and dragged an iceberg to shore, and chopped pieces off it with their axes, and melted them in their soup cauldron and poured them into the empty barrels that they had brought in their boats. They could have just melted snow instead perhaps, but with this crew the Admiral had found that tended to lead to snowball fights and clownin' around!

They were thawing out the last tip of the iceberg to fill their last barrel when a bearded, thick-skinned man in a fur parka and snowmobile boots came walking up quietly and surprised them. He was carrying a spear, but he didn't look too aggressive. "Hi," he said, in a friendly way. The sailors turned around. They really didn't know what to say.

After a hesitant pause, Bert cheerfully greeted the new guy, "Howdy fella! Pleased to meet ya. We are the intrepid crew of The Nautilus, the fastest frigate in the British Navy, and I personally am Ensign Pulver" he embellished. "This must be your lovely island?"

The Parkaman shrugged. "Guess so," he agreed.

"Well, we didn't mean to intrude," Bert said, politely. He had taken on the responsibility of doing most of the talking in this encounter with the owner of the property, because the Admiral wasn't much of a diplomat, whereas Bert considered himself smooth, charming and lovable. He continued, "We were just getting some fresh water. We'll be on our way shortly, of course. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you? Bert Loreword at your service," he contradicted himself carelessly, shaking hands with the Islander.

"I am Reykjavik," the spearman said. "Just call me Rick." Then Rick the Baffin Islander made a generous offer: "We don't get much company way up here. Why don't you men come have dinner with me and my wife before you go?" The crew liked the sound of that, especially the idea of getting a good home-cooked meal; because while they liked their cook Che Vanier as a person, by now they were getting a little tired of constantly eating the same cuisine.

Rick the Baffin Islander led his maritime friends back to his summer house by the seashore, a small but cozy bungalow with aluminum siding and pretty curtains. There they met his lovely northern wife Nina, who greeted the visitors and then helped her husband barbecue some tasty caribou steaks, using plenty of hot sauce as always.

After the huge and healthy home-cooked feast, Bert patted his belly and went to find the facilities, while Luke strapped on borrowed snowshoes and went for a walk and a talk with Rick, (hoping this far-flung friend had some far-out advice) while the rest of the crew helped Nina clean up and wash the dishes. They also couldn't help flirting a bit because she was a beautiful woman and a good cook (double bonus), and they had been at sea for quite a while. She kept them in check with tough eyes and a sharp wit, and they in turn respected the regretful fact that she was married. Besides, they remembered that Rick had a spear. So they cleaned up, and told stories about the sea, and laughed at her tales of life on the Island.

Meanwhile, Rick and Luke were standing on the edge of a cliff at the south end of the island, watching the seals play and the cold surf roll. Luke came right to the point, "I'm looking for wisdom; I thought you might have some you could share with me."

The native Islander stilled him with a raised finger, and pointed back out to the shore. Luke quietly watched the tameless, timeless, northern nature for a while. Finally, after he thought his visitor had seen enough, Rick summed up, "This _is_ wisdom."

Luke waited respectfully again, like he was appreciating it for a while, then said gratefully, "True. But is there something I could write down in my book? Something pithy and quotable?"

The Parkaman sifted though his supply, thinking out loud, "Proverbs, aphorisms, axioms, adages, precepts, sayings..." Then he got a twinkle in his eye as he chose one out that he thought would be helpful. "Ah yes. My father once told me, what he in turn learned from his father, passed down from his father's father." There might have been a slight smile just then, but the Parkaman did his best to continue with a straight face, as if giving solemn and historic life-saving counsel: "Don't eat the yellow snow." He nodded his head proudly as though he had just given Luke valuable knowledge, but really he was just so proud of himself for finally having a chance to get off an oldie-but-a-goodie. With no one else about, he had been saving it for an unbearably long time.

Not knowing whether to thank their host for that unexpected advice, Luke thanked him for the meal instead. "Hey, thanks for the meal, by the way. That was good."

"Welcome. Yeah that caribou sure is tasty, huh? We don't get those very often though. Most of 'em keep away when I've got my spear. Mostly hafta settle for fish."

Luke had had his fill of fish already, and asked, "Don't you get tired of fish? Of the same diet day in and day out?"

Rick the Baffin Islander answered slowly and thoughtfully. "We eat what God provides. How shall we complain about it? He gave the Israelites quails in the wilderness, and he gives us fish in the tundra. Good gifts. Instead of complaining, we thank God--at least there are lots of different kinds of fish!"

"True," Luke nodded, trying to see it that way. Then, looking around at the bleak, empty, barren land, Luke wondered aloud, "Gosh, this is pretty desolate country, though. Do you folks ever get lonely?"

Rick's eyes sparkled, as he looked out over his vast domain. "This is paradise! A northern resort! It's just the off-season..."

"Oh, I didn't realize. When does tourist season start?"

"Never," the Parkaman admitted, and then laughed at his own joke. (He was so used to not having anyone else around to laugh at them.) Then, half-seriously, agreed, "I guess you're right; there aren't too many people around here. Most of them left after the only local industry, the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine factory, relocated to Iceland. But Nina and I don't get lonely; we're happy together. We give thanks that in all this vast emptiness, we found each other."

Aw, how romantic, thought Luke the Artist. Still, he wanted to know, "Why do you stay here, though? There seems to be nothing much to do here, not much reason to stay."

Rick looked around at the same country Luke was looking at, but he saw something different. "This is Home," he explained. "I fish, and hunt, and spend time with the land, and time with my wife. I wouldn't know what else to do with myself. My people have always lived like this. It's a family tradition," he remarked, in an unaware-of- Hank-Williams way. "You can't change where you're from. So you're better off trying to find a way to enjoy it." Luke the self-exiled Hun stored that away.

Luke stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders to keep warm, as he stared out at the dark and hungry sea and shuddered at the autumn cold in The Land That Never Really Gets Warm. Hun-tough as he was, the North was still starting to wear thin, and his heart ached to get back to the real world. So he asked his guide, still incredulous, "How can you stay so happy and satisfied in such a cold and wretched land? Don't you get bored?"

"Bored? You can _always_ pray," the Parkaman corrected. "Cold? _'Two have warmth'_ ," he reminded, smiling at the thought of his beautiful Nina. Wretched land? God has given us this bleak beautiful ground. God has given us this cold wonderful water. God has given us these stark glorious skies. We are satisfied with his gifts." Then he answered the first question: "If you really want to stay happy, all you have to do is decide to be happy. It's that simple. It's all up to you."

That reminded Luke of something he had heard before: "What was it my friend Bert was tellin' me? 'It's not God's duty to give you a perfect life; you ought to find perfection in what he gives you'?"

Rick agreed with the sentiment about keeping the right attitude, but took exception with the part that implied that God didn't give us perfect lives. So he added his own variant. "Finding the good in everything is our part. God's part is to put it there..." Then added with a shrug, "He's better at His job."

Luke commented and complimented, that Rick seemed to be both happy and wise. "The last people I met who were both happy and wise were my Christian friends, the Good Guys. Say, I don't suppose you also know about God, like they did?"

Rick the Parkaman looked up to the heavens, and he smiled at the terns and the arctic-blue sky and the evening-gray clouds. Then he said slowly, with feeling, "Of course not. How shall a man know about God? God is more than a man can know. But does that really matter? Perhaps it is enough that God knows us." But then Rick acknowledged, "I am a Christian however. A missionary named Highfield gave me a Bible once. Their ship had quite lost its way, spun around in a cyclone on the way to southern soul-fields. It was all she had to trade for provisions and directions. I thought I was being generous by helping them anyway, but it turns out I got more good out of that book than I would have believed. There's a verse in it that sums up some of what I've been telling you. _'For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed to be both full and hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'_ That's a useful passage to remember sometimes on this island, believe me!" Then Rick had an interesting thought about it. "We ought to remain content, because God guides all that happens. Things don't happen the way we want, but they happen the way He wants. Those missionaries? They thought God had called them to save souls in the south. But he sent a strong wind to show them, he had a soul in the north they had forgotten about. Me? I thought I was saving their lives with the food I gave them, only to find out they saved my life with the Word they gave me. And you? You came ashore for fresh water, and instead you got... caribou steaks," Rick finished, too modest to praise his own advice.

"Caribou steaks...Right," Luke agreed, catching on. "They were just what I needed."

When they got back to the bungalow, the Admiral was just getting his crew organized for the trip back to their ship, coz it was about that time. They said Good-bye to Rick and Nina, and thanked them for their hospitality, and then they hit the sea.

# Chapter 24: The Sensitive Side of the Sea

"Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

They say that Atlantis doesn't really exist. Well, maybe they just don't have the right maps. 'Coz Navigator Humphrey found it easily enough. About three days after leaving Baffin Island, The TrogDogJonah docked at a port city on the north shore of the famed lost continent of Atlantis.

Admiral Jack was fixin' to do some trading with the locals, because he still had some artificial furs, and he was hoping to swap them for something good this time. He figured their best chance to pick up something valuable and neat would be here at Atlantis, a civilization that was reputed to be very advanced. Bert (an avid comic book reader) had especially whipped up their hopes, with tales of electromagnetism, X-ray specs, and Ray-guns. "We could make a killing with a few of those, (pardon the expression)" Jack thought greedily. I guess he was gambling that Atlantis would be at that brief window of opportunity in their development when they had mastered the manufacture of weapons of destruction but had not yet progressed to the point of creating artificial furs. It was a vain and desperate hope, but what do sailors have _but_ hope? Wanting to find out as much information about Atlantis as quickly as they could, Admiral Jack decided to let the crew split up, arming them each with instructions to find out about the society's alleged advancements, and to report back to him any news of any such items that might be worth trading for.

Bert and Luke went journeying together, as was their custom. They were pretty impressed by the strange new city in which they found themselves, and they smiled and gaped a lot. The weather was unusually warm and sunny and fair, and it felt very much like spring or early summer, an almost magical feeling after coming hard out of the north. Geographically, it must have been in the temperate zone, but by some mystic force it seemed sultry and altogether tropical. The lookout Gonzales even claimed to have spotted sugar cane. It was a refreshing switch for the sailors, who had endured a polar passage, frozen seas, and the mostly chilly start of fall.

Besides the pleasant weather, the architecture was rather interesting, having quite a Spanish or Mexican feel. By day the buildings were made of sandstone, and by night, moonstone. Both were jazzed up with lavish use of paints and dyes. The city was really quite colorful. Yellow, Red and Green, Violet, Turquoise and Ultramarine. Lots of happy, exciting colors! And of course, it made Luke and Bert very happy and excited to be a part of it all.

After wandering for a while though, they started to wonder just where all the supposed advancements were hidden. Basically, apart from being pretty, Atlantis looked just as primitive as the rest of the p.p. of T. People were walking or riding donkeys instead of taking the bus. The one guy they saw who was armed and looked like a sheriff was carrying only a tonfa, not a gun or a missile. There didn't seem to be any electric lights in evidence, just torches set up on poles to act as street lights come nightfall. And passing a restaurant on the corner of Eat Street and Mean Street, Luke coulda swore he saw somebody eating fish!

"Man, they're as dumb as the rest of us," Luke decided.

Bert wasn't quite so hasty. "Let's give 'em a chance. So far we've just looked. But the best way to find out if they're ahead of us somehow is to ask 'em." He approached a shabby old vagabond on the corner who was wearing brown rags and looking gaunt and ghastly. "Hey!" Bert confronted him boldly, "I heard that you guys were supposed to be real advanced or something. You don't look like much. Whatsa deal?"

The poor gentleman smiled at fate and said wisely, "Advance means to move forward. Where that takes you depends on which direction you are facing."

Bert the Young and Restless Ruffian, too impatient to dig roundabout answers, said unsatisfied, "Is that what. So how 'bout showing us the way towards Atlantis's greatest achievement? Or a really smart guy, or something."

The rag-dressed man with the calm disposition pointed down the road and advised them, "If you want to see the height of Atlantean wisdom, go this way until you reach the end of town, and look for the Laughing One."

Bert and Luke followed his directions, enjoying the stroll down cobblestone streets to the end of town. It was a fair and lovely afternoon, and everyone was happy. At the end of the town, they passed under a wide stone archway, and then the road suddenly ended and they found themselves in a swamp. The boys looked around at the mossy, mushy, moist swamp mess, and then they looked at each other and Bert said, "Gee, Do you think maybe we took a wrong turn?" Luke agreed that Yeah, he would think so, except they hadn't made any turns. "Or maybe the old man gave us a bum steer, 'coz he didn't like my tone of voice," Bert suggested with a sly, admiring smile.

Luke didn't think so. "No, this is Atlantis. They're supposed to be very advanced. The people would be above using dirty tricks like that, wouldn't they?"

Bert smiled and shrugged, saying, "Unless that's the direction they chose to progress in. I wouldn't blame 'em. My own goal in life is to become Sly. It's a complicated art, and you have to be pretty dedicated to master all the various disciplines. Sly is about 50% Crafty, and 25% Clever, and 14% Tricky, and 9% Sneaky, and 1% Secret Ingredient. With traces of the elements of Dirty, Nasty and Weaselly. I learned that in High School Chemistry," he lied. (Actually, he learned it playing lacrosse.)

Luke skipped over Bert's Elaboration of Sly, and got straight to the point, "Well I guess the old man was all of that, coz here we are in a swamp. It doesn't look too high-tech, and it doesn't feel too far-out."

Sure enough, it was just your ordinary, everyday, run-of-the-mill wetland. Lotta wet stuff. Some long grass. Plenty of weeds. Some trees and vines. Quite a number of pools and puddles. Mud. Ooze. A few frogs. A stray salamander. Lotsa bugs. Coupl'aFish. You get the picture. You've seen swamps before.

Well, Bert and Luke looked about, and even waded around a bit to see if they were missing something. They got kinda wet, and got some ooze on their shoes. But they still weren't seeing any kind of Laughing One.

"What the heck _is_ a Laughing One anyway?" Luke wondered

"Prob'ly the old guy when he pictures us splashing around in this swamp," Bert ventured wryly. He shook his fist at the city behind them, and at the long-gone old man and all his relations. Then he calmed down and laughed and took a baguette out of his pocket and began crumbling it so trout would tussle for crumbs. Elsewhere Luke took a stick and stirred the shallow water vigorously to make whirlpools.. Folks don't get down to the swamp too often, so hey you might as well enjoy yourself when you're there, right?

After they had been splashing about and laughing and goofing around having swamp-fun for a while, an old lady came to meet them, poling her tiny glass-bottomed boat through the thick weeds to the pond in which they played. The boys were surprised. After all, not too many people live in swamps, after all. It's fun to check out nature for awhile, and maybe even get a little wet wading around; but after getting a soaker it's nice to be able to go home to dry land and put on a dry pair of pants. But apparently this old woman wasn't too concerned about such things, 'coz here she was happy and smiling.

"What are you laughing about?" one of the boys asked her.

"Oh, just happy I guess," she replied, with a grinannawink.

"Yeah, I see that. Happy about what?" Bert wanted to know.

The old woman shrugged a full of joy shrug. "Everything. Life. How can you not laugh at it all? Life is one big joke."

"Tell me about it," Bert said, fake-cynically, with a wink to his partner.

The old woman laughed, "No, I don't mean Life is a joke in the negative sense, like jaded college students do. I mean it's fun, it's amusing, it makes you laugh."

Luke was impressed, as he thought about it. "Wow, Kinda," he agreed.

The Laughing One laughed. She was old, and she wasn't very beautiful anymore, and she didn't even feel beautiful, but she had a beautiful feeling, and isn't that a little more valuable? "No, not Kinda," she corrected. "All the time! It's always joyful, fun, laughable. Even in the darkest moments. Just most of the time people don't get the joke... especially in those dark moments, even though that's when they could most use the humor! People tend to get too wrapped up in their own sorrows, their own worries. It's hard to hear the punch line of Life when you're busy listening to yourself whine."

At first Luke thought this sounded pretty callous, and didn't show a lot of sympathy for those with problems. But after he thought about it, he realized that The Truth Hurts, and maybe what those sorrowful people need isn't sympathy, it's a solution! And what better solution is there than Laughter? They say that Laughter is the best medicine; well sometimes it's the only one: Laughter, and Hope, and just plain good old Life, coz they're all the same thing anyway, and they all go hand and hand, and they're all right there for your spirit to grasp 'em, baby, so reach out and feel the Joy-and-all-the-good-stuff and lemme hear you Laugh, son!

Luke laughed, just like he had told himself, and sure enough it felt good. Bert just looked at the two Laughing Ones through squinty suspicious eyes, and he smirked. He wasn't completely sold on the old woman's innocent portrayal of Life and its joy and humor, but I guess he didn't need to be, coz he was laughing anyway, at the other two. Her mirth had proven both potent, and contagious.

"Wow, is this it then?" Luke wondered, (as he quickly scribbled Laughter into his notes beside Rick's word 'Content', and waited anxiously for more.) "Is this the special knowledge of Atlantis that is so widely fabled?"

"That's about it. It's just a simple thing, but simple things are the best."

Bert, loyal to his mission, had to ask anyway: "So you don't have any Ray-guns, I take it?"

The Laughing One shook her head. "Nope. Sorry. Call us fools, but we learned to see the beauty in the world, not to kill it." Bert understood, and wasn't too disappointed.

Luke was very fond of this woman, and her whole outlook. "Help me learn to see life this way," he asked. "How is it done?"

The old woman laughed at his innocence, a kind and loving laugh. "Well, I suppose partly it comes from experience. But, Practice only makes perfect if you practice perfect things! All I can tell you is that you need to practice seeing the good in things, instead of the bad! Keep practicing, until it becomes a habit, then keep doing it until it becomes your essence!" Hearing this, Luke suddenly recalled his trip to the library long since, and reading Aristotle: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit."

The Laughing One was continuing. "Sometimes all it takes is a good will! But other times it takes an open heart and a flexible mind, to look at things from unexpected angles. Let me give you an example, my children..."

She led them through the swamp to the seashore, and along the coast of the bay to a spot where they could stand on the rocks and watch the waves roll in. She told them to look. And so they stood silent on the shore of the great sea that was known as The Wide Ocean, and they watched the surf roll in--small and gentle waves that kissed the rock and then turned neatly beneath the water like an Olympic swimmer and rolled away again meek and contented. "Do you remember the waves big and boisterous which you cursed when they tossed your ship upon the troubled seas? These are the same waves. They were bold and aggressive then as they pushed you out of their way, for neither man nor distance could keep them from this, their destination. And so they come, from thousands of miles, to their lover the Shore. And in her presence they are tamed, and can only kiss her softly and shyly and melt from her presence... Son, this is the Sensitive Side of the Sea."

Bert and Luke laughed at the personification, and at the absurdity of the very notion of a 'Sensitive Side of the Sea'. Then they realized that this was her intention. She had in fact shown them how to laugh at Life. They blushed and felt warm and glad inside, and Luke gave her a hug and said thank you. She laughed happily at his kind youthful gesture, and thanked him back.

Luke thought her way of seeing the joy and the comedy in things resembled that of the man he had last met, Rick the Baffin Islander. He told her about that encounter, partly to gauge her reaction to the Bible verse, _'therewith to be content_ '.

Her reaction was predictable--she laughed! "Content? Is that enough for you?" Then, by way of concession, she agreed, "It has its place. Perhaps in hard times and hard places, like he's in. But don't stop there if you don't have to, lad! I'm talking about Joy! Bliss! Absolute Rapture!" And she added a Bible verse of her own: " _'Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice!'_ Or better still, _'...rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory'_ ," she excerpted, and did a little dance, which made them chuckle again. She pointed, "Caught ya". Then she looked out at the sea and raised her hands into the soft winds, and exclaimed, "How can you be anything less than Joyful, knowing that the Seas love you, the Breeze loves you, and best of all, Jesus loves you!" Then she blushed a little, and said self-consciously, "It _almost_ rhymes."

"Hey, close enough for me," allowed Bert the Hack.

"Bert here told me something about having a positive attitude and choosing to be happy, too" Luke volunteered, trying to give credit where credit was due, even though Bert had never gone so far as to tell him to Rejoice.

"But did he tell you how?" the Laughing One asked, with a sudden sharpness to her tone. Luke looked at Bert, but neither one of them really could think of an answer to her question. She supplied the answer herself: "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! Shall I say it louder?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, as if daring them to respond. Bert hung his head as she continued. "To tell you to choose happiness and not to tell you its Source is like the example given by the Apostle James: _'If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things that are needful to the body, what doth it profit?'_ How much greater failure, to not give the things that are needful to the spirit? What did Jesus say? _'These things I have spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.'_ His joy will remain in us. Don't just choose happiness--Choose Jesus! True, it's better for our happiness to depend on our own choices, our own attitude, than on the whims of circumstance. But it's much better by far again for our happiness to depend on God, who alone is dependable!" Then she turned to Bert, and admonished, "Those who seek to teach, ought first to try to learn. Don't you think?" But then she squeezed his hand and forgave him, and lightened the mood with another laugh.

Luke wanted to stay with her longer; she was fun. But duty called, and it was time to report back to the Admiral that they'd found nothing to trade for--only something freely given.

After they were gone, she sang songs to her friend the air, told jokes to her comrades the fish, clapped praise to the Lord her God.

# Chapter 25: Terry's Bar & Grill

"Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong." I Corinthians 16:13

It was evening when they anchored the TrogDogJonah at their next stop and went ashore on the notorious party capital known as Prince Edward Island ("nobody parties like a prince-edward-islander", as they say.) Evening when the Admiral handed out wages and told them they all had 48 hours leave, but after that, the ship would leave! It was evening when the rest of the crew spread out into the city in search of food, drink, fighting, and female companionship (not necessarily in that order.) And it was evening when Luke, trying to be good, went down the road instead, and found himself in the quiet little town of Delightful. Evening, but there was still a little daylight left. On a warm fall night that seemed like summer's last hurrah.

Delightful was a peaceful little farming community down in the valley, in a neighborly little kingdom called Joyful. Sounded good to Luke already.

Luke came down from the green rolling hills, and strolled amidst the amber waves of grain, and soon he found himself standing on the not-very-busy main street of Delightful, in front of a brick building with a wood sign announcing "Terry's Bar & Grill". The late-day sunlight was striking the side of the building, lighting up the brick, not in a blinding mid-day way, but in a warm, inviting way.

Luke accepted the invitation, and went in. It was a pretty nice looking establishment. Quaint, dimly lit, and nothing fancy, but it had kind of a homey feel, and Luke was glad to be there. When he heard Luke enter, a middle-aged man with a glass and a towel in his hand stepped out from the back, where he had been doing dishes. He had a deep tan and tough eyes; he wore a flannel shirt and some overalls; and he looked like he was still in pretty good shape for 50. He was wearing one of those farmer-type caps with the warm earflaps, 'cept he had them up because he was indoors and it was nice out anyway. He wore the cap a lot though, because he had gone gray and was going bald, and the cap made him look a little younger and tougher. No harm in that.

"Well hello, fella," he greeted Luke. "Y'all are a stranger to these parts, I reckon."

"That's true," Luke admitted. "I'm from up-north, in Hun-Country. I'm just kinda passin' through here. It looks like a nice town though."

"Ah yes, that's why we call her Delightful," the proprietor told him. "It ain't much, but it feels like home. And the folks are friendly. Speakin' of which..." He reached out and shook hands with Luke, and introduced himself: "Terry Harris. At your service."

"Thanks. Luke the Hun, at yours."

"So what can I do for you today, Luke? Would you care for something tasty to eat or drink?" Terry asked, since he was runnin' a bar and grill after all.

Luke looked a little embarrassed and laughingly distressed. He had left his wages safely in his foot locker on the ship, not wanting to be like the other sailors who would squander theirs on a few nights of riotous living. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have left _all_ of it. Luke turned out his pockets, showing off their emptiness. "Behold, I am poor," he said with a still-self-esteemy grin.

Terry gave him a menu anyway, sayin' generously, "That ain't no issue, son. If you're hungry, you get a meal. If you have no home, you get a place to stay. That's the way we do things in these parts. God gives some people poverty to teach the others generosity, after all."

"Wow! Much obliged," Luke said gratefully. Then he leafed through the menu and politely requested some fried chicken and a glass of milk. Terry set the food to cookin', and then when he came back Luke asked him, "Is there any work I can do for you or anything?"

Terry looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Now that you mention it, I guess I could use a hand on the farm tomorrow. It's hard to run the business and still get the farmin' done on my own, especially at my age. And lemme see, I guess tonight you could help with the cleanin' up after closing time. And say, can you play that thing?" he asked, pointing at Luke's guitar.

"I play it like an ace," Luke bragged, using a witty double-entendre. (An ace is _what_ you play, in cards, and _how_ you play, in life. Luke was feelin' like a winner, either way.)

"Right on," said Terry. "You're our featured entertainer tonight then. I hope you know a lot of country music."

Luke gulped. "Not that much," he admitted.

Terry gave him a probing look. "So what are you going to do then? You can't just play what _you_ want to hear, you gotta keep your audience happy after all. Believe me, you do not want to see farmers get unhappy! This a rowdy bunch, sometimes they stay out until almost 9 o'clock, getting crazy," Terry cautioned.

Luke missed the sarcasm and got genuinely nervous. "Sow what do they like?"

"Well, half of them like good old-timey country, and half of them like the new fake kind," Terry explained impartially. "It's a battle to keep them all satisfied even if you _do_ know country music!" Then he considered, "I don't know whether that's a positive reflection on how happy this valley is, and how few things there really are to quarrel over, or whether it's a sad commentary on human nature that we find a way to disagree anyway."

Luke really didn't care what kind of commentary it was, he mainly was wondering what he was going to do about it! Terry helped out a little, spent some time helping Luke brush up on his country music, reminded him of a couple songs he might use. But the night crowd began trickling in early, and Terry had to get back to doing his own job. Luke still wasn't sure he was ready, and whispered his concerns to Terry when he was able to catch his ear.

"Hey, I won't be around to help you all the time," Terry reminded him gruffly. "You're in charge. You find a way to make it work. Just don't let anybody walk on you, that's my advice."

Luke took a deep breath and came up with a plan.

When the crowd got there he gave a good show. He started with a couple jazzy acoustic guitar instrumentals, and even Terry started to wonder what the boy was up to. But before the crowd's confusion could turn to rancor, Luke teased them with a bit of rockabilly. Terry grinned, realizing that Luke had things in hand. Luke lapsed back into blues for a few songs, coz it's what he knew best. Then he threw in a little folk music, a little bluegrass, a couple hobo songs... The crowd's curiosity turned into excitement, as they felt him gradually shading closer and closer to what they knew must be coming. Finally, there it was, Country Music! Luke played some Hank Williams songs, and a couple by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and a swell tune called "Cowboy Logic" which Terry really liked. Though Luke was now out of country music to play, after getting the crowd on his side he was able to get away with filling out the rest of the set with a couple rowdy drinking songs he had learned back home in Hun-Country (assuming 'Michael Finnegan' counts as a drinking song), and then swung suddenly from those into one last hymn. That capped a fun and interesting night for the patrons, who left en masse promptly at 9 o'clock, just as Terry had predicted.

Far from getting set upon by an angry crowd, Luke found he had even made a little bit of money in tips! (but not much because they were all farmers, so they didn't have much.)

As they did the dishes and mopped the floor, Luke accused, relieved, "You kind of threw me in unprepared. I'm glad it came off okay."

"We're never as prepared as we would like," Terry noted. "Sometimes you hafta try anyway. I knew you could do it." Then added, "Meanwhile, you gave my customers an interesting new experience. We learn from diversity, after all."

"I thought we learned from University," Luke bantered.

"Not these people," Terry said fondly of his laboring friends. Then he pointed out something to Luke: "They're not the only ones who gained something tonight, you know. You got to practice decision-making, responsibility, courage, and confidence... good habits to have. Who knows, they may even come in useful someday," Terry winked knowingly, secretly sizing him up as a son-in-law.

They closed up the bar and walked up a dirt road in the dark, to a little farm on a little hill on the east end of the little town. Luke slept in the barn.

He slept great.

# Chapter 26: Having Fun and Getting Serious

"Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour from the Lord." Proverbs 18:22

Just before sunrise Mr. Harris went out to the barn and rattled some boards and woke up Luke. "Hey Luke, breakfast," he told him. (Mr. Harris was a man of few words, but aren't we all at five a.m.)

Luke opened his eyes, and then closed them again, and then, with a Herculean effort of will, he rose to his feet. He shook his head in disgusted amusement, because his friend Mr. Harris had inadvertently awakened him during a groovy-innocent dream about a beautiful maiden named Kelly whom he had met while studying Fine Arts at Hun State. But then the smell of breakfast fixed him up, and he forgot about it. Puttin' on his white rawhide Stetson to cover his bedhead, Luke stumbled out of the barn and cruised on into the farmhouse.

"Here, have some," Mr. Harris told him, as he scooped some tasty-tasting omelet onto Luke's china plate. "This here is my daughter Jenny's recipe. It's an omelet, with eggs in it. Oops, guess I shouldn't have told you her secret ingredient, huh."

"Ah, the impeccable eccable egg," joked Luke, misquoting the universal ad slogan.

Terry sized him up. "The watt?"

"Eccable: that's the word 'edible', pronounced with a strong Hun accent--coz I'm a strong Hun after all." There was stony silence. ( _He's laughing on the inside_ , Luke told himself. _Or groaning--I've been hanging out with Bert too much!_ ) Then to prove the last point, he apologized to Terry: "Sorry, I guess I gidda little giddy when I giddy up in the morning."

Actually, that wasn't it at all. It was just this Day! Luke felt great! Filled with a nameless bliss, thrilled with a sense that something wondrous was imminent. Maybe it was still the positive outlook from the Laughing One, or maybe it was finding this place, this rural oasis, this place of peace: even the stars had shone brighter last night, and held him closer! Or maybe it was those ace accommodations.

Terry was changing the subject. "Anyway. She's quite a cook, yes?"

Luke tasted the omelet and agreed. "Yeah, it is great! Where is she, so I can tell her Congratulations?"

"She went back to bed for a couple hours. She works regulation hours, 9 to 5, at the Children's Center. She only got up to fix breakfast for her old man. Ain't she sweet?"

Luke was impressed. "Wow. That is very kind of her. She sounds like quite a gal."

"Sure enough is," Mr. Harris said proudly. "She's about your age, too. You should meet her sometime. Maybe at lunchtime."

"That's a good time for meeting people," Luke observed. "Everyone is always at their best and brightest then, because hey, hooray, Lunch!" Then they finished their egg omelets and drank their milk and went out to do some farming!

It was a good day to be out in the fields. Once the sun got through risin', it was a shining hot day. Summer's last stand. Autumn's golden beginning. It was good timing by both Luke and the weather to show up when they did, because there was still some harvesting to be done. So they spent the morning doing it, and getting tired and dirty and sweaty. Then they jumped in the crick to cool off and get clean before going for lunch.

By the time they had walked back down the field to the farmhouse, the sun had dried them out and they were feeling peaceful and grand.

They took off their work shoes and went into the farmhouse, and they found a lovely luncheon all laid out for them on the kitchen table. There were ham sandwiches and apples and carrots and corn, and of course tall, cool glasses of ice water.

A slender, striking, simple young woman was sitting at the table waiting for them to arrive. Her beautiful curls were red with golden highlights. Her bewitching eyes were ripe fields, corn and wheat, at once both green and golden. Her skin was fair with golden freckles. Her full sensual lips spoke only truth, and her teeth sparkled like white gold and were glorious. A long elegant skirt and a delicate linen blouse chastely covered but could not entirely camouflage her supple, seductive curves. She carried herself with country strength and regal confidence, and she moved with grace and innocence. Luke's jaw dropped. "Wow," he said enthusiastically.

"Wow," Mr. Harris agreed, as his jaw dropped too. He was lookin' at the food, though. "This sure is a great-looking lunch, honey," he praised his daughter.

"Oh yeah; Yum!" Luke said, remembering what they were there for and helping himself to a ham sandwich. "Eat Ham!" he stated dramatically, emphatically, and semi-automatically, repeating another age-old Hun rallying cry. Then they did just that, finishing off the good meal that Jenny Harris had made for them.

Terry Harris introduced Luke to his peerless daughter Jenny. "Jenny, this here is a hard-workin' Hun named Luke. Luke, this is Jenny." Then he added apologetically, "You see why I made you sleep in the barn."

"Pleased to meet you," said Luke, pulling out all the stops with his best opening line. Jenny reciprocated.

"Hey, I was thinkin'..." said Terry, "I gotta go open the Bar & Grill for the afternoon, so perhaps Luke would like to spend the afternoon with you at the Children's Center, Jenny."

Jenny contemplated quickly, and said cheerfully, "Yes, I think that would be nice. As long as Luke likes children..." She looked hopeful.

Luke said mockhaughtily, "Well! Most of the children I've ever met are impossibly childish, and even somewhat immature. They should grow up." Then he laughed and said, "Nah, I'm just joshin'. I think kids are swell! They playa lot and they laugha lot and they don't worry too much about money or politics. That makes 'em surprisingly wise. Not much of a challenge at arm-wrestling," he noted, considering the other hand. "But hey, it'll be fun anyway. I'll bring my guitar and play some kids' songs and make some friends. _And_ play with the blocks!" he added excitedly.

They finished their lunch, and the three of them went into town: Terry to his business, and Jenny and Luke to the Children's Center. Sun was shining, hearts were smiling, as they commenced their legendary afternoon.

Jenny and Luke stood outside the Children's Center. She was filling him in on what exactly it was all about. "Okay, here we are," she told him, gesturing at the pretty brick building with the white picket fence and the playground equipment in the yard. "I work here Monday to Friday. There are a couple other women, Sister Kitt and Miss Laura, who live here and work here full-time. See, Delightful is a small town, so we have only one Children's Center to perform a variety of functions. It is an orphanage, a children's hospital, a day-care center, a schoolhouse, and a Boys & Girls Club. So there are some children who live here, and then there are others who only come to visit during the day, like I do."

"Neato," said Luke. "So you are a teacher?"

"Well, everybody's everything: we all teach, we're all nurses, we're all like mothers to the children. At the Children's Center we don't so much believe in division, or labeling, or in playing limited roles. We believe in being ourselves, and doing all that we can and all that the children need."

"So that's my job too, just to be myself?"

"Sure, Luke. I think the kids will like you. Just remember to be sensitive, because we have a lot of sick kids, and a few with disabilities, and a lot who have had problems at home, or who have no home but here."

Luke the Hun looked confident. "Hey, of course I can be sensitive. I'm university-trained as a bleeding heart and an artist. I am tough on the outside and tender on the inside, like the way my Dad barbecues his steaks."

Jenny smiled, and she opened the door for him and led him into the Children's Center to meet the children. As soon as they went in, they were mobbed by happy little ones, excited to see their friend Miss Jenny. It was then that Luke noticed a change in her. Though he had been quite enchanted and smitten already, with her shining smile and cool confidence and her occasional sassy remarks as they talked on the way over, now he saw her eyes light up, and fell instantly and eternally in love. To borrow a bus-driver's metaphor, 'It's as if her eyes went from zero to sixty in a single second'--except they were already at 60 to begin with. So it was more like, from 60 to 120. A dangerous speed... But exciting! Luke was excited just watching her, and laughed as he realized he was in love again!

The children were good people. They were pretty short, but they were good people. Luke met a rowdy fisherman's-son named Shankleton, and a rambunctious farmer's-daughter named Patricia, and a rough-and-tumble dentist's-kid named Haji, and a tender-voiced waif (but don't let it fool ya) named Michelle. They were learning about chemistry from the lovely Miss Laura. Luke listened in for awhile, and then he said, "Wow. Now I am smart." Then he lost interest, forgot it all, and went to play with the blocks.

There was a young guy playin' with the blocks already. He had curly brown hair and he was about four-and-a-half feet tall and he was wearing blue shorts and a red and yellow T-shirt. "Wow, all the primary colors," Luke commented observationally, conversationally and educationally.

The Kid checked himself out and agreed: "Yep. It's because I am still in the primary grades."

"So, when you get to secondary school you will be able to diversify your apparel?" Luke asked.

"You know it. I can hardly wait until I can wear plaid," the Kid said slyly.

Luke thought back wistfully. "Yeah, that was a big thrill for me too," he pretended to remember. "Hey, you are pretty hip for one so young," he told the Kid.

"What, you say I have pretty hips for one so young? Watch it, pervert!"

Luke blanched, then went beet-red for a second before recovering. "What, you say you want me to watch your hips? Sorry, I'm not like that, weirdo!" Luke shot back.

After kidding around like that, they decided they were both cool and clever, so they played with the blocks together. The Kid introduced himself as Big Nate, and Luke introduced himself as Cool Luke, and then they got down to business. They built a castle together, but they had a little quarrel about how many towers it should have, so then they started to steal each other's blocks and compete in creating the best creation. Big Nate used his blocks to build a scale model of a federal penitentiary. Not to be outdone, Luke made a slope by setting a wedge-shaped block under one end of a wide textbook, and then he built the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Not to be outdone, the confident and fun yet arrogant and irritating young kid knocked over the previously-precarious-now-crumbly tower.

Luke could feel his Hun...instincts...taking...over..., but he remembered that in most cultures it's considered gauche to declare Total War on an eight-year-old, so he held it in check. Thankfully, at that point along came the main lady, Sister Kitt, and summoned him. "Mister Luke, there's someone I'd like u to meet."

Luke got up to see what she had planned. "Nice meetin' ya. It was fun," he told Big Nate. "See you later."

"Thanks for warning me," Big Nate quipped--an oldie-but-a-goodie from a young naughty. This time Luke smiled a midway-between-amused-and-abused kind of smile, and he went away with Sister Kitt.

Sister Kitt led Luke down a corridor into the Healing Wing. She took him into a small hospital room, where a dark-haired twelve-year-old boy was lying on a hard hospital bed and lookin' lonesome. When Luke looked again, he noticed that the boy only had one arm. Yikes, Luke winced. "Hi Tito, how ya doin!" Kitt greeted the boy, and bantered, "D'ja remember the rule?"

"'Only good things can happen now'," the boy remembered, breaking into a bright grin.

"And what happens if you break my rule?" Sister Kitt interrogated playfully.

"Bad things?" Tito supplied.

"Exactly. So be careful. I'll be watchin'. But look, here's a good thing now! I brought a friend--Mister Luke. Luke, this is our friend Tito."

Tito smiled. "Pleased to meet you, sir," he told Luke.

"Wow. You are polite. Well, I reckon it's a pleasure meetin' you, too, Tito." Then they kind of didn't know what to say to each other, since they were pretty much strangers yet.

Sister Kitt broke the ice. "Luke, Tito here plays guitar too; maybe you could show him a few tricks."

Luke played a few quick notes on his guitar, and asked Tito, "What kind of music do you like?"

"Jaazzz, man," Tito told him. "I used to be pretty good, but I haven't played much lately." He indicated his absent right arm.

Luke looked sympathetic. "Yeah, I was noticing that. What happened, boss?"

Tito didn't mind talkin' about it: "Doctor Oyim amputated it. They say I have bone cancer. They say it may not have spread beyond that arm, but I guess we'll know pretty soon."

"Yikes," said Luke, shocked and awkward "That's a bad thing there. Is that what led to the rule?" he wondered, to Tito's nod. "Gosh, how are you dealing with it? I think I would be pretty stunned if that happened to me." He gave a little shiver. "I can hardly even imagine. Are you okay, Tito?"

Tito laughed, lookin' at where his arm used to be. "Well, I _was_ kind of attached to it, pardon the phrase. But hey, life goes on. At least now my mom won't have to worry about me taking up the cymbals." Tito could see that Luke was surprised to hear him joking around about it, so he added, "Yeah, I know this is serious, but that's no reason I have to be serious about it. Mama says to expect a lot of people to either look at me with either horror or pity. She says they don't mean anything by it, that's just human nature. (She also says "That doesn't say much for humans, but that's beside the point") But she says that for people to look at me and smile? like they always did? I may have to help them out. Which has been really hard, especially at first, when all I could do is cry." He paused, blinking back tears even now. "But 'Life isn't always easy but it's always worth it.' That one's from Miss Jenny. She and Sister Kitt have helped me a lot. They keep me looking on the bright side, and spend time with me when I'm sad. Besides," he finished, "I don't have time to be stressed out: I'm too busy being myself. It takes all my time."

Luke was impressed. "Cool, I like that," he said about Tito's last sound bite. "You sure are brave, young fella."

Tito laughed. "Young fellas are always brave. Guess we don't know any better! But hey, I'll admit it, Mister Luke, losing an arm..." (he winced) "has its...drawbacks. It gets frustrating trying to play the guitar, and I have to face the fact that I'll prob'ly never be a pro boxer." (Smiling again, conceding nothing): " _Prob-_ ably! But how important are those things? The main thing is that I'm still here, and I can still enjoy life and play with my friends! Having an illness like this sure teaches you a lot about hope, and about appreciating the blessings you have. I still have two good eyes to see the sunset and two good ears to hear the birds sing. Some people can't do that. But _they_ might have two arms, to give their little sister airplane rides or help their mom carry groceries. See, none of us can have everything in this life, but we all have _something_ , praise God." He paused for a moment, and then assigned credit for this attitude. "It was what my mama said to me that helped the most. She hugged me so tight and said in my ear... she was crying but she sounded so happy... 'You are not an arm. You are not a leg. You are my sacred, wonderful boy! And you are still here with us!'"

Luke looked up from where he was fiddling around with his guitar, and he looked in Tito's misty eyes. "Wow. You're right. Hey, Sister Kitt thought I could show you a few tricks, but it seems like you're the one teaching me! I wish I could pay you back, but I'm not having much luck figuring out how to play this thing one-handed. I've never really tried before; I guess I just took it for granted. It doesn't seem to be the easiest instrument to play with one hand, does it? But if I can't teach you that, at least let me give you some advice: Think soccer, for one thing. But then too, take up the trumpet. I know a one-armed trumpet player named Reuben, up in Chicago. He had his horn mounted on a stand, so he could use his good hand for pressing the valves, and he just kind of leaned into it and blew gold! It was something. Cool cat, too--I'm sure he'd be happy to show you the ropes, if you ever get up that way."

"Let's hope I get that chance," said Tito. He reminded Luke: "They're going to wait and see if the operation healed me. But they say it's still possible that the cancer has spread too far and I could die."

"They told you that?" Luke was startled. It seemed a crushing load to put on a kid.

"It's okay. I'm not scared. My mother says that 'God needs children with him in heaven, because what fun would heaven be without children?' She says they get to help him color in the sky each morning, like a big coloring book. I figure a big kid like me will help them stay inside the lines a little better," Tito explained, with a joke that went over Luke's head. Then a related thought struck him, "That's probably why everything is almost in black and white at night, by the way--coz most of the kids are sleeping!"

Luke was still trying to assimilate this news. It still seemed like too much to tell a child, even an old-enough-to-know-what's-going-on-child, although he tried to think what else might be more appropriate, and couldn't imagine. "She told you God was going to take you home to heaven because he needs children there with Him?"

"No, she said that _might_ happen." Then with a note of steely resolve and the will to live and grow, Tito told him: "She said God needs good men here, too."

That made Luke feel better, and he clapped him admiringly on the shoulder, man-to-man, with a hearty, "He does." Still, hoping to change the subject to something happier, Luke asked if Tito was feeling healthy enough to come out and join the rest of the kids for a while. Still beaming from Luke's approval, Tito decided that it was a good day and he was, so they went back to the School Wing, where Luke gave a guitar demonstration for all the kids. He played some sweet guitar solos, but the kids weren't impressed, so Luke relented and played some children's songs: the one about the elephants, of course, which segued nicely into the one about the peanuts, then Mairzy Doats, and Doo Wah Ditty by Manfred Mann, (which isn't really a kid's song, but the title sounds like it should be, so Luke's confusion is understandable. Y'know, the kids liked it anyway?)

After that, they all went outside and played kickball, and then it was hometime, so most everybody went home. Luke said good-bye to all his friends, and wished Tito well in particular, and then he and Jenny left the building.

"I had fun!" said Luke, walkin' home. "But... I was worried about Tito. They told him he might die? Is that the right thing to do? Wouldn't that scare a kid?"

"Did he seem scared?"

"No. Not too much."

"Want to know why?" Jenny asked, and then told him before he could answer: "Hope is more powerful than fear, Good is greater than evil, and Love is stronger than death."

It was a nice saying, Luke thought, but his Hun experience had taught him, that the more saccharine something sounds, the less truth is likely in it. But he couldn't point that out to Jenny. ("Never be rude to the _pretty_ ones!" was an even better bit of Hun-wisdom.) So instead he simply challenged, "That's your opinion?"

Calmly and sternly, she responded: "No. I have it on the authority of Almighty God." (She looked familiar when she took that tone, but it wasn't until later that Luke realized who she looked like: Rebecca, lecturing Bert over lunch-money. Rebecca who had said she had a sister Jenny and a Dad with a Bar and Grill, on Prince Edward Island!)

Hard to debate with Almighty God, so instead Luke shrugged and admitted. "He did seem to be pretty hopeful."

Her eyes shone again. "Ah, children! They _are_ our hope, our innocence, our wonder. When we grow up, and lose these things? How hard it is to get them back! But children come straight from God, bearing these virtues with them. They balance us out! They keep a culture from becoming fully reprobate. No matter how low society sinks, what wickedness men perpetrate, as long as we have children there is a chance for renewal, recovery, refreshing. Restoration. Like the Israelites who broke faith with God and were made to wander 40 years in the wilderness: what happened at the end of the forty years, Luke? The people who had sinned were all gone. Replaced, as it were. By new generations. What a potential there is in that, for healing!"

Luke wanted to believe what she was telling him. He liked kids too. But he also wanted to believe the Bible, and he thought he saw a contradiction: "But what about the end times? The final judgment? All the prophecies and revelations? Don't they talk about growing wickedness, a people upon whom wrath must fall? How will society reach that point, if children keep bringing us goodness?"

Jenny hadn't thought about that, and reasoned slowly for a minute, realizing it demanded reconciliation if her claims were to be preserved. Then she ventured, rationally, "Well, certainly a nation, or a world, could hasten its demise, shorten its own time, if it did one of two things. If it somehow found a way to shorten their childhood, steal their innocence, corrupt their goodness. Or..." here she furrowed her brow, dealing with a hard concept, wondering if she might have reasoned wrong. She put her hand to her mouth and went pale as she whispered the inconceivable, "Or if by some madness we began to kill our own children."

Even Luke the Hun was shocked by that idea, and said quickly, "Thank goodness that could never happen."

"Yes, thank God," Jenny agreed. And then they talked of happier things until they reached the farm, and the comforting farmhouse.

Luke's heart beat fast for a brief second when she said she was 'going to change into something more comfortable', but then he smiled and blushed and felt guilty when she came back in play clothes--shorts and a T-shirt and tennis shoes--instead of her nice, professional teacher's costume. "There, now we can be ourselves," she announced, setting the tone for their day together. They had started to think about how they would spend their afternoon, when Luke suddenly got up, went to the cupboard for mugs, and started to make them chocolate milk. "First things first," he prioritized.

"Mmm, good," Jenny said as she sipped. Then she started using her straw to blow bubbles in her chocolate milk, making all kinds of happy bubbly noises. Luke paused a moment, surprised and not sure whether to join in, until Jenny gave permission, "It's okay to be a little silly from time to time. Especially when you're with me!"

That said, Luke showed her how it was done, bubbling his chocolate milk so much it came out of the cup. It seemed like a good occasion to compose a quick verse of what passes for Love-poems among Huns:

"When I am with you, my heart bubbles over.

And I have to go get a dishrag."

He got up and got a dishrag to clean up, showing it to her, with a look saying, 'See?', as if to punctuate his point. Then they had a chocolate milk quick-drinking contest (Straw-weight division), which Jenny actually won. To best a Hun in eating or drinking was quite an achievement, and Luke promised his undying admiration.

She laughed a little, but didn't refuse it. Then she quickly tugged his sleeve and led him out of the house. "C'mon, let's go rollerskating! Or bowling! Or get a hamburger!"

Turned out they did all three. They went to Pinwheels, the local roller rink-slash- bowling alley. (Small town, remember. So the few entrepreneurs have to do double duty. Like Terry's Bar _and_ Grill, for example.)

They rollerskated first. It was Luke's first time, but he took to it quickly: "I played hockey, after all," he told her. Jenny was quite good herself however, a former figure skater and a life-long rollergirl, and it was all he could do to keep up with her while the live band played disco, funk, and Christian contemporary. Luke enjoyed being near her on the couples-only songs, but finally had to give up, not long afterwards, when the backwards-skating-only song was on. He had fun watching her, however. Just like in the Children's Center: her eyes shone with a special light, and she moved with a fluid grace. Luke sighed and his eyes shone too, because of her.

"I thought you said you were a hockey player!" she kidded him when she came off, wondering why he couldn't keep up.

Luke grinned sheepishly, "I was a defenseman."

On that note, they traded their wheels in for bowling shoes. Luke was better at that, but somehow Jenny still kept beating him. "I gotta quit letting you keep score," he accused.

She laughed, and helpfully explained the rules of the game: "It's not who throws it the hardest, it's who knocks down the most pins, guy."

"Maybe that's how _you_ play," Luke laughed back, throwing another Hun-hard cannonball, that left another split but sounded good doing it. He pumped his fist to celebrate the big noise. ("I win!")

After they were all played out, they sat at the snack bar eating hamburgers and french fries. Luke liked watching her eat, watching her play, listening to her talk. Everything. Now, Huns don't keep secrets very well, and there was no time for that anyway, so Luke wasn't bothering to try to hide his love. She wouldn't have wanted that anyway-- _'We can be ourselves,'_ she had said. That was a great feeling. It felt like they had been friends forever. Or would be.

So Luke couldn't help askin' a flattering question, wondering aloud, "How come a great girl like you is still single? I would expect you would have to beat the suitors away with a stick."

"There were a couple who deserved just that!" Jenny laughed, remembering: "My Dad volunteered to help!" Luke grinned. That was Terry all right. Then Jenny added, perhaps a little sadly, "There haven't been as many as you might think, however. I guess some men don't appreciate me like you do. Don't like my religion. Don't want 'a woman who waits'. There's another local girl who seems to get more of the attention..." Jenny admitted. (Luke tried to discern whether there was a little envy in her voice, but couldn't hear any.) "Miss Pixie Crinkles. She's a cute little one, true, but she's a bit of a ... flirt," Jenny explained, remembering to be kind. "Some men are impressed by that, I guess." _Most_ _men_ , she thought to herself, exasperated. Then she added, asserting her own control of the situation: "Then again, part of it is the fact that I have standards. So when men _do_ come a-courtin', I'm pretty good at weeding out the ones who aren't cut out to be my lifelong partner."

At this, Luke looked a little nervous. "Oh?"

"A man has to respect my mind, my morals, and marriage," she elaborated. Luke was reassured and relieved to find conditions that didn't disqualify him, and then he was excited and ecstatic when she playfully added a couple more: "Also he must wear a white rawhide Stetson. And football shoes are a plus." (Clearly flirting herself, Luke observed, with a wide grin.)

Time was short, the ship sailed tomorrow, so Luke pressed his advantage: "What else do you like about me?" Pretty bold question for a first date, sometimes that level of seriousness will scare someone away. But there was no time for coyness; and then again, if the question gets answered, it clarifies whatever feelings are there. Then it's out in the open, one can put something concrete in one's memory: 'I loved him for this and that reason', instead of the vague 'I felt something for him', which tends to forgetfulness.

Thankfully, Jenny played along. "Well, you're not afraid to stand up for yourself, to go your own way, to choose your own path. My Dad told me about how you played jazz at his country bar! But even the fact that you left your shipmates behind in the city, to seek something different, something better--that shows you've got your priorities straight. And you're good with kids. That's important, if we were to have some of our own someday." (Like the rollerskating and the quick-straw drinking, she was better than him at the Being Forward game, too.) "Not only that, but it shows that you have a good heart."

Luke smiled, then grew a little sad, at the memory that compliment invoked. "Last person to tell me that was my mother, when I was just a little kid. We were out walking on a rainy day, and I tried to give a worm my cookie! But that's the last time anyone said it to me. When my father heard about it, he corrected it: 'Don't listen to her son. What you have is a good right hand!'" Luke pursed his lips, and then explained vaguely to her, with open hands and a shrug, "Hey, that's Hun-Country."

Jenny perceptively returned them to their discussion before Luke could get too sad, even intensifying the verb to up the ante: "So, what do you love about _me_?"

"Everything!" Luke admitted honestly. The sincerity in the way he said it bought him some time, but even a Hun can tell that doesn't sound too romantic, so he thought for a second, and fleshed it out: "I've met a lot of nice women on my trip. I keep falling in love, actually! But whatever I've liked in any of them, I find it all in you. But twice as much! I'm sure they're all special in their way--but you're the one who is special to me. You have the friendliness and the forgiveness of Hosanna. The composure and good counsel of M-K. The seriousness and dedication of Rebecca. The faith and lithe grace of Louise. The innocence and the laughter of Bridgette. The toughness of Karla the Troll..." Jenny squawked at the comparison, but proved Luke's point by giving him a playful punch. "The joy and the shining eyes of the Laughing One. All added to the love and the childishness of Jenny," (knowing she would take the last term as the highest praise.)

Jenny smiled, and complimented, "Not bad stuff for a Hun. Better than the poem about the dishrag, anyway!" as she gave him another playful punch. Then she challenged him: "But can you really tell all that about me already?"

"Don't you believe in Love at first sight?" Luke replied, putting the challenge back on her.

"I do," she acknowledged. "I believe that God loves us before He even forms us, and that we can love Him before we see Him. In which case 'first sight' is one look longer than what is really necessary. We love because God puts it in our heart to love! Don't you feel like there are certain times when you're ready to fall in love with anybody? Heart bursting with joy, spirit filled with peace? It's nice that we met each other at such a time!" Luke wasn't quite sure he liked the sound of that, it made their love sound a little artificial, a little coincidental, until Jenny expanded it: "We were _meant_ to meet each other at such a time."

"There it is," Luke agreed happily, still thankful every time she revealed that she felt the same way about him. He told her the story of the Laughing One, and speculated that maybe that encounter was what helped put him in a positive, love-ready mood. "What was it that prepared you?"

"I went to Church last Sunday. Got all filled up with the love and the Spirit of God," Jenny proclaimed, unashamed.

"But don't you go to church every Sunday?" Luke guessed.

"Bingo," she confirmed, with a wink.

Then Luke got a little sad, as he realized this could be an obstacle for their relationship. "I'm kind of in-between faiths right now," he admitted honestly.

"Moving towards grace? Or falling from?" Jenny wanted to know.

Luke was happy she had put it that way. "Moving towards," he declared firmly.

She smiled, and gave him another wink. "So I'll meet you there," she promised happily. Then she tugged his hand and gave him another, "Let's go!" as she paid for their food and they left.

They hated to call it a night just yet, so they went for a walk, holding hands, down dirt roads, through woods, fields and gardens, on a warm fall evening that felt like summer and smelled like spring. They walked in silence for a while, just enjoying being together, until Jenny suddenly blurted out playfully, as she thought more about what he had said: "Hey! Who are all those other women you were comparing me to?"

Luke decided that the easiest way to explain it was to give her the highlights of his journey. Took a while, but he was glad for the chance to stretch their time together, still needing to compress a courtship into their single night together. (He slyly resolved to learn from her all the details of life on Prince Edward Island when he had finished. Then get her full bio, and that of every kid at the Children's Center! Then if the sun still wasn't up yet, talk about farming maybe.)

She interrupted when he got to the part about Rebecca. "I have a sister named Rebecca." That's when it finally came clear for Luke. At first Jenny refused to believe the coincidence, but then as he excitedly told her more about the encounter, Jenny grew ecstatic, realizing that Luke really had met her sister. "How is she? Tell me everything!"

Luke told her as much as he could about the camp, and Rebecca's friends, and the worship service, and the way Rebecca had kept Bert in line. Jenny got a kick out of that.

"So she's doing well?"

"She looked good." Then Luke reddened as he realized that wasn't the question. "Yes, doing well. She loves it there, she says it's good for her, making her stronger. She says she misses you guys..."

"Boy do we miss her!" Then she scolded Luke, as though he should have known: "You should have told her to come home!"

That reminded Luke. "She said she might, eventually, when she was ready. But what did she mean? She said something about fearing you wouldn't understand her beliefs. But aren't you Christians here too?"

Jenny grinned. "Of course. But that's Rebecca for you: a flair for the dramatic! Maybe she thinks because we didn't understand her as a teenager we won't understand her now. But we had problems with her as a teenager precisely because she _didn't_ believe. We were so pleased when we heard she had come to Christ! But we've been a little concerned that it might be a cult or something, and that that's why she thought that one place was so special."

"No, no cult. Anything but," Luke assured her, gaining confidence in his own judgment. "She's with good people there, people she can talk to about faith and stuff. I think that's what she needs it for."

"And we're not? She can't talk to us?" Jenny was a little hurt.

Luke reminded her helpfully, out of his own experience: "Sometimes it's hard to talk about personal things like that, with the people who are close to us. _Especially_ with those people." Then so she wouldn't worry, he told Jenny more about the other good people at the Garden, all Rebecca's friends who were helping her.

When he got to the part about Louise, she stopped him again. "A thousand years? She said that?" This time Jenny did sound a little jealous. Then she proved Luke's earlier assessment true--that for him she was twice as special as any of the others--as she volunteered easily, guilelessly, but very deliberately: "Well then, I'll just have to pray for you for two thousand!"

She meant to leave him with that promise, for as Luke had talked cheerfully and without paying attention, Jenny had led him back to the farm, and now she let go of his hand slowly, hanging onto just the fingers for a second before finally letting it fall, as she started to back slowly up the sidewalk to the house.

Luke tried one of her tricks, grabbing her hand, and tugging: "Come on! More walking!"

But she shook her head. "I have to work tomorrow. Bedtime. Sorry."

"You can't spend the day with me? Take tomorrow off? For me?"

It was tempting, but, "You have to help my Dad get the crops in anyway. You owe him a day of work, remember?" Luke looked confused by this charge. She laughed, eyes twinkling. "Oh, didn't I tell you? I was paying for our date with your money. Tomorrow's pay. Oops!" she said mischievously. Luke returned a half-hearted smile to her winsome wink, but not a good smile, as he was still slightly crushed to learn he wouldn't see her! "But you see? That's how all those children would feel, if I didn't show up for _them_ ," Jenny pointed out responsibly. "And there's dozens of them, and only one of you." It seemed to make sense mathematically, if not romantically. "Besides, you're old enough to understand things like work, and responsibility and stuff. They might not."

Luke sighed, but resigned himself. Bed didn't sound too bad, at least! He started to follow her to the house, but she stopped him with a snapping, pointing finger and a stern voice: "It's the barn for you, buddy!"

"But it's going to get cold tonight. I can't come in the house? Sleep in the guestroom? Now that you know me, and trust me... and love me?"

" _Especially_ not now that we're in love. And you being a sailor on your last night on shore, too! Add it up, Luke. It's called Temptation. Since Dad's already sleepin', like a wise farmer should, let me speak on his behalf. He told me once: 'One does well not to place oneself in very many situations where one might do wrong: the more times one tests one's goodness, the more often one is likely to find it lacking. Besides, even if we resist? like good little boys and girls? Even then, the act of placing ourselves in that situation, 'Because _we_ can say _no_ ', is presumptuous, and proud! So I will not." She pointed again to the barn.

Luke could see her point, but ironically, was all the more tempted because of it. "Your modesty, your wisdom. It makes me love you even more!"

She laughed a thank you, but made sure he knew the difference. "But this? This flesh, these kisses? These are not love. Love is honoring one another. Love is going to the barn to sleep alone, because I have asked you to." Luke nodded understanding. Jenny took his hand for a last moment, however, and then couldn't resist giving him at least one long, warm hug, and even ventured a quick kiss on the cheek, before skipping away to her doorstep.

Luke was thrilled for a second, but then a 'hey, wait a minute' look crossed his face. Jenny spotted it, and smiled. "Oh, you want my _good_ kisses?" Now that she had brought it up, Luke nodded eagerly, looking like a dog at dinnertime, ('Yes-please! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh!') Jenny smiled and warned seriously, "You may have them, when you ask for them. But...! My good kisses are sacred kisses, and they only come after we make a sacred covenant. You're ready for that, are you?" Like a lawyer, knowing the answer in advance...

As completely as he was entranced with her, when put on the spot like that, nervous Luke realized he still had to think before making that big leap. He laughed, and waved instead to the barn. "Hellooo, Barn!"

They blew kisses as she went into the house. Then Luke went to the barn and hit the proverbial hay. As he drifted off to sleep, Luke reflected, _She had me wrapped around her finger! ...But where else would I rather be?_ Wondering whether he might have found here his place in life, Luke slept smiling.

# Chapter 27: 'There Are _Rules_ to This Game!'

"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them." Ephesians 2:8-10

They saw each other for a few minutes solace, at least, over breakfast and lunch. With Jenny's father present, they didn't feel quite so free to be themselves, and not as much was said. They settled for soft looks, daring glances, and the occasional contact: a squeezed hand, a brushed shoulder. Certainly the bond between them seemed strong. They were not wasted moments, but hoarded memories. They filled them with an unspoken outpouring of love and happiness to merely be in each other's presence. She _is_ the one, Luke confirmed to himself--then wondered, as he watched her, if she had somehow put that thought in his head, through her womanly wiles and feminine sorcery. He hoped so!

They tried to be discreet, these moments weren't meant for Terry; if Luke decided to stay or come back, that would be the time to share the news with him. But the old farmer couldn't help 'observing the weather' anyway, and cracking a knowing smile. Every time they saw him smiling that way, they both blushed to make it even more obvious, and changed the conversation hastily. "Luke met Rebecca, Dad; he told me all about her!" Terry was interested in that news, and Luke took the opportunity to tell the story again, but after that he and Jenny settled back in to silent shared moments and hand-holding spirits.

When Terry smiled about them again, it was Luke's turn to distract him from it. He asked something he had started to wonder about: "Say, I'm confused about something: how come Jenny gets up to fix you breakfast, if you're a cook in your own right?"

"Hmm. True. But I've never learned to cook breakfast, really. The Bar and Grill isn't open early enough to serve it. For myself, I would probably just skip breakfast and just start farming as soon as I could in the morning. First her mother, and then Jenny, started fixing me breakfast because they knew that's the only way to get me to stop and eat it--if it's already made, how can I refuse it? So I guess that was just their way of looking out for me."

"Ah. Love is fixing breakfast for someone who could fix it for himself," Luke summarized.

"That too," acknowledged Jenny.

Out in the fields that day, after tending to the Harrises' small herd, they were doing some more last-minute harvesting (crops and stuff), with a shovel and a scythe, some scissors and some sacks. As they worked, Terry noticed Luke's without-Jenny sadness and tried to get him to buck up. "Don't look so down. Things aren't so bad!" he reminded him.

Luke gave a shiver. "Must be the cold air today. Yesterday was so nice! Today it feels more like winter is coming. Kinda depressing, is all."

Terry gave a cagey smile. "That's it. Blame it on the air."

Luke thought about that, and was more honest with himself: True, the cool air made it harder to get fired up, but was it really even that cold out? Terry still looked warm enough. (But then again, he had the hat with the earflaps.) Maybe the coldness was coming from inside, Luke considered, and instantly realized that was it! Remembering his biology, he reflected that body heat gets transferred in part by blood circulation. _How can my blood circulate when my heart is breaking?_

Luke laughed at himself as he thought about this. _What foolishness! Why should my heart break? All I have to do is stay! Let the ship sail on..._

Then Luke realized that this was why he was so upset: it wasn't just having to say good-bye to Jenny, and true love. It was the sad recognition that as grand as this had felt, as wonderful as Jenny was, finding her was not the only reason he had come to sea. It seemed strange to say it, but even love was not the answer to his search. Out there, yet to be found, was still something greater. _Better than love?_ he asked himself, and then heard Karla's voice in his head, as she had answered a similar question: _Much better!_

All the same he sighed, longing for Jenny and wishing he could simply stay _there_ to search! Terry caught him sighing, and upbraided him, "Pull yourself together, man. You're so lovesick you're going to contaminate my fields! Then I'll have turnips pining over beets ('I miss you sugar'), radishes courting strawberries ('You're the sweetest'), and miniature corn flirting with the miniature carrots ('Hey, baby'.)" An anxious thought passed through Terry's mind and he muttered, "Talk about your cross-pollination."

After being corrected the second time, Luke took the hint, and told himself, Less thinking, more working! and picked up the pace a little. Keeping busy made the day go by quicker too, and before Luke knew it, Jenny was home from work. She called him in from the fields, he cleaned up quickly, and they talked.

His happiness to see her was tempered by the knot in his stomach, as Luke felt he had to tell her the verdict: "I've been thinking today. I hate to say it, coz I love you so much! But I think I should go." If he hadn't said it quickly, he would never have found the strength to say it at all.

Jenny surprised him, and hurt him a little, when she replied, "I think you should go too." Startled, Luke had to know why. She explained softly, "You said you were moving towards grace. I don't want to stand in the way of you finishing your journey. That comes first. Then you can come back to me afterwards."

That made sense, it's what Luke had been feeling too, but still when she said it that way, a possibility occurred to him: "But why would you be standing in the way of my journey? You're a Christian, you probably could help me with my search!"

She challenged his terminology first. "I prefer 'follower of Christ' to 'Christian' personally, Luke. A Christian would be something _I_ am, but if I'm a follower of Christ it implies that it's because of what _He_ is. Not only that, but Christian sounds like a title. Follower sounds like a duty. Helps me remember my place." She returned to Luke's question, "But could I help you? Conceivably, but... if you stayed here, would it be for Christ? or for me? See, right at the start you're staying for the wrong reason! How would I ever overcome that? Even if somehow you started to believe through my words, my help, my examples, it would always be tainted. Always the question, Did you believe because it is true, or because you wanted to please me? When your faith comes, it should be with no doubts, no strings, no dependence. So behold, I have let you go this day. You are no longer mine, and I am no longer yours." She shook out her hands, to symbolize their break. She had rehearsed this speech, and meant to remain dignified and orderly, but she hadn't expected the tears to well so immediately in her eyes! She pulled herself together and finished courageously however: "You are free to seek Christ, wherever your path takes you. But I hope that once you find Him, you will return! I will wait for you to return, Luke. For a reasonable time," Jenny promised. "Because I have faith that you will return, and next time you will be ready for me! God sent you to me for a reason. I am trusting Him in this. I have prayed about it."

Luke had his doubts, or maybe they were just excuses because he didn't feel brave enough to leave: "But will that work? Even if I go from you, I'll _still_ be thinking about you, still wanting to know God so that I can return to you."

"Well don't!" was Jenny's counsel. "Don't do it for me. Do it for you. ('Do it for God' will come later! Promise.) Besides, if you come back, and it's _not_ the real thing, believe me, I'll know. And I'll _say_ No! I don't need a man who is partway for God. To become one, we need to be equals, spiritually. I can't lift you up, and I won't have you dragging me down. I need a man who knows himself, who is sure about what he believes and about what he wants. All women need that; but I need one who is sure about God too." She seemed much more demanding than last night, when 'being ourselves' was allowed, when 'moving towards grace' was enough, and when 'the man in the white rawhide Stetson' was the one she had been waiting for. Luke mumbled this sad reaction, but was encouraged by her response. "You _are_ the one I want, Luke. You _are_ the one I choose! But I want the same thing that you want: I want the Luke I love and cherish to be the _finished_ Luke. Not the Luke that gets as far as Prince Edward Island and calls it quits, but the Luke who goes on, and becomes what he is supposed to be."

"I want to be what you want me to be," Luke said defensively, thinking he was agreeing with her.

"Well I want you to be what God wants you to be. When you want that too, then you'll be ready."

Like he had done after meeting the four English teachers back on the mainland, Luke tried to sort it out in his head, to find out what things he still needed to do on this journey, so that he could return to her, as the genuine article. This time the list was even shorter. "So basically, I have to choose God. Then I can come back."

Jenny stopped him right there, however. "You don't choose God. He chooses you!" This reversal surprised Luke. He was sure he had the word Choose in his notes somewhere. Thankfully, as always Jenny sensed his confusion and elaborated. "You merely choose to be ready, willing and able. God will do the rest!"

"I'd rather be Cain than Able!" Luke joked, remembering what had happened to Abel in the Bible.

"Then you haven't chosen to be ready or willing yet either," Jenny rebuked him. "It's better to be a martyr than a murderer, better to die trusting than to live faithlessly."

That sounded to Luke like a pretty serious commitment. The least he could ask in return was a definite reward. But 'God chooses you' sounded uncertain, unpredictable (to one who didn't yet know the constancy of God.) "So I could do all that work preparing myself, and still not get to know God? He might choose me and he might not?"

Jenny comforted him: "There is nothing so certain as the love of God! If you are ready, if you are willing, _of course_ He will choose to save you! We have his sure promises!"

"So what's the difference then, if it's that much of a lock. If choosing to be willing gets the same results as choosing God?" It seemed like a semantic distinction.

"All the difference in the world!" Jenny corrected him. "It's the difference between works and grace. If your choice is what saves you, then it's not really God saving you is it? It's you. But if it's God's hand that moves to pluck you from the fires of hell, then He deserves all glory! So that's the difference: knowing that God chooses you recognizes that He alone is in charge. Of all things. Of our lives. To understand that, you have to humble yourself. Submit to him. Then you'll be surprised how much less time you spend searching, and how much more time finding!"

It sounded good, and Luke believed it. As he memorized her treasured face, with its faint freckles and its darting emotional eyes, he knew that Jenny, in her beloved trusting obedience, was the Meek who would personally inherit the earth; Jenny the recipient of the promise " _All things are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's_ ". He only hoped to return and share it with her! But for now, it was still Luke's job to search. So he went back to the barn to pick up his guitar and Bible, and then Jenny walked him to the pier.

The ship was still there, Luke saw sadly. He and Jenny talked for a few minutes, making the most of their last brief time together, one eye on the ship to watch for signs it was preparing to depart. Luke realized he still hadn't specifically asked her for her advice, her wisdom, her special words to add to his notes. "Any last words?" seemed an appropriate way to ask it, given the tragic finality of the situation.

"You're being over-dramatic!" she laughed. "How much time did you say you spent with my sister? Okay, let me think. Some good not-the-last words. How's this? 'Remember Love.' I figure that will direct you to the One you seek, for starters, but it will also remind you," poking Luke in the chest with a tough, loving finger, "who you're supposed to come see once it's over!"

"How could I forget?" Luke grinned.

But to make sure, she offered a gift: "I wrote a going-away poem for you. About us." Luke was embarrassed, and said he felt bad, that he hadn't composed one for her. She waved that care away, "Oh, I owed you one! The one about the dishrag, remember?"

"I thought you didn't like that one!"

"Best love-poem I've ever been given," she corrected cheerfully, and sincerely, as her earnest eyes flickered over his own. "Because it's so _you._ But do you want to hear this or not?" Luke nodded, and didn't interrupt again.

"On an evening fair he came to me,

My one true love, my chosen one;

On winds of peace, through mists of dreams,

He sailed to me, my lover.

On a striking day he stole my heart,

My hero bold, my chosen one;

On a day of bliss, our spirits kissed,

And he changed my life, my lover.

On a lonely eve he left me there,

My questing youth, my chosen one;

Towards tides of truth and waves of grace,

He sailed away, my lover.

On a winter's morn he came once more,

My shining man, my chosen one;

With bands of love and eyes of faith,

He returned to me, my lover."

Luke loved the happy ending! "But you tell the future as if it already has happened. Can you do that?"

"Sometimes saying it helps _make_ it happen," Jenny told him. "Besides, it will happen! God's sure promises, remember? That and the fact that you've got me praying for you... not to mention _Lou-ise_ ," she finished, a little mockingly, a little jealously, but mostly just playfully. That was Jenny. It was also, appropriately, the last thing he would remember her by, for the good ship TrogDogJonah started throwing off ropes and raising the anchor, as Bert and Chains spotted him and gave him the Come on! gesture.

The longest hug that time would allow, and then the best kiss ever ("A free sample! I want to make sure you come back, after all," she beamed), then waves, blown kisses, the ship leaving, and salty, stinging tears.

"You missed a great party," Bert told him, trying to take Luke's mind off the girl. (No tears allowed on deck, after all--Admiral's orders.)

"I didn't miss a thing," Luke said certainly, wistfully, happily.

Bert admiringly watched Jenny Harris walking away from the harbor, with her pretty red hair, and her swaying skirt, and her casual grace. "True," he agreed, letting his lecherous gaze linger. Then, he couldn't help himself: "Say, does she have a sister?" Luke grinned, but kept silent.

Later, he got out his Bible, and read a double portion, in honor of Jenny, and then added her words in the back: Renewal, Ourselves, Follow, Promises, and both Remember and Love. Then he looked at his list and added Love again a second time, beside the first one, so that it said 'Love, Love'. Twice as much as any other. He smiled, and cried.

# Chapter 28: A Brief Rap, A Briefer Scrap, and Luke Takes the Teeniest Little Nap

"But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible," Matthew 19:26

As soon as the ship pulled away from the dock, Luke had been sure he had made a mistake. He had even thought about diving over the rail and swimming to shore to Jenny, (wouldn't that be romantic?), except he wasn't a strong swimmer at all, and drowning is decidedly less seductive. As he hesitated, the distance had gotten wider, his chances for success slimmer, and finally it just wasn't worth it. He who hesitates is lost, they say. Well Luke felt lost. He moped about for a couple of days before his friend Bert felt bad for him and tried to help.

"You all right son? Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but if you like her that much, how come you got back on the ship?"

"I'm still on my journey to find God," Luke reminded both Bert and himself.

"There ya go."

"I thought there was more for me to learn out here at sea. But..." Luke tried to explain what was making him doubt his decision: "What am I going to learn out here with the likes of you guys? No offense. Jenny was a 'follower of Christ'. I know she could have taught me. Earlier in the voyage I felt like every mile was taking me closer to God, now it seems like with every mile I get farther away."

Bert decided that yes, that definitely would justify feeling poorly, except... He flashed a grin and asked mischievously: "So you think God lives on Prince Edward Island?"

Bert was surprised by Luke's response. "I'm _sure_ of it."

"True," Bert conceded. "But that doesn't mean He isn't other places too. Sometimes God is found where you least expect. And sometimes..." he continued thoughtfully, as though remembering some personal experience, "sometimes God is found far from home, when you're feeling lonely, friendless, and in need. Coz when else are you going to need Him more? And then when you turn to Him, there He is. Would that happen if you stayed safe at home?"

Thinking about how happy and comfortable he could have been on a little farm just outside of Delightful, Luke agreed, Maybe not.

Bert continued, "You're right, you won't learn much from us. You could learn more from Jenny. But you can learn more still from God Himself! ' _No mediator but Christ_ ', ' _They shall all be taught of God_ '. That kind of stuff. Talk about something to look forward to!" Then Bert got that sly grin again, and changed the tempo: "Still, while you're waiting for that mountaintop experience to come along and surprise you, there's a way you can keep your mind off your troubles in the meantime..."

"How?" asked Luke eagerly.

Swinging a boom towards Luke, Bert ordered playfully, "Get to work!"

Work was a good answer. The next couple weeks were busy ones: every day or two they would reach a new port, as they travelled down the settled coast. Then it was always unloading and loading, switching this cargo for that one. Good muscle work for Luke, but still he wondered, "How come we have to do this so often? Um, why don't we just stick with one cargo and take it farther?"

Made sense from a dockhand's perspective, but the Admiral saw the bigger picture: "The more times we trade, the more times we get to make money!"

"But isn't the profit margin smaller on these short trips? If they're not from far away, the goods aren't so exotic, and the price isn't so high. Am I right?"

Not quite. "In theory, that's true. But in reality, the profit margin is whatever we make it," boasted wily Jack. Then, "That's not greed, that's _initiative!_ " he explained, anticipating Luke's objection.

Hearing that, Luke got suspicious, coz he remembered the fur fer jewelry fiasco. "Say, you're not up to anything fishy, are you?"

The Admiral looked hurt. "Luke, I'm an honest trader! I offer only the fairest prices! But these people! I just can't stop their money from jumping into my hand!"

Maybe the Admiral shouldn't have boasted so loudly about the jumping of money, coz once they were back out at sea and in a strong bargaining position, Bert organized a union, and after that they _all_ got paid time and a half.

The open sea.

"Ah, this is it," Luke decided, starting to feel hopeful again. "Discovery! Exploration! Events and encounters! Surprises and adventures!" He was sure God would be hiding in all of it.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we've got a pretty good map," Navigator Humphrey broke the news to him. He unrolled it and pointed: "And there will be exactly...zero stops, until we reach the Island of Midway. There's some mighty pretty water between here and there, though. Enjoy."

Luke didn't enjoy it. He was actually kind of angry about it, until the Admiral explained, "Trade is a much better business than exploring, anyway. Less risk, more reward." Luke pointed out that there were other types of reward besides money. Now it was the Admiral's turn to be a little bitter, as he retorted, "Oh, but you're enjoying your union wages though, aren't you?"

Luke enjoyed his union-negotiated working hours too. Once they were out at sea, under sail and holding a straight course, there was less work to be done, and the 'non-emergency shift schedule' kicked in. "Nice," Chains observed, speaking for them all.

The drawback was that with more free time, Luke started thinking about Jenny and getting depressed again. Even the stuff Bert had told him wasn't helping, since they were still on the way to being far away from home, so obviously they weren't there just yet. It seemed like there was nothing to do at this stage but wait.

Bert, always helpful, gave him something to do while waiting. He flashed a pack of cards and smiled. "Euchre, son. Where else can you exercise your intellect, practice your social skills, and fatten your wallet, all in one? C'mon, I've got a couple easy marks lined up: guy named Kennedy, and of course Morel." Sure enough, Bert and Luke made short work of those two sailors, and then took more money off Robespierre and Admiral Jack. _That_ was satisfying. "It's always more fun when you're winning," Bert pointed out--then drew the obvious conclusion, "So let's keep winning!" That said, they gladly gave Morel and Kennedy a futile rematch ("the Horror, the Horror!"), before disposing of an ill-considered challenge by Brian Chains and Navigator Humphrey ("Can you tell where this is going?" Bert liked to ask the navigator, every time he and Luke took a lead. "Too bad you can't slow it down," he would then taunt the anchorman)

Time flies when you're having fun, and the weeks went quickly with shorter shifts and more fun at the card table. Before anyone expected, Gonzales had sighted an island, and the joyous cry went up, "Midway!" Luke though, had a sudden uncomfortable thought: 'And am I midway to finding out what I was supposed to find, out here?' He sighed guiltily, but then couldn't help smiling happily, at the prospect of finally reaching land at least.

The rest of the sailors were happy about it too. That took Luke by surprise, coz he would have thought the full-timers would prefer being at sea. Bert explained, "Yeah, but we can't have as good a party at sea! For it to be a _good_ party you have to break stuff. Wouldn't want to break our _own_ stuff, now would we?"

Predictably, the prices were high on Midway, both due to its monopoly, and to absorb the cost of all the stuff breakin' during its good parties. Despite the high prices, when Luke realized there was a hotel, he decided to spring for a room for a night. Just to have peace and stillness for a night, instead of the constant swaying and rocking of the ship. Then he remembered the breaking-things-wild party that would be coming, and wondered whether the hotel itself would be swaying and rocking! The other sailors from the Jonah smiled a little mockingly at Luke, and thought to themselves, how much more sense it made to go back and sleep in the ship, so they could spend the money on a few extra drinks.

But Luke was happy. He even got to do something he had always wanted to do: when checking in, he announced himself to the desk clerk, in a deep voice (coz you sound more important that way), "Luke the Hun. Any messages for me?"

He was shocked when the answer was yes. There were three messages!

The first was a postcard, from his friend Electric Man! "G'day from Australia, mate! I made it! Love it here, so pretty! The suit was a good idea, not only did it seal in my charge, but I think my power is starting to peter out, too. I was sad about that at first, but I can live with it, as long as I'm _here_! Met a great girl, everything is working out. Got a great job as a beachcomber! It's so me. I don't make much money though. I only had enough for postage to send this card halfway! Sorry. Hope you find it anyway somehow! Your friend, Surfer Man."

Luke smiled at his friend's success, and smiled at the strange fate that had brought him to the same island as the halfway-posted card. Then he tore open the envelope of the next piece of mail. It looked like a direct mail advertisement, addressed to "Lori Dettling or Current Resident" ("That's you," the desk porter explained, since Luke was staying there tonight.) Luke read the message, from Paul the Doctor, MD: "You be ill! Take a pill! Come on over and pay this bill!" Enclosed was a long tablet marked 'Placebo' (must be the name of the drug company, Luke speculated), and, to Luke's distress, a bill for a buck ninety-eight. Luke looked at the envelope again and read the Doctor's advertising slogan: "The best medical care available for under two dollars."

"Yeah, misdiagnosed for under $2. That is a bargain," Luke said aloud, annoyed. Perhaps the doctor thought some people would find it cheaper and easier to pay the bill than to hire a lawyer and fight it. _This is cheaper and easier still_ , thought Luke, throwing that letter in the trashcan.

The third letter looked more promising. The envelope was unsigned, and hand-delivered. "Some kind of secret admirer maybe," the desk porter speculated, making fake kissies. Luke thought of Jenny, and had a moment of hope. It wouldn't have been hard for her to figure out they would stop at this the only way-station, after all. But, _hand-delivered..._ Luke's spine tingled. He read the letter.

I love you. I have loved you since before you were born. I will love you long after you have died. I have gifts that I long to give you. Grace. Truth. Peace. Love. My own life. Salvation from sins. The Holy Spirit. Life Eternal! Will you love me too? Please? I am waiting for you. -Jeazus.

Wow, talk about a love letter! thought Luke. No love truer! But... the name was spelled wrong. Kinda made him suspect somebody else had written it. Then as he looked closer he thought it kinda looked like Bert's handwriting. He sighed, and resolved to ask him about it. First he checked in and checked out his room.

Luke went down to the bar. There was Bert, eating a grilled chicken sandwich. Luke ordered one too. And a basket of fries. Luke showed him the letter, a little accusingly. Bert laughed. "Ah. That. Yeah, I was trying to give you what you needed, like I did for Shadrach. Probably out of line, but I was just imagining your reaction if you got a handwritten note from Jesus. Figured it would give you a little jump-start, inspire you to pour your heart into your search again. You've been on cruise control. My fault partly, for getting you hooked on cards! So I was trying to make up for it," Bert laughed. "But I couldn't pull it off! Got down to the name, and didn't have the guts to forge the name of our Lord! So I signed the nickname of a long-haired hippie-dude I knew from Guelph. But I hope at least the note was faithful to what _one_ of them would have said!"

Luke appreciated the gesture. "Sometimes their acts are ill-considered and don't quite work out, but Friends always try to help give you what you need. I'm glad you're my friend."

Before he had even finished saying it, though, the hair on Luke's neck was standing up, and he felt that danger was close. From behind them came a loud, mock-sentimental, "Awww!", and Luke wheeled. In the old days he would have turned in time to face the danger and defeat it, but now he just turned in time to take a fist full in the face and go sprawling over the bar. Blackness and blinking, then Luke tried to shake the fog out of his head, and tried to stagger to his feet and get back in the battle. Smarting but ready for vengeance, Luke spotted the culprit, red-handed and wrestling with his friend Bert, both of them snarling and laughing like jackals. Luke was about to launch a haymaker of his own, until he recognized the white undershirt, the knotty arms, and the rough smile. It was his father!

Luke vaulted across the bar; Chief Otis tossed Bert aside and gave his son a manly embrace. "Thanks for stickin' up for me Bert. But this is my dad! Chief Otis! Dad, this is my friend Bertralamus Loreword."

"Ooh, fancy," Chief Otis praised the man with two names. "But what's a Hun doing making friends?"

"What's a father doing punching his own son in the mouth?" Bert intruded a question of his own.

Luke laughed. "Oh that. My fault for being slow, right Dad?"

"Yer an embarrassment!" Otis kidded, "You getting soft?"

Luke explained to Bert. "That's how we greet each other in Hun-Country. Rough neighborhood, see. Some people shake hands, or hug or kiss. We throw punches. Not much practice showing affection I guess! But as long as I look up and he's smiling, it's a greeting. If he's scowling, it's a beating."

"The importance of body language," Bert quipped.

"Exactly. Listen Bert, I'm going to go catch up with my dad for a while. I see you enough on the ship anyway," Luke bantered. He was definitely in good spirits for a guy who just got his jaw jacked. Perhaps he was impervious. Luke started steering his father towards a corner table so there would be no more sneaking up on either of them. That's Hun custom to begin with, and Luke would have followed it in the first place if he hadn't seen Bert at the bar. ("See, that's what you get for having friends, Sally," he could hear his father scolding him, without the Chief actually having to say it.)

"Nice meeting you Otis," Bert called, with a wave, as they started to go.

"Oh, he'll party with you guys later, most likely," Luke assured his friend, knowing his father's habits. "Or fight with you. Whichever you want at the time."

"Absolutely," Otis agreed. "You got guts kid, going after a Hun like that. Going after the King of all Huns, I should say." He and Bert nodded respectfully to each other as they parted. Pleased, Otis gave Luke some spur-of-the-moment advice: "Beware of any man who laughs when he fights! Even more so if he makes the sound effects!"

There were already some sailors in the corner booth, but Otis waved them up, and they vacated. It would take them a few more shots of courage before they were ready to defy a brace of brass-knuckle baddies.

Luke's first question, just to make sure, was "King of all Huns? You were just impressing him with your full title right? I thought my brother DavidGorki was chief now. Right?"

Chief Otis looked grim. "Sit down, son." Luke's heart fell as soon as he heard those words. One always assumes there is a mantle of invincibility around oneself and one's young friends, and when tragedy finally strikes it always pierces like a dagger. Like a blow to the stomach, it made Luke sit down. Chief Otis gave him the story straight. "Our raiding didn't go so well this summer, son. I just heard things secondhand from on the road at first, but then I had to go back home and see. It's not pretty. There were some ambushes in the Andes. Great and numerous armies. Led by Terror-by-night, the mighty Emperor of Peru. The Huns won, of course. But it wasn't worth the trouble, for what little treasure we gained! We paid a heavy price in casualties. Dozens of men killed, many more were wounded and maimed. Your brother, Chief DavidGorki, was grievously wounded, lost both legs and nearly perished. He's a tough cracker though. Not too many people would have survived at all, between his wounds and the Hun lack of medical knowledge."

"So he's alive!" Luke was excited and relieved, having first assumed the worst.

"Yes. He's recuperating at home. He seems to be taking it in stride. Er, taking it well. He was horrified and depressed at first, of course. That was hard for me--it's weird, but if he would have died in battle we would have just mourned him and then celebrated him and then moved on. But to see him changed...emptied...well, that actually makes you think." Otis got lively again: "But they've fit him for some crutches, and now he's trying to think what other jobs besides Warrior he might be qualified for. It would be a really good time for Hun-Country to have more than one industry! He doesn't think he feels ready to lead the Huns again, in any event. Thank God I've found _you_!"

Luke was overwhelmed to hear those words coming from his father. "Thank God?"

Being questioned about it made the father a little bit self-conscious. "Hey, I'm re-evaluating my life. Met a guy last night who really had some challenging things to tell me. Warnings even. So, yes, God. Somebody guides our steps, don't they? Brings us together and separates us for a reason? Here you are after all, right where I needed to find you. Just like here I was, when that man was told to come here and find me..."

Luke got a little chill. That sounded like somebody he would want to meet too. But first things first. It seemed like Chief Otis had opened a door for him to share about his own search. He remembered Jenny and her sister, and how much loneliness could come from not speaking about such things, so he hurried on to tell his father what he wanted to say, before he chickened out. "I'm going through some things myself, Dad. I came out looking for my place in life, trying to find some happiness and peace of mind. But the more I search, and the more people I meet, the more certain I am becoming...that God is the answer. That the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. And that in Him, I will find my place in life."

"You won't come back and lead the Huns?" Chief Otis seemed disappointed.

"Dad, didn't you hear me? The ways of Christ are the ways of peace. How could I lead the Huns in battle?"

Chief Otis astonished Luke yet again: "I didn't say 'in battle', did I?"

Luke was speechless for a moment, then finally grinned and observed, "Wow, you really _are_ changing!"

Chief Otis bristled. "Not changing. _Re-evaluating_." He stressed the word.

Luke kept smiling. "That's where it starts..." he said cheerfully. Then he wondered about what his father had implied, "Do you think it could be done? Lead the Huns, but not into battle? Try something else besides war and looting for once?"

As soon as the question was spoken, they both remembered the story of King Vinny the Good. In Hun-country that title, 'the Good' was still spoken like a slur. Short-lived King Vinny, who had tried to bring peace, civility and industry to the Huns. He had courageously proclaimed upon taking office, _"There will be peace in my time."_ Upon which, some of the more ruthless Huns had fallen upon him like Myrmidons, as the toughest of their number coolly pronounced sentence, _"Well, your time's up then!"_ Thinking of that episode in Hun History, Chief Otis sized up Luke's chances honestly: "It would take a miracle."

"Then a miracle is what we'll ask for," Luke affirmed.

Chief Otis was impressed. "When you walked away from the violence, you became a better man than I am. But if you go back and try to show the rest of the Huns their error, well, then you're a braver man too."

Luke felt a thrill inside to finally have the praise of his father. There was something ironic about it occurring now. In his youth, he had become as warlike as possible to try to please his father, and yet had never quite measured up to all the legendary generals. Now, after having set at nought all the Hun traditions, all their values, all the fine warriors' opinions, he finally had the praise he had wanted. For doing the right thing, instead of the expected thing.

But Chief Otis didn't stop there. He had one more compliment to give. "You know, you're becoming more like your mother every time we talk."

Luke thought back to the last time they had talked. In between quitting in the middle of raiding season, and leaving for college at Iowa State, Luke had tried to convey to his father some of his horror at their deeds. But not having been trained to question the Hun ways, he had had trouble finding words for his malaise, and had resorted mostly to clichés: "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt." _"Then it's a profession,"_ Chief Otis had bragged. "Make Love, not War!" Luke had enjoined. _"Why not make both?"_ Chief Otis had wondered--he was married after all. Then picking up a theme in Luke's protests, he had challenged him: _"Please don't tell me my own son is turning into a candy-axe liberal. I hate people like that!"_ This time Luke had taken full advantage of the chance to respond sagely, with advice borrowed from his Uncle Max, who had once come to visit Luke's mother. "Hate is a strong word, Dad. It's like 'Kill'." Unfortunately, Chief Otis had effectively ended that conversation-- and Luke's hopes of ever reforming Hun-Country--as he picked up an invisible pencil and pretended to jot that word down, _"Say, there's another good one!"_ Luke thought about what he had been like then, and wondered, have I really changed that much since? He smiled inside when he realized the answer was Yes. Then he had been merely learning right from wrong. Now he was learning why each was each, and Who served as the standard: which was something his mother had known all along.

Luke confronted his father with an observation. "You wouldn't always have used that as a compliment. Used to be, you tried to stop me from being like her."

He could see the guilt in his father's eyes. "Of course. I thought the Hun code was a good way to live. I thought her religion, her faith, were for the weak, and would make you weak. But I'm starting to realize, that she may have been right, I may have been wrong. Isn't that what love means? That you think enough of someone to trust that they might know as much as you? I _did_ love her. Wish I'd realized it when she was alive," he lamented. "When I kidnapped her, I thought of her as a prize. Now I know she was a treasure. Imagine: it couldn't have been the direction she'd planned for her life. But did she ever reproach me, her captor, with one word of bitterness? No. She just quietly tried to show me how to be a better person."

Otis washed back memory with a long sip, then smiled wryly. "Y'know she wasn't the first one whose departure made me ponder..." he added proudly, clapping Luke on the back. Then, feeling awkward, he cleared his throat and continued: "Then the man I talked to last night made me wonder even more. My own strange journey has brought up the question once or twice too. But mainly, what happened in Peru, what happened to your brother: if even the strongest warrior is not immune to the perils of war, then maybe war just isn't a very good idea? Maybe we chose the wrong field to specialize in!" Then he laughed. "That's possible! We Huns were never renowned for our decision- making!"

Luke was overjoyed to see even the reprobate Hun Chieftain shaping up. But how to translate this pensiveness into action? The whole system seemed rigged against them. If every man teaches his son to war, what chance is there for the one or two who realize it is not the answer? The lone voice is the deviant voice, the first voice seems the dangerous voice...even if it happens to be right. "So what do we do? How do we change Hun-Country?" Luke wondered.

Chief Otis didn't have the answer either. "Carefully," was his only suggestion. Then he pledged that if Luke wanted to try, he and DavidGorki would stand with Luke ("Er, I'll stand, he'll lean,"). Otis managed a wry grin: "Who knows, maybe we could muster some authority, with the combined strength of three kings." Then he warned, realistically, that if Luke wasn't ready with a plan by the spring, and the onset of raiding season, the reins would likely be turned over instead to his brutal cousin, Faflak the Destroyer.

Luke sipped his juice and pondered that point, and suddenly reached an arm across the table and clasped forearms with his father, almost as if to arm wrestle. Instead he repeated his father's phrase, like an oath: "Strength of Kings."

Chief Otis smiled, and on that hopeful note he took his leave. "It's almost night. I've got to get going. Come see me off?"

They walked down to the beach, where Chief Otis found and straddled a strange little personal watercraft that was parked at the waterline. A skinny sketch artist who had been drawing the sunset hopped on behind. Chief Otis finally explained his mission: "I'm touring the globe, getting in different types of fights with different types of people in every country! Tony here draws the pictures, and writes the stories. "A Year in the Life" type of thing. He's got a good title for it though... what was it?"

"Scrappin' Otis Tours the Land on a Mission of No Mercy," the artist supplied.

"See, told ya. Good one, eh? And what is it again? Some kind of documentary?"

"A Kronk-umentary," the artist volunteered again, to another happy Hun nod..

"But Dad, can you do that? All that fighting and violence still? Haven't you turned over a new leaf?"

"Re-E-valuating..." Chief Otis corrected him, slowly, deliberately. "Gotta go now son! This thing only really moves well at night. I stole ...er, borrowed it from a mad scientist on the coast. An Edison-esque inventor named Spoony. He told me he was working first on a solar car, but solar power is too unreliable, coz of cloudy days and what-not. So he designed some lunar cells instead, that run on darkness! There's thinkin', huh? Then to get better acceleration he wanted to mount them on a smaller vehicle. Said he considered making a lunar cycle first, but that seemed too obvious. One hates to apply for a patent only to find someone else did the same work and beat you by a day or two. So he bucked convention and made a lunar Sea-doo instead! And humble yours-truly is the beneficiary..."

"Dad? Stealing is wrong."

"Testing! I'm testing it for him! An act of selflessness and courage!" Then as if to prove his point, Chief Otis slapped on his helmet, waved, and rocketed away at top speed, taking full advantage of that extra acceleration.

Luke watched the small craft slicing the waves and receding into the distance and darkness, and then he stared at the stars for a while, just enjoying the peaceful night. The sky was black now, but down at the bottom there were still narrow pink and gold bands, the last of the sunset, as if the day was saying its last words: _Remember me? I was beautiful too._

It had been a good day all right. Luke wanted to rejoice for the sake of his father, the last guy he ever would have expected to learn about God! But should he rejoice for his father, or mourn for himself? True, Luke knew his journey had stalled a little the last few weeks, but had even the old man really moved ahead of him? Guilt, discouragement, depression troubled Luke for a moment--until he recalled Jenny's voice, telling him about God's 'sure promises', and pledging her own potent prayers. After that Luke grinned, and rejoiced for both of them.

# Chapter 29: Tom II

"What will ye? Shall I come unto you with a rod, or in love, and in the spirit of meekness?" 1 Corinthians 4:21

The walls and floors of the hotel were surprisingly soundproof, and Luke slept well and woke early. He felt a little smug and contented as he walked upon the beach, enjoying a sacred morning under blue-gentle skies--the cool dawn, sandy shores, a beautiful day made by God's own hand, and a certain feeling that something important would happen on it! Most of the other sailors were still sleeping off their drunk, and Luke congratulated himself upon making the wiser choice.

His satisfaction was short-lived, however, for along came a strange figure to waylay him. Duster coat instead of an apron, hightops, baseball cap instead of a chef's hat. The face was familiar but it took Luke a little while to make the connection, so far away from where he had seen him last-- in a Diner in the peaceful town of Chair. "Tom the Prophet!" Luke exclaimed at long last. "What are you doing here?"

Luke was startled by the answer: "God told me to come here and give you a kick in the butt."

"God said _that_?"

"I paraphrase."

"How did you get here?" Luke wanted to know. Their running into each other in such a remote spot seemed improbable.

"Same as you: the wind blew me here."

"And what made you come?" Luke asked again, trying to discover just how much liberty Tom had taken in his paraphrase.

"Visions and dreams," Tom said confidently. "I go where God sends me, now. I have you to thank for that, actually. Your wisecracks about my cooking made me reconsider what I was doing there. A part-time prophet and a full-time short order cook? Preposterous. I don't want to be a part-time anything. God calls us to serve Him _all_ the time."

"What about paying your bills and stuff?" Luke recalled that Tom had given that as his reason for opening the Diner in the first place.

"I have no more bills. I sold the Diner, that took away most of my expenses! I left my home, and that took care of the rest..."

Luke pantomimed the spoon going to the mouth, dupdupdupdupdup. "What about eats?"

Tom smiled. "God sends me to talk to nice people who will buy me breakfast." Luke took the hint, and took the prophet's arm to steer him towards the hotel restaurant, for orange juice, toast, and bacon. Luke picked up the conversation as soon as they had ordered. "So these visions, these dreams, they told you to come kick my butt." Luke looked Tom the Prophet over, pretending to size him up to judge whether he actually could handle that assignment. Then Tom spoke, with more authority than he had shown on their first meeting, and Luke started to suspect that maybe he could.

"I was told to come here and speak to a Hun. I assumed it would be you. But then I got here and I met a rough customer with brass knuckles, stringy hair and a sweat-stained shirt."

"That would be my dad," Luke admitted.

"So, we talked. He seemed interested to learn what I had to say. He had only known war, so I told him about peace. He believed in self-reliance, so I invited him to rely instead on Christ. He was a man of courage, so I showed him the fear of God. He had never felt much love, so I taught him about the Love surpassing all loves."

"You guys had a busy day," Luke interjected.

Tom shrugged. "He said he wasn't doing anything important until sunset. Still, he listened earnestly, not like he was just filling time. He had some sad things in his past I could see he wanted to change."

"So you changed him then?" Luke was anxious to learn.

"I did _my_ part. And sent him back on his way. After he bought me seconds," Tom hinted again, and Luke laughed and summoned the waiter, adding pancakes and omelets to their order. "I thought that was the end of it. Two Huns healed. Coz when it wasn't you waiting for me, I rejoiced, thinking you must still be safely on your way. But the Spirit told me to stay. And here you are. Needless to say, I'm a little disappointed to see you."

Luke took a quick inventory, and asked, a little puzzled, "I haven't been doing that badly. Have I? I've met some people, learned some things. Even said a couple prayers." (Proud of himself.)

"Is that enough?"

Luke hated when people asked questions like that, the ones that made you doubt yourself, the ones that made you think. He tried to play back with the same game: "Isn't it?"

But Luke was overmatched. Answered Tom, "If it was, would I be here? Would _you_?"Luke blushed at that challenge, remembering it had been his hope to 'get all holied up and be home by football season.' They hadn't paid too much attention to the calendar while at sea, and it was hard to even tell the seasons now that they had been sailing through the tropics, but Luke was sure it must be at least several weeks into the season.

Tom questioned him again: "Have you even obeyed the sign I told you to watch for the first time?"

Luke perked up, "Oh yeah. Thanks! Saved my life. There was a fast bus; the Yield sign was a good idea."

Tom rebuked him sharply, giving Luke a shiver with his warning. (Later on, Luke would have dreams about it that shivered him even more.) " _Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him._ "

Luke could have kicked himself. He should have known the sign would mean 'Yield to God.' The guy's a prophet after all, he chided himself. He recalled that, to his credit, he had put a similar-sounding element on his List of Things to Do: '#3: Give whole life to God'. Then he realized that, to his shame, he still hadn't done it yet. He hadn't even read his Bible much since coming to sea, despite his promise to the Man of God, and to himself, to read it daily. He blamed this partly on the motion sickness--he hadn't wanted _that_ to return! Then there had been the midnight sun--so technically that was all one day! And then more recently, euchre was just so much _fun!_ True, he was getting into bad habits, despite Bert's bad example regarding just that. "But how can playing euchre be a sin?" he asked defensively, before Tom even accused him.

"By itself, it's not. But if you play it when you should be finishing your search, then it becomes a barrier between you and God. The less often you seek God's face, the less likely you are to see it. If anything else becomes your top priority, ahead of serving God, then it becomes a form of false god for you. Idolatry and rebellion, now those are sins! Taking God for granted isn't very nice either."

Having received Electric Man's card the day before, Luke thought of him now, and came up with another defense. "My friend Electric Man once said: 'I've lived part of my life, and I'm part way towards knowing God'."

Tom asked if Electric Man had lived alone. Luke acknowledged that he had. "Because in a way, that's a selfish attitude: If you take your whole life finding out about God, when and whom will you teach? Are we called merely to believe, or to _magnify His name_?"

But Luke was patient; maybe too much so for Tom's taste. "I should learn before I teach. I _have_ been learning. I'm closer than I was. In time, it will happen."

"How much time?" Tom asked, dissatisfied. Luke couldn't answer that either. Tom continued to correct him, "You could be dead tomorrow." A chill ran up Luke's spine. He hoped that wasn't why the Prophet had come to speak with him today! But he had no way of knowing, as Tom continued to point out. "There is a temptation (Do not give into it!) to think that there is always plenty of time. To assume that if Jesus has taken this long to return, surely there will be centuries more. How futile that thinking is! For we all meet God in our lifetime. Each one of us! In every generation! When we pass on, we will face Him. Are you ready?" Luke hung his head and hated to have to answer. So Tom went on. "How brief life is, and how unpredictable! How delicate, and how precious!"

Luke looked up with a start, hearing the word he had ascribed to June the June Bug, and remembering her sudden end. Nervously, he asked, "But would God allow some tragedy to occur before I had finished? That seems kind of unfair. And pointless."

"We have this example: that God gives men space to repent of our deeds. But how much time does that take?" Luke heard Bridgette's gentler voice answering in his head, although perhaps that had been a warning too: _'One Day, or One Night'_. "If you take too much time, maybe you need to examine yourself and discover how serious you are about it. Because you _do_ have some control over how long it takes..."

"I can only move as fast as the ship moves," Luke interrupted, thinking it wasn't all his fault about the long trip. If he had come out to sea to find something, didn't he have to wait until they came to the place where he would find it?

Apparently not... "You can move as fast as your _spirit_ is willing to move," Tom corrected him. "You could have been talking more with the believers on your vessel. Praying with them. You could have been reading your Gospel to hear more about God's miracles. You could have been asking God Himself to draw you, and listening for His voice. And you've been doing what instead? Playing euchre?" Tom seemed unimpressed. "Here is a verse I like, one of my own personal favorites, to speed you on your course: _'And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.'_ That one ought to apply to you I think," Tom judged, guessing at Luke's rowdy Hun heritage. "What do you think? Better that one than this: 'He _, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.'_ "

Yes, Luke preferred the hope of heaven to the fear of destruction; eternity sounded better than oblivion. He also liked the cool-guy resolve in the catch-phrase 'Take it by force!', but he wondered, "Can I really take it by force though? Jenny made it clear that grace means that God gives, we don't take."

"Ah, but He'll respect the single-mindedness though, the sincere desire for heaven. Whom did Christ choose as disciples? Fishermen who left their nets, left their homes, left their families, left everything, to follow Him. Sincere and in earnest. Give your whole life likewise."

Having thought of his earlier list, Luke now seized on his explanation from the time, and offered it as an excuse: "How can I give my whole life to God? I've only got but one life. And I'm busy a-usin' it me own self!" As soon as he had said it, Luke realized how weak and inappropriate it sounded. Wisecracks to a serious subject, selfishness instead of service. It had sounded good enough to fool himself with it back then, but he immediately knew it wouldn't cut it with the present tougher audience.

Tom was at best, unfazed. He may even have grown a little vexed. "So maybe that's your problem. What are you so busy using it _for_ , exactly?" Luke paused, without a ready answer. Tom finished, "So give it to God, then, and let Him use it for the glory of His kingdom! What could be better?" Luke couldn't answer that either, but he looked a little skeptical nonetheless. Tom reassured him, "God is good! You can trust Him with it! How does Paul describe the believers? _'As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.'_ "

Luke perked up, recognizing a familiar attitude. He told Tom the Prophet about Rick the Baffin Islander, the Laughing One, and then Tito, all making the most of small blessings, all willing to get by with whatever God chose to give them.

"See? God gives us what we need! You needed to learn that lesson..."

"Three times?"

"If that's how many it takes. I can only assume God wants you to be clear on that point. So that you can be fearless about giving up everything for His sake! Then He can put you where He needs you to be, with no obstacles, no barriers, no divided loyalties."

"But it will be a good place?"

"Trust and see," Tom promised.

Luke smiled, feeling better, and ventured a jest. "And _then_ I can play euchre?"

This time Tom laughed, thought of his own much-missed golf course membership and allowed a Perhaps-a-little. Luke paid for their breakfast, and Tom walked Luke back out to the beach. By now some of the other sailors were up, and had even begun to load supplies onto the ship. One of them motioned for Luke to come lend a hand. Luke held up an index finger, 'one moment'. There was still more he wanted to ask Tom the Prophet, while he had him handy. He guessed that if Tom had to come and meet with him a third time, he might start to get cranky!

"Why did I have to come out to sea at all?" Luke wondered, seeking reassurance, clear direction for the rest of his journey. "I didn't mean to backslide or be unfaithful. But maybe this whole part of the journey was unnecessary, a mistake. I almost had what I wanted back in the Garden, almost made the connection. Why couldn't I just have stayed there and finished up?" As soon as he had asked it, he thought about Jenny, and realized he would never have met her if he had. But then again, he had left her too, still seeking something greater... So he let the question stand.

"Sometimes it feels like a maze, some steps backwards, some dead ends," Tom supplied. Luke nodded, that was it exactly. "Only because we do not see as God sees!" Tom explained. "Even steps backward can be steps towards God, as long as you don't lose faith. Because sometimes He is ahead of us, lighting our way, and sometimes he is behind us, guarding our back." Tom nodded, pleased, remembering such a time. "And sometimes it's better for us to suffer some little failures, even to break faith, so we can learn from it, repent of it, and renew our commitments. Like Peter denying Christ, then weeping bitterly. He was a stronger servant afterwards, wasn't he? Probably told himself 'I'll never do _that_ again!'. And you--You forgot what I told you the first time, but now that I've come to warn you again, I think you'll remember."

Still thinking of his friends to the west, Luke sighed. "Maybe God _is_ always close to us. But He sure _feels_ far away."

Tom surprised Luke by saying something similar to what Bert had told him, after leaving Jenny. "Don't trust your feelings. Trust in God! Sometimes we need to go far away--far from home, beyond our comfort zone, away from distractions, and to feel totally helpless and alone, to make us look to God. _'When I am weak, then am I strong'._ Because all you really have left to do is to Yield. Submit. Surrender. Give up your life to God, so he can give you back the life He wants you to have! But that's not an easy step, is it?"

"Huns never surrender," Luke asserted, no longer sure whether this was their triumph, or their curse.

"So 'take it by force' then, with passion and effort and will. Do one, or do the other. Or do both, more likely--try to take it by force, and battle until you are weary, and _then_ give up and accept God's good grace, God's perfect will, Christ's redeeming blood. But get to it! Don't wait! Don't sit around being lukewarm any more," Tom enjoined.

Seeing that the tables were reversed, and he instead of Bert was the one being reprimanded with that word, Luke took a page out of Bert's playbook for his answer. He felt his forehead, and agreed, "I'm still a little cool from the morning, but I usually heat up as the sun gets higher."

"See to it then," Tom commanded, then followed it up with a handshake, a promise, and a challenge. "My prayers will be with you. Will yours?"

Luke didn't answer that one right away either, but this time Tom didn't bail him out. He was done talking, and Luke had to go help load the ship, so he had to say something: couldn't just walk away without answering, that would be rude. So finally he steeled himself and said, "Yes."

Tom nodded approval, and waved as Luke hurried to go help his shipmates. When Luke looked for him again a moment later, he was gone.

Luke did his work quietly, quickly, efficiently, and once the ship was loaded and ready to go, Luke found a peaceful moment to say a prayer. He didn't quite know what to say, but turning the pages of his Bible he found a Psalm that seemed to fit the circumstances: " _Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence..."_ Luke wasn't quite sure if he qualified for the next part, so he stopped reading there, and added his own thoughts afterwards: "God, thank you for sending me your servant Tom. Let his prophecies come true. I want to be the one with the desire to battle to get into heaven, and the one with the humility to surrender. Please draw me, lead me, and use the rest of this journey to teach me to do just that." Then Luke smiled: God felt less far away already.

# Chapter 30: Dragon Isle

"For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one. And there are three that bear witness in earth, the spirit, and the water, and the blood: and these three agree in one." 1 John 5:7-8

Leagues later and fathoms further, the TrogDogJonah spotted an island to her south. Navigator Humphrey quickly checked his maps, and slowly scratched his head, and then anxiously wiped the sweat from his brow and ran to find the Admiral. "I think we should veer north. Like, now."

Bert, who had been talkin' with the Admiral until the rude interruption, decided that justified being a little rude himself. "Um, guy," he began, as he reached out and took the map from Humphrey and turned it upside down, "That island is south."

Rather than be drawn into a quarrel over his navigatorin' skills, Humphrey simply held the map out for them, snapped a spot in the center, and warned pointedly, "Dragon Isle!"

The troubled Admiral quickly recovered himself and started barking orders, calling all hands on deck, directing the turning of the sails, and muttering curses and prayers.

Bert, calmly, told the Admiral to "Hold up." He looked at the map again, and pointed out the great distance to the next landfall. (Even the islands and the coasts give Dragon Isle a wide berth.) "Do you think our food and water will hold out until then?" Since moving on from Midway, they had run into some doldrums and languished in the southern seas for quite some time, slaking their thirst more often than usual, and moving more slowly than they had planned. ("My mama told me to 'Always drink lots of water on a hot day'," Chains had pointed out wisely, to the assent of his Union Brothers, when the Admiral had thought to ration their water a little.) They had set up a euchre table on deck, and played cards for days, while waiting for the wind. It took its time.

It's hard to yell at the weather, so the Admiral was mostly blaming Luke--a convenient target because of his 'mutiny' early in the voyage on the whales' behalf, his many mighty euchre victories all the way to Midway (even a reformed Hun will find a way to take your money somehow), and his constant Bible reading and prayer since, making them all self-conscious. Also because throughout the voyage, Luke, a hearty eater, continued to throw off the Admiral's calculations for provisions! A little guiltily, the Admiral remembered that when he had last stocked the ship in Midway he had been banking on a couple sailors falling overboard. ("We're due.") So now he cursed their good fortune, and glared at Luke, and argued with Bert. "You're saying stop at Dragon Isle for supplies? Unheard of! Quite literally. Because no one who has tried it has ever been heard from again!"

The sailor Morel was nearby, and suggested dreamily "Maybe they just stay there! Maybe it's an island paradise! Plenty of steak, lakes full of wine, beautiful maidens..." He was starting to get delirious from the heat.

"Maybe. I would think we'd be more likely to find a Dragon though," Bert submitted, pleased to have a foil like Morel to help make him sound thoughtful and well-reasoned for once in his life. "It seems plausible on a place like Dragon Isle."

"Maybe he's a good dragon!" Morel interrupted again. "With a comfortable couch. And lots of hockey cards to trade. And a really lousy euchre player! With lots of money to lose..."

Bert continued to explain rationally to Jack: "But the presence of a dragon doesn't equal certain doom. Going on without enough water does--unless we catch a magical gale or throw about six sailors overboard! Listen, dragons live inside, in caves and towers, and they sleep a lot. With any luck he'll never even know we're there! It'll be like picking a flower from someone's front yard while they're asleep upstairs in the bedroom on the back side of the house. Besides," he smiled, as he made his strongest closing argument, "I'm a rithk-taker. I take rithkth."

So the Admiral let Sly Bert be the one to take the risk, along with Luke the Double-Secret Super-Scout Warrior. They seemed the most qualified anyway, for getting away with it. They loaded empty water barrels into their longboat, strapped on cutlasses just in case, got their grocery list from the Admiral, and rowed to shore. With quiet strokes. Shh.

The island was large and lush. They beached at the opposite end from a forbidding looking cliff. "I'll bet the dragon lives there," Bert guessed. The rest of the island was nice. Splashy waterfalls, ferny clumps of foliage, lots of tropical trees, plenty of fruit and nuts. They even found a pretty little lake with sparkling water at the low end of the island, and wasted no time filling their barrels and rolling them back to the boat. Then they spread out a blanket, piled all kinds of fruit and coconuts and bananas on it, and carried it like a stretcher to their boat, where they wrapped it into a bundle. They realized they were ready to go.

"Nothing to it," Bert said proudly, surprised himself at how easy their smuggling had been. He got back into the boat. "Ready to go?" he asked, when Luke didn't get in.

"Not quite," Luke said reluctantly. "Look, I hate to do this to you, but I want to check something out. Despite what the Admiral thinks, someone else _has_ been here. A human person. When we were gathering fruit, I could tell that some had already been hand- picked recently. Then I started looking and I saw footprints." Luke didn't mention the familiar indentation he had spotted down the beach, about the size of a lunar-powered personal watercraft.

"I'm not sure this is the time to be getting curious, Luke. We need to 'make tracks' ourselves." But Luke still didn't get into the boat, so there wasn't much for Bert to do about it. Could try to wrestle him in... Yeah, that would be discreet. So, resignedly, "OK, I'll wait right here. The guys in the ship will wonder, but what are they going to do, come get us? Hurry, take a quick look." Bert figured if somehow Luke stirred up the dragon, he was safer there in a small boat in the shadow of the island than the large ship would be, on the open waters and easy to spot.

Luke slipped inland and tried to pick up the trail. Wondering what mysteries, what artifacts, what terrors and fears might await him upon this mythical island.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. As he followed the footprints, reading the signs like a ranger, he found that their maker had paused in front of a rock wall on his right. Luke turned to see what was of interest there, and was startled to find an inscription, carved in stone: _'Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.'_

Luke, who had been reading his Bible again quite often during the ship's slow spell, recognized this from Psalms. His first reaction was a spine-shiver and suspicion, wondering how it had come to be here. But then his next reaction was peace and comfort, overwhelmed by the words. "Whatever has happened to my father, and whatever will happen to me here, God is in control of it," he felt suddenly. A certain fearlessness came with it, and he proceeded.

Not much further on, the Hun-heavy tread he was trailing showed a pause again, in front of a spreading tree. This time Luke's first reaction was to step back, offended and sad, as he saw another message, written across the tree in what looked to be blood. _'But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.'_

After reading the special message, Luke felt better again. Not only did it remind him of all the good promises of eternal life, and further strengthen his fearlessness, but this time it aroused his curiosity too: he felt like he was getting closer to something amazing, and hurried on towards the next stop, murmuring to himself "Signs and Wonders!" Then he remembered Hosanna's countersign, "Miracles and Blessings!" and said that too.

He was getting closer to the dragon-end of the island, when the tracks suddenly led him out onto another beach. He wondered what had made his father (or whatever other visitor! Luke remembered to add hopefully) veer off course like that. Until he saw writing in the slight-damp sand, as though someone had stooped and written. _'The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.'_

But the actual footprints, Luke observed, stopped short of the message, around which was only tide-flattened sand. So who then had written it? A ghost? The wind? (The Spirit?) As if in answer, the wind blew again, and covered over what was written, leaving only the impression on Luke's heart.

The trail led back off the beach, through the reeds, and towards the rocky cliff with the tower on top. Just before the cliff, suddenly, Luke was surprised to see, hidden in the thick growth on his left, a tiny building, a miniature church, a one-man chapel! No bigger than a mausoleum really, Luke decided, and then shuddered and wished he could take that thought back. Then he saw the name of the church, written over the doorway, and managed a weak smile. "LAST CHANCE CHURCH", someone had written. Luke wondered a little, with admiration, who had gone to all the trouble to build it here. It might always have been there, even before the dragon--in which case the 'Last Chance' might simply be a general reminder to remember God before it's too late. But given the slapdash construction--a plank roof over plain gray walls of cinderblocks and mortar--Luke preferred to think some brave missionary had risked their life to bring a Christian witness to Dragon Isle, so those few foolish thieves going to their death would have a last chance to change their mind, or to at least go shriven.

One hates to see good work go in vain, thought Luke, and went in.

Wasn't much there. A cross on the wall. A hymnal. One pew. A hand-written copy of the New Testament. (No sense writing out the whole Bible, for the few who would ever see it. That might have delayed the missionary's work on Big Bear Point, in Mean Monster Swamp, or on Cyclops Peninsula, Luke speculated. And certainly one should like to find a Sanctuary before entering the haunted fens of the Wild Wilkie of the West, or upon fleeing from the Cobra Kai dojo.) Luke had no time to sing or read, but did take a knee and offer a quick prayer. A quick "Thank You for the messages", a worried "If it's not too late, somehow make my father safe," and while he was at it, a "How 'bout keeping me safe too, so I can get out of here and finish learning what you want me to learn, going where you want me to go, being who you want me to be. Please?"

You're supposed to end prayers with Amen, but Luke hadn't had much training. "All right-y then," he concluded, and put his white rawhide Stetson back on, went outside, and started climbin' the cliff.

Midway to the top, Luke saw something that first made him smile and then made him fret. It was the crust left behind after someone had eaten the sandwich away. "Kings Do Not Eat Crusts", Chief Otis had once proclaimed grandly, when Luke's mother had accused him of being a picky eater.

"Only a Hun would stop for a sandwich on his way to battle a dragon!" Luke noted lovingly. Then a wave of pre-grief shook him, and he hurried on to find out the result of the battle.

Reaching the top of the cliff, Luke paused outside the door to the dark hard tower. "Now what?" he wondered. Go in, sword drawn, the avenger of blood? Try to sneak in and see what had happened, and then sneak up on the sleeping dragon if it deserved it? Or turn back and save his own life? Luke ran down the list of options in his head, and then settled on the one that would serve him best, the one the stone wall had suggested: "God is in control."

Luke knocked politely, and announced himself. "Luke the Hun. I come in peace." He waited for the voice to say Come In, and in he went.

The bottom floor of the tower had been turned into a living quarters. Luke assumed the top floors were the treasure-stores, doubtless piled high with gold coins, cups, trophies and medallions. (Dragons don't like climbing up and down stairs every time they need a drink of water or a muffin from the pantry.) There was a big gold dragon in front of him, lazing on a comfortable couch, as Morel had predicted. It started giving instructions.

"Show me your palms." Confused, Luke held his hands up in the air for the dragon to inspect. "Ah, sweaty," the Dragon noted. "Nervous?" Luke gave a little shrug and a little nod. "Now take a paper towel from the roll on your right," the Dragon commanded. Luke hadn't even noticed the wall-mounted dispenser at first.It comforted him a little. At least this dragon was kinda domesticated. Luke took a paper towel, dried his hands with it, and disposed of it neatly in the accompanying wastepaper receptacle. "Now take another," the Dragon stopped him. "And wipe the hilt of your sword." Catching on, Luke slowly tore off another, and rubbed the paper towel on the hilt of his cutlass, trying desperately to remember if he had placed his hand on his sword while deliberating outside the door. "Show." The Dragon demanded. Luke held out the paper towel. Thankfully, it was dry. "Ah, you really _have_ come in peace!" The Dragon sounded like it was warming up a little. "Luke the Hun you said?"

"At your service."

"Daniel Speedboy. (I have fast hands)" the Dragon explained, giving a little 1-2 swat at the air with its talons to show off. At long last the Dragon reciprocated, "At yours. So, why have you come?"

Luke had to think about that for a second. Hmm. Can't say you're there to wreak vengeance. Could compliment his treasures but he might think you covet them. Could ask if he has seen your father but it might sound like an accusation. One hates to say anything inflammatory to a dragon.

While Luke was thinking about how to respond, the Dragon went ahead and launched into a story, a parable obviously designed as a warning. Luke realized they still weren't really friends, and a cold note in the Dragon's voice made him wonder if they ever would be, or if the Dragon was merely playing with its food...

The Story of the Three Princes and the Dragon

Once upon a time, there lived a kindly King, named Salvatore Silverbelly, in a peaceful and prosperous kingdom. But he grew old, and he had no sons as heirs. Ever since he had grown old and impotent, speculation and intrigues had been hatched, as to who should rule the kingdom.

Happy to provide a solution, a helpful Dragon arrived, and proclaimed, I shall rule the kingdom!

Well, then the intrigues and plots began to be hatched against the Dragon! You see how people are. Ingrates.

The King came up with a plan to solve both of his problems at a single blow. He had three annoying nephews, Andrushek Bonebelly, Raoul Rockbelly, and Federico Featherbelly, who were equally in line for the throne. The decree was given to them: "Whichever of you slays the dragon first shall rule my again-peaceful and once-more-prosperous kingdom, in my stead." It sounded like a fair proposal. But nobody had seen fit to consult the Dragon. Bigots.

Well, that set things moving. The eldest nephew, Andrushek Boooonebellyyyy, was a famous knight, well-burnished and bright. He did some quick, confident calculations and decided, the best way to be the first one to slay the dragon, is to be the first one to attack the dragon! So that very day he strapped on his Kevmantium armor, took his shining shield, his piercing lance, and the famed magical sword Dragenhoffer, and rode his sturdiest charger to the foot of the Dragon's Cliff. It was then that he realized that he couldn't climb very well in armor. He made it about halfway up the rocky trail, perspiring like the very first fish that sweated out the oceans, toiling like the first man who shoveled in all the land. He paused and panted and climbed and panted and paused, until finally, having seen enough, the helpful Dragon swooped down from above, seized the metal-plated man in his hard claws, and said, "Here, I shall carry you the rest of the way myself." Up towards the top of the cliff they soared. But the eldest nephew was a violent and unstable man, and he began to hack at the Dragon's legs with his blade! You see how people are. Wretches. Well, you mustn't stab the hand that carries you. Down fell the Knight, Pow-Crumple-Ouch, and his sword lay broken, his armor lay smashed, his body lay shattered. Weakling.

The second nephew, Raoul Rockbelly, was at least as formidable and fearsome as his cousin, and almost as impatient. He thanked his good fortune that his armor had been in the shop getting polished that first day, or it would have been him on the rocks. After seeing that weapons and strength were ineffective against the mighty Dragon, he thought it meet to try subterfuge and speed instead. He spent seven minutes or so concocting a plan, and then the first night, he too began his assault. Once it was dark, he snuck down to the Dragon's Cliff, and went up a different way, in case the dragon was watching the first route. With ropes and a grappling hook, wires, pulleys and a pocket hang-glider, somehow the second nephew made his way to the top of the cliff, and then scaled the tower and went in at a window. With no armor, no shield, and only the special-sharp all-kinds-of-nasty assassin's dagger Dunwithya, the stealthy night stalker prowled from room to room searching for his quarry. Finally, the ever-so-thoughtful Dragon realized that this poor gentleman in his tower must simply have lost his way, because people can't see well in the dark like dragons can. So, "Here, have some light," the generous Dragon supplied, breathing some fire to light up the night. But sadly, not only had the second nephew lost his way in the dark, but he had forgotten the old saw about 'Never wear flammable clothing around sources of ignition.' The Dragon, eager to make up for this mistake, snatched the second burning nephew and carried him out to sea, and dropped him in the kind, cooling waters. But perhaps his sharp talons had clutched the unarmored man a little too tightly ("just trying to get a good grip"), or perhaps the second nephew was just not as good at swimming as he was at climbing ("I didn't take him that many miles out", In any case, he was never seen again.

After witnessing his first cousin's fate, and hearing rumors of his second cousin's demise, the king's youngest and most meager nephew, Federico Featherbelly, was in no great hurry to vie for the throne. "I've always wanted to be a dentist anyway, actually," he was heard to say. But shame is a more powerful motivator than greed, lust or envy, and eventually the mutterings of the population made him resign himself to his doom. He strapped on his wooden sword ("It has served me well since I was a child)", and packed his dentist's tools in his backpack, as a future source of livelihood in some distant country perhaps, on the odd chance that he might chicken out. ("It's been known to happen".) Well, poor Federico Featherbelly wasn't much of an adventurer, and after walking half a mile towards the cliff, he was getting hungry already. So it was, that when a playing child said to him, "Cool sword!" he gladly swapped it for the child's cheese sandwich. He ate half the sandwich, then saved the other half because it would probably be a long trip to a distant country. Can't fight the dragon without that wooden sword, after all, so away we go. But the poor youth wasn't much of a map-reader, either, and somehow while evacuating himself to a distant country he wound up losing his bearings and knocking at the door of a "friendly-looking tower" for directions. When the dragon opened the door, Federico Featherbelly was flabbergasted.

" _How may I help you?" asked the polite dragon._

Panicked, and not knowing what else to do, the youngest nephew offered the dragon the other half of his cheese sandwich, and said simply, "Here, I brought you this." Well, anyone who is sent to slay you and instead brings you a cheese sandwich, has the makings of a friend. So they talked like friends; the good-hearted Dragon was apologetic about the misunderstandings with the first two gentlemen, and they discussed their mutual dilemmas. "I can't go back and claim the kingdom because you're here," Federico explained honestly.

" _I'm only here because of my own problems," the Dragon explained. "Gotta wicked toothache. I thought if I did a good job ruling this up-for-grabs kingdom, the people would learn to trust me. Without trust, well, what dentist is going to aid me, when I ask them to stick their head in my mouth? 'Yeah, the one in back...just a little further.' Would you?"_

" _I would if we were friends," Federico Featherbelly assured him, and then startled the Dragon by taking out his dental tools and giving a surprisingly good zinc and copper filling. (Everybody's good at something.) Fair's fair, a deal's a deal, so the honorable Dragon put the youth on his shoulders, and flew him back to the courtyard, told all the people what had happened, and promised to return to his own island forever. Whereupon all the people cheered, the sentimental Dragon got a tear in his eye knowing they finally liked him, they really liked him! and off he flew."_

"And here I am," the Dragon concluded, as he swung his front legs off the couch and onto the floor, and started to stretch forward as though he might advance. "You got a cheese sandwich for me?"

Luke had never in his life wished so hard for a cheese sandwich. "No, no sandwich," he admitted. "But I'd give it to you if I had one!"

"Would you? Well, it's the thought that counts," the Dragon acknowledged, and sank back onto his couch. Then he asked, "So, do you know what the moral of the story is?"

Luke thought quickly. "Well, after the first two princes failed, I considered the verse, _'The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong'_ , but then after the third prince won the kingdom, _'The meek shall inherit the earth_ ' seemed to work.

The Dragon gave a sardonic smile, and said wryly, "And here I was thinkin' it was something as simple as 'Don't mess with dragons'. But, if you're going to look to the Bible for a conclusion, why not this one? _'He who would be a friend must first show himself friendly'_ " Then he complimented Luke, "You've done all right at that, so far. You may leave intact."

But Luke didn't leave. He still had to find out about his father. At first he had been reluctant to ask for fear of provoking the Dragon... now he was reluctant to ask for fear of the answer! He had noticed fresh blood on the floor, as he scanned the area while the Dragon was talking. So instead he asked, hoping a positive answer would reassure him of his father's safety, "Are you a Christian?"

The Dragon was a little surprised by this question, but answered honestly, though indirectly. "I believe that God created us, and sustains us--through every warm meal, every hot breath, every night and every morning. You could even call me a servant of God: I hoard the treasure so men won't fight over it..."

"If there is treasure, we fight over that. If there is none, we fight over the lack," Luke observed sadly.

The Dragon laughed, sputtering small flames. "And am I to blame for that?" Then the Dragon wondered why Luke had asked after his spiritual status: "But why do you ask?"

"Well, your knowledge of the Bible for one thing...and the little church..."

"Ah. I used to attend sometimes. A nomadic man named Paul built it for me, quite some time ago, on one of his voyages. But it's really too small for me, and I can't get around the local zoning ordinances to build an expansion..."

Luke pressed on, curiously: "But also the strange writings all over your island!" Luke went on to explain about the verses he had seen carved in stone, signed in blood, and written in sand. The Dragon was quite interested by this account.

"How intriguing! This is the first time in a great while that anyone has seen Scripture verses in all three! You must be very single-minded... or someone is looking out for you. One or the other. Because those messages are not the same for everyone who reads them. It's more like, you see what you want to see. A lot of things in life are like that, actually," the Dragon added, to minimize their magic; then grinned as he remembered, "The last guy who came here, for example: He sure must have liked money, coz he saw in the stone a page of hot stock tips. In blood was written, what was it? oh yes, what else: college football predictions. And drawn in the sand was an actual treasure map, pointing him to my tower! So along he came, knocked on the door, tapped his palm and said with a grin, 'Give me all your treasure, pleeease!'"

Luke's heart fell. Who else could that be but his father? "What did you do to him?" Luke finally asked.

"Why, we fought, of course. Even good Dragons reserve the right to self-defense. I'll tell you, I admired the old guy's spirit though! Well past his prime, yet here he comes with his gnarled, knotty old muscles and a pair of brass knuckles and just starts punching away! No armor, just an undershirt! No vast armies, just one craven retainer who merely peeked through the window and drew pictures! (I _did_ look quite dashing in his sketches I must say.) No shields, no swords, just an old fashioned donnybrook! Best fight I've had in ages!" Luke was starting to get angry as the Dragon laughed about the incident. He was just about to go for his sword and show Daniel Speedboy what fast really is, when the Dragon went on, just in time, "I decided, any guy that puts himself at a disadvantage like that, deserves a fair fight. So I didn't use my fiery breath. Just kept it knuckle and claw the whole way. We fought for hours! A veritable saga! And eventually we called it a draw. I got a couple good swats in," the Dragon said, indicating some of the blood on the floor, "But then, so did he! A worthy rival! Chipped a tooth I think, and also knocked that filling loose! I'll have to go back and visit my friend, Featherbelly the First!" At least the Dragon was laughing about it.

Luke felt like laughing too. He started to grow ecstatic, feeling as though his father had been lost, and now he had received him back from the dead. "A draw you say? So what happened then?"

"Well, we ate some bacon , and then I tried to console him about not getting the treasure. (In the event of a draw, the champion retains the belt, after all. Plus I don't think he wanted a rematch after he saw the way I cooked the bacon--it kind of showed him I had a little more gas in my tank, so to speak!) I told him, 'Some things are more valuable than treasure', and he says back to me, 'A good fight, for example.' Which wasn't what I had in mind, but hey, so long as he went away happy..." the Dragon finished, getting happy himself as he remembered a friend.

"So what _did_ you have in mind, when you told him that?" Luke said curiously. He didn't like loose ends.

"Surely you must know. What would you rather have than treasure?"

"Love," Luke said first, wistfully remembering Jenny. Then remembered the rest of his quest, and added, "God."

"Ah, of course," the Dragon acknowledged.

"So where will I find them?" Luke asked, thinking if dragons are so good at hoarding treasure, they must first know where to find it...

"If you find one, you find both," the Dragon reminded him. Then he drew on Luke's own experience: "Where is treasure usually hidden? It might be buried deep--in which case you have to dig down deep to uncover it. Or... it could be near at hand, right out in the open, so that it will be overlooked." Luke nodded, thinking of occasions when conquered people had tried to fool the Huns with just that trick, putting their good pearls on toddlers so that they might be overlooked as toy jewelry, and so on. But a Hun always finds the treasure in the end. The Dragon was finishing: "But, what if it's both at once? Down deep, and near at hand."

Luke added both words to his notes later, to remember the riddle by. "But how can it be both?" Luke puzzled. Logically, they seemed to contradict one another.

"Ah. See? That's what makes it a good hiding spot. But once you know, then you'll _Know_. Y'know?" Then the Dragon laughed, and made a quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a square object wrapped in foil. "In the meantime, have a cheese sandwich! For the journey."

Luke thanked the Dragon, they said their good-byes, and he walked out the door with light steps: happy his father was still alive, and happy he was alive too!

But as soon as he got outside the door, he got a scare again. There was Bert! Coming up the path with a macabre smirk and bloody sword drawn! "Put that away, quick! What if the dragon sees you?"

"Well, that's who I came for, after all," Bert said defiantly. "Thought you might need some help in battle."

"No, he's a class act. We talked. He gave me a cheese sandwich. Here," Luke offered. Bert took it and started eatin'. Luke was impressed that Bert had come to his aid, and said so. " _Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends_."

"What?" Bert acted surprised, and then downplayed it, like it was no big thing. "I wasn't fixin' to lay down any such thing, bro. We was gonna win! Besides, it takes a pretty good friend to give up his last cheese sandwich too. Even a stale rubbery one," (chewing hard, and looking at it with concern.)

"I'll tell you the story sometime," Luke said with a chuckle. "But how did you get blood on your sword?"

"I figured I would do some hunting while you were gone. Give us an excuse for taking so long. I slew a boar. It's in the boat. But then when you still weren't back, I figured you must have come here."

Luke was nervous. "Slew a boar? That's probably the Dragon's personal food supply. Kind of like poaching. We better get out of here fast."

They hurried back through the jungle towards their boat. Luke had hoped to look at the three messages together, to see what they might see then, but they had to make a beeline. He did ask if Bert had seen them, though, as they jogged.

"Oh yeah, there was something written in the sand over there: I was going to ask if you had written it. It was the entire poem, the one I told you about! 'My father moved through dooms of love'."

Luke got a little chill. "Nope, not me. Must have been someone else." He smiled, as he could see that then Bert was the one to get the chill. "Was there something written in blood, on a tree?" Luke prompted.

"There was," Bert acknowledged. But he didn't say what. When Luke asked for more, Bert finally said, with an uncharacteristic seriousness, "We'll just let that be a secret. Between me and Jesus." Luke smiled a second time at that, thinking maybe his friend Bert had found what he needed to find too.

"And on the stone wall?" Luke wondered.

Bert became more like himself again, with a patented half-grin as he proudly proclaimed, "Knock-knock jokes! Good ones!"

Luke wanted to find out what they were, so he tried to start: "Knock-knock."

"Who's there?" Bert asked--and then Luke was stuck, and realized he had done it wrong. They had a laugh. "OK, Knock-knock," Bert accommodated him.

"Who's there?"

"Island."

"Island who?"

"Isl- 'and you a box of Girl Scout cookies if you hand me THREE DOLLARS!" Palm stretched forth for effect, even. Luke groaned, and Bert went on to the next one. "Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"Dragon."

"Dragon who?"

"D' ragon is loaded, come hitch up the horses and let's go!" Bert delivered the last punchline right as they reached their boat, so it seemed like a good one to speed them on their way. They hopped in the whaleboat, hitched up their own figurative horses, and hurried safely away from Dragon Isle.

# Chapter 31: Serpent St. Helena

"Wisdom strengtheneth the wise more than ten mighty men which are in the city." Ecclesiastes 7:19

Other than the things they saw there, the trip to Dragon Isle may have been unnecessary, for almost as soon as they were back to the ship, the miraculous gale they had talked about _did_ blow up, and they began to make good time once again.

The down side was, the rough wind never let up, and the squall soon blew itself up into days and nights of stormy weather: sails stripped, waves constantly crashing, sailors being tossed tumultuously from side to side (pausing in the middle occasionally to batten stuff down) as the ship bobbed like a cork in black water. They kept waiting for the storm to break, but it never did.

Now, after a fruitless mission to Atlantis, long doldrums in the southern seas, and presently more than their share of hard weather, Admiral Jack was not in a very good mood. The Sea and the Skies were pretty angry too, but Jack was better at it.

Never a patient man, Jack's emotions finally got the better of him, and he did something that his shrewdness and experience should never have allowed. He cursed the angry Sea.

Bert and Luke had enjoyed the privilege of seeing the sensitive side of the Sea, back in Atlantis. But now they, and the whole crew, caught a glimpse of her ruthless side. Seemingly no sooner than the Admiral had waved his fist in anger, Gonzales let out an anguished cry from his position as a lookout. The crew looked up, and they saw him pointing fearfully out into the darkness. Following his horrified stare, they looked out into the brine. There, not seventy yards from the ship, had suddenly surfaced the black and languid coils of a fearsome beast which could only be the dreaded Sea Serpent! Nay, still worse: a Tidal Snake!

The crew froze, paralyzed with fright. There was little time to wonder whether it was Jack's curse that had brought her, or whether she might have been stirred up by the storm, or (Luke suddenly grew fearful), perhaps like when Bert had killed the Dragon's boar, maybe they had been poaching her fish all these weeks. Most of the men began instead to say their hasty and long-forgotten prayers. Even dangerous Robespierre the Harpoonist fell to his knees and began to repent of all his acts of viciousness and spite (it was a pretty extensive list.) It may have helped to clear his soul, but unfortunately it didn't stop the Serpent from approaching their ship! On she came, relentlessly: slowly spinning her huge coils closer and closer to the comparatively small and fragile TrogDogJonah--in a water-churning, stomach-turning, harbor-yearning, long tense moment. In a poor omen, they watched even their erstwhile ship's-mascot, Jack the Fat Black Rat, scurry down a rope and into the ocean.

Jack shouted apologies to the Sea, and begged for mercy for his innocent crew. But the Sea is not very merciful, and she doesn't believe in innocence. And the serpent continued to roll herself closer to the ship, with the same water-roiling, monster-coiling, trousers-soiling inexorable progression.

Just when the beast was right upon them, it disappeared from view, under the waves. There was a rather appropriate moment of silence, as the crew held their breath and sweated fear, waiting to see whether their prayers had prevailed or whether the serpent was only gathering herself to strike.

Silence. Stillness. Emptiness. Watching. Waiting. Someone daring to skitter to the edge. Peering into the Deep. The stirrings of a faint, false hope. Then a few stray bubbles. A dark shadow sliding beneath darker waters. And suddenly a surge of furious motion as the waters opened in an eruption that left the crew gaping and gasping.

The Serpent struck with speed and strength, rearing her head out of the water and diving across the width of the ship, several times, wrapping the poor wooden vessel in her muscular coils. She began to squeeze, and the timbers of The Jonah began to crack and splinter.

In a desperate bid to save his ship and his mates, Jack seized the prostrate Robespierre's harpoon, and he stabbed the broad body of the beast. It's answer was fierce and foreseeable: the head reared up again, and razor teeth snapped angrily at the offender, biting off Jack's right hand and sending him tumbling towards the back of the boat. He shook and screamed and retched, and his crew did likewise.

It was instantly plain that they could not successfully fight the Serpent. Nor, with miles of rough sea around them, could they flee its wrath. That left them with no practical options to save themselves, except, as Luke shouted to his Admiral, remembering his own success with the Dragon, "Maybe we should try to talk to it?"

Bleeding Jack shot back scornfully, "Do you speak SeaMonster?"

"No, Luke admitted. "But I know a little Portuguese!"

He gave it a shot, and as luck would have it, the Sea Serpent did speak Portuguese! The universal language of the sea, after all. (Spoken in every Port.) Within moments, Luke had convinced the beast to relax its grip on their poor poor pitiful ship, and then after several more minutes of whispered conversation, during which the crew watched in dread and wonder, Luke kissed the Serpent on the forehead, petted her neck, and she unwound and slid back into the water, leaving The TrogDogJonah battered but intact.

"What happened?" Jack demanded. That's what everyone wanted to know.

"We had a nice little chat. Her name was Helena. She was surprised and kinda glad to hear someone speak her language, so that made it easier for me to talk her into letting us live. Actually, she was pretty sweet. She didn't have anything against us at all until Jack went and stabbed her. She was not very forgiving about that, Admiral. I had to pretend that I was the Captain, and you were the cook, to beg her mercy: I told her that she shouldn't bite the hand that feeds us."

Besides having his pride hurt, Jack was incredulous and outraged. "What do you mean she meant no harm! That monster was crushing our ship! We would have all been killed!"

Luke explained calmly, "She didn't mean to crush our ship. She was only trying to give us a hug! She thought our ship looked awfully lonely out here, so she was trying to be friendly. She's a very loving individual really." Jack held up the stump that Che had quickly bandaged. He glared at Luke through the void where his hand had lately been, and he just shook his head, Nuh-No. Luke realized he wouldn't be able to change the Admiral's mind about her, but he went ahead and told his tale anyway, for the rest of the sailors. They listened, fascinated.

"She was concerned about us. She said to me: _'You must be lost...'_ Well, Navigator Humphrey always knows where we're going, so I replied, playfully, in a sing-song voice: ' _We're_ not lost! _We_ know the way home!' She surprised me then. Said she meant me in particular. Told me, _'He that walketh with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.'_ Sorry, you guys must not have made a very good first impression is all," Luke apologized to his mates, looking accusingly at the Admiral. "Then she told me this, to help me find my way..." Luke said, and paused. Since the crew had been praying already, he mustered his courage and added, "But I think she would want me to share it with you guys too. _'When I stopped being a little girl sea-serpent, and it was time to strike out on my own, and make my own migrations, and hunt my own fish, I was at first afraid. But my Nana Monster reassured me with these words, to help me trust my instincts and to find my own course:_

No começo, você seguir a Deus. No meio, seguir a Deus. No final, você seguir a Deus. Devo desenhar um mapa para você?'

Some of the sailors nodded, as though they would remember it.

By the time Luke finished telling about the SeaSerpent, the sky had cleared, the waves had calmed, the wind had dissipated. As though she had taken the storm with her when she left. ("Now how did she do that?" even Luke wondered.) On the horizon, they even could see land! Greece, actually, Navigator Humphrey informed them. There was a cheer.

"There ya go," Bert told his buddy. "You've been looking for God, right? Well rumor is, they've got a whole pantheon of 'em in Greece, so you oughta be able to find at least a couple."

"One will do."

The ship soon found the safe harbor the crew had been praying for, and Luke helped unload the TrogDogJonah for the last time. "This is where we spend our winters. Nice, huh? So you guys are on your own now. If you want to catch a ride back, I'll be putting a crew back together in a few months," the Admiral informed the new guys.

Luke was a little disappointed to hear about the long layover. Yeah he felt there was something to learn in Greece, but a few months worth? He hoped that this didn't slow down his mission yet again. Then, restless, he decided to deal with that later--right now he wanted to get to shore and get searchin'.

As the rest of the crew spread out to the local bars, Luke headed inland again, to see what was in store for him.

"Wait for me!" called Bert, as he hurried to tag along. Thinking of that pretty redhead he had seen Luke with in Prince Edward Island, he explained with a shrug, "You always seem to find the good stuff."

After hiking crooked roads through the Greek hills for several hours, Luke had already decided that it wasn't all it had been cracked up to be. He was enjoying the thriving countryside, the olive trees, and the pretty ocean blue, but he was also getting tired, and tired of being there. For one thing, everybody they met spoke Greek! No Hun-Language, no English, no Portuguese. In retrospect, Luke realized he shoulda expected that. "But how am I gonna learn from these people if I can't even understand 'em?" What had begun with so much hope and promise was starting to let sorrow seep in already.

It was evening now, and scout-brother Luke was steering them towards a big mountain that he saw up ahead, because they were going to need a place to crash soon, and he remembered, Mountains have Caves, and Caves are Great.

When they reached the foot of the mountain, they checked it out and went Wow. It was a big sweet mountain, kind of intimidating and yet pretty pretty. It rose up above the clouds, so Luke had no idea just how high it might go. That made him feel excited and mystified. Better still...a few hundred feet up the mountain, there was a huge and glorious stone structure. "Now _that's_ what _I_ came to see," Bert said cheerfully. Luke looked around at the pretty much empty land around the mountain, and wondered what this building was doing there in the middle of nowhere, 'coz as near as he could tell it looked like it must be a magnificent Hotel complex. Piazzas and patios! Columns and colonnades! Balconies and balustrades! And one spiral, marble minaret that looked like a towering, sparkling cruller.

There was a classy colory path leading up the mountainside to the hotel, made of tumbled semi-precious stones. They went down that road when they came to it. Luke opened the mahogany door with the golden knob, and they stepped into the lobby. It was air-conditioned.

They looked around at all the luxury. It sure was some place. They strolled across the leopardskin rug and talked to the man at the front desk. Not that Luke expected that their meager fisherman's wages would fix them up in a place like this, but you never know unless you ask. So he asked the man at the desk, "Does anybody here speak English?" The employee didn't answer, but he seemed to vaguely understand what was wanted, and he went to get the manager.

The manager came, speaking perfect English. He looked like a tough cracker, with a strong jaw and a couple of scars. Luke accurately pegged him as a hockey player. Bert's calculating eye added the fact that the manager was either Canadian, or the closest thing to it that the pretty planet of Timnalauren had to offer. He welcomed them with a hearty smile, "Welcome to Mount Olympus. I am called Hough."

The name rang a bell, and Luke realized that oh-yeah, this guy had played in the big leagues, with the Central Silt Rink Rats, the New Owen Sound Platers, and even the Quebec Nordiques! "Wow. You are my idol," Luke told him. "What are you doing here?"

"You shouldn't have idols; we're all just people," Hough pointed out in response to Luke's first remark. Then he answered the question: "I came here when I retired, and used my hockey-capital to invest in this hotdoggin' hotel. I wanted to call it the Hotel Cass, but the name was taken, so I just called her the Hotel Hough instead. Not bad, eh?"

Luke looked around, and admired the waterfall and wishing pool in the lobby, and the crystal chandeliers, and the jade sculptures and the silver-plated mirrory walls which made the room seem larger, brighter, labyrinthine and dreamy. "I'll say!" Luke agreed. "This place is very luxurious. I think it would be quite a treat to stay here, but I guess I won't be able to. It must cost a fortune."

Hough-the-muscular-guy-in-cutoffs-and-a-T-shirt shrugged his hands to say No Worries. "Hey, whatever you can afford. I'm flexible. Especially when it means a chance to help some fellow countrymen," he stated generously.

"You mean someone who speaks the same language," Luke corrected. "We're not exactly from the same country. I'm a Hun..."

"And I'm a hockey player. If that don't make us brothers-in-arms I don't know what would." Hough slid keys across the counter, and politely accepted Luke's offering of two copper coins, and Bert's contribution of two pewters.

Luke was grateful for Hough's generosity, but he was also puzzled, and pointed out, "You'll never get ahead if you let people stay in this expensive hotel for next to nothing, you know."

Hough smiled and said that Yeah he knew that but, "I'm not trying to get ahead. 'Coz I've already got one! Right here on top of my thick neck."

Luke liked this perspective, but still he wondered, "Why then did you build this beauty-full hotel, if not-ta get rich?"

Hough was taken aback, since wasn't the answer so simple? "Why, I thought I would like being here. And I thought I might like running my own business. And I thought other people might like coming (from far and wide) to visit Mt. Olympus, and staying at this lovely mansion-like hotel complex. And ya know what, son? I was right."

Luke, ever the idealistic young dreamer, was uplifted. "Wow. A guy who cares not about money, but about enjoying life and helping others do the same. I am impressed."

Hough was humble. "Heck, what else matters? Make the most of Life. It's all you've got." (Then he remembered, _'oh yeah...and millions of dollars in the bank!'_ . But he smiled, and kept that part to himself.)

Luke liked that way of summing it up, and he told Hough, "Right on. Yeah, I'm trying to make the most of life too. That's how I came to be here in Greece--a friend told me that I should look for God, and Bert here told me that there are a lot of gods in Greece."

Hough was surprised. "Well, if that's your mission, you are closer than you think. This here mountain is Mount Olympus. Local tradition has it that this is the home of the gods! They say if you risk the journey up this mountain, above the clouds, you may chance to witness the gods themselves. That's all I can tell you though, coz bein' a furriner I don't know too much about local customs, and bein' a hockey player I don't know too much about God." Luke was intrigued nevertheless by the curious possibilities, and he resolved to set off up the mountainside in the morning.

In the meantime, Hough insisted that Bert and Luke should hang out with him and his two fellow anglophone buddies, Gillis the Bartender and Donnelly the Bouncer. They sat around and had a couple beverages. (Counting like a true Canadian, Bert pointed out, with a mug in each hand, that as long as you keep filling up a glass before it gets empty, it technically only counts as one long drink.) As they sipped, they told stories about hockey, fighting, and other assorted lawlessness; and about the other side of the sea; and about Greek girls, and everywhere-else girls. Then once they really got to partying, Gillis broke out his saxophone to go along with Luke's guitar, while the other guys sang blues tunes, and drinking songs, and sea shanties.

After a while Luke excused himself, insisting that while he _was_ havin' a ball, he thought maybe he better go to bed--because wouldn't it be a good idea to get a good night's sleep before meeting God in the morning?

# Chapter 32: One Day

"Therefore also now, saith the LORD, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning: And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the LORD your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil." Joel 2:12-13

After a brief but meaningful rest on the most comfortable bed he had ever met, Luke awoke from his wonderful dreams about his dear friend Bridgette with whom he had fallen in love, so long ago, so early in the journey. He laughed upon awaking, happy to have thought of her, and then he sighed wistfully recalling her beauty and charm, and he wondered with amused regret what the young woman was doing now. Living in holiness, innocence, and the love of God, no doubt. Luke sighed again, coz that sounded good to him too. But how? Then he shrugged and smiled out the picture window at the picture-perfect southern autumn day. Seeing the Top-Notch Day made Luke remember what else Bridgette had advised him: One Day, or One Night, is all it would take, to come to know the Lord.

Maybe it was like Bert had said, when you get farthest away God draws you near, coz Luke _was_ tired of searching, tired of traveling so far away from home and from people he loved, tired of hearing but not understanding (all the Greek-speakin' people lately were an even more concentrated example, of what he had begun to think had happened all along!) Tired especially of being old, godless Luke. New day, new chance, Bert had told him. So Luke quickly got an idea, a hope, a wish, and it just as quickly turned into a prayer: "Lord, let this be the day!"

A broad smile, and a feeling of weightlessness. As soon as he had said it, he realized it was more than a request: it was a commitment, a contract, a covenant. So why not try to keep it? There was a strong sense that it would be well worth the effort. Words floated through his head. Who was it that had told him that, _'My yoke is easy and my burden is light'_? Oh yeah, that was Jesus... Luke began to feel even more sure about this decision, with every second. What was the rule Sister Kitt had made for the sick children? 'Only good things can happen now'.

My rule too, vowed Luke. After doing twice as many push-ups as usual, and hitting the shower, Luke stepped strongly down the staircase to the lobby, where he met his friend and host the noble Hough, still a little bloodshot and bleary, yet already about an owner's numberless tasks, carrying pliers and a case of detergent. "You're up early," Luke remarked.

"That's how it is when you run your own business," Hough said back. He steered Luke to the breakfast table and ordered cornflakes, and some very delicious pancakes prepared by the better-than-Che-Vanier chef Roland Thompson. Luke said Grace real quick, remembering how that was done from having watched his friend Sarah at Iowa State in the old days. But then Luke got an idea: he remembered reading how the Israelites had often fasted when they sought God's favor. Couldn't hurt, he decided. Not that it was part of any magic formula. Just a gesture of selflessness... of submission (he remembered Tom's word, with a tingle) 'Can I manage that?' he asked himself. And answered: 'For God I can.'

Surprised to see a hearty-appetited Hun say no to a good meal, Hough tempted him with the well-meant advice, borrowing Luke's own formula from the night before: "Might be a good idea to start the day with a good breakfast too, if you're going to meet God. Plus all that climbing."

But Luke remembered that it was written also, _'I have meat to eat that ye know not of_ ', and repeated it.

"Suit yerself. More for me!" Hough the Hockey Player said quickly, and fell ravenously upon the rest of the pancakes with no more wasted breath. Luke was glad to see them vanish rapidly, coz he reeeally wasn't all that good around temptation.

'Well-fed' and exuberant, it was time to begin his ascent. Not that Luke necessarily believed the Mt. Olympus stories, but hey, it's as good a place as any. At least it would be free of distractions. So Luke shook hands with the good man Hough, and he promised he would be back within a few days to collect his guitar (it's hard to climb a mountain with your hands full), and to tell the story of his adventures on the heights of Mt. Olympus. Bert was still sleeping, but that was better anyway, Luke decided. Not just that he didn't want Bert tagging along and getting in the way of his tête-à-tête with God, but also...if he didn't say goodbye now, then he would have to make sure to come back down and say it later. (Gives me that much more insurance against falling, Luke reasoned with Hun-logic.)

It was a perilous climb indeed; a hard struggle, barehanded and solo. It became all the more challenging when Luke reached the low and sullen ceiling of clouds. Then, pressing on into their cover, he realized fog-shrouded that he no longer had much visibility for finding handholds. Nervous and weary, Luke thought perhaps his best bet would be to turn back, but quickly discovered that it was even harder to find the footholds when one was moving downwards. Oops. Luke shrugged and smiled: "I guess the message is, Go on". So on he pressed, with many a silent and desperate prayer, made all the more fitting, Luke mused, given the nature of his journey.

Someone must have heard his thoughts, for indeed he emerged at long last safely from the moist and dangerous clouds, and exulted when he felt the warm and strengthening rays of his brother-the-sun. He looked back at the cotton floor, whose highest white wisps still danced around his waist, and he smiled at the sunlit glory. Then he looked upwards, to the unending morning-bright sky, and he knew he had arrived. The last few hundred yards of climbing went swiftly, his strength renewed and his heart impatient to see its desire.

So it was with a little disappointment that he reached the pinnacle. Sure, it was a relief to have made it safely, and quite an achievement, but... "Where is everybody?" He had been half-expecting some kind of big party, and laughed at himself now for allowing such a thought. So much for the stuff about 'The Home of the gods.' There weren't even any tables or chairs around.

But after a long climb, and an even longer journey getting to the mountain in the first place, Luke did the natural thing. He sat down to wait. After all, maybe they had gone to visit friends for the weekend, or were just out mowing the lawn or something.

Normally, while waiting, Luke liked to sit and play the guitar. But it had been too unwieldy to climb with, and he had left it with Hough. So Luke did the next best thing. He _had_ been able to tuck his Bible into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back, and so now he was able to take it out and start reading.

It didn't take long before a verse jumped out at him: _'But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.'_

Luke took inventory again. He asked himself the first part first: Do I believe that He is? Kinda. But 'kind of' didn't cut it. That was pretty far from faith.

Then Luke thought about his friend, the wonderful Miss Hosanna. What had she said? _Take the obstacles out of the way one by one, and you'll get to the Truth._

Hmm. Luke realized that despite his promise to look into it further, he hadn't even taken away the first obstacle! He recalled what the Caveman had tried to tell him. If God made the heavens and the earth, and all that therein is, well then not only must God exist, but he must reign in power and might! That seemed obvious to Luke: As soon as you believe in God, you must submit to Him and worship Him. What else?

But what of the alternative explanations? Such as the idea that one animal turned into another until they all existed. Now _that_ sounded like a Greek fable, something from Metamorphoses: people being turned into trees, and deer, and whatnot. But then again, Luke didn't want to dismiss it just because it sounded strange. That would be unfair. There were parts of the Bible that sounded a little strange too.

So how to tell which story was true? Luke decided that he couldn't help but be swayed by what matched up more with his own experience. Had he ever seen one animal giving birth to another? Hardly. Dogs always had puppies. Horses always had foals. Huns always begat more ferocious Huns. (Sigh.) True, those who told the story always qualified it with, _'it happens so slowly that you don't notice the change.'_ Well isn't that convenient, Luke harumphed. You can't see it happening huh? So in other words, they're just assuming that it must have happened, based on the fact that so many different animals now exist.

Laying aside what he thought of people who assume, Luke wondered why they had gone to all the trouble of concocting their own elaborate explanation, when there was already a simpler one available: God created all things. (There ya go.) And wasn't the simpler explanation supposed to be better? Certainly as a simple Hun, Luke preferred it. But he remembered that there was a philosophical rule, Occam's Razor, that also favored it. (He had taken a philosophy course in college, just to prove that he could do it. Well, just to prove that he couldn't, anyway.)

God as Creator was simpler, but was it better? Luke weighed that, and decided that he thought so: It seemed more reasonable to think the same Creator had given each creature those features which it would need, than to try to put together a sequence in which they had "evolved". The lobster and the armadillo both have armored hides. Does that make them cousins? The bird, the bat and the bugs all have specialized bodies designed for flight. And yet one is a bird, one is a mammal, and one is a bug. Hardly the same evolutionary path. The kangaroo, the frog and the flea all are perfectly put together for jumping and leaping. Did one come from the other? Luke couldn't see it. Speaking of frogs, did they pass their longue tongue on to their sons the anteaters? It seemed unlikely. And best of all, Luke remembered his own friends the whales. How did the story go? The fish turned into amphibians, turned into reptiles, turned into mammals, and then the whales took back to the seas again and wound up looking so much like fish again that they even had a fish called a "whale shark". Extravagant, to say the least. It made more sense, Luke realized happily, to believe that God had done just what the testimony said: given frogs the perfect body for a frog, given whales the perfect body needed by a whale, and given humans the perfect body needed to act like a human! (Luke couldn't help but flex and pose down for a couple minutes, thinking of the 'perfect body' part. Lookin' good after all those push-ups, after all.)

Then again, what assumptions did the creation story itself demand? Miracles would have to be possible. But what's hard about miracles, for a powerful God? Besides, hadn't Luke also himself seen some signs and wonders on his journey? Like hints, whispers, promises of miracles! Certainly he had seen them more often now that he was willing to look for them. From the way they talked, he suspected his Christian friends had seen even more certain ones. Definitely the disciples had!

Encouraged, Luke concluded, Yes, God is possible.

But better yet, he could almost imagine what his friend Caveman might say, speaking his lawyer's language: "Who makes a better witness? The one who can tell you what happened from the beginning , or the one that came upon the scene midway through the event?" Not only did that make an eternal and omnipresent God a more reliable witness than secondhand science, but even the story attributed to Him was more complete. _'In the beginning God_ _created'_ . Not only does the story _have_ a beginning, but it stands as its own explanation: a perfect and eternal God _must_ always exist, by definition. The timeless axiom stands uncountered: Without God, nothing. Whereas any attempt to even conceive of things without God must always reach a point where it fails to answer the questions, _'before then, what? And why was that so?'_ And with no anchor, no foundation, that theory drifts aimlessly, looking for a sucker to latch on to.

So Luke went further than 'possible', and decided suddenly, "Yes. I think that God exists."

Now, that was some pretty hard thinkin' for a Hun, (any time they use the word 'whereas', it's like to cause a headache), so Luke had to rest for a few minutes, set for a spell, and simmer down. He closed his eyes, and felt the warm sun, and the cool wind, and heard the birds singin' pretty, far below. He smiled, and enjoyed the silence, and the warmth, and the good feeling all about him.

Then he opened his eyes suddenly, startled, as another idea came to him. He looked around about him for confirmation... At the grace-blue skies, the life-white clouds, the firm and enduring stones, and down below him the thriving trees and the teeming seas. His face shone as he realized they were all telling him the same thing: they too were all perfect, all made to support us, all finely knit into a good habitat, a wonderful home! And the whole planet seemed to be crying out to Luke, (with happy voices), that he was not wrong! that his second thought was also true! "Yes. It feels like God exists."

Thrilled, Luke tried to calm his quick heartbeat, as it all started to fall into place, as his whole hard journey suddenly seemed worthwhile. He put the brakes on. Whoa, time out. Remember, Luke: Your thoughts have been wrong before. A bunch of times. (A 'C-minus' in Calculus, and some poor play selections in a game against the Cornhuskers sprang to mind.) Your feelings have been wrong too. (He recalled his friend Sarah, back in college, whom he had been _so sure_ was in love with him!)

Luke took a deep breath. There was still a piece missing, then. Something to move the way he felt now, from just a thought, just a feeling, to a firm belief. Luke suffered a moment of nervousness, of doubt, of fear. Was he undone? Come close, but didn't quite get there, like the other times? All this hope and joy about to come to nothing?

Then his lips curled into a grin. Nope, not this time. He had prayed about it. This would be The Day!

It didn't take long to move beyond that moment of certainty, into actually finding the answer. He thought of Jenny. (Having already remembered Bridgette and Hosanna's lessons, it seemed appropriate to recall his #1 girl's advice too!) Her not-the-last words came leaping back to him with electric force, like they were God's own commandment. _Remember Love_.

Luke smiled. By now, he knew where to look for love. He looked out at the evening sky, and thought that it looked like love. He closed his eyes and felt the cool breeze without, and the warm fire recently kindled within, and thought that all this felt like love. But then, knowing a better way, Luke very patiently sat down, took out his Bible, and patiently read the full gospel of Christ once again, tears welling up as Jesus gave his life for our redemption.

That was love. Not a thought, not a feeling, but a firm act. "Thank you Jesus."

Luke rejoiced. Finally, he knew he had arrived. Decades of murk had become transparent. "Yes, I believe that God exists." But still humble, still knowing he had far to go, much to learn before becoming a good servant, he ventured the perfect partway prayer he had been saving up for so long. In submission and reverence, commitment and desire. _"Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief."_

What had Karla the Troll said, about ' _the peace that passeth understanding'_? "Much better," she had called it. Better than anything he could have imagined he was looking for. Luke laughed and sang and danced, and jumped, knowing at last what she meant.

Luke jumped even higher when he made another realization: he had asked God to let this be the day, and God had done just that! And now, Luke had just asked for help, sooo...

Luke could barely go to sleep that night, stomach twisting like a tornado, heart rushing like a railroad, knowing that more help was on the way!

# Chapter 33: Help from the Heavens

"But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith, which we preach; That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation." Romans 10:8-10

Luke finally calmed down and slept, but he was awakened from happy dreams by a whirring mechanical noise, and something coming. Scanning the forever sky he caught sight of a strange something, coming down to meet him. At first he wasn't sure what it could be. It glowed and sped like a meteor, but as it rapidly sank through the warm night air towards him Luke identified it as some sort of flying object. "Much too big for a bird, and there are no aircraft yet on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, so this here must be something of supernatural origin," Luke deduced. "Perhaps the 'chariot of the gods'!" he thought, remembering a phrase, and remembering where he was.

Then he grinned and got eager: True, that did sound implausible, especially after all that he had learned, and read, and at long last _believed_... but if it _was_ so, he could hardly wait to meet 'em! The object from the sky touched down gently on stilt-like landing gear, with a whirring roar and a cloud of dust swirling from its air turbulence during landing, like that of a modern-day heckicopter. This was no heckicopter however, as Luke could now plainly see the craft's form: saucer-shaped, carved of adrianated blue porcelain, and nearly thirty feet in diameter. "Wow. I'll bet you could fit a lot of _somebodies_ good in there, anyway," Luke guessed.

As a doorway opened in the underside of the craft and a mechanical staircase spiraled to the earth, only a solitary figure stepped forth however.

She seemed to be a young woman, but with healthy violet-hued skin--and quite a bit of it revealed too, by her bright red mini-dress. She was extraordinarily gorgeous, with sharply exotic features, smoky dark eyes, long and breathtaking brown hair, and a perfect and desirable figure including (the truth asks no pardon) the most seductive thighs imaginable. She smiled with milk-white teeth, and in a husky voice she said Hello.

For the first time in his life, Luke realized that the phrase breathtakingly beautiful was no mere metaphor, for indeed his breath was taken away, (and, coincidentally, his heart skipped a beat as well.) He fell to his knees, as any mortal man might, and he softly said, enraptured, "Wow! You must be a goddess!"

The young woman laughed, flattered and secretly proud, but also amused and humble. "No, of course not. Are there even such things? I am just a woman from another planet, an alien if you will. My name is Mikki."

Luke was impressed anyway, since he had never met an alien, and hadn't expected anything like this. "Wow," he said again, "You're very pretty for an alien." Mikki asked him to repeat that, and Luke gladly did.

Then she sharply scolded him, "That's racist, fella. The phrase you added, 'for an alien' implies that you have a stereotype that aliens aren't supposed to be pretty. Which is very foolish, considering that you've probably never met any other aliens. And it's even more foolish, considering that the exact opposite is true--as you can now plainly see!" She posed a little: a quick sensual movement, some kind of mincing, prancing, bit of dancing. Luke was smitten. Then Mikki thought about it some more and decided, "I could probably criticize you for being sexist, too. After all, your statement reveals that you think it's important for women to be pretty, so you can look at us as sex objects. I could easily get on your case about that... but I'll leave that lecture to some other woman, because, I'll admit it, I like being sexy!" she assured him with a wink.

Luke chuckled, agreed that he liked her being sexy too, and they became fast friends.

"My name is Luke the Hun," said guess who.

"Pleased to meet you," Mikki politely greeted him. Then she asked him, "Say, what are you doing on the top of this mountain? It's a long, hard climb, and not much to see once you get up here."

"Until you showed up that is," Luke pointed out. Then, fondly, "I'd say it was worth my trip."

Mikki laughed, flattered, and told him he was very kind. Then he wanted to know what had brought _her_ there, so she told him, "Well, I like to travel. See a few worlds, take in some new cultures. It's all about experience, man. The more you see, the more you know; and the more you feel, the more you Feel."

Luke was overjoyed. Of course! Someone with so much experience must have all kind of good lessons to share with him! Assuming that's why God had sent her, Luke tapped the palm of his hand and asked her for, "Wisdom, pleeease!".

That put Mikki on the spot. She sorted through her repertoire for something good to share with him. Hmm. Lotsa good recipes. (Her roomy spaceship had a spacious kitchenette.) A varied collection of song lyrics. A list of the best bars on each planet. The best dirty jokes from a thousand worlds. ('What did the naked mole rat say to the female earthworm?' _'I really dig you, girl.')_ 113 But what would pass for wisdom? She considered sharing the meditation techniques of the Monks of Fazzimalaren, or the Special Spiritual System of the Occultists of Cimberlin, but as she thought about those adventures now, they suddenly seemed empty and shallow: more fashionable than faithful, more trappings than truth. If it were not so, would she still be here, searching? Realizing she hadn't really gathered much real wisdom on her long, enjoyable journey, Mikki gave an empty-handed shrug, and offered a charming, "Oops!"

Luke was disappointed. He had been so sure she had come to help him! Thinking perhaps if he was more specific it might prompt a fuller response, Luke wondered, "Have you ever heard about Jesus Christ?"

Mikki said she had heard rumors, but had never paid them much attention. Just one of those things. Busy girl, after all.

It was then that Luke knew why God had sent her to him. Not for his benefit, but for hers? No, for his benefit too! Like Jenny had said, "Sometimes saying it helps make it true." Telling her about what he believed helped make Luke sure he believed it. Until then it had been like a good dream. Hearing his own voice speak the words in the still air, it finally seemed real, (and he rejoiced even more!) He gave Mikki his best recap of what had happened, how God had made the universe, and all people; and how people had sinned and separated themselves from God; and how Christ had come to take away the separation. Luke felt awkward at first to try to tell it, as a beginner; but the more he talked, the happier he got: it was easy to tell it, even for him. It was all so simple! He laughed at himself for not seeing it all along. As the two-year olds say, "Of course!"

Mikki's reaction was a little different. At first she was shocked to hear this gospel preached. Hardly proper interplanetary etiquette! Then she blushed a little at the sin part. Then she got a little intrigued by the Jesus part, all the miracles and grace. She never made it to the finality of Luke's 'of course', but she did manage a 'Hmm...'. Luke's sincerity and goodwill made an impression on her. Not only did the story have a happy ending, but it dealt with pretty serious subjects. Worth at least looking into, she now decided--especially since she was traveling and searching anyway. Might as well keep one eye open for more information, no? But right now, she had a date to keep...

Mikki laughed, as she checked her watch, and carefreely explained, "Gotta hurry now. There are lots of planets to visit, and a girl's gotta keep moving on. There's a planet called Earth not too many light years from here, and there's a city there I was wanting to check out before too long. Place called Seattle. Happenin' town. Good music and good joe. So you see, I really only have time for a brief stop here on this world. And Greece just happens to be the place with the best cuisine! And it _is_ almost breakfast, after all!" She asked if Luke wanted to come down and have a meal with her, and most men would have jumped at the chance, but Luke still felt there was maybe something more to learn on the mountain. (How had Tom put it? "The Spirit told me to stay.") So he told her he wasn't going down just yet.

As Mikki started to pick her way nimbly down the side of the mountain, Luke asked her country-boy-wisely, "Um, wouldn't it have been easier to land at the bottom of the mountain? Coulda saved y'self a climb." But she gave a quick and not-too-technical explanation involving liftoff, and fuel consumption, and gravity bein' easier to escape starting at the top of a mountain. "Besides," she said with a flirty wink, "Climbing is good for the legs." Luke nodded breathless agreement, and thanked her for her explanation, and then he wistfully watched her go down from Mount Olympus to have pancakes at the Hotel Hough with a clever man named Socrates.

Meanwhile, Luke sat beneath the sunrise sky and he waited for more blessings from heaven! Read a little, prayed a little, got up and danced a little, and then sat still and watched the golden morning. He was in a pretty good mood when Mikki came climbing back up.

She looked kinda sad. "What happened?" caring Luke asked, concerned.

"That Socrates guy is pretty smart, but..." she began. Then sighed. "All my gathering, all my gains, out the window! if what he said is true... He said something like, 'A wise man realizes that he knows nothing.' Something to that effect. I paraphrase. He was talkin' with his mouth full. It was gross." Then she lessened the blame a little, admitting, "They _were_ great pancakes though."

Luke looked positively upon the situation. "Sometimes it's better to begin with nothing! Get all the old baggage out of the way to make room for truth."

"But I've been looking everywhere, learning everywhere!" Mikki protested. It seemed like such a waste to start over!

"So maybe all the looking finally paid off. Maybe you finally found the one thing you needed to learn, for the rest to fall into place,." Luke optimistically projected.

That didn't add up, for Mikki. "But if I start over, clean slate, knowing nothing, then I'm going to have to travel to all the planets all over again!" She looked at her watch, disgusted by time constraints.

Luke had an idea, inspired by his own recent success: "Have you ever tried being still? Stop traveling for a while and just wait."

Remembering that this was the Christian kid, Mikki playfully remarked, "But if I stop, I might fall behind. God might get away from me!"

"Or, He might catch up with you," Luke pointed out.

There was something reassuring about that thought. About surrendering, and letting God Himself find her and rescue her. But she was still kind of skeptical. "I don't know, can you see it though? Me as a believer?" It didn't seem to fit with the fun, wild, old Mikki.

"So become a new Mikki! A better Mikki. Let God make you what He wants you to be," Luke repeated good counsel. "Who knows? Maybe you'll be the Witness to the Stars!"

Mikki laughed. "Ya think?"

"Hey, if _I_ can be a witness to the Huns..."

"So that's what you're going to do next then? Be a witness to the Huns?"

The thought had crossed his mind. Saying it and hearing her say it made it sound even better. But scary. Luke laughed. "Who knows? Come back and ask me that question in a year!" A year. That length of time jogged his memory, and Luke added the promise: "In a year I can make a copy of this Bible for you. It'll come in handy to have your own copy when you're Apostle to the Planets." Still trying to steer her in that direction... "No pressure."

Mikki smiled. "A year then," she agreed. "And I'll keep my eyes open in the meantime." They shook on it.

"Me too," Luke agreed, wide-eyed, as he watched her climb up the steps into her spaceship. He caught himself ogling, and then his prayer for forgiveness gave him another idea: He promised to pray for her search, like Louise had for him, for a thousand years.

"A thousand light-years, anyway," Mikki joked, as she started her engines. Then she blew kisses and was gone with a roar and a flash. (No, sadly, not that kind of flash).

Luke read his Bible the rest of that warm day. It was a beautiful day, with a considerate breeze, and Luke had a thought that would recur to him later on other lovely days. "Christ died for us, on a day like today."

Then after a full day, Luke spent a long evening watching patiently, as the sky gradually darkened. He stared upwards in peace and joy as it glided nightward through a million shades of blue. He had a grand view indeed from his mountaintop perch, and he enjoyed not only the rich and loving sky, but also smiled contentedly at the tops of moonlit clouds down below him, pale and tender. And out on the thousand-mile horizon where there were no clouds, Luke caught sight of the thick and thriving forests and orchards, as they turned a warm green-black in the arms of the thick and sultry night.

Luke listened to the wind, for what else is there to listen to at the top of a mountain, above the mortal world? He realized in its gusty grasp that he had never listened to the wind before! Never solely the wind. And he closed his eyes and he took in its songs. It blew strong and full-of-itself across the peak of Mount Olympus, and as Luke felt its breeze and heard its whistle he knew what Bert had meant by the Young Night, because, he saw, the wind was young too! Young and Holy and No Chains Could Bind It. "Like me, now!"

Luke wished that he had brought his guitar up with him, because it would help pass the hours of waiting, and he might perhaps use it to join the wind in its songs to the world. He probably would have played Carlos Santana's 'Song of the Wind'. Instead he just hummed it in his head.

With no guitar to play, Luke had no choice but to simply count the pretty stars as they arrived. He was at 901 (he might have missed a couple that came in the back door) when he realized that the night was somehow suddenly lighter than it had been, much lighter than the mere moon could take credit for. So Luke looked back down to the mountaintop, sadly abandoning his task of meeting the million stars. But he was quickly cheered by what stood, or hovered, before him!

It seemed to be a woman again; but this time a Woman of Light! She was beautiful, of course, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen (including even Mikki, even Jenny!), more beautiful than he had known a woman might possibly be. She stood tall and radiant in white robes, slim, goldenhaired and goldenhearted, and quite excited. She shone, with a divine light, and though Luke had obviously never been to heaven, he nevertheless correctly concluded, "You look like Heaven." After being wrong the first time, one might have thought that Luke would be a little more cautious in his pronouncements, and he thought so too, but this time it was so clearly the real thing that he stated for the second time since that morning, "You must be a goddess!"

She shook her head, and quickly denied it, calling him by name: "Oh no Luke, I am no such thing. There is only one God, and it isn't me. I am only a humble servant of the One, sent by grace to speed you on your journey."

"An angel you mean?" Luke guessed.

She nodded and smiled--though she was always smiling, even when she talked. And sometimes her emotion would get the better of her and she would begin to dance and clap her hands as she talked with Luke, moving to the silent music of her joyful heart. And then she would laugh and unashamedly apologize for being distracting--though Luke didn't mind at all, and despite her radiance and charm he heard perfectly every word she had to say, so rapt was his attention as she told him this: "Luke, my name is Janet. It is truly a pleasure to be sent to make your acquaintance. For you are well-known in Heaven, and we are all pleased by your good will and your questing heart. God Himself loves you and wants you to find what you seek, so that you may join us and share our joy!"

Luke, full of joy already at her presence, and heart leaping from her message, nevertheless was troubled in his understanding. "Not meaning to quarrel with you, miss," he said politely, "but if God wants me to know about Him, then why did he send a subaltern here to speak to me, instead of coming here Himself?"

The Angel laughed, and spun, and danced, as she gestured all around them and then hugged her hands to her heart. "He Is here!" She proclaimed, with words that were at once both an explanation to Luke and also her own poem of praise to God. "Can't you feel Him?" she asked, hard-time believing. "Can't you feel the Love? Can't you feel the Grace? Can't you feel the Power? Can't you feel the Glory?" And she spun and rose and swayed in the most graceful ballet of the spirit.

Luke was in love again, but he was also surprised: "Most of the angels I've been reading about are so commanding and imposing, sometimes even smiting and avenging. But you're so--nice." He tried to reconcile what he had seen with what he had read. Janet helped:

"' _And of some have compassion, making a difference: And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire;'_ " The Angel quoted. "Both ways come to the same thing in the end. Those who learn of God through his love will, once they know Him, comprehend His power. Those who repent from fear of His power will, when they are forgiven, experience His love. For you? I have been sent to show God's love and goodness. And to give you this message: 'Look about you, and Look within you, and be not fearful, but believing!'"

Luke was grateful, but he told her awkwardly that he had already kinda done that. Yesterday, actually.

"Oh." Surprised, Janet checked her watch, and shook her wrist, perplexed. Then she shrugged. "Well then, look in Mexico," she added as a puzzling afterthought. Luke was mystified as to what that might mean. (Women always keep one slightly mystified, even when they are angels.)

"But I have been looking for months, if not all my life," Luke protested, feeling a sudden fear that he was being sent out on another endless quest, just when he thought he had finally arrived! "I don't need another place to look; I need you to tell me how to find!"

Janet the Angel said simply, with love, "Faith."

Luke protested again, not knowing if he had faith yet or not, desiring truth yet walled back by a lifetime of lies, "But how does one arrive at faith? Surely I need more knowledge first, theology and explanations, to know more about God so that I may believe more in Him?"

And The Angel smiled at his struggle of knowledge versus faith, and she gently whispered, "They are the same! The only things we really know, we know through faith!" And then she could contain herself no longer, and she danced among the stars, glorious and golden and filled with the Love of God, leaving Luke alone (though not alone), to consider his new mission of hope, with her last star-whispered word still singing in his ears,

Faith.

# Chapter 34: Friends in Wet Places

"A night and a day I have been in the deep;" 2 Corinthians 11:25

The next word to sing in his heart was, "Mexico."

Wondering what wonderful surprises God had planned for him there, Luke began to grow impatient. It isn't wise to climb mountains at night, but night had just fallen, and it just seemed so long until morning! Finally, restless, reckless and rash, Luke began to feel for footholds, and started down the mountain.

Midway down the mountain, Luke missed a foothold; though he felt for it, he could not find it. He started to wonder if he mightn't have done better in the daylight. Dangling precariously from Hun-strong arms, Luke cursed himself for the lack of forethought. Then, more productive, a little prayer... "A little help, please."

Luke was startled when he started to see the blinking of fireflies. Kinda high up, he thought to himself. But then there were more, diffusing a soft glow. And finally, enough light to see just a little better. Ah, there it was! Luke grinned, and resumed his descent.

After that it was a long and rewarding climb, cool and comfortable in the high sky breezes, bathed in electric glow and the warmth of angels' love. It was easier going down, with gravity on his side. Towards the bottom where it was less steep, Luke could even run and slide down the slope. Soon he was back at the Hotel Hough.

Full of hope and emotion, he burst into the lobby, and hunted down his friend Bertralamus J, who was having sips with Hough the Hockey Player, Gillis the Bartender and Donnelly the Bouncer, playing cards and biding their time until tomorrow: when they would put together a coalition of the willing to go down the road and throw punches with the Troilustowners, just for kicks. (" _I heard Dale Hunter is coming!_ " "No way" " _Way._ ")

"I have seen strange sights!" Luke proclaimed. Then he animatedly recounted his adventures, and his encounters with Mikki (Hough had seen her too, as she ate breakfast there, and he was equally awed), and The Angel. ("More beautiful than Mikki, you say?" _"As if she shone with God's own radiance"_ Luke testified.) That sealed it for Hough, and after Luke had departed, Hough spent many days journeying up the mountain and waiting for an angel himself, and eventually she came to meet him as well. Moved by his own mountaintop experience, Hough went on to found the Greek Orthodox Church, which was ironic, considering that he didn't speak Greek, he was highly unorthodox, and he seldom went to church. Talk about God using the foolish things of this world to shame the wise: Who better than a hockey player?

Bert was coolly impressed too. "Aliens, angels, and revelations regarding salvation, huh? See, I told ya you always find the good stuff." Luke smiled, Ha. He was fixin' to go find some more good stuff, too.

When he made that known, that he had come to say his good-byes, his gang tried to stall him a little. "Won't you stay another night though? You could have pancakes in the morning," Hough offered temptingly.

"I have a meeting I have to get to, in Mexico--more things I need to learn. True, it might wait... But I don't want it to!"

They could see Luke was pretty eager to get going, so Hough accommodated Luke's wishes, without sacrificing the offer: "Well you could have your pancakes now then! I'm the owner, I can open the kitchen, can't I? Donnelly, go see if Chef Roland is awake." Big Donnelly nodded and went down the hall. Hough grinned, "That means 'wake him up if he isn't'. He won't say no to Donnelly!"

Luke was a little embarrassed, and tried too late to say that it really wasn't necessary. Hough told him not to worry about it, Roland would somehow be compensated for it--bonus in his check, promotion to maitre d', whathaveyou.

But once the pancakes had been cooked and eaten, Luke made it up to Roland himself. He gave him his guitar as a gift. "I figure you guys'll need someone to back up that saxophone, when you get to playing the blues again," he explained modestly.

Still, Bert was surprised. "Engaging in risky behavior, wild mood changes, and now giving away prized possessions. You aren't thinking about suicide, are you?"

Luke was startled, but grateful for the concern. "On the contrary," he assured them, "I've never wanted to live more!"

"Great," said Bert, relieved. "As long as you're just giving free stuff away then, I've got dibs on your football shoes."

That was a bit forward. Luke laughed. "What would _I_ wear then?"

"Wear mine," Bert offered. "We could swap. Then we'll each have them for a memory. Like being blood brothers, except, Football Shoe Brothers! Besides, it would probably do me good to walk a mile in your shoes, so to speak."

Why not, thought Luke, and gave away his shoes too. Bert had a pretty good old pair of Nike LandSharks, so it was an even trade. A little absurd, but like Bert had said...if it was 'for a memory', something absurd would definitely remind him of Bert!

He would have more absurdity than he bargained for, to remember Bert by, for Bert was announcing, "A Haiku of Parting! Ahem:

Hun with heart of song,

You have joined the joyous throng.

May your faith grow strong."

Luke was a little uncertain: "Are haikus supposed to rhyme like that?"

Bert shrugged, "Who knows? They're not my specialty. Better safe than sorry though, right? Besides, just call it a bonus--With me, you get the goofy rhymes for free! (See?)"

Luke was still not satisfied. "But it still wasn't really a haiku of parting. Of blessing, yes. But you never said good-bye."

Bert sighed, and tacked on a second verse. "Not that haikus are supposed to have more than one verse, either! But you've forced my hand..."

"You're right. I was wrong:

God's been with us all along.

I'll see ya. So long."

And that one sounded more like a haiku of concession, Luke thought, until the last line. (He could almost hear the shrug at the beginning of it!) That one casual line would have to do for good-bye, he supposed. That was Bert, after all.

Luke offered his handshake, but Bert turned it into an embrace. "Brothers, remember?" he reminded him. Then, "So where will I find you, traveling man?"

"Well, Hun-Country is home. It would be good to get back there. Maybe they'll make me a king, maybe the court jester. Either way, I'll be reading my Bible and praying," Luke promised confidently. "And I'll share whatever I have with you." Then he caught Bert's scoundrelly leer--Oh Really? "Except her!" Luke qualified, appalled. Bert laughed, and Luke decided that was a good note to leave on. A little punch on the arm, and he was off.

Luke wandered down to the seaside, beaming and bright in the blessed night. When he got there though, he realized he had no transportation home, and he stared mystified at the cold blue waves, wondering what he would do next. Had to trust that God would make a way, but he sure didn't see one.

Finally, in a moment of faith, Luke said to himself, Why not? He zipped the Bible's waterproof cover up tight, and simply stepped off the rocks, into the dark waters of the deep harbor. Stepping out on faith...

There was a big splash. Then a moment of panic. Then something solid beneath him, lifting him back up to the surface! In Portuguese, a familiar voice chattered, "What did you think? That you could walk on water? Are you Christ himself then?"

It was his friend Helena the Tidal Snake! Luke's feet slid down around her slithery back, and he wrapped himself around her long dark neck and gave her a little squeeze. "Good to see ya!" Luke exclaimed. Then his excitement gave way to embarrassment, as he answered her question. "I just thought that God would make a way. _'All things are possible to them that believe,'_ right?"

"Possible is not the same as appropriate. Why would you say to a mountain 'Be thou removed', if God put it where he wanted it in the first place?" she pointed out, referencing the rest of the verse. "In the same fashion, walking on water was Christ's special miracle. Maybe it shouldn't be tainted by the likes of you," she scolded playfully. "Besides, God _did_ make a way. You've got me, right?"

"And you'll take me clear across the ocean?" It seemed pretty far out of her way. "Well, I'll take you out into the middle of it anyway." Luke figured she was kidding. He hoped she was, at least!

Away they went. Luke wrapped his arms tightly around Helena's firm and slippery body, and she surged through the surf at great speed.

They had long conversations in Portuguese as they traveled. Long because Luke spoke slowly, struggling with words. But that was all right--the more he talked, the less likely she was to forget and dive underwater, as she occasionally did when he grew silent! ("Oops, I forgot ya there.") Luke told tales of his trip. She was especially pleased to hear of his changes in Greece. "So you're not lost any more then. You've been found." Luke liked the way she put that. Not 'you've found your way', but the passive, 'you've been found'. Like a pair of mittens that had fallen out of a pocket on the playground. Except, even better: found by God! (Who doesn't wear mittens.)

It was a wild and amazing trip, racing through the sea and the spray, Luke hanging on for dear life as Helena cut through the dark and troubled waters, buffeted by wind and waves. On through the night, and well into the next day, she sped on. Then suddenly, she announced, "End of my territory. Sorry bud. Goodbye, and good luck!" Then she dove under to gather momentum, and then turned upwards and shot out of the water. At the top of her leap, she gave her slippery coils a special twist, and flicked Luke loose. In panic and fear he flew upward in a high arc, then fell feet first like a missile, back into the sea.

There was a big splash. Then, a second time, he landed on something solid which bore him upwards to the surface. This time it was his friend Sheila the Whale, one of the very ones he had rescued with his 'Whales, Duck' warning so long ago! "Need a lift?" she offered. Grateful, Luke hugged her and said Sure.

Looking about, he saw Serpent St. Helena still there, relaxing in the water, floating tiredly, after swimming a maritime marathon. She was laffin'. "You shoulda seen the look on your face, little friend! Forgive me; all in good fun,"

Heartbeat slowing back down now, Luke forgave her, and thanked her for all her help. So she gave him some more--repeating the instructions she had shared with him previously, but this time ending them not with a question, but a promise: "In the beginning, you follow God. In the middle, follow God. In the end, you follow God...The map you already carry with you." Luke wasn't sure if she meant his Bible, or his conscience, but he was in good shape either way.

The Whale didn't have as many interesting thoughts to share, but that was good, coz she had kind of a screechy voice anyway. At least she was better, as a fellow mammal, at respecting Luke's need for air. She traveled slowly and surely at the surface for him, all day and into the night. In the silence, Luke beamed back at the south sea skies and full white clouds, and tried to compose a new credo, now that things had changed. He began with Bert's patented 'rhyming haiku' pattern, but then finished it his own way. It always has to be like that, he reflected. You take strength and lessons from the others, but you need to come to God yourself.

"My hard heart shattered,

Shards of God's love are scattered

In all directions."

Luke smiled and prayed for God to make it so. Then, thinking of Bert made him remember another thing he had said. "!st Day of Life!" Luke finally realized how that would feel! But Bert had said that we can't really imagine it, we can only pretend and kid ourselves. Nope, not today, Luke laughed. Today it was the real thing! Tomorrow, who knows? But he had a good feelin' about that too...

Then, exhausted but comfortable, Luke was able to stretch out and fall asleep on the whale's broad back. "Like a big waterbed." His final thought before drifting off, as he stared up at endless starry skies was, "So peaceful, so perfect! So safe in the hands of a mighty God!"

So it was with surprise and alarm that Luke was later awakened, being seized roughly by someone else's hands! Or talons, rather. Out of dreams of God's green pastures, and into the yellow claws of a dragon!

At least it was a friendly dragon. "Say, did I wake ya? Sorry, just tryin to speed things up for ya." He recognized the voice as Daniel Speedboy's. "Sheila's nice, but what's that saying? The bigger they are the slower they move? But me, I'm built for Speed, remember? So where to?"

"Land," said Luke, still scared and short on words.

"Ah. I'm goin' there myself. Finally got around to making that trip to see my dentist friend, Featherbelly the First! Been putting it off. You know how it is. Dentists."He laughed, with a few sparks. "Sleep now," he said, and Luke closed his eyes, and felt the rush of wind as they hurried on through the night.

# Part 3: Searching by Bus

# Chapter 35: The Bus to Glory

"Incline your ear, and come unto me: Hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David." Isaiah 55:3

They flew on through the night: Luke with eyes clenched sleeping nightmarily and nervously ("Don't grip me too tightly now!"), and the Dragon with sharp eyes that shone in the dark. Each beat of huge wings seemed to take them miles, and by dawn they had reached the shore, and Daniel Speedboy coughed to wake Luke up, before setting him gingerly down in a small clearing.

It pays to have friends in wet places, Luke decided. Then remembering the verse, _'As a man sows, so shall he reap'_ , he added the thought, It pays to have minded one's manners also.

After the Dragon had flown off, Luke wandered out of the bush, until he came to a road. He walked south along the road slowly, getting his bearings, and feeling the sudden heaviness of his own limbs. Alone again, he felt sad and doubtful in the cold fall morning. As if the waves themselves had washed away his certainty, and the winds had buffeted his beliefs. Sure he had been visited by an angel, and borne across an ocean by a sea serpent, a whale, and a dragon...but sometimes the biggest miracles are the easiest to disbelieve. How brief and distant his first moments of faith now felt! How far the journey still seemed, now that there was no one to carry him! So he trudged weakly through the day, resigning himself to the journey, to doing his bit to 'move partway towards God', as Bridgette had put it.

But then, remembering the part about letting God draw him the rest of the way, he smiled again, and hoped for another ride to arrive... And eventually, as luck would have it, along came a rainbow-colored bus.

With a squeal and a lurch, the bus skidded to a halt alongside Luke the Hun, hot-tired and dusty on the dry autumn day. The door hissed open, and there leanin' on the steering wheel looking casual was Who Else But The Really Cool Guy. "Fella. Need a lift?" he said calmly and kindly. It was a timely offer, and Luke was glad indeed to see his old friend. He smiled and nodded slowly, and his football shoes thumped on the steep metal stairs as he swung himself up and boarded the bus.

Luke felt in his pockets for coins, and panicked when he realized most of his pay had been lost during the wild ride at sea! "Add that to the injunction to _'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal'_ \--and where waves wash away," Luke thought resignedly. Then thankfully, he found a few sneaky coins that had lodged in the bottom of his pocket. He counted them out. "$1.30 exactly!" he announced triumphantly, thinking what a clever coincidence indeed! "That's still your fare, isn't it?"

"Sorry," said the driver. "For this trip it's $1.75. Supply and demand, see. Got a whole bunch of people wanting to ride this bus!"

Luke looked around. Sure enough, the bus was full. Lotsa good people. On the right, there was a whole Lutheran choir, with a good-old-guy director named Harold and his wife Mary, leading many other wonderful singers. Behind them, strumming on a guitar and singing "This Bus is bound to glory, this bus..." was the legendary Bob Marley. At the back of the bus on the left, sitting quietly with his travelish cap pulled low over his eyes, was a gentleman that Luke recognized as the same Christian blues singer his friend Bruno had dragged him along once to watch perform when he played at their college, the great Mumblesmith himself!

And some even more familiar faces...! Surprise surprise, the entire blues band from the Thunderhouse in Chicago! Among them sat an old friend whom Luke was especially happy to see. Beaming and having trouble sitting still, there she was! Wonderful Miss Hosanna, beautiful and pure!

Wondering where this talent-laden, color-wrapped bus could be going, and why the extra fare, Luke asked Hammer the Driver, "Where we bound?"

Hammer smiled, and finally revealed the reason for his Dancing Soul and his Feeling of Youth: "Listen to the song. This bus is bound to Glory, brother! There ain't no trains in this world, so it became my responsibility to get the people there. Ain't I the lucky one?" he asked, looking forward to all the joy and wonder in the kingdom of God.

Luke was suspicious. "I thought salvation was a free gift through Jesus Christ. So how come I hafta pay you a dollar seventy-five?"

"It is!" the driver acknowledged, then added cryptically, "But we're taking the scenic route. And somebody's gotta pay for the petrol..."

A valid point, Luke agreed; but the fact was, he was still forty-five cents short. "Maybe I could just ride along partway, as far as this money will get me," Luke suggested, thinking he still had that appointment in Mexico to keep anyway, and besides, partway was better than walking the whole nine million yards.

"Go partway towards Glory and then get out and hitchhike? Would you really want to do that?" When the driver put it that way, it did sound less appealing. Fortunately there was a counter-offer. "How bouts you give me that crafty hat, to pay your way."

Luke had not expected that. Sure there was the part in the Bible about forsaking everything to follow Christ, but did it really mean _everything?_ Luke smiled when he realized that if so, he had already been getting closer: the guitar was gone, his football shoes had been traded. All he really had left to start this new beginning was his Bible, and the clothes on his back. And the hat on his head.

"Not the hat! I may need it later." Luke protested. The driver unhesitatingly offered up his own well-proven baseball cap in exchange. "No, not just to keep the rain off my head," Luke explained, "but to lead the Huns! I'm thinking about going back, and trying to do that. And this hat is an heirloom, passed from father to son, chief to chief! A traditional symbol of authority!"

"Ah. I see. But would you rather return with a symbol of authority, or the real thing? Why not return with real live God-given authority, and see what happens? No man will be able to resist you."

Still skeptical: "And riding on this bus will gave me that?"

"It won't hurt. But what will really help you is learning to lead a prayerful life." Luke didn't see the connection right away, so the Hammer explained: "Taking your hat off to pray is a gesture of respect, of course. Well, if you're already _wearing_ a hat, you don't take it off unless you have something specific to say. But if it's already _off_ , well then you're free to pray as much as you like, and maybe you'll find lots more things to pray about!" Then he smoothed his own thinning hair, and added, "I've worn a lotta hats to protect _my_ bald-getting head! So I know what I'm talking about. You'd be surprised how often the hat comes off, and just like that, Pow! Prayin'!"

Luke still resisted: "So how come it's OK for you to have this hat then. Wouldn't it interfere with your prayer life too?"

"Ah, but I'm farther along than you are: I already have good habits. Whereas you..." reaching out and helping Luke make the decision with a gentle tug on the white Rawhide Stetson, "...need to develop some."

Luke let go of the hat, tucked Hammer's curled baseball cap into his back pocket, sighed, and sat down in the front row. Then Hammer felt guilty about having gotten the best of the deal and passed Luke a silver and a kryptonite coin as well, "For emergencies."

It had been hard to let go, but as soon as he sat down, Luke felt better about it. Here he was, after all, riding the Bus to Glory! In the passing lane, even! (It never took Hammer long to get her up to speed.) Luke was excited by the prospects, but he wanted to know, "So how do we get there? Do you really know the way?"

The Still Somewhat Cool Guy laughed, and admitted, "That's what we're gonna find out!" When Luke looked distressed by the presumably haphazard nature of their pilgrimage, Hammer added comfortingly, "Don't worry, we'll know it when we see it! They say the streets are gold and its gates are pearl, and everyone is always happy!"

It sounded like the kind of place Luke wanted to go, but he was still concerned: "But how will we find it at all? This is a big world," he spoke from experience.

Hammer winked and said Trust Me, but when Luke didn't, Hammer went the extra mile and reassured him, "I've got a map." He took it down from where it was tucked above his visor, and he let Luke look it over.

After studying it front and back, upside down and right side up, Luke sadly informed him, "This is a Map of Japan."

Hammer laughed, and confessed, "Yeah, I know. A Hoplite named Haggerty sold me that, and I make sure I always keep it handy, coz hey. Ya never know when you might take a wrong turn and wind up in Japan." Then he explained, "But the reason I showed it to you now, when it's useless to us, is to make a point: "There are no maps, there are no roads; Just you and me on these streets of gold." And then he reminded Luke what The Angel had basically said, "There's only one way to Glory, son. Sit back and trust."

With no other choice, Luke took a seat back near his friend Hosanna, to better enjoy the ride.

"Luke, good to see you!" she said excitedly, giving him a hug. Luke was glad to see her too. He asked how she had been, and her face lit up. "Great! The band finally came around!" she raved.

"I see that. Congratulations. What happened?"

Hosanna happy-shrugged, "I don't know! Who can understand the ways in which God works? Perhaps it was singing my gospel songs that got to them. Maybe it was seeing the weariness of the world and realizing there just had to be something more! Or maybe they knew the Truth all along and they just got tired of denying it!" She shrugged and laughed again, and told him, "I don't suppose it matters, does it? God has done his work, and now the Band believes, and here we are together on our way to Glory! Filled with joy unspeakable," she added, squinting from a too-big smile.

"So we are going to Glory then? You trust the driver I take it?"

Hosanna shook her head slightly, looking wise, and smiling she touched Luke's cheek and tenderly confided, "I think very highly of the driver. But it isn't him in whom I am trusting!" Luke could practically feel her faith in Jesus radiating from her, and wondered why he still didn't feel more of it radiating from the inside.

Hosanna rushed on, wanting to know how Luke had been, and how his quests were going. "Did you ever succeed in bringing about World Peace? How did that turn out?" Luke told the story of how he had changed his mind about running for office, and he told her about his ad hoc embassy to Penetanguishene, and he told her that despite those reversals he was still working at making the world peaceful, in his own humble loving way, and that anyone who cared to was welcome to join him: "Fixin' to go back home and invite some people pretty soon..."

Hosanna smiled approvingly at that, and told him, "Way to Go!" Then she asked him hopefully if he had found out anything else on his journey. Coz here he was, after all...

Luke recapped the events as best he could, and tried to tell her of his own conversion back in Greece. When he tried to describe it, he began in excitement but ended in doubt, realizing he didn't fully understand it. He couldn't remember the exact process, nor could he explain how he had been able to feel so sure about things then...when he didn't feel quite so sure now. He was starting to feel a little out of place among all these big-time believers for one thing. All these real-deal servants of God.

His brow furrowed, trying to puzzle out how this could be, if he was saved; and wondering, with a chill, whether he might not be destined to become another Bert...

With alarm, he remembered a parable that hit too close to home, for one who had believed on a stony mountainside! _'Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.'_ How Luke wished for some roots!

As always, Hosanna caught his apprehension, and reassured him with a timely verse: " _'For if our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things.'_ God knows what He's doing Luke! He has saved you, and will never let you go! If you ever feel yourself starting to slip, don't trust that feeling. Trust in God!" Then she thought about how to account for the feeling in the first place, and realized, "I guess trusting God gets easier with practice. When you are new to this life, it is less familiar than your old, worldly self. It's like learning a new language--you'll struggle with it. So I guess it's easier sometimes to pull back, retreat into the things you thought you knew. The safety of the familiar, after all--even though there's nothing safe about it! But Luke? Don't doubt whether you are really a believer. You are! And don't doubt whether you were right to believe. You were! Don't doubt at all: just _believe!_ " She sighed. "It's that easy."

Consoled, but still not convinced, Luke turned to his former front-man, Sam the Blues Singer, for a fellow novice's perspective. "What about you? How did you get involved in this scene?"

Sam shrugly spoke, in his deepgruffgravelly voice, sayin', "John Lee said, 'Blues the healer: It healed me, it can heal you.' Once you get healed and happy, you may as well give thanks for it all and sing praise." Then he corrected himself: "Sorry, old habits: I've been a blues singer longer than I've been a Christian. But truth be told, it wasn't the blues that healed us; it was God, using Hosanna. She didn't shame us, she didn't threaten us, she just led us, and showed us a better way."

That resonated with Luke's own experience, but one can always use a second opinion. So he turned to the Band's bass player, the honorable Stanley Clarke. Luke figured maybe a cool cat like that could explain it to him straight up, so that somehow even countryboy Luke might get how they had gotten there. Sure enough, that bad boy didn't fool around: when Luke asked him why he had boarded the bus to Glory, Mr. Clarke straightforwardly said, kinda sly, "I gatta feelin' everybody in heaven is gettin' a little tired of listenin' to harps. I heard a rumor that God... likes... bass..."

Luke nodded a "Right on," and then he said quick Howdies to the rest of the Band, Reuben and Benson and Hearst and Luis, shaking hands and patting them on the back. Then he moved back a few rows and chatted with Harold the Choir Director when they were between hymns. The guy told him a ton of stories, but the one verse he shared that tied them together, and that really stuck with Luke and inspired him for his coming mission, was "James 2:17-- _'Yea, a man may say Thou hast faith, and I have works: shew me thy faith without thy works and I will shew thee my faith by my works.'_ " Harold would have gone on and talked Luke's ear off about righteousness and responsibility and faith-in-action, if Mary hadn't steered him back to his own duty of getting the singing started again. Then she quietly proved Harold's point for him, by taking a wrapped square of sugary maple walnut fudge out of her purse and pressing it into hungry Luke's palm with a wink.

Luke instantly wanted to be like those good people! wanted to be a shining child of God and a personal friend of Jesus Christ! wanted to be the one who fed, warmed and loved each of God's little ones  But realistically, "What have I to give the world?" Luke wondered. Just a dirty cap and a couple of coins. He broke into a grin, and tapped his Bible: _Oh yeah... and one other thing!_

After singing joyfully along with the choir for a bit, at long last Luke slipped eagerly back to the back of the bus, to meet the craggy character known as Mumblesmith.

He approached cautiously, not quite knowing what to say to this legend, nor whether his presence would be welcome. Nor was he given any indication, for the bluesman simply watched with faint interest from beneath his tilted-low cap, with half-closed eyes and an enlightened smile. "Mr. Mumblesmith?" Luke finally courageously spoke timidly. "Hi, My name's Luke, I'm a big fan of your music." ('healed Blues', the man had called it, 'saved Soul', 'Rhythm and redemption'.) Mumblesmith nodded what might have been a Thank-you. "Well, I was wondering;" Luke went on, "I've heard of your reputation, as one who has learned something about life, and about the Lord. I was hoping perhaps you could share some lessons with me, help me on my way, for I am still a searcher, still a learner... still a grower."

There was a long pause, and a quiet whisper. "Excuse me?" Luke said, to indicate that he hadn't quite heard. This time there was an even longer pause, and the bluesman's whisper seemed even quieter than the first time. But Luke felt a tingle! Surely something important was being said! "What?" Luke asked loudly, to try to prompt an increase in volume. Mumblesmith whispered the same message again--something brief, something life-altering. If only Luke could make it out! His heart was beating faster now, with a strange excitement, knowing there was power being shared! "I'm sorry?" he said, cupping his hand to his ear and hoping the bluesman would repeat it a fourth time. The soft whisper came again, and Luke strained to make out the words. But he couldn't hear a thing over his own heart, pounding, pounding--some ill-timed jubilation! As though it had heard the words that his ear could not! The words that would propel him to enlightenment  Had he ever been so close?

It was with great sorrow that he realized the songwriter was done speaking. Daring not to ask a fifth time, Luke pretended he had gotten the message, said "Thank you, sir," and went back to his next-to-front bench, where he sank his head in his hands and alternated between mourning for what had been missed, and thrilling with the feeling of what had been shared! Hoping the words would come to him later. Somehow.

It was right then that their driver pulled off the road and wheeled into a 'Bus R Us' Gas Station, next to the Wayside Grocery. "Time to fuel up. We'll take a ten minute break!" Hammer announced.

As the back rows shuffled by, exiting the bus in turn, Mumblesmith stooped beside Luke, leaned close enough at last, and said softly again, to Luke's same heart-leaping response, the secret message: "The only voice you need to hear is His. It already sings within your heart."

Of course! No wonder his heart had been making such noise. Still, Luke wasn't completely sure what it was saying... doubtless because each human heart is made by God, and so speaks with the language of the angels. But soon I'll learn to understand, Luke thought confidently. _Everything. Soon!_

He did know that it was saying _something_ good! Luke felt the same way he had felt on the mountain. Or maybe even more so--there he had done so much hard thinking, but here he was letting all thoughts yield, and was purely feeling it: An intuition, a strong knowledge, a sense of wonder! That great joy! that unrestrained excitement! that deep peace, that soft reverence... that certain Presence.

_Feeling the love of God!_ True, he hadn't felt that height of emotion at every point since--he supposed that wasn't possible. But neither had he felt anything like it, ever, even once, prior to believing. Not even close!

He was in a great mood once more. But like a true Hun: "I'd feel even better if I had a snack!" That single piece of fudge had only teased his sweet tooth. So Luke quickly wrote down 'Voice', took his dollar thirty, and went into the Wayside Grocery. The only thing better than God singing in your heart, is God in your heart and candy in your belly.

# Chapter 36: The Bus to Nowhere

"Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God." 1 Corinthians 6:9-11

The passengers filed out of the Bus to Glory, and went into the Wayside Grocery next to the gas station, to shop around or use the restrooms while Hammer pumped gas.

Luke quickly used the john, and then he went to the magazine section and looked for something to read. He leafed through a muscle mag ("You guys ain't nothin'"), and a Basketball Digest and a Lacrosse Illustrated. He looked further and found, with surprise, that this store even carried the latest issue of Hun Monthly  Luke examined the contents to see if it had anything interesting. Turned out there was an article about his brother, Chief DavidGorki (injured reserve), and an interview with his Dad, all-star Chief Otis (retired), previewing his upcoming Kronkumentary. There was a point-counterpoint editorial about the benefits of a violent lifestyle (although from what Luke could gather, the Point and the Counterpoint seemed to both agree in favor of one!), and some letters to an advice columnist, seeking Hun-type counsel (Q: What do I do if I get wounded and I'm bleeding really bad? Please answer this letter promptly if possible. _A: Rubbing some salt on it will take away the sting. Now quit being a baby. What did you let yourself get wounded for in the first place? Amateur._ Q: Is it proper etiquette to fight with fellow Huns on the campaign trail, if they're hoggin' all the good treasure? And how 'bout if yer just grouchy? _A: It is proper Hun etiquette_ _to fight for any reason whatsoever_. _Hop to it. Part-timer._ ) Luke already knew the stuff about his family, and he read as much of the other material as time allowed, and then he settled on simply buying a newspaper instead. Coz it was cheaper, so that way he could still afford a roll of wine gums and a gumball, a jujube and a licorice whip, without spending his 'emergency money' just yet. Then he smiled and ate some wine gums and felt blessed. (Candy always makes you happy; and if you're already happy, it may even make you dance! Look out.)

Happy and kind, Luke offered a streamlined and sexy stranger named Vandana J a candy. "Care For a Wiiine Gum?" (He even whined a bit as he said it, so it was kinda like a poetry reading of sorts.) She smiled back and selected a yummy black one, and said Thanks.

Luke stepped out of the store, joy-dazed and carefree. It wasn't just the candy making him feel like that, but the good company on the bus, and the pretty girl in the store, and most of all the exhilaration of nearing completion, and hoping to see God soon!

He looked at the sky, ominously gray and sullen; which was surprising, because it had been so fair and blue and peacefully powerful when they had gone into the store. Now it was a dull and lifeless, smoky clouded, almost-evening gray, as if there was a fog factory nearby, and a two-for-one sale on gloom, and a hurricane coming in to boot. Luke was concerned, but he jus' figured they must be near Detroit. Distracted, he boarded the colorful bus in front of him. Later, he wished he woulda noticed, it was not a rainbow-painted bus--it was tie-dyed.

Greedily reading his sports section, Luke sat down in the front row. The driver did a quick head count, and then the bus rolled out. The atmosphere on the bus was loud and riotous, but Luke thought nothing of it, assuming that the break had simply refreshed his fellow Glory Voyagers. There was laughter and merriment, and that sounded like the same joyfulgood group with whom he had arrived.

It wasn't until several minutes later, when Luke the Hun asked his friend Hammer's opinion of the latest hockey trade, that he realized he had made a tragic mistake. "Hey Hammer. What do you think about the trade Penetanguishene made? They picked up Steve, who is a pretty good scorer, but they had to give up Billy the Hermit and Tie Domi."

The driver looked back over his shoulder, and said in a strung-out voice, "You talkin' to me man? My name is John." Luke looked up then from his newspaper and saw the curly brown locks and the cheap goatee, and the faraway bloodshot eyes, and for the first time he lost his oblivion and realized, Hey This Ain't The Right Bus!

He looked behind him, and he didn't recognize a soul. Most everyone was drinking and carousing, and flirting or more. It was a far cry from the scene he had left behind on the Bus to Glory, and their laughter had a subtly different ring: just as happy, but less honest, less pure, less sacred, less enduring. Luke was strangely quite uncomfortable, though the crowd looked like enjoyable enough company, and despite the fact that Luke had been raised in an environment of heavy drinking and merrymaking his own self. That was the past.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I believe I got on the wrong bus," Luke politely informed the driver.

"Nope, can't be," the driver assured him. "I took a head count back at the gas station, and it came out right. So you must belong here...unless... Unless we left one of our people back there..." he trailed off, realizing what had happened. Shouting to his passengers, "Hey, is anybody missing? Anybody not here?"

A couple people volunteered 'Me!' and guffawed, but then somebody shouted out, "Citizen Samways. He got on that other bus back there."

"So why didn't you say something?" Driver John asked, still shouting over his shoulder, not really watching the road. When he hit gravel he remembered to drive again, and veered sharply back onto the hard-top, laughing about that too.

"Coz I thought it was funny," the passenger called. "Besides, he kept carping our beers." There was a murmur of selfish assent.

Someone asked the question, "Should we go back for him?"

"Yes, please do," Luke encouraged them, taking advantage of the chance to offer his own humble opinion. "I wouldn't mind going back to my friends."

The driver smiled from irony and substance abuse, and shot down that effort. "Make some new friends, man. This bus don't turn around for nobody. We gotta get where we're going."

"And where is that?" Luke wondered, hoping for some insight into the nature of this tour.

The bus driver grinned with tobacco-stained teeth, and said proudly, "Nowhere." Luke didn't really understand why that destination would require such haste, until John elaborated, grandly: "Our Only Destination...Is Intoxication."

When he learned that, Luke realized he could give up on them ever turning back or slowing down. "Oh well, at least we're headed south," he observed.

"That's where all the good spring break parties are," John grinned. Luke knew he had lost track of time a little at sea, but still, he was sure spring was quite a ways off. But John explained, "Better early than late, where parties are concerned, man. And better late than never."

Since this was the bus Luke was doomed to be on, he figured he might as well do his part to keep it safe: "So you're a partier too?" he asked the driver. "I hope you've heard, at least, that you shouldn't drink and drive?"

"I _have_ heard that..." John admitted. "That's why I just smoke a lotta weed."

That wasn't quite the answer Luke was looking for. Deciding he better not distract the driver's attention any more than it already was, Luke slunk back into the middle of the bus, to see whom else he might meet.

He met a few people, including some Italians, some Vikings, and even a couple of wayward Huns. He also met a vagrant named Sam of the Border, who looked like this:

Oh, and they were all set to have interesting philosophical debates on morals and ethics and politics and stuff, they really were. But then Sam passed out instead. Luke sighed.

Sighed, and tried to avoid the advances of a couple ladies-for-hire who were calling to him from the left side of the bus! They had full figures and empty eyes, and their willingness was strangely tempting. But Luke did the smart thing, like Jenny had taught him, and avoided temptation by sitting down on the opposite side of the bus, all alone by the window marked Emergency Exit. It might come to that, he reflected.

He considered taking out his Bible to read. For encouragement, and to fly the flag, to stake out his spiritual turf for the others to see. He was still trying to calculate what might happen, and what risks were involved--would they throw him out? If so, would he be giving up a free ride south, or making it possible for that first bus to find him again? Then there came a commotion, which disturbed his contemplation.

The partiers were all crowding towards the back of the bus, trying to look out the windows at something humorous. "No way!" "They _are!_ " Someone called the news up to John the Driver, "Hey boss, that other bus is coming after us!"

Rather than fight the crush at the back, Luke simply lowered his own window and leaned his nose out a little, looking backwards. Sure enough, there was Hammer's Rainbow Colored Bus to Glory, closing in! When they saw Luke wave, they might even have sped up a little.

John could have just stopped for a second, traded passengers, and been done with it. That easy. But it was more fun this way... "Bus Chase!" he announced, and stepped on the gas. The Bus to Glory got close, but then the Bus to Nowhere reached full speed and began to pull away. There was a loud cheer from the drunks! They taunted out the windows as they put more and more distance between them.

"Hey, what's with those guys?" John finally wondered. "Can their bus really be that slow? Or their driver that cautious?" Neither one, actually. Hammer was trying to make a good chase of it, but every time he exceeded the posted speed limit by very much, a great hue and cry would go up from all the good and proper Christians. Shouts of "Lawbreaker! Reprobate! Miscreant! and Sinner!" No one wanted to be a bad witness by breaking laws and engaging in reckless and dangerous behavior. So it wasn't much of a chase, I'm afraid. Hammer pouted out his bottom lip and looked sad, and diligently drove 55 as ordered.

John tried to make it interesting for a while. Kept slowing down and letting Hammer catch up a little, before racing away again. The drunks loved the drama, and laughed every time they saw that rainbow bus fall back. Also it gave them a chance to drop their pants and moon their pursuers. (How dignified we all are.)

Luke briefly considered opening the 'Emergency Exit' and going out that window when John slowed down, but better sense prevailed. It's not there to _cause_ emergencies, after all.

After teasing their pursuers and then speeding away again three or four times, the game lost its fascination, and the Bus to Nowhere simply sped up and left the Bus to Glory in its dust. Then John drove onto the shoulder and took out a few road signs, bing bing bing, to at least make it feel like a little-bit-wild chase. They fishtailed a little getting back on the pavement, and then there was applause for the driver and the chase was finished. The drinkers went back to their drinking, and the bus rolled on into the falling night. Sad Luke sighed and shrugged, and tried to tune them out and take a nap.

The bus finally stopped a couple hours later, in darkness, along the roadside. The girls ran over a burm into the bushes to pee, and the men all just hung it out on the shoulder, making a little contest out of it. The last man standing won a free beer, and John's commendation: "Hey, not bad duration, on that urination."

The stop woke Luke up and he blinked and looked around and remembered where he was, and then hung his head again, and tried to discern why this had happened to him. Returning to the parable that had crossed his mind on the first bus, he found that it continued, _'When any one heareth the word of the kingdom and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catches away that which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by the wayside.'_ He got a fright remembering the name of the grocery store where he had last left the Bus to Glory! So maybe this part of the parable applied to him too? "True, I didn't completely understand the 'word of the kingdom'", Luke reflected. And certainly this riotous and unruly Bus to Nowhere felt like it might be Satan's attempt to snatch people away! From the things that matter. From spirituality. From God.

There was a flicker of woe, but then Luke was comforted, as another Bible verse came to mind, to counter the first: _'My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand.'_ So the attempt would fail, Luke would stay safe!

As for understanding? "I don't understand perfectly, but I understand this:" Luke affirmed, "That God rules all things, and that Jesus Christ came to redeem us, because God loves us!" A thrill of joy, even here in the darkness, to remember the truth.

Then the moment passed, and Luke's discomfort returned, as the wild crowd boarded again, and a new reveler took the empty seat beside Luke. So this was what had prompted the particular timing of their roadside stop: they had picked up a hitchhiker.

Might as well make a little conversation, try to be pleasant, Luke decided. This man was drunk too, and fit right in with the others. At least that was Luke's first impression. "So, have you been celebrating something?" Luke asked the drunken hitchhiker.

"Yop." He stopped right there, and made Luke ask what. Then he answered, "Celebratin' bein' happy."

Luke grinned, Good one. But then he grew concerned, coz that was a pretty broad mandate for drunkenness. "So do you always drink like this?" Luke wondered.

"Nope." That relieved Luke a little, until the hitchhiker lurched on again: "Only when I'm awake."

There was a lull in their conversation for a while, which was okay by Luke. This guy didn't seem to have too much to offer, and Luke wasn't sure how to give anything to him either. He seemed pretty comfortable with his own ways, after all. Then all of a sudden, a propos of nothing, the hitchhiker blurted out a question: "What's the first thing you think about every morning?"

Luke was cautious, not sure where that was leading. Had to answer though, so he tried to think about it, and answered honestly. "Sometimes I used to think about taking a bath, or getting some breakfast or something. Then I might think about getting to whatever I had to do that day, like school, or work. Why?" An innocuous enough answer, Luke thought-- then was startled by the hitchhiker's response.

"Jesus Christ. He's the first thing you should think about every morning. He's the most important thing... He's the only thing," the man amended. Then sat silent again.

Luke nodded some agreement. Oh yes, you're right. That kind of thing. But inside, he was blown away. Like the meeting with his father, but to a higher degree: here was someone Luke should have been ahead of, teaching _him_! There was guilt and shame for a moment, but then there came joy and resolve: "This is why God put me on this bus! To hear a message I needed to hear. _And_ to see a weak witness wax strong. If this guy can do it..."

Luke grinned and thanked the drunken hitchhiker, who was just getting up to leave anyway. The hitchhiker in turn thanked the driver for taking him those last few miles towards home. They shook hands and he tumbled out into the night.

The first thing Luke did after that was take out his Bible and start a-readin'. That was a good start, he felt stronger already. But should he go further, and sit down and share the gospel with some other poor soul? He wasn't sure where to sit, whom to reach, how to start.

Instead he smiled, as the right one came to him.

She was a very attractive young blonde named Julie, couldn't have been much more than 19, and she slid into the seat beside him. Very beautiful, though frail and delicate and kind of sad-looking; she was also very pleasant and interesting. Somewhat drunk and very friendly, she gave Luke a hug and told him he was beautiful, which was a first for him, decent-looking though he was. It turned out that he reminded her of somebody else, but all the same her kindness was welcome. They talked for a while, Luke asking how long the party had been raging. Julie said she had joined it a few weeks ago, and had no idea; as far as she knew, it might have been going since the beginning of time. People came and went as their money or their interest allowed, and the bus left a trail of survivors scattered across the country, some going Wow, others going What-was-I-thinking?

Luke asked, bluntly and unaware, what exactly the point was. Julie told him it was fun, but she admitted that it was wearing a little thin and maybe it was time to get on with her life. "I'm having fun," she said, "but I think if I slow down I'll last a lot longer, and I'll be able to have fun for a lot more years."

Luke thought that was about the most practical justification for moderation that he had heard. And an appropriate time to add a wise quote, "Moderation is the key." That was a well-known saying in Hun-Country, though usually they would shout it out as humor, in the midst of indulging to excess! It made Luke feel good to actually say it the way it was meant to be said. Like he was setting some small thing right.

"Whatcha reading?" Julie wanted to know.

Luke took his cue from the Man of God, so long ago, who had advised him to begin with the Gospels. So he skipped to that, asking Julie, "Have you ever heard of Jesus Christ?"

Luke was getting all ready to tell the story, when Julie chirped happily, "Of course. I'm a believer. Used to even go to church and everything."

This time Luke hit her with Bert's question: " _'Even the demons believe, and tremble'--_ A better question is, Do you worship Him?"

Julie seemed a little insulted. "Do you think just because I have a few drinks, and have a little fun, that I can't be a Christian?"

Luke hadn't meant to give offense, but he wasn't about to back down from what he had said, either. He noticed she hadn't really answered the question. "It's not for me to decide what you can and can't do, or how much you can get away with and still be called a Christian. It's up to you _, ('For if we would judge ourselves, we would not be judged'),_ to answer certain questions for yourself: Does this help me? Am I closer to God through this, or farther away? Am I a better witness for Christ by choosing these actions?"

Julie blushed suddenly, and looked guilty, ashamed and forlorn. It was clear that this was the first time she had thought about things like that. "I was just trying to have a little fun is all," she muttered apologetically.

"No harm in that," Luke reassured her, "But why not have fun with us? Singing songs, clapping hands, praising God, talking about all his wonderful blessings and promises...don't you think that could be fun too? To realize that the infinite God who made the whole universe cares about you personally, and will freely give you eternal life in His Kingdom? What earthly joy could compare to that!"

It sounded good to Julie, but after her inside-answers to the previous questions, Julie was still feeling very wicked and unworthy. Luke almost scoffed. What little sins of hers could compare to the wars and murders of his own youth? But Luke thought better of intruding his own story. This was about Julie's desire to come to God! If she felt separated by her sins, what greater relief, Luke remembered, than to repent of one's sins? "All you need to do is repent, and ask God for forgiveness! Is there any limit to His mercy?" Luke grew excited, promising, "Then you can _'walk in newness of life_ ', living for God! What wonders will begin for you then!" Then Luke finished by repeating the Man of God's first invitation, smiling first at the irony of this role reversal, and then smiling even wider when he realized it wasn't irony, but progress. "Come and see...."

There were lights from a town up ahead. Luke figured the bus would probably stop to find a bar anyway, but he wanted to get her away from the distractions, the peer pressure, so she could continue to think clearly. Also Luke didn't want her to just pile off the bus with everyone else on their way to the bar. He wanted it to be an act of choosing, of deliberately leaving this Bus to Nowhere. So he said quietly, like a hint towards what she should do, "There's a town up ahead. We could find a place for you to stay. Get some sleep. Clear your head. And we could probably find a church for you there in the morning." Luke was surprised by how quickly Julie reached up and pulled the cord. A ding alerted the driver, and John drifted to the roadside and let them off. Julie exited first, and then Luke was about to follow when he stopped, and made a last attempt to inform the rest of the revelers as well. "Jesus Saves!" he shouted, before he left. There was laughter--most of them thought it was a gag. There were chants of "Luke! Luke! Luke!" from those who thought he was going into the woods with the beautiful blonde for amorous purposes. But someone else realized he was serious, and threw a beer can out the window at them as the bus pulled away.

As soon as the bus was gone, Julie let out her breath, like a sigh. At first Luke feared it was a sigh of sadness, at seeing her ride roll on without her. Then he realized it was a sigh of relief, when she said one lone word, "Free." They held hands innocently (sometimes she would squeeze it so tightly!) and walked towards town, as the cool night air cleared her head, and she asked frightened questions about her future, and Luke comforted her. When they reached the sleepy town of Trammelmaris they shook their heads at the party bus parked outside of Stu's Drinking Shack. And they grinned as they marked the location of a Grace of Life worship house instead.

Then they went to the hotel. Luke took out the last of his "Emergency Money", since this seemed to qualify. He gave the desk clerk a kryptonite coin to pay for a room and a continental breakfast for Julie. Then he pressed the silver coin into Julie's palm and instructed her: "This is for the offering plate at church tomorrow. Some people are ashamed to go empty-handed." (He thought sadly of his own unpursued curiosity back in college. How much less shameful it now seemed to disappoint a church in the matter of a few coins, than to defraud God in the eternal worship of the heart!) "I just don't want that to stand in your way. Don't let anything stand in your way!"

"But you won't go with me?" Julie was disappointed, and a little scared.

"I won't need to. I'm going to pray with you tonight! After you manage that, the rest will come natural I think." Pleased, Julie made as though she would lead Luke up to her room to pray. But Luke resisted that peril, and chose a quiet corner, right there in the lobby, instead.

On their knees together, Luke took another appropriate prayer straight out of the Bible. Remembering that his first confession had been given to Hosanna, this time he gave it right to God! " _'God have mercy on me a sinner.'_ " Equal before an Almighty God, they both felt a wave of relief as they made that confession, but then Luke took Julie the next step too: "Jesus, please come into my life to lead me and be my Lord. Amen."

"That's it?" Julie was surprised.

"If there's more to say, they'll help you with it in church tomorrow. Everyone there will be as nice as me. But remember, it's not the words--true prayer is in the way you humble your heart: when Jesus comes into your life to lead you, you let Him! Ya hear? Then there will be more words, more prayers, more lessons. And best of all, _'more joy in heaven'_!"

Luke kissed her hand like a gentleman, and then walked away waving, while exhausted Julie drifted up the stairs and drifted off to sleep with the sweetest smile, and peace in her heart. In the morning, true to her word, she walked down to the church and sang praises.

Walking through the woods after leaving, Luke felt like singing too. "I did it!" he exulted, still wondering where all that good witnessing had come from. After he realized the answer, he corrected himself: "God did it!" Then he felt like dancing.

# Chapter 37: Rendezvouz and Road Games

"Night and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face, and might perfect that which is lacking in your faith..." 1 Thessalonians 3:10

Not too late in the morning, not too many miles out of Trammelmaris, still somewhere between the hamlets of Lemonruth and Brookensmantle, Luke was thankful to catch another ride. Along the road came a weather-beaten bus, and Luke stuck out his thumb and it stopped.

As he boarded, Luke was startled to see that it was unlike any bus he had ever been on before: The back four benches were all stacked with cut flowers, and the front of the bus was packed full of lacrosse players!

Once they started calling him by name, he recognized them too! It was his friends from The Garden! All their tough lacrosse players, and a few of the girls were there too. "Um, Hi," said startled Luke. There were lots of happy hellos, but Louise was the first one to rush up and give him a hug. Whispering in his ear, excitedly, " _Are you?_ "

Luke whispered back, "Yes!" That brought another hug, and a bright laugh, and a little dance. She pulled him to a seat near hers, and demanded to hear the whole story of Luke's journey, and Luke's believing. Most of the other people listened in too.

The whole time, Louise was just on the edge of her seat, wiggling and fidgeting, so excited for Luke! Elbows in, fists clenched, like she wanted to jump, if not for the low roof. "Do you know what this means? You're saved, Luke! Saved!" Luke smiled himself, and remembered that word for his list. "Everything from now on will be different, Luke. Everything you do from now on will be for Christ! And everything you do will be blessed, protected, guided!" Luke took down those words as well.

On a more practical note, big Kip chipped in, "Yeah, and it also means you can play for _our_ team this time." Turned out they were one long-stick short. Their legendary defenseman Mr. Gup had suffered a freak knee injury in Saturday's game, up in the isolationist empire of Zomanondanay. (Even legends are not immortal.) The team was quite happy to have found Luke just in time, even though he was somewhere short of Mr. Gup's all-star status. "If God gives us manna, we won't ask for quail," was the consensus.

They had two games scheduled, one against a tough team from the ornery kingdom of Boshburg, and the other against their anarchist neighbors from Clash City. "I don't think we're gonna intimidate anybody when we come off the bus smelling like roses," Luke observed.

"Yeah, but you'll be glad for the fresh scent on the way home," joked Mike the Middie.

Luke soon saw what all the flowers were for. As soon as the lacrosse teams started warming up, Louise and Susan and the rest of the young ladies started distributing free flowers to the crowd, and asking them if they wanted to hear about the free gift of eternal life bestowed by God through Jesus Christ. "It's never just about lacrosse. That just makes a good excuse to get together," Louise explained to Luke at half-time.

"Yeah, as usual; the men do the playing, and we women do all the important work," Susan winked. "We're used to it."

"You don't get too many separated shoulders passing out flowers, though," Mike countered. (It was a hard crowd, but still they didn't resist the gospel _that_ violently!)

Luke started out playing kind of meek and peaceful, but after the Clash City Rockers had scored a few soft goals, Captain Kip reminded him, " _'A time for war, and a time for peace_. _'_ " Luke took that to mean this was the time to start knocking people over. Once they had stepped up their defense, the Good Guys roared back to win a hard-fought 10-8 game.

Later in the afternoon, they rolled over the Boshburg Bone Rats 14-4. Luke wondered if this was a result of being 'blessed, protected, guided'...or if it was just the fact that, "Boy, that Frank Lechowski sure can shoot!"

Back on the bus, Luke asked the ladies, "So how did you-all do?"

"Not too many converts today," Louise admitted. "But we'll keep trying! We play there again next season, after all."

"I think we planted a few seeds though," said Susan with a straight face. When Luke saw a twinkle in her eye he realized she was being a little sassy.

"You guys did well though," Luke reassured them. "I saw you. You were talkin' to everybody! I wish I could be brave like that." Then he told them about the Bus to Nowhere, and how he had been timid and hadn't had much success sharing his faith.

"No success at all?" Louise wondered.

"Well, I helped one girl to pray and believe, but that's it."

A flowergirl named Renee grabbed his hand. Full of joy and excitement: "Each soul is priceless! She's just like us: lost once, now found! _I'm_ only one. _You're_ only one. So each time one more is saved, it's just like _we_ were being saved all over again! Jubilationexultation-gloryjoyandwonder!" she pattered off a compound exclamation. Luke did feel happier about it when she put it that way.

Susan helped too, pointing out: "Some people go their whole lives without ever reaching a single person for Christ. You're off to a good beginning. The main thing is, don't stop there."

Louise simply smiled, and acted like she had expected this news all along: "' _So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.'_ Who knows Luke? Maybe even the other people on the bus will take something from the encounter. We leave that in God's hands. All we have to do is simply to preach the Gospel. God will do the saving."

"You make it sound like preaching it is so easy," Luke chuckled, "But you haven't seen the people to whom I'll be preachin'!"

Several of the Christians in the neighboring seats leaned in closer. This sounded like a challenge. "So who are they? Hard people, with hard hearts, and hard questions? Which questions?" someone wanted to know.

"Could be they're not such hard questions at all, compared to God's good answers," another added. " _'He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his neighbor cometh and searcheth him.'_ The world is always finding one 'flaw' or another with the Bible, or with the Creation story, or with the behavior of the church. But usually there are good explanations, worthy answers, if only the world was willing to hear them! After all, _'He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him.'_ So don't let your people stop at the questions! Keep reminding them that there are answers!"

"But what if I don't know the answers?" Luke worried.

Susan was very understanding. "When a baby is born, it doesn't come into the world knowing everything, Luke. It has to grow, and learn. It's like that when you're born again, too. Keep reading, keep praying, and you'll keep learning. Also, find a good Spirit-filled church and they'll help you to grow; they'll help you find each answer! Not all at once, of course, but you can trust God in this: At every stage, you'll know as much as He needs you to know."

Luke took a little comfort from that, but then a little shame. The problem with that advice was... "So what if there is no church at all, where I'm from?" (After years of persecution, followed by a spree of martyrdom, the only churches left in Hun-Country were the ones held in the hands of children: _'This is the church...and this is the steeple... open the doors...and fight all the people!'_ )

Undeterred, Susan replied, "Then you make one! Did not Jesus say _'where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I with them'?_ Which means you only really need to find one more person to go with you. My advice would be to take someone who has been a believer for a while, someone wise and experienced, to complement your youth and energy." Luke smiled. He knew just the person. "Then the two of you reach out and touch two more, and then the four of you bring four more into the church, and so on, until your little church is packed to the rafters! Then you move and build another one..."

"In the meantime, you have us," Louise pledged. "Didn't I tell you if you had questions you should ask?"

She seemed so friendly, Luke took her up on the invitation. Not only was it a chance to learn the answers to the tough questions his Huns might ask, but it was a chance to sneak in a few of his own: a few of the doubts and problems that had begun to gnaw at him in the time since his first triumphant act of believing. "What about evil? All the bad things that happen... All the bad things that I've done," Luke admitted.

A goalie named Fields turned away this first fear. "Why does a good God allow it? Is that your question? Maybe he's not so good, or not so powerful as billed? And by extension, if He's not what people say he is, then maybe the whole idea of God is just what people have cobbled together for themselves. Is that what you're wondering?" Luke kinda nodded. "An oldie but a goodie," said Fields. "Half of the answer is to stop seeing things as the world sees them--to change your definition of 'bad things'. Pain hurts--but in the long run it makes us stronger. Death kills--but does it really? Or does it simply free the spirit to return to God. _'The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart: and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.'_ Death is not an end, but a beginning; not an evil, but deliverance!"

Luke hated to speak the words of the other evil things he had seen. The very mention was taboo. So he spoke them softly, "Torture. Rape."

"On to the second half of the answer then. Who is to blame for those acts? God? Or men? God allowing evil to occur is not the same as Him causing it. _'Lo, this only I have found, that God hath made man upright; but they have sought out many inventions.'_ The flaw is not in the way God has made men, but in what we have chosen to do with what he has given us--free will. Without freedom, there could be no evil. But also there could be no real love, no true worship--and hence no purpose for humanity! Is it worth the tradeoff do you think?" While Luke was pondering that equation, Fields went ahead and helped him with it: "It is, when you consider that even those who suffer from the evil, are given the hope of a good which outweighs it: Absolute Love, and Perfect Light. And an eternity of them! _'For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding weight of glory; While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.'_ "

"No comparison at all!" Susan summarized.

Luke was thankful for the explanation. He didn't understand it completely as yet, but it helped. He needed to take back something. After all, "The Huns are pretty well acquainted with evil," he explained. "I'm sure it will come up."

Speaking of the Huns reminded Luke of something Chief Otis had said angrily more than once, to Luke's mother: "What kind of crazy God would torment people eternally just for not believing in Him?" Luke rephrased it as tactfully as he could for his friends. Thankfully, a hard hitter named Hane responded quickly...

"Same answer! First of all, if hell is a place of torment, who is doing the tormenting? Most likely, demons, or whatever godless men become, spend their time biting and devouring one another! If your vicious father and his violent friends want to spend eternity in a place without the Lord, they have no right to turn around and blame Him that it's not a very nice place! The Bible says God ' _will punish them with eternal destruction from the presence of the Lord.'_ Maybe it means they'll be unmade, like a pot that is unfit for use is made back into clay? Since we too are of no use if we refuse our own purpose: to believe in God, to love Him, know Him, and worship Him. Or maybe being shut out from His presence is its own torment, seeing what could have been, and being tortured by shame and self-reproach at our failure? I know not what God may do, or what form his wrath may take--be it " _everlasting fire"_ or _"outer darkness"_. For that matter, I have trouble imagining heaven too! But I know which one is better! Let all men choose their course wisely! Actions have consequences, and choices regarding eternity have eternal consequence. But... shall we blame the One who opens a door that none can shut, and invites us to step through into mercy and eternal life? Or does the blame lie with those who turn away, in pride or spite or selfishness? It's a strange thing for men to rail against God's goodness because of horrible things like hell and punishment, and then do everything in their power to make sure they end up there, when God has done everything in His power to make sure that they don't!"

Luke let out a breath, with both relief, and sadness. It was a hard saying, but it was better to accept the hard truth than to pretend it wasn't true, and find out the hard way that it was. Hane was adding one last thought: "And to dig in one's heels before the door to heaven in the name of solidarity with one's comrades who have perished is especially dense--who knows whether the Lord may actually have saved them, with a last moment of epiphany as their soul began its departure? _'Who art thou that judgest another man's servant?'_ We don't need to know their fate: We only know that we ourselves are commanded to repent and believe, and it is our duty to obey!" He paused, and summed up grudgingly, "I don't expect non-believers to immediately take our word for the fact that God's judgment is all-knowing and just, only to acknowledge that their accusation of 'injustice' fails as long as their own judgment is not!" Luke wrinkled his forehead, sorted through that, and finally nodded.

They talked of happier things as the bus rolled on, having a revival meeting right there in their benches. Everyone had a thought to share, everyone had an experience to profit by, everyone had a miracle to describe. They were all so kind and helpful, that Luke finally felt comfortable asking his third big question: "If I go back to Hun-Country with the Gospel, I know exactly what their reaction will be: they'll scoff and wonder what makes this religion so special: every nation we sack and pillage has its own gods and temples, but none of these have saved them from the Huns." Luke contemplated this phenomenon for a moment, and concluded, "It's no wonder we have so much trouble understanding God. God is supposed to be the biggest and most powerful, but so far we've never run into anyone more powerful than ourselves."

"And yet every Hun dies eventually, even if not in battle." Luke looked like this point had gone over his head, so the speaker, a gentle Attacker named Ernie, went on penetratingly. "I'm saying, someone has the power to create your lives, and to set their limits. You _do_ run into someone more powerful than yourselves, every time you breathe, every time you eat, every day that you wake, and every time you look upon the world! You just don't realize it!"

"But Luke _did_ realize it," Louise pointed out. "So what changed, Luke?"

Luke replayed his thoughts on the day he first believed, and he realized that Jenny's word was true, it was Love that had brought him there. "I've been learning more about Love this whole journey. Hearing about it, feeling it, seeing it in action. Your promise of 'a thousand years' was huge," he said deferentially, then added the rest of the equation nervously, afraid of her reaction, "but it was Rebecca's sister, Jenny Harris, who really made the difference."

Louise wasn't upset at all, only thoughtful. (Coz she didn't have a crush on him, she just loved him. There's a difference.) "Love. Why not? If one doesn't even know about love, how will one return God's love? Or even understand the first thing about God, who _'is love'_? He would remain unfathomable."

It was the word 'unfathomable' that reminded Luke of a parable that had crossed his mind while he was crossing the ocean, hands wrapped around Helena's unfamiliar flesh. "But what about that old story? About the three blind men touching an elephant: One of them holds its tail and says an elephant is like a rope, one feels its leg and thinks it's like a tree, one touches its trunk and thinks an elephant is like a snake. None of them wrong, but all of them only partly right. How do I know your... our... religion, isn't like that too? Partly true, but no more special than other various conceptions. My Huns will want to know," Luke added, a little embarrassed for revealing his own doubts.

Mike the Middie scooped up this question with a peculiar blend of seriousness and silliness. "That might make a better parable to express the various Christian churches--not quite in agreement, but still feeling around the same source. But if the blind men represent all the different religions on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, then why would we assume that they would all be clustered around the same elephant? The world is a pretty big zoo! If we start hearing the fourth blind man say that the elephant has a hump, or a long neck, then maybe he's gotten in with the camels, or the giraffes. If a fifth one says the elephant has a big horn, he's petting the rhinoceros--ya better get him out of there! If a sixth one claims that elephants have little wings and skinny legs, he's flown his chicken coop! the rest of what he says is liable to be no more accurate." Mike looked around quickly to make sure he wasn't getting any dirty looks. "You did say they were blind men, didn't you? So who is to say where they might wind up? And the spiritually blind face the same problem! _'If the blind leadeth the blind, they shall both fall into a pit.'_ But meanwhile, we follow Christ, who made the blind to see..."

Luke didn't want to fall prey to any smooth-sounding sophistry, and demanded, "So why would the first three blind men, the ones with the elephant, still have such different ideas? If their blindness is healed by Christ..."

"Oh, it's not that they're still blind. It's just that the elephant is too big to see it all at once! Who is gonna know if the elephant has a tattoo on the top of its head? Unless you climbed up there... Which is why we trust Christ, who was lifted up to God, to teach us about God. How does that part go? _'neither knoweth any man the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him.'_ " Mike smiled, pleased for having remembered. "Like the big elephant, we have a big God, who can't be fully comprehended by humans--so churches with different viewpoints see Him slightly differently. Just don't let anyone tell you God has a long neck and skinny legs. Certain things just don't fit in with what we _do_ know."

A feisty lacrosse coach named Feargal added some motivational advice: "If you want them to know that our faith is special, you have to _show_ them it's special, by being patient, kind, forgiving... Christ-like! You can do it, son! Sure it's challenging: coz the world will always be skeptical, ready to prematurely call you a hypocrite (though we're not claiming we _are_ Christ, only that we desire to be _like_ Him.) So they may resist seeing the changes, and focus instead on seeing your flaws--but _you'll_ see the changes! That's how you know you're on the right road! And if you follow that road long enough, praying and asking God to shape you, _eventually_ they'll see changes too--and they may start to realize how special Christ is!" Then he calmed down a bit, a thought occurred to him, and he tempered his enthusiasm with discipline, "But if, while you're praying, you ever notice that you're putting more emphasis on the _'forgive us our sins'_ than you are on the _'Hallowed be thy name'_ or the ' _on earth as it is in heaven'_ , it's a good sign that you've gotten off track. Fix that, fast--coz you're not the only one who could be hurt by it. You'll be weakening the team, and letting down the spectators! ...And I'll have you runnin' laps!"

A pretty flower-girl named Shannon took over next, tired of biting her tongue and a tad miffed by Luke's little parable. "Partly true? Did you really say that? How would that work? Is that like 'partly crucified'? Christ claimed to be the Son of God! The Bible is said to be the God-breathed word of truth! Where's the partway in those claims? They're either true, or they aren't! Which is it?" She made him go ahead and say it. It never hurts to say it again.

"True." Then he balked, and added, "I think." Thus came his last big question: "But how do I _know_? The God part, I'm pretty sure about. I reasoned that out a little. There would have to be God, wouldn't there? For there to be anything? But, would it have to be the God of the Bible? Would it have to be the gospel about Jesus Christ? I'm not saying I don't believe it... I'm just saying it was never proven to me. It just seemed to fit, and I believed it. Maybe that's just because the Bible was the book I was given to work from. It could have been different..." He looked at Mike: "I could have been the guy in there with the rhinos."

"And maybe God would send a brave Christian witness to open the gate and lead you out," Mike parried.

"K, so long as he sends me one who can explain it all to me logically. Coz I have a scary feelin' that I'm starting to re-order my life, based on nothing more than a leap of faith."

Mark the equipment manager was appalled. "Nothing more? There _is_ nothing more than faith, if that faith leads you to Christ! Faith is not a small thing. Remember this verse? _'If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.'_ All the logic in the world won't get that done for you. Nor will the world's logic get you into heaven. Then again, neither is reason the enemy of faith. They work together! Reason tells us what things make sense, what we _should_ know. Faith tells us what things are true, what we _do_ know. Your faith tells you to believe in Christ. Amen! Good goin'! But what would reason tell you?" Luke looked unsure. Mark set in order a parable of his own, to clear it up for him--maybe a little sarcastic, definitely a little stern:

The Would-It-Hold-Up-In-Court Theory

" _Hmm, let's see. There's a court case. Somehow you wound up on the jury. Looking at you, I'd guess it's coz you've got no job and nothing else to do. The defense attorney starts out by bringing out hundreds upon hundreds of character witnesses. Trying to show that the accused is a heckuva guy, so there was no ill intent if any law was infringed. One of them says, 'I was blind, and this guy made me see!' Another says, "I was lame, and he made me walk!" A third, "I was dead, and he restored me to life!" Well, you're sitting on the edge of your seat by now; those are quite the character references! So this has your interest at least. A curious case indeed. Some more witnesses come, and describe the time he turned water into wine; others swear they saw him walking on water; someone tells about him stopping a storm with his command; and a whole bunch say they were there eating the very meal, when he fed thousands with only a few fishes and a few loaves! Now you're thinking, I gotta get to know this guy. Very impressive. Not only that, but it's starting to have the makings of a pretty strong case. This is the story of the ministry._

_The next day, the defense attorney brings out a ton of old official state documents, written before the guy was born, promising that he would come and do this, that and the other thing, exactly as he now had done! His birth_ _and identity are specified,_ 'But thou Bethlehem Ephrathah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, out of thee shall he come forth who is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.' _His calling and his healing ministry are foretold!_ 'I the LORD have called thee in righteousness, and will keep thee, and give thee for a covenant to the people, for a light to the Gentiles; To open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house.' _His divinity is proclaimed!_ 'Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion, for, lo, I come, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, saith the LORD. And many nations shall be joined to the LORD in that day, and shall be my people, and I will dwell in the midst of thee, and thou shalt know that the LORD of hosts hath sent me unto thee.' _His suffering is foretold_ , 'Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.' _Forget Psalm 23, the one everyone memorizes; read Psalm 22: His Crucifixion is described!_ 'I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death. For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet. I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me. They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.' _Some pretty specific stuff, some quite convincing prophecies. Plenty more material to wade through as well, but it'll be worth the search, I'd say. You're going to be asking to have the bailiff bring those documents into the jury room, aren't you? Before you reach a decision you'd want to dust off those parchments and check them twice to see if it's for real, wouldn't you? At least you'd do that much! This is the story of the prophets._

The court, on the other hand, already has its mind made up. Judge sees you guys looking sympathetic. Can't have that. So he makes the decision himself: Guilty! Sentencing time... Guy violated some lawyers' interpretation of various laws but he didn't actually hurt anybody: in fact he healed them time and time again. So what punishment does he deserve for that crime? Kill him! Pick the most bitter death possible and make him suffer, too. A little overboard, don't you think? More like, all the injustice of the world, all the wickedness of men, distilled into a single moment. This is the story of the crucifixion.

_Well, now you're personally involved in the case. You go to the execution. You don't want to, but you're hoping to see another miracle, or a reprieve. While you're there you get something better... You hear some talk: somebody says the guy told people in advance that he would be killed all right, but that he would come back to life on the third day. Peculiar? To say the least! So, where do you think you're going to be, three days after they crucify this guy? Hanging around. Staying in the neighborhood. Hoping to hear some news. Trying to catch a glimpse. Wondering whether it will really happen. Well, guess what. It did. People saw him die, and then they saw him alive again. Tell me which of your other religions have that, buddy. Even among your medical marvel, near-death experiences, has there ever been any among them who called it in advance, who said of his life:_ 'I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This commandment have I received of my Father.' _And then did it?! This is the story of the resurrection._

_Now that won't do. Executed prisoners are not allowed to come back to life: Talk about a parole violation! So there's talk of a second trial. Never mind any provisions against double jeopardy. But Jesus is translated into heaven before the trial date, before they can crucify him a second time. Fitting, coz his one perfect sacrifice brings eternal redemption, we are told:_ 'And every priest standeth daily ministering and offering oftentimes the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins: But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down at the right hand of God; From henceforth expecting till his enemies be made his footstool. For by one offering he has perfected forever them that are sanctified.' _This is the story of our redemption._

_So they try him in absentia: if they can't kill the man, they'll settle for killing his memory. You feel compelled to go watch from the gallery, see how this ends. On the first day of the trial, strange ways! Here come all the same witnesses from the first occasion, plus a bunch of new ones. No one subpoenaed any of them: no writs or summonses were presented. The court didn't even want to hear what they had to say. Ah, but they wanted to tell it! They describe his miracles, his teachings, once again. But this time they add another story, the one that unites them and draws them... They say they have seen him alive, confirmed_ 'by many infallible proofs' _, including feeling the nail marks and the wound in his side! What a turn this is! But maybe he just had a good attorney, found a bunch of deadbeats to lie for him? The prosecution implies as much, and they start threatening the witnesses with perjury charges. None of the witnesses backs down. The court ups the stakes, threatens the witnesses with death. Nobody breaks. So the court follows through--starts offing the witnesses, while the others watch! After the horror, your next thought is, Now they'll admit the truth at least. But the remainder hold onto their testimony, proclaiming "This is the truth. I have seen this with my eyes!" Then as they are killed, they don't spit the earthly 'Curse you!' but the heavenly 'May God forgive you.' Hey, where did that come from? This is the story of the martyrs._

_With all the witnesses slain, the court declares a recess until the next morning. (Might as well, eh.) As you walk home, you wonder, is this the most messed up conspiracy I've ever seen? or were they simply telling the truth! Two things that tilt you towards the latter explanation are, you've never seen anyone so gladly lay down their lives for someone they know is a liar, a cheat, a fraud, (as those who said they had seen these alleged miracles would well know, if the miracles had indeed been embellished); And, you've never heard a reckless, malicious, and egotistical madman or deceiver speak so sagely as the countless shining words you keep hearing attributed to the accused. Just like the miracles of healing: they fit better coming from one who is really of God. Anything's possible, but:_ 'Since the world began was it not heard that any man opened the eyes of one that was born blind. If this man were not of God, he could do nothing.' _This is the story of our choice: of common sense, and its call to faith._

_Speaking of shining words... you're hopeful now, longing maybe, but you still have questions, still have problems. So you seek out the disciples that remain, run things by them. One by one they start to allay your doubts and fears, with reasonable explanations, or with the power of God, which stands superior to human reason! Where you have questions, God has answers. How much greater are His answers!_ 'But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.' _This is the story of the Holy Spirit._

_So after you realize this guy is risen, then what? You've gone from interested and intrigued to convinced and committed. And then? You find yourself changed, empowered, filled with a willing heart and a true conscience, and all of a sudden, wonder of wonders, what do ya know! You too are speaking in tongues, healing the lame, doing many miracles, preaching the gospel, or building a church in his name! Becoming a martyr yourself maybe... And the church spreads like wildfire, with new believers risking their property, their reputations, and their lives to be a part of it. Why? Because it is a hoax, a myth, a fashionable fad? Or because they too are seeing expressions and manifestations of the same power that the guy's first followers had witnessed:_ 'The power of God unto salvation.' _This is the story of the church._

So who is this guy? This is the story of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

But did it really happen that way? We say that it did. Are you wiser than us? Hmm. The holy and abiding word of God also says that it did. Are you wiser than Him? Careful now..."

Luke was worn out after that long story. He liked it, and jotted down the twice-used word 'Power' to remember it by. Mark had taken some liberties to make the point, but it still served its purpose: it didn't seem like such a leap of faith at all, anymore, to believe the gospel! More like a smooth slide of faith. Yeah! In there! _Safe!_

It was late when they got back to their church compound. As they approached the camp, Louise finally asked him, having taken it for granted, "You're staying with us right? At least spend the night, get some sleep?"

"I can't," Luke said sadly. "I have a meeting to get to, in Mexico. If I stay with you guys, I'm afraid I'll never want to leave!"

Louise sighed. "We walk the road God gives us, I suppose. Well, you walk, we ride." Still, they saved him a couple miles of walking, as they took him two miles further than their stop. Kind of a ' _go with him twain'_ gesture. They would have done more, but, "Two miles for you is four for us," Louise pointed out, since they had to go back two. (Ah, math.) "And the driver is lookin' sleepy. Safety first, guy."

Luke assured her that he was very grateful, they had done more than enough already. Even though they were tired, they still took time for hugs all around. Then Luke wondered, "Now that I believe, does that 'thousand years' still apply? I don't like for you to be put to any trouble..."

Louise gave a sweet laugh. "Of course! Only now I'll pray that you continue to increase in your faith, and that many others will be blessed through your witness. To the glory of God! Besides, it's no burden at all: the more people I have to pray for, the more time I wind up talking with the Lord! Where's the trouble in that?"

Luke brightened at her faith, and searched for the perfect word for his notes, to encompass her reverence and diligence and obedience. He settled on "Lord". He knew she would want it that way.

Finally Luke had one last request to relay before leaving. "Can you tell Rebecca something for me? Just say that her dad and her sister miss her at home, and would welcome her back with love."

At that point, some very groggy lacrosse players pushed Luke towards the door.

# Chapter 38: A Fast Ride, A Wise Guide, and a Smooth Slide

"And he said to his servant, Go up now, look toward the sea. And he went up, and looked, and said, There is nothing. And he said, Go again seven times. And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand." 1 Kings 18:43-44

Luke soon found out that there were a lotta extra miles to Mexico.

He stumbled on for hours and days, through empty spaces. Famished, he found himself nibbling on grubs, gnawing at shrubs. "If I ever do get back to Hun-Country and start that church," he vowed, "We're gonna have a lot of pot-luck dinners! (And if anyone brings grubs, bugs or beetles: Excommunication! ...or at least I'll make 'em go stand in the corner)," he relented.

He was a little disappointed, as he traveled, that after so many sudden bus rides, there was now such a great dearth of transportation. Still, God will see me through, Luke told himself. And sure enough, every time Luke's spirits started to flag, he would see something to lighten his steps. Some children playing, as he passed a small hamlet. An energetic otter cavorting with a sassy raccoon and an eager beaver, as he skirted a lake. A woman singing hymns, as he walked among farms. A dirty brown dog who looked like he had been kicked in the head, run over by some mud, and then told a good joke, laughing in the shade of a tree, as Luke cut through woods. Little gestures of encouragement, but still: "I would prefer a big gesture of encouragement--like a bus!" But there were no buses forthcoming, and Luke trudged on towards Mexico on an empty belly and sore feet.

"Maybe we shouldn't have swapped shoes," Luke speculated. It had seemed like Bert's football shoes almost fit him okay, but just that little bit of rub was adding up over the long haul. It's one thing to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, but it's quite a different thing to try to walk a thousand miles in them.

Finally, Luke felt like he couldn't take another step. He took another step. After that one he was sure he couldn't take another. He took another. After carrying on bravely like that for another hour, and still no rides, no relief, finally Luke collapsed, and lay by the roadside. Then he got up and sat. Finally he rolled to his knees. As long as he was there, he thought, why not? A prayer. In the dying light. "Lord, I am very weary. I have been trying very hard to make it to Mexico as instructed. You see me trying. But I don't know if I can make it on my own. Please, may I have some help? Make my feet not hurt, or send me a Groverskin cape and the power of flight, or bring me a bless-ed bus. Please and Thank you. Amen." Then Luke opened his eyes, felt around on his back for a cape, and sighed. His feet still hurt too. "I don't know what I expected," Luke admitted. Then he looked down the road and saw, far off in the distance, a cloud dust. It grew nearer and cloudier and dustier, until Luke could make out the shape of a bus. "Ah, that's what!"

Then he had a moment of fear, as he worried, But would it stop? Not too many lone drivers would pick up a Hun in any event, all alone in the outer reaches, with no one to protect them. Add in 'a dirty and disheveled, desperate Hun with that lean and hungry look' and it became even more of a longshot. Given the reputation of the Huns, it seemed like a good way to lose your bus!

But as the bus came closer, it slowed down. It drew abreast, and it crunched to a stop. Luke was still waiting for the driver to recognize him and flee, but instead the door hissed open and the bus waited. Still too startled by this happy turn, Luke didn't even think to get on the bus until the driver reminded him to "Come aboard!" Football cleats clattered up metal stairs and Luke shook hands with "Dennis the Driver", and swung himself into a seat, remembering to thank God for yet another gift.

"You weren't scared to pick up a Hun?" Luke asked, the slightest bit hurt that his fearsomeness had not been respected. "You're a brave man."

"I didn't see someone dangerous, I saw someone who looked like they could use some help. One ought always to do the right thing, don't you think? Besides, what was it that Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego answered to the king? _'If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king_. _But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.'_ Don't call me brave: those guys were brave. Completely trusting in God to save them, but willing to serve Him faithfully whether he saved them or not!"

Luke liked this answer. He decided that bus drivers sure knew a lot about life. Maybe because they have to keep their eyes open, he reasoned. In any case, he asked Dennis suspiciously, "Well, can I call you a wise man, then?"

"Sure, why not," Dennis played along, not really believing it, because that would be vain, but knowing that it was true whether he believed it or not. Then he put his passenger Luke on the spot by returning the question. "What about you, son? Are _you_ wise?"

Surprised, Luke quickly evaluated. "No, not yet. I think not," he answered. Then he smiled confidently and bragged, "But I _am_ Intense, Condensed, and I have...fifteen cents," as he pulled his coins from his pocket and counted the leftover convenience store change.

Dennis slightly smiled, in good-natured amusement, for a good rhyme is always a worthwhile creation. But ever the clever one, Dennis replied, with hand gesture accompaniment, "Your second term requires defense: in what sense are you condensed?"

Luke had to think, coz yeah he had just pulled that one out of thin air; but he made a nice save by saying, "Y'know those shorter books, with fewer words than the original? Well I'm not that short, but I _am_ a man of few words." Then in case this analogy was not satisfactory he added for good measure, "Milk can be Condensed. I drink a lot of milk."

Dennis just nodded, playfully satisfied, and he turned the heater up a notch, coz Luke still looked kinda cool from the long autumn day.

The 'fifteen cents' part had reminded Luke he didn't have much money. Uncomfortably, he confessed, "I can't pay you for the ride." Then he had an idea: "I gave the last driver my hat as a fare, I don't suppose you'd want this one..." he took the beat-up Tigers cap out of his back pocket.

"Um, kinda dirty, isn't it? You keep it. You don't have to pay me, I was going this way anyway, wasn't I? Delivering the mail to the people in the south." Luke looked behind and saw the mailbags piled up at the back. After that he felt like less of a burden. 'Besides, he'll hardly know I'm here,' Luke told himself, as he snuggled in to sleep. It might have been polite to make a little conversation first, but Luke figured the guy would still be there when he woke up. Right now he was too tired to talk any more anyway.

The bus rolled on with few stops, only pausing briefly for Dennis to drop off mailbags with local sheriffs, as Luke nodded through the Kingdom of Kenny and the Princessipality of Meaghanmeagher, as he slept through the Town of Tracytegan and the Country of Caramantha, as he dozed through the Municipality of Mahovlich and the Republic of Ronpaul, and as he slumbered through the Shining City of Santofera and the Rowdy Rasta Regime of Rossanerik (where twin tyrants took turns oppressing one another, and turns writing reggae songs about their suffering.)

At one point, Luke awoke for a brief moment and looked out the window to try to see where they were. He couldn't tell of course, but he watched the deep blue night and the honey-hearted stars for a moment, surprised by how bright the night seemed. As though it were filled with an invisible light. Luke felt again the way he had felt when on the Bus to Glory talking with Mumblesmith. As though he could feel God's presence around them; as though he could hear his own heart telling secrets! Still couldn't quite make out what praises, what promises, it was whispering, so he took a guess at it: "What's that? Go back to sleep you say? Good idea." And he slept again smiling, in the safety of salvation.

He was even more pleased when he awoke to good smells at dawn. He opened his window to better savor the aromas--popcorn and cotton candy, molasses and butterscotch! He stared at the gingerbread houses and wondered whether he was still dreaming. It seemed so, for the bus was awash in color, too: first a bright band of blue, then cool green, happy yellow, wondrous orange, as they drove through a rainbow! Not to mention twinkling, silver-blue pixie-dust vapor trails, an effusive pink horizon, and golden tree-top castles!

Seeing that Luke was awake and puzzled, Dennis the Driver explained, "Welcome to the fairy kingdom of Cinnamon Sands  I love it here--sometimes I even have to send them some postcards myself, just so I have an excuse to pass through! (Coz few people believe in elves anymore; and who ever writes them letters?) Wouldn't want to live here though... Too many ants. You know, what with the ground made of cinnamon sugar and all. But it's a great place to visit." Dennis enjoyed a deep draught of the sweet-smelling air, and laughed: "Getting hungry?"

"Starving," Luke realized.

Dennis nudged his cooler out from under the seat with one foot. "Help yourself," he offered. "A wise traveler comes prepared," he remarked--with just a hint of a reprimand for Luke, who hadn't.

Luke was too polite to dig in Hun-style like he wanted to, and finish off the whole cooler (and all the food in it too), so he just took some blueberries and a peach at first, then when Dennis encouraged him to have more he finished some leftover Mexican food that Dennis had acquired at a drive thru window in the night, as they had passed quickly through the southern town of Rollo Nuevo (and vice versa).

Finally, after that, he was able to talk. Dennis the Driver's 'wise traveler' comment had reminded Luke that he had called Dennis a wise man the night before. So it seemed like picking up where they had left off. "Share your wisdom with me, wise man?"

"Jesus Christ." Dennis the Driver launched right in with the name! Luke smiled. It seemed like a good way to start the morning, he thought, remembering. Dennis was continuing: "You asked about wisdom. There it is. All that I have. _'For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe. For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom: But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness; But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.'_ "

"Been hearing that name a lot lately," Luke told the driver.Raised eyebrows in return prompted Luke to tell the rest of the story.

"So you know the Lord, then," Dennis stated afterwards--not quite a question, but Luke answered it, correcting him.

"'Know' might be too strong a word." Thinking of his partway prayer on the mountain, Luke clarified, "I believe. When I think about it, it seems to make sense now. And sometimes, I think I'm starting to feel that it's true, too--feel that God is with us, feel like I am saved. But, sometimes I still have doubts, sometimes I don't feel so certain. My Christian friends were helping me with that, a little..." he tailed off.

Dennis was going right to the heart of the issue. "Whatever you think...is just a thought. You may change your mind some day. Whatever you feel...is just a feeling. You may feel differently some day. Belief is a good start, but other people have different beliefs--what gives yours authority? But when you have faith, then you form a permanent bond, an eternal covenant, with God himself: we shall be His people, and He shall be our God! We trust in his promises, and He makes them true! Then _'ye shall_ _know_ _the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'_ " Dennis proclaimed. Luke caught the added emphasis and took that word down.

"I guess I don't have very much faith yet then. A little! a couple of times! But I could probably stand to have more." Luke owned up sadly.

The Driver cheered him up. "I have plenty of faith. I'll give you some of mine!"

"Can we just do that? Share it like that? Pass it from one person to another?"

"We can if we both agree to believe that we can," Dennis pointed out. Then he dug into the pocket of his jeans and brought out a closed fist, which he held outwards towards Luke, palm upward. Then he opened his hand, and Behold!

There was nothing there. Luke looked perplexed. But Dennis simply laughed and scolded Luke, "C'mon son, you've got to catch it before it gets away! Faith is an elusive substance; you of all people should realize that! First you must be ready. And then, when I open my hand, you must seize it quickly."

"But I didn't see anything," Luke objected.

"' _Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.'_ " Dennis instructed him. This said, Dennis dug in his other pants pocket, and came out with another fistful of faith. He held it out, and then he suddenly released it. Again Luke made no motion to take it from him, but did lean forward and squint to get a better look--thinking of the line about _'faith as small as a mustard seed'_ perhaps. But still, nothing.

"There's nothing there," Luke said in confused frustration, trying to understand just what the Wise Man with the empty pockets was trying to accomplish.

"There Is," Dennis stubbornly said. "Very definitely is: _'For the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.'_ " He smiled, and shook his head at the hardness of Luke's heart, and he reached above the sun visor and brought out another handful, as though he had a secret supply tucked up there. He offered it to Luke, and then for the third time he opened his fist into empty air. This time at the last moment Luke began to reach out, impulsively, but stopped. He blushed at his own indecision.

"' _Now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him. But we are not of them that draw back unto perdition, but of them that believe to the saving of the soul,'_ " Dennis invited him.

So the next time Luke did not draw back. Dennis reached under the seat and wrangled around in his bag for a second, before feeling what he was after. He brought out a fourth fistful, and gave Luke time to get ready this time. Luke put his hand over Dennis's hand, and when Dennis opened his fingers, Luke closed his. But then, feeling nothing in his own hand, he opened it to look. Then he looked up at the ceiling of the bus, to see if somehow he had missed it, or it had floated out of his grasp. Nothing anywhere. Luke shook his head, Hun-puzzled.

Dennis was puzzled too, by Luke. " _'O ye of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?'_ " Then he rummaged through his glovebox, sighed, and brought out the closed hand a fifth time. Luke looked apologetic, and held out his own hand for the gift once more. This time he snatched it suddenly and held it firm. "I think you've got it," Dennis said hopefully.

"D'ja think?" Luke looked at his own closed fist for a second. He didn't feel anything, he didn't see anything, and when he shook it he didn't hear anything, but somehow he thought he might still have it in there! Finally, he couldn't resist, and peeked eagerly to make sure. Then he uncurled his fingers, and pouted. "Lost it."

There was one more thing to fall back on. Dennis reminded him, " _'If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given to him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord. A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.'_ "

Luke took the hint, bowed his head and prayed, "Lord, please send me the faith that I need to know You, the wisdom that I need to serve You." Dennis kind of bowed his head a bit with him, but couldn't close his eyes. He was the driver, you'll remember. After seeing Luke pray, he asked, "Ready?" Luke took a deep breath.

This time Dennis lowered his window, and stuck his left hand out into the air. He held it there for a minute, waiting, and then it snapped backwards and snapped shut, as if something had come along for him to catch. He held that hand across his body towards Luke, who reached for it reverently. Dennis looked at Luke suspiciously, wondering if he was ready for this great treasure. "This here is the good stuff, sent by God himself. Are you sure about this? I wouldn't want you to waste it." Luke's hand never wavered, and his eyes were saying Yes. Finally Dennis released it cautiously into his care.

This time Luke held fast as though holding a rope in the middle of the ocean. His fingernails dug into his palms, he was squeezing so tightly. Sure that he finally had it at last, he vowed: Never would this faith get away!

Dennis kept glancing back over at Luke to see how he was doing. When, after a few minutes, he saw Luke's expression start to change, from one of furrowed concentration, to a spreading smile and bright eyes, he knew Luke had it. "You don't find faith by reaching for it," he explained. "You reached because you were finding faith. It was inside you all along..." ( _'Deep down and close at hand'_ Luke could hear the Dragon saying,) "And once you knew you had it, then you had it! Now you just need to remember this: _'Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown,'_ " Dennis quoted.

Luke nodded and kept holding it fast. He laughed, and realized Dennis was right, he had believed for some time now: in some sense, perhaps all the time of his search. Like lost keys, you search because you know they are there to be found somewhere. You know they exist. And so in his faithful seeking, Luke had perhaps already known. As Graham Greene says, "He who searches for God has already found him." Luke wasn't goin' to split hairs about when he had first believed. All he needed to know was that right now he knew. And life would go on being perfect and getting even better. For God was with him always!

"How do you feel?" Dennis wondered.

Luke thought about it, and then the smile resumed spreading. "Faithful," he decided.

Dennis gave a slight smile and nodded wisely. "You did good."

Luke beamed, and corrected him. "God gives strange gifts."

"And works glorious miracles," Dennis responded instantly, like another countersign. Then he smiled and mused, "Ah, so you really _do_ have it! Well, not much more I can do for you now then, except...give you a second helping! Here, from my own personal supply," Dennis vouched, as he pressed his hand to his heart, and then brought back the hand closed on faith, to offer to Luke a seventh time. Luke took it just as eagerly, and sat there in his seat with two fists clenched. Both fists full of faith. Ready to do battle with the world. Or ready to raise them over his head and give a cheer! Dennis, meanwhile, was justifying the second helping: " _'And the angel of the LORD came again the second time, and touched him, and said, Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee.'_ "

The hair stood up on Luke's neck, as he recognized the same passage that he had been sent out with, all those months ago. He looked at the Driver suspiciously, but Dennis with his black beard and tender eyes was clearly not to be mistaken for the earlier red-bearded, fire-eyed Man of God. Confused, Luke had to ask. "I was sent out on a journey with those same words already, a while ago. But I thought I would be getting close to the end of that journey, by now!"

"I think you are," Dennis appraised. "But then it will be time to start another one, won't it? A better one. Not just searching, but serving. You'll need strength for that too."

At this point the bus suddenly lost power, and Dennis steered it off to the roadside, checking his gauges. "Alternator," he diagnosed mutterly. Then he laughed and opened the door: "I guess this means we're done here. There's nothing more I can teach you."

"But do _you_ need help? Is there something I can do?" Luke wondered, hating to leave his friend stranded.

"Oh, and you're good at fixing buses then?" Luke shook his head, and puffed out his bottom lip with exaggerated sadness. "You go on--finish your journey! I'll get this bus up and around eventually. It's not like anyone's expecting any great haste on the mail delivery," Dennis cracked. Then he stuck out his hand to shake hands with Luke for good-bye. Luke kept his fists tight, and so passed the test. "Good boy," said Dennis, and patted Luke on the back.

Once he was away from the bus and walking south, however, Luke raised both hands lightly to his chest, tap tap, and then uncurled his fingers and wiped the sweat from his palms. He knew where the faith really was, now. In his heart, and in his future.

# Part 4: Searching by Faith

# Chapter 39: One Night

"For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's." Romans 14:8

Leaving the bus behind him and trudging on in solitary faith, Luke found himself alone in a dry and dusty land. The sky above was hammer-gray, and the ground beneath his feet was anvil-hard. Clearly the two of them had some issues they needed to work out, and Luke was embarrassed to be caught in the middle. The gray deepened, the clouds rumbled, and the heavens scowled on Luke with a restrained wrath: a challenge perhaps, "Who goes there?"

Jus' me, Luke thought humbly, as he stumbled on doggedly into the falling night, with his new-found faith holding him fast to his hard road to heaven. Finally the flinty sky began to fire its slings and arrows at shelterless Luke: large, pelting raindrops, warmenmean.

Luke looked at the storm and he laughed. "Ha. Nothing can trouble me now," he affirmed. Not man, not beast, not wind, not rain, and certainly not doubt. Not anymore. For soon he would be in Mexico, and his mission would be finished, and then everything would be beautiful! In his quiet anticipation, it almost seemed beautiful already.

After marching for hours in the relentless steady rain, Luke finally reached a River. A wide and mighty River, and on the other side Mexico. For the sake of argument, let's call it the Big River, coz it sure looked big to land-lovin' Luke. Luke looked across the river in the darkness, and thought he could almost see the other side, he wasn't sure, through the night rains and the midnight mystery.

He walked along the bank of the river, trying to find the narrowest place to cross.

Squinting hard across the water, he failed to watch what was approaching on his own coast--until he stumbled upon the figure suddenly!

There was a shock and a scare as it emerged quietly, a strange apparition, out of the darkness, out of the rain, out of the mist, out of the gloom A real man, or a real ghost, or a vision, or a dream: Luke was uncertain just whom he was meeting, and the uncertainty magnified his terror. Then the phantasm spoke...and instantly became less frightening, when it introduced itself as 'Herman the German'.

Coming closer and shaking hands, Luke realized this was nothing more than a sturdy old gentleman, with white hair and a white mustache. Something strikingly familiar about the face, actually, as though he might have been one of Luke's own ancestors. Which he may well have been, Czechs and Germans being close neighbors--and captured princesses' heritage being poorly documented by the ethnocentric Huns. ("How do you know she's a princess then?" they occasionally might ask each other about their captured wives--and then would accede to the answer: _"She sure demands to be treated like a princess, doesn't she?"_ )

The gentle way the man called Luke "My boy," made Luke feel a kinship with him, whether there was one or not. "What are you doing out here in the rain, my boy? It grows late. You grow tired. You should be safe at home instead." Like a grandfather, giving good advice.

Luke knew he didn't have a polished answer, but, "There is something for me in Mexico. Something good. Something that waits. Something more to be found, before I can go home."

There was a hint of amusement behind kind eyes. "Ah, a traveler. An explorer. Seeing the world, are you? I've seen some of it myself. There are tales I could tell you."

Luke grinned. Why not spare a few minutes for the old-timer? The rain might stop, and the mist might lift a little. At the very least, he might get some entertaining accounts. Maybe even some pearls of wisdom. "Tell 'em," he invited.

The old man led him to a not-too-wet park bench, sheltered under a silent tree. Its branches swished in the storm, its leaves filtered the darkness. Like nets, like webs. Catching what? Dreams, perhaps. Or Love. A good enough place to learn, Luke decided.

Luke listened while the man told tales of walking across countries, taking rides from strangers, perilous encounters, and of course committing his own occasional hijinks and misdemeanors. "I thought the Huns had the monopoly on that kind of wild stuff," Luke interjected.

"Son, you don't have a monopoly on nuthin'," the old man informed him, with eyes twinkling. But then he came to his point. "We all have our travels. We all have our tales, from when we are young. Quests, journeys, missions, and adventures. But what do they add up to? Just stories. You want to make a difference in the world? You go home, son. To your wife. To your children. Make a difference to them. They wait for you."

"I don't have a wife. Or children. Actually," Luke pointed out, a little uncomfortable for having to correct the old-timer.

"They wait for you," Herman repeated.

Luke liked the sound of that. But still, he thought the man was underestimating the importance of his mission to Mexico. "I've come to find God."

"' _And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know,'_ " Herman quoted. "You already know all you need to know about God. Now what's left is to serve Him. Go home. You serve God by loving those whom God loves. By providing for those whom He has provided for you. Home, lad."

His tale told, Herman the German got up to leave. "Where are you going?" Luke asked, and instantly rolled his eyes: The answer was predictable.

"Home." There was a trace of a grin, and the old man added, "Got a big golf game tomorrow I've got to get up for. And you?"

"Something good," Luke vowed, vaguely. After the man was gone, Luke had to decide what it would be though.

Had he been sent to Mexico for this, perhaps? For all the encounters he would have on the way? The Bus to Glory, the lost hitchhiker, prayers with Julie, Dennis the Driver, and then to hear Herman the German's simple orders: Go Home. Why not? It would make sense. He had the faith he needed now, didn't he? And people waiting to share it with him, after all...

After reflection and prayer, he knew the answer. If he had been sent to learn from those others, then he had also been sent to a lacrosse game, where Kip had reminded him, _'A time for war and a time for peace.'_ And there would be a time for going home too. Soon. But right now, seein' as he was right here on the border, Luke figured this was the time to go to Mexico. Nothing wrong with that other stuff, just that he would never be able to enjoy it the way he was supposed to, if he didn't finish up here first. After all, the Angel had sent him to Mexico, and to Mexico he must go. (An angel outranks a German. By a slim margin.) Without that obedience, the rest would be meaningless. _'Hath the LORD as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the LORD?'_ Prob'ly not.

Still, there was the little matter of the Big River. Kind of a problem for a Hun with no boat, no bridge, only one aborted swimming lesson, and an instinctive aversion to water (bath or otherwise.) It gave Luke a moment of pause, but gradually he steeled himself to take the risk. Then he found himself going past resolve, into readiness, eagerness, even delight! Remembering the martyrs, from Mark's account. "'Bout time I showed that same courage," Luke instructed himself. "Time to take a few risks for the Lord! I'm a believer now..." he proclaimed proudly into the empty air. His voice had a bright ring in the silence, as he said on, proudly, "' _For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake will find it. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?'_ " Then Luke grinned. "Besides--it'll be good practice for me, if I'm really planning to risk my life taking the Word back to Hun-Country!"

Luke the non-swimmer placed his football shoes, Bible and baseball cap carefully under the bench, then took a deep breath, prayed for strength "That I might see you, Lord", went down to the river, and plunged in.

He began with a strong dogpaddle. Slow but steady. "Goin' to Mexico. Oh yeah."

It weakened into an erratic puppy-paddle. Tired and awkward. "Hmm. It sure is a long way across this river."

That degenerated into treading water. Cramped and desperate. "Wow. These wet clothes sure do get heavy."

Finally panicked flailing. Wild and useless. "Uh-oh! Troublations!"

When Luke realized that he had lost all momentum, and was quickly losing strength, energy, and life's own heat, smack-dab in the center of the river, there was shock first of all, then disbelief and confusion: _"But I prayed... For strength so that I might see you!"_

Then he clued in that it was only that strength that had gotten him as far as the middle of the river! Where, if he had been looking to meet his Maker, he was just about to get his wish! Luke tried to laugh at the bitter irony, but in doing so he swallowed a mouthful of water, and his lungs didn't feel like laughing anymore.

One more frenzy of kicking, after being surprised by the sudden taste of river water. It really wasn't supposed to end like this...so close to Mexico, to finding everything out for certain, to becoming the 'Witness to the Huns' and doing some good for once in his life! What about that? he wondered anxiously. Then a calming voice: he remembered Bert's mantra, and repeated it to himself, "Must trust that God is just." He couldn't understand it, though. Couldn't comprehend why God would 'refine him in the fire' all these days, only to drown him in the water. But it's not necessary to understand, he remembered. Only believe. So he did. He went on and believed that God must have a plan. "Even if it's something as simple and elegant as just making sure there is one less Hun in the world. Make it a safer place for everybody! Shoot, I'm surprised He didn't do it a long time ago!" Luke thought, and laughed again. And drank the water again. Too much thinking, not enough splashing! This time he found himself going completely under.

As he submerged, waves of despair gripped him. It's a terrible thing to realize that you're about to perish, and to be powerless to prevent it. Luke wondered if he was weeping. His face sure felt wet. But for what would he be weeping? An outcast and an alien, few friends and little family, no wife, no children, and trained not to fear death, Luke really didn't have that much to lose. That was how he got onto this journey in the first place. But what had he found on this journey? Something that might be worth living for? Ah, Faith.

But the flood would never wash that away from him anyway. Never. So what then? One more word came to mind: _Jenny_.

Now Luke knew he was weeping! (Making the river even deeper, he reflected.) It just seemed so unfair--they had never had a chance to even begin! Then instead of weeping, Luke got a little angry. Struggled against the water with new strength, vowed not to go down without a fight, tried to survive somehow, for Jenny. He had made promises, after all. A covenant. "I'll meet you there," she had said, when he had assured her he was moving towards grace.

Thinking of that, Luke realized this might be their way of meeting: to return to God, each in their own time?. It was a comforting thought and Luke stopped struggling and sank again. He smiled peacefully, thinking of Herman the German: _'They wait for you'._ "Or maybe I'll wait for them," Luke amended. What else had Herman told him? _'Go home'_. Luke hadn't guessed he meant this! But why not? Why not go to his ' _long home'_ , his _'heavenly country'_? He continued to slide toward the bottom, pleasantly awaiting God's mercy.

But thinking of home made him think of the Huns. The rough Huns, the warlike Huns, who were in anything _but_ a state of grace! "For them, I must live," Luke realized. "To share this faith. To speak of salvation. To tell of Christ." And he clawed his way frantically to the surface again.

Now in the movies, when the person goes under for the third time, you better save 'em quick coz otherwise that'll be it. Well, Luke was either harder to kill than those formulaic drowners, or somewhat less buoyant, coz he found a way to go under five or six times before he was done--fighting his way back up again first on behalf of Jenny and the Huns, then for his brother, his father, and his mother's memory. But even a Hun can't fight forever, and Luke finally admitted tearfully that for all his thrashing, he wasn't getting any closer to making it out of the river. So he prayed. "Lord, please send someone to my people." Never guessing that he might still be that someone.

That loose end wrapped up, the Huns' future protected by his prayer, Luke felt that he could finally perish safely, with a clear conscience. So he asked for forgiveness of his sins, thanked God for mercy, and then submitted: "My life is yours. Thy will be done."

Then there was no more struggling, no more tears, as Luke began sinking under the waves for the last time. Only the strange smile of a dying man with high hopes for his future.

He stopped smiling when something struck his head sharply...Kronk. He recalled his friend Garbandal the Vandal, who when he hit people in the head, was "always surprised how often it sounded like wood." That _did_ sound like wood, Luke agreed. 'My head is made of wood'. A little embarrassed, he hoped that God wouldn't notice. 'Still, it explains why I had so much trouble in Calculus,' Luke nodded. Then a brief feeling of having been cheated somehow: 'Hey, I thought wood was supposed to float.' Finally, shaking off the fog of death, Luke remembered nosebleeds from his brother, concussions against the Cornhuskers, and a particularly difficult Calculus final that had made him bleed from the ears, and he realized, 'My head is definitely not made of wood! Which means...!'

He scrambled for the surface again, and caught hold of the wooden boat that had struck him: an empty rowboat that had miraculously come unmoored and was drifting slowly down the river in the darkness. With a last effort, Luke clambered aboard, coughing and sputtering, and lay spent, face down praying thank-yous, without even the energy to steer the boat to shore.

Eventually the wind pushed it over to Mexico, it beached in a shallow bend, and Luke dragged himself onto the shore, and stretched himself on a flat stone. He patted it lovingly, a kind of Morse code prayer, whispering with each pat, "Glory praise glory glory! Praise! Praise praise praise!" (and why not a little more--'s not every day you get flat-out saved like that) "Praise glory praise praise! Glory glory glory! Praise glory praise! Glory praise praise!"

A line from Bert's poem came back to him: _'Cast my past to the wind, drown in green rain, and in dawn-blue memories, am born into youth.'_ Luke had drowned in green rain all right. And yet here he was, as new as each dawn-breaking day! "By God's mercy alone I live," Luke acknowledged, thankfully. Then added, pleased, "So this is what it feels like to be born again..."

It was awesome! But kinda tiring. The rain having ended, Luke slept right there, spread upon the rock, with the same strange smile, safe in the care of a merciful God. Above him the new-born silver stars twinkled Welcome.

# Chapter 40: Luke Meets the Coolest Guy of Them All

"For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures: And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve: After that he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain, but some are fallen asleep. After that he was seen of James; then of all the apostles. And last of all he was seen by me also, as of one born out of due time." 1Corinthians 15:9

Daylight on a blue day, and Luke woke up shining. First thing he did was take a big breath of air and savor being alive: "Ooh, dass good stuff!" He lay still on his side for a moment and scanned the sky, marveling at its depth, its purity, its beauty: going on endlessly, into eternity, full of grace. "I think I'll tag along," Luke affirmed with a semi-sly smile. Then he reflected on Bert's words again. First Day of Life. If ever he had cause to feel that way, it was now, after coming through the flood into a new land, a new life. But he had felt that way once already--so which was it, then or now? He reconciled it by deciding thankfully, "Maybe I will feel this alive every day... if good things like this keep happening!" The hitchhiker's words nudged his thoughts, and he added, ' _And_ if I remember Jesus Christ every morning. Jesus, in whom we who were dead are now made alive!'

It was then that Luke rolled over to sit up and meet the new day. When he turned about, he saw that there was someone else with him on the flat rock, sitting peacefully behind him all that time, as though merely waiting for him to wake up. Luke's first thought was shock and chagrin--had his Hun's instincts and Scout's skills failed him? He pondered quickly and thought, 'Maybe the new Luke, the better Luke, doesn't have the same Hun instincts. Maybe these too were washed away with my old life, in the river'. Like Electric Man losing his charge: Luke felt sad at first, but quickly decided he was better off.

As he looked at the man more closely, Luke allowed that he might also have been unaware of him because of the man's great gentleness. He was a kind and pleasant figure, though there was a presence about him which also suggested power and might. (Wrath, even.) He was wearin' white robes, long hair, and sandals. Hiding behind a beard was an unremarkable face...

Unremarkable except for the eyes! Luke gasped. (You thought Mikki and Janet took his breath away!) He knew right away that this was Jesus! Though he had never seen him, and only vaguely remembered seeing 'artist's conception'-type portraits long ago; still, who else could it be? Who else would have that holy glow? Who else would have those eyes? A moment earlier Luke had thought he was looking into eternity through the big blue sky: how much more so to look into the eyes of his Lord! If eyes are the window to the soul, these were the window to the Divine soul. All wonders, all miracles, all beauty, all truth! All power, all judgment, all mercy, all love! There was nothing for it but for Luke to drop his gaze, and to kneel. (How had anyone in that day and age not known that this was the Christ? Luke puzzled. Then he remembered, that sometimes we see things the way we want to see them. Or _don't_ see what we aren't prepared to see.)

His own heart was racing, telling him that this was the Lord! But his mind raced too, wondering how could that be? 'Perhaps I'm still asleep on the rock and dreaming... Or maybe I did drown after all, and this is heaven?' But a strong hand on his shoulder convinced him this was _real!_ Jesus allowed him to rise, and then they both sat down together on the rock, and watched the perfect morning.

There was a silence and a great peace just sitting there, but it couldn't last. Luke was just too full of questions! So much to ask of the Lord, so much to learn from Him! Then again, he was unworthy to even be here in His presence, let alone to question Him and demand of Him. So Luke bottled it up as long as he could, but at last he blurted one out. He thought it was still in his head, until he heard his voice ring too loudly in the quiet air: "Are you really...?" Jesus, the Son of God, the Savior of the world! Luke couldn't even finish the question, how could he dare to doubt? The insolence. He blushed when he realized he had spoken.

But Jesus reassured him with a beneficent nod. Of course! thought Luke. He could almost hear the relevant words springing to memory, like a voice: _'Before Abraham was, I am.'_ But what Jesus said, slowly and calmly, was, "The blind receive their sight, and the lame walk, and the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them. And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me."

Luke was definitely not offended, more like awed! "Praise God for His wondrous works!" he breathed reverently. Then Luke was suddenly wounded and grieved, recalling all that his Lord had gone through. This prompted a second question, tenderly, "Did you really...?" Go through all that sorrow, suffer for my sake, bear the sin of the world.

This time Jesus closed his eyes, and merely turned His hands over a little, as though He would catch the morning sun in his palms. Enough of a movement so that one who really wanted to look might see. Luke gasped. There were nail marks on His palms. A moment of horror came over Luke, but it was quickly soothed away by Christ's soft and patient words: "The Son of Man goeth as it is written of him... Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory?"

Glory. Now there was a word for Luke's notes! Pity was replaced by the flush of joy, as Luke considered why this all had to have happened. He murmured 'Thank you Jesus!" as another verse he had read flowed back to him: _'So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.'_

Salvation. Now there was another good word! ...And another question. "Am I really...?" Saved from death, freed from sin, included in God's own book of life! It still seemed too impossible, too inconceivable, too simple, too perfect. And it was with a simple, gentle touch that Jesus took away these last fears also. He merely laid his hand tenderly on Luke's arm, and all fear, all doubt dissipated--replaced not only by peace, but by a strange feeling of power. Luke remembered immediately how _'the whole multitude sought to touch him: for there went virtue out of him and healed them all.'_

Healed. That was how he felt! He exulted in that relief for a moment, and then felt a strange wonder: how had he ever doubted? The Scripture was clear, had not Jesus once said, _'All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I shall in no wise cast out. For I came down from heaven , not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me. And this is the Father's will which hath sent me, that of all which he hath given me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up again at the last day'_?

On this occasion, however, Jesus said only this: "Be of good comfort, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace."

'Faith, huh? Sure am glad I met that bus driver and got those two extra handfuls!' thought Luke. Then he corrected himself. Glad? "Rejoice in the Lord, O my soul!" Luke rejoiced for a minute, all stirred up, revved up, gospelled up, and bouncing around! Until Jesus' last remark finally registered. Go in peace? Seemed like a hint that the interview was over. Luke's spirits fell a little. He remembered being told so long ago, that the Savior of the World must be a busy job. But still, he hadn't wanted their brief meeting to ever end! Like reading a good book: you almost hate to come to the end...

But sure enough, there was Jesus standing, and giving him the benediction: the last instructions for his new journey. "Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you..."

There was a slight pause, so Luke in his eagerness didn't realize he was interrupting. He had to wedge in a last nervous question. Last chance to either clarify his mission...or to object to it. But all Luke wanted to know was, "Can I really...?" Become a true follower, walk as You have walked, share your message with my Huns.

Jesus pardoned the interruption with a slight smile, wise and strong. And when Luke saw that kind smile flash, it was like dawn breaking in his heart! He felt renewed, empowered, blessed by the token, as he resolved, 'If Christ can still smile after all he went through, surely I can carry my own light burdens!' Because of course, there was the sure promise to sustain him, _'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.'_

And here was Christ himself, promising to do just that! as Jesus completed His sentence and answered Luke's question all at once: "And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."

Luke's heart was leaping once more, and this time, at long last, he finally understood what it had been saying all along. _It was shouting Amen!_

After bowing politely, Luke got back into his rowboat to cross the wide river. Jesus stood on the bank for a moment, and waved. But Luke looked over his shoulder once to check his course, and when he looked back in front of him, Jesus had gone. Well, gone from sight anyway, grinned Luke.

After he reached land and put on his football shoes, Luke began to run. Pounding out messages with his fast footsteps this time: Praise, Glory, Praise, Glory, Praise, Glory, Praise!

Then he slowed down, losing steam, as a final realization struck him. "Hey. 'Teach all nations' is a little vague..." Luke wondered if he had been correct in his earlier estimation that to Hun-Country was his calling--or if he was due instead to begin another long, strange journey around the world!

It was then that a strong wind hit him full in the back, as if to speed him on his way again. And with the wind, clear as the day, what seemed to be a soft voice--the wind herself, perhaps... or the Holy Ghost!... or a certain much-loved, much-missed female ancestor. He suspected that they each might send him the same message from the Lord...

"Do what you're supposed to do."

Luke laughed. Finally, after long months and sad years, he knew what that was, and he had the faith and power to achieve it.

Sticking a thumb into the wind to be sure, he chuckled again. "Yup. A miracle gale--blowing me back home to Hun-Country! With a brief layover at Prince Edward Island..."

# Epilogues

"Have you discovered, my soul, that which you were seeking? You were seeking God, and you have discovered Him to be something which is the highest of all beings, than which nothing greater can be conceived; to be life itself, light, wisdom, goodness, eternal blessedness and blessed eternity, and to be everywhere and always. For if you have not discovered your God, how is it that He is this which you have discovered with such certain truth and true certainty?"

-St. Anselm. Proslogion, Chapter XIV

# Epilogue 1: On the Links with Luke the Hun

"Sow to yourselves in righteousness, reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: for it is time to seek the Lord, till he come and rain righteousness upon you." Hosea 10:12

It was almost a year later. Fall had fallen, as it is wont to do. Four crafty cats were playing golf on the new golf course, Hun-countryView. The fearsome foursome consisted of Luke the Hun, Chief Otis (retired), Bertralamus Jefferson Loreword, and the Pope of the Whole World. It was a good day for it.

Luke was quite pleased with himself: he had picked up the new game quickly, and was slightly under par for the round. "Gotta treat that ball like a little child," Luke explained helpfully to the others: "Treat it with gentleness, patience and thoughtfulness most of the time... But sometimes you just gotta give it a good swat!" he boasted, as he ripped another fine tee shot.

"Speaking of children--when's your wife due, by the way?" the Pope wondered.

"Couple more months. I've never seen her so happy, and that's saying something!" Luke mused. Then he grew silent as the Pope readied to swing. Crack, watch that ball fly, children! Right in the cup. Amen. Luke hung his head, humbled. He looked at the Pope suspiciously. Sure, he wasn't doing it every time, but still... it seemed like the guy was scoring an inordinate number of holes-in-one.

The Pope was the only player ahead of Luke on the score sheet, however. Chief Otis only ever got as far as the tee shot. He would stroll up to the ball, practice swinging harder and harder, and then take his best cut, sending another rocket into the woods. Luke had tried to help a little, reminding his dad with Tom's advice, "Think Where, not How Far."

His dad had responded mockingly, whispershouting yet a third question instead: "Why?"

Luke dutifully tried to answer, though he had never had much success at changing his father's habits. (Thank goodness for Tom, and then Shadrach!) "Why? Because you're in the woods again, dad."

"Nope. Cleared 'em. Over the woods, and over the meadows. Over the hills, and over the lakes. You know how far that ball went son? Hm? Hm? Do ya?"

His Dad always made him say it. Resignedly: "All the way to Penetanguishene?" A big grin and a clap on the back.

Meanwhile, Bert would usually drop a strong drive down the middle of the fairway, and maybe a nice second shot, but sooner or later he always got bored waiting for Luke and the Pope to line up their shots, and would take a run at one of them ('Usually me,' Luke observed), announcing "Full contact!" and delivering a hip-check. After that, it was game on again for Chief Otis, who, with his own ball lost, would rush to the fray and start jostling with Bert over who would play Bert's ball. The two of them would then race to the green interspersing shoves and elbows with choppy fifty-yard dribblers, until somehow the ball finally got tapped or kicked or thrown into the cup. In a bizarre form of match play, whoever touched the ball last won the hole. ("I love this game!")

Replacing the divots on the green, Luke finished up that hole and talked more with the Pope while Bert and Otis wrestled on the next tee.

"So Shadrach is working out pretty well then?" asked the Pope of the Whole World. "I've heard good things. Certainly I'm pleased with the way the Church has grown."

"Sending him was a stroke of genius, your Holiness. Couldn't have asked for a better priest. Maybe it's because he himself was in such fear of the wrath of God for so long; he sure knows how to put the fear of God into the Huns anyway! A real fire and brimstone preacher. A throwback. He connects with them. Wrath and power we _get_."

Overhearing them, as Luke and the Pope walked up to the tee, Bert chipped in, "Yep, that's what I needed too! Luke here was always asking me questions, giving me hints, trying to get me to reconsider. But Shadrach hit me right between the eyes with it. Stopped me cold. Reminded me that I'd known the truth all along: 'This is it! God is the Lord, whether you like it or not! Better get ta praising, or get ta running, take your pick!' Simple stuff like that, even I can understand!"

("You're an honorary Hun, my boy," Chief Otis complimented him.)

The Pope demurred. "Stroke of genius? Actually, I had no idea it would turn out this well. But God knew. That's what matters. Shadrach just happened to present himself at the right time, bearing an enormous ruby, and asking the forgiveness of the Church and the chance to serve again. So I sent him up here. I heard you guys were trying to get a congregation going, and thought you might need a hand. And it's not like I was getting swarmed with volunteers for a posting in Hun-Country! Even Shadrach thought it was a punishment, the just consequence for his misdeeds. Well, let him think that. He's a penitent fellow. If he wants to 'make up for lost time', so much the better. As long as he keeps making new believers out of these people, I suppose it's a helpful attitude, isn't it?"

"The ruby was helpful too," Luke pointed out. "Not many people would take a chance on sending a treasure like that up to Hun-Country! But it really helped us get the Church off the ground. Up until then we were just holding meetings in the cellar of my Chief's tent. But the ruby allowed us to commission the building of a proper Cathedral. Not that it's necessary--we faithful would have held our services outdoors in the rain and the hail if we had to," he added quickly, suddenly feeling a little awkward for trying to justify the splendid Cathedral to the same Pope who had sold his own to aid the poor! Then Luke remembered a comforting verse: _"And those members of the body, which we think to be less honourable, upon those we bestow more abundant honour; and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness."_ Surely if _'less honourable'_ applied to anybody, it would be the Huns! So Luke grinned, breathed easier, and went on. "But the Cathedral helped attract some attention. Got some people in the door for Shadrach to go to work on! Not only that, but I think even the building itself helped change their thinking, prepare their hearts if you will. Created the roots of reverence, the first stirrings of awe and respect--so foreign to Huns, yet so necessary to worship God! Besides, seeing how stained glass could be as beautiful as jewels and such, well that kinda nullified our purpose for raiding and stealing everyone's treasure! How much more rewarding to create your own treasures! The builders wound up teaching their trades to several of our Huns, too, using some of them as apprentices to speed the work. Helped usher in what I hope is a new era of industry here in Hun-Country: people finding real jobs, learning new skills, doing worthwhile things, trying to build the place up into a better nation for our children!"

"Who built it for you? It went up pretty fast," remarked the Pope, who had seen the impressive new St. Sheryl's Cathedral.

"There was tons of surplus labor, with our soldiers not soldiering. But the master builders? Coupla guys I knew, actually. An artist named Jean-L' did all the art, architecture, landscaping and stained glass, and my man Jonnathinn Halley did all the masonry and stonework, carpentry, plumbing, roofing, and what-have-you. Master of All Trades, Jack of None, is how he bills himself. Handy fellow to have around, let me tell ya!"

"They're still around then?" the Pope asked curiously. Then dodged as an impatient Chief Otis took a run at him, forcing the Pope to hurry his second shot. Bert might shy away from hitting the Pope, but Chief Otis would hit anybody. (In the same vein, Luke and Shadrach remembered to use the proper form of address, 'Your Holiness', while Bert called him 'Your Popeness', and Otis just called him 'Guy'.)

Once the danger was safely past, Luke answered the question. "No. Since you bring it up, they went on to Penetanguishene, actually, to build another cathedral there."

"Penetanguishene..." the Pope turned the name over slowly and thoughtfully. "I heard a rumor about that place actually. Something to the effect of Hun-Country fighting a war against them! That's part of why I came up: to make sure that you're teaching the full gospel here. Fighting wars doesn't sound very Christ-like."

Luke looked a little sheepish, but defended himself. "We were careful to follow all the points in the 'Just War Theory', for what that's worth. True, 'No War' is better than 'Just War', but maybe that's what we're working up to?" Luke ventured optimistically. Then he recalled, "On the other hand, when the Huns found out we could justify a defensive war, I think most of them immediately asked themselves the question 'How can we get more nations to attack us?' I had a peculiar rush of volunteers joining up to be Diplomats! Didn't think much of it at the time, but I've started to hear some rumblings from abroad, some rumors of stepped-on toes and offended kings. I've started to wonder what kind of diplomacy they've been practicing!"

"Work on that," the Pope advised, foreseeing future problems.

"We will," Luke promised. Then he explained, "Still, these are Huns. It might have been a stretch to expect them to quit cold turkey. I think in a way we're lucky Penetanguishene attacked us. By early summer most of my people's palms were already itching to hold weapons. If not for the King of Penetanguishene's miscalculation, I'm pretty sure they would have used them against me!" Luke hit a nice chip shot onto the green, and walked quickly to his tap-in putt, before adding, "Not that I'm afraid of being a martyr; if I was I would never have come back here! I wouldn't want it for Jenny of course. But you know what she said to me? 'Where you go, I will go.' Completely heedless of the perils! Love, love," Luke reminded himself, happily. "She said 'We ought to work to build God's kingdom, whatever may happen. If He sees fit to protect us while we're doing it, we'll thank Him for that. But if He sees fit to let us in early, we'll thank Him for that too.' Faith and courage! She's a better bowler than I am, a better farmer than I am, a better chocolate-milk drinker, and she's braver than me, too!" Luke announced admiringly.

"Jenny's an honorary Hun too," Chief Otis proclaimed beneficently, as he waited politely for Luke and the Pope to tee off again, before resuming his full-contact golf match with Bert. Those two had a lot in common, and had really hit it off. (Quite literally, punchpunchpunch.)

"Tell me more about Penetanguishene. What happened, exactly?"

Luke was embarrassed. "We didn't start that. We were taking a year off, trying agriculture instead of raiding. Jenny's farming background was a huge help, and my Master's in Agriculture didn't hurt either. Of course I should thank God for the good weather too! Things were going well, until... They took us a little bit by surprise. Huns never expect to get attacked! (Most people know better!) But I should have known something would happen, after I went there preaching peace." Luke was still kicking himself for not foreseeing the attack. "But I think we took them even _more_ by surprise! Not only did they discover that we hadn't gone soft, but they probably thought the Hun men would be out raiding. Instead they found everybody, men, women and children, home and idle, all just spoiling for a fight! (That was earlier in our ministry, before so many had been saved--not that even Christian Huns don't still like to rough it up a bit,)" Luke added, apologizing for his father. "Anyway, the 'unbreakable phalanxes' of Penetanguishene were routed like rag-dolls, in a defeat far worse than our own Pyrrhic victories in Peru. The occasion was even dramatic enough to prompt the change of our official rallying cry, from the aggressive 'All the Way to Penetanguishene', to the respectable, defensive, but equally Hun-worthy, 'Bring it on, Clown!' Oh, and I think they changed _their_ motto from the menacing 'Bones must be broken!' to the hands-covering- heads-while-running-away, 'Not ours! Not ours!'" Luke laughed. "In any case, it was no wonder that the Right Honorable Scrapper Jim's successor, the Right Honorable Scrapper Tom, sued quickly for peace. I'm sure he thought that we would immediately flood forth and take vengeance upon what remained of their nation. When he found me peaceful and merciful, he was curious to know why. I took the opportunity to tell him about Jesus Christ! It was good timing I think: getting your butt handed to you does make a warrior reflect on his place in life! But also I think he saw some wondrous changes afoot in Hun-country, and wondered whether those would work in his own nation, and in his own life."

"So he has become a believer then?"

"By now? I would say Yes. He was only leaning, when I last wrote to him. Open, interested. But I sent Jean and Jonnathinn to seal the deal. To build another Cathedral, and to personally ensure the conversion of Scrapper Tom. And if necessary, to stand in the breach and act as priests and stewards over Penetanguishene until your Holiness can send more official delegates."

"And they can do all this alone, you think?"

"Through Christ who strengthens us. But I know of some others there too, with whom they can join. And I sent a couple of our own as well: It's funny, but once a Hun sees the light, they swing completely around, from amoral meanness to sharp-edged zeal. Huns make some pretty fair witnesses actually. How is it written? _'There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?'_ Oh yes, there should be a good start to their little church already, I think."

The Pope was pleased, but raised a practical concern: "Is Penetanguishene ready for the change, do you think? Won't their warriors be feeling the same itch for violence next year, like what your people went through? And won't yours be feeling it again? Until you get everyone converted--old traditions die hard. And you can't fight each other again..."

Luke laughed and kept the 'just-for-fun' fights with the men of Corbeil a secret. Then he expressed a great hope once again: "So maybe they'll have _another_ old rival come and challenge _them_ their first year! I have a hunch...that the mighty hordes of Peru, and old Terror-by-night himself, are going to come and break like a wave against the impregnable rock of Fort Frances. And once they are broken, do you think Scrapper Tom won't likewise show them mercy and share with them the Gospel of Peace? Oh, I think he will. And as for the second year and beyond: hopefully by then we'll have enough Believers to not want any more wars. And maybe we'll be diverted enough by channeling our aggression into the other avenues I've devised..."

The Pope was interested. "And those would be...?"

"You haven't heard of the new league of professional football I started? We're just a few games in. But we're undefeated, and fixin' to stay that way! Dad's the head coach, my brother DavidGorki helps coach the offensive line, I play quarterback, and the indefatigable Bert here does double duty, as slotback and linebacker-blitzer. D'ya know, I got the whole idea from my man Rasheed--if they can make money playing basketball, why not try it with football too? Gives the college kids something to do when they graduate. And gives us a slightly less dangerous release for our violent tendencies. Not to mention an alternate source of income! C'mon, you telling me you wouldn't pay money to see a team of Huns pound the ball between the tackles? Crushing blocks, precision pitches, and bodies lying in their wake?" It didn't really sound that appealing to the Pope, but he was glad to hear it was going well. "Sure," said Luke. "And we're negotiating to put a team into the hockey league next year, to help us get through the winter! After all, most of the other tough towns already have 'em." Then, taking his cue from Louise and the Good Guys, Luke speculated, "Not only should that make for good competition, but maybe with all the contact, we can have an effect on those communities: soften their hearts, share the Gospel!"

"Maybe they'll get their Cathedrals too someday," the Pope quipped. "Which reminds me--how did you say they were financing the one being built in Penetanguishene? One ruby only goes so far. So was this your gift to them, or will the Church be getting a bill later on...?"

The Pope was asking this question just as they walked up to the eighteenth tee. There, red-faced, was Bert, clearing his throat. "Oh, your Popeness, I meant to tell ya... I too had one of those, er, borrowed rubies in my possession. I sent that one along to help the work in Penetanguishene. Figured if you were willing to spend the first one to help one warlike nation go straight, you'd probably do it twice to help two." Then he admitted, "Also, I was scared to face ya."

"All things may be forgiven," the Pope comforted him softly, then reproved him, "but repentance and contrition are important."

Bert hung his head: "I sorry." Then he perked up. "But I won't stop at sorry--I'm trying to make it right. What was the part about Zaccheus 'restoring fourfold all that he had stolen?'. Well, maybe I can do the same. See, the night the Pope Jewels went missing, it was quite a caper--a story in itself! Five giant gems stolen, by five different perpetrators! Shadrach the Peasant, three thieves named Sneaky Pete, Slinky Pilferfinger, and Edgar (undercover as Simonus Prayicus), and, um, me. Everyone left I.O.U's signed S.P. (Hee hee, I am sooo sneaky...) Why the others stopped at stealing one each is a bit of a puzzle... It could have been a secret fear of God, that I can work with later. Or maybe they're just socialists... Share and share alike? It's not really stealing as long as you leave someone a little bit, they say. Guess that makes me the Bad Guy again, since I took the last one! I'm used to it. So I'm fixing to take responsibility, and track down the other three jewels for ya during the off-season, before I leave. Maybe I can bring back three more repentant thieves with them, and convince them to build three more churches in three other dens of iniquity..."

The Pope was impressed. "All things happen in God's time. Though these treasures were taken in wickedness, they are returning in time to further the work of righteousness. _'Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days,'_ " he mused _,_ clearly pleased by the bright future's prospects.

"What did you mean, 'before I leave'?" Luke asked his friend. He was upset. He glanced at Chief Otis, who looked away. The head football coach was already in on his star player's secret.

Bert gave a trademark half-grin. "Sorry fella, I can't stay forever. The stars await!"

Luke broke into a broad smile himself, when he realized what this meant! The Pope, however, was out of the loop. "What am I missing?" he inquired.

"Mikki...!" Luke said fondly.

Bert winked. "A friend of Luke's, your Popeness. She arrived a few weeks ago, and, well, we've become best friends." He laughed outright: "Can I help it if I'm beeyootiful-lookin'?"

Luke picked up the story, explaining to the Pope, "I met Mikki on a mountaintop in Greece. She's from another planet..." The Pope looked startled, as though he had no idea this might be possible. "I recommended that she keep her eyes and mind open for the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I promised to make her a Bible of her very own. So here I've been, faithfully copying a chapter from mine, three times a day..."

"In addition to setting up sports leagues, playing professional football, cultivating the land, and oh, by the way, leading the Huns." The Pope was clearly questioning how Luke found the time.

"The leading the Huns part is pretty easy. Mainly you just let people do their own thing. Or don't let them," he reflected, remembering that he had kept them from going to war. "Either or. Doesn't take a whole lot of time, though--just a fistfight now and again to fix the boundaries!" Then he continued his tale. "All the time, I didn't even know if Mikki would really come visit. But you can never have too many Bibles, right? If she hadn't shown, maybe I would place one in the Cathedral, or maybe God would send me a different searcher who would take it up..."

"But He sent back Mikki!" Bert interjected, grinning. They were all playing the last hole together, dignified and composed for once. (Until they got to the green!)

"So I gave her her promised gift," Luke went on. "Her heart was warmed and touched by the effort-- and the love--that had gone into it. Good thing for Bert I was already married, or..." He gave Bert a playful push. Chief Otis perked up for a second, thinking the game was back on, but then held it in check like a trooper when he saw they were still talking: "But then Mikki gave us _back_ a gift...thousands of Bibles! What was that about 'casting your bread upon the water', your Holiness? She said she got them cheap, picked them up at a Dollar Store on a place called Earth."

"Where there are very many Bibles, but very few people who actually read or believe them," Bert glossed.

"She said, 'Yeah, they have a fabulous invention there--called a Printing Press.' I thought from her tone that she might be mocking us a little, so I shot back 'So why don't you bring us one of _those_ next time!' And then, Voila! She showed me that she already had one for us, aboard her spaceship! (Sheepishly, I noticed that we'd seen them in some of the more civilized countries we invaded, but had only ever smashed them). So I summoned some strong Huns to carry it down, and they set about learning another trade..." Luke smiled, pleased at the progress of his people. Then he smiled even brighter when he thought about Mikki's progress! "She had already been reading the Bible, already saying her prayers--she says she thinks that in space, there is less noise to interfere with them. Says she could feel that they went right through, straight to God Himself. In any event, if she wasn't a full-fledged believer when she got here, she was close. Just needed people to pray with her and confirm it, I think. But she already knew the truth somewhere inside."

"Maybe we all do," Chief Otis murmured--then looked a little embarrassed to be caught sounding wise. Yuck.

"I met Mikki almost as soon as she arrived," Bert jumped in. "She's hard to miss. Really attracts your attention! But we hit it off well. I used your 'beautiful soul' pick-up line by the way, Luke," Bert confessed, laughing. "Then when I learned that she had visited Earth, that gave us something in common. We got to talking about that, and talked for days and nights about the rest of her travels! But I think I was most helpful to her in church. There we had a bond too: we were both new joiners. And yet, having been a church-goer once before, I had some answers to give her as well. It made for a nice combination. She thought so too! She said, 'We make a nice pair. You should come with me when I go...' Well who can turn down an invitation like that? From a girl like that? For a mission like that..." Bert added seriously at last, with awe and apprehension.

"So you guys are really going to do it? Be the witnesses to the stars, apostles to the planets?" Luke had really only used those terms to spark Mikki's interest; he had had no idea it would really come about! Even thinking about all that cold space, all those dark worlds, was daunting to him.

"Like Johnny Appleseed, planting trees. Bert and Mikki Gospelseed, planting churches!"

"Quite ambitious," the Pope complimented. "I shall pray for your ministry. Perhaps I'll stop by the Cathedral and give Mikki a papal blessing, a special benediction...even though I'm just the Pope of this world... and you're going to other worlds..." he finished, a little unsure if they fell under his jurisdiction.

Bert reassured him, "I think she would like that! I think it would help. We're trying to get stronger, better prepared for our mission, over these next few months. It wasn't _just_ about completing my commitment and finishing the football season. She's in church almost constantly, singing, praying, listening, learning...seeking God's face."

"Like meat for the journey," Luke observed familiarly.

The Pope tried to throw the conversation to Chief Otis, who was trailing along behind them without a golfball to play, sulking a little. "So Bert here has big plans for the future. But what about you?"

Chief Otis laughed. "I'm an old-timer. Best if we don't make too many plans! I guess I'll just keep coaching the team to championship after championship." It was neither optimism nor vainglory when a Hun predicted victory. It was just a fact. "And I'll keep watching Luke's back, knocking down anyone who rises up to challenge his mandate..." He nodded 'Oh yeah baby', pleased by this prospect most of all.

"That doesn't sound very Christian," the Pope corrected him.

"You're not from around here though, are ya? Here, a good fight is the best way to witness the gospel. Coz once you beat 'em, then they respect you. Then they'll listen to what you say!" The Pope shook his head at the strange irony, but reflected that God had a role for everyone, many parts for the body. Otis finished, "And eventually they'll tell legends about me, after I ride off into the distance...carrying a Bible," he remembered to add, for the Pope's benefit.

"Very good. And you, Luke?"

"Jenny and I will keep planting our crops, and keep planting seeds: and _'adding to the church such as should be saved'._ We expect Hun-Country to continue to grow kinder, and the Church to grow stronger. Forever," Luke finished, finally providing his own word for his notes, as he nodded and pronounced it again: "Forever."

"Amen," said the Pope. Then he chipped in for eagle. Not bad, mister. After Luke chipped in for birdie, Bert and Otis took this as their cue that the way was clear for them to finish their own full-contact match. There was a blur of putters and violent shouts, and Chief Otis wound up sending Bert sprawling, before tapping the ball into the hole. "Nine holes to nine," he tallied it up. "We have to have a playoff! Oh, hey, see ya later Guy."

"Yeah, bye your Popeness," Bert called, as they raced back around to the first tee.

Luke and the Pope stood behind the last green, shaking hands. "And what are your plans then, your Holiness?" Luke inquired politely.

"Same as yours: watch the Church of believers grow stronger. And rejoice for each one. It's on to Penetanguishene next I guess. But first, back to town, to give Mikki that benediction."

"I'll walk you back," Luke volunteered. "And stop by our tent when you're done, I'm sure Jenny would like to meet you."

"The honor would be mine," the Pope declared beneficently, then went on to explain, "I have done my best to shepherd a church, but she built one from scratch."

Luke smiled at the compliment. "Good. Come then. I'll make cheese sandwiches, and I'll be sure to wrap you one for the road. Because you never quite know where your travels will lead you..."

# Epilogue 2: Cast and Crew

"Now thanks be unto God, which always causes us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place." 2 Corinthians 2:14

THE CAST

**Dr. Solomon Glory** continued to practice psychiatry in the swamp until his retirement, living happily with his frog-wife Martika, a renowned chemist in her own right. After they retired, they worked on translating classic novels into Frog-language: they finished a spectacular, award-winning version of Hop on Pop, and had started to work on Bang the Drum Slowly... Oh, but then they got eaten by a heron.

**The Butcher, the Baker and the Candlestick-maker** started their own restaurant, in the town of Chair. It was such a success, all the celebrities went there. Then the Candlestickmaker got arrested for underage issues, and the Butcher converted it into a pizza joint (meat lovers pizzas were always half price) after the Baker left too, which happened on this wise: One day Jean l'Artiste, tired of Tofu, came to their restaurant instead. They met, became friends, and the Baker started going to church with him. He realized there was more to Sundays than he had thought! Eventually, he even moved to the place called The Garden, where he could live _every_ day like Sunday, when he saw that they were advertising for a chef who could make foolycake, and felt a call.

**The Good People of Chickakookacowamaugamungabunga** finally realized being a Serbian protectorate wasn't very good protection, and decided to band together with several other pushover powers for mutual defense, uniting with the gentle sister republics of Manitoulin and Mackinac (no such thing as a silent c on the p.p. of T, btw), the energetic and entertaining village of Boomshakalaka, and (why not?) the very cool Queendom of Petralunga. A new name was in order: Kookacowapetramanimackichickaboommungamaugabungalungashakalakatoulinnac. This was about the same time the Hun raids stopped anyway, so they credited the new union and new name with "creating fear and dread in all men." And figured if it had worked that well, why not annex the breakaway Finnish province of Kekaleinen, and the Children's Village of Tickleburg? (Neither were much good in battle, but they were both fun to have around.) After this they became Boomchickakookamackicowamanipetrakekatickletoulinmaugashakalakanacbungamungalungaleinenburg. At this point, they struck fear and dread into the hearts of school-children, who learned to memorize their street addresses much earlier than their counterparts in other nations--thus defusing the pants-peeing question "Where do you live, Sally?" by answering simply, _"Third Street!"_ The name was also useful in teaching high-school students their perm's and comb's, coz they tackled that unit right at the height of their period of silliness and had great fun rearranging the name while they learned. 'What? Our name, silly?' protested the loyalists. Unfortunately, the International Olympic Committee thought it was too. For that matter, the whole tourism industry suffered, because the name couldn't be squeezed onto a bus ticket, and the bus driver kept dropping off their visitors at a neighboring kingdom with a similar name. (It could happen.) But they made up for it with a great mail-order industry, selling clothes with the inscription "My parents went to ___ and all I got was this lousy T-shirt." Eventually that fad petered out, but just in the nick of time they saved their economy by annexing the mining town of Flin Flon; the little valley of Wocka Wocka (capital of the budding video game industry); and a tourist haven, the communal Genies' Paradise of Mekka Lekka Hai. Work it out for yourselves. Centuries later, after more annexations, amalgamations and mergers, they finally gave up and just called the whole place "Streetsville".

**Paul the Gaul, Mike the Viking, and Pete the Geat** , all found what they were secretly after, wedded bliss. Paul met a nice girl named Anna who not only showed him love, but showed him the Lord. Mike got married to a statuesque beauty named Katrina, who challenged him with a 'My God is bigger than your God' type attitude. Though he hated to lose any contest, Mike finally admitted sheepishly "I don't have a God". _"Well that settles it, then"_ she proclaimed triumphantly, and generously shared her knowledge of the real One. And Pete met a wide woman named Shtrudel who could really cook.

**Raymond of Corbeil** was happily married to the equally renowned 'Tracy of Callander', and even helped support them by practicing Law for a while, if you can believe that. Until, that is, he was extended a personal invitation to replace Bert Loreword as linebacker-blitzer for the Hun-Country Huns. Sack records fell almost as quickly as opposing quarterbacks.

**The woman with the garden** eventually got older and tireder, and spent less time in the garden, and more time in the house. She had big new windows put in, and revised her earlier statement 'It's better to help them grow', to 'It's better to watch them grow'.

**Moriarty the Barracuda** ate a leg, a fish, a salmon, an ankle, a fish, some garbage, puked; ate a leg, a toe, a fish, an eel, a hubcap, a kneecap, and a couple more fish, and then proved the old adage "Old barracudas never die, they just swim off into the sunset--biting as they go."

**The bald dirty factory-coming-home-guy** still works in a factory, and lives happily near Detroit with his virtuous daughter Jobi, his valiant son Charlie and his vonderful vife Sheryl.

**The Caveman** gave up on Law School (it's hard!) and just devoted his efforts to being the best caveman he could be. Oh, and to practicing his free throw shooting: Then he played a couple of years of pro basketball and made more than a lawyer would make anyway. Having no need of money, he gave it all to the much-maligned Boy Scouts.

**Brennan Howard X** got into politics, ran for Senator a couple times on a radical 'extinct-animal rights' platform, and lost, then finally settled for being a Union Rep.

**Electric Man** made it to Australia and had a good time. The non-conducting rubber suit actually made him get hit by lightning less often, so he eventually started to lose his electrical charge. He was a little relieved, but also sad that he wasn't as special anymore. But he was happy again when his pretty Australian girlfriend promised, "You'll always be special to me."

**Europa Callisto** the accountant finally took account of her own life, and finding herself less than perfect, she gave her life to God, who alone is perfect. Then she spent the rest of her days counting his miracles, and tabulating eternity! Meanwhile, her son Jupiter Moon, finding himself "underqualified" for a career as a Titan, worked as a bouncer instead, while his sister Io grew up to be a mortgage lender for a finance company called Loan John Silver's: where she ambitiously married the founding partner, but prudently kept her last name.

After getting tired of too much libraryin', **MK** moved to Calgary to work in Residence Life, at the University. Coz she liked the outdoors, and "they have a lot of it here."

**Eagles** moved to Greece, where the warm Mediterranean climate meant lotsa bugs. He hung out at the Hotel Hough, where the ex-hockey players admired his bloodthirsty ways and adopted him as kind of a mascot. But he perished in a hailstorm: you can go all around the world, but you can't escape justice.

After her work in Chicago and on the Bus to Glory was done, **Hosanna** started a band with her sisters. Hosanna played piano, Gloria sang, Allie Lou played cello, and their half-Latin, half-Slavic, half-Hawaiian half-sister Luna Kalina played the drums. Once the phonograph was invented, (by an Edison-esque inventor named Spoony), they sold a million records, blessed a million hearts, strengthened a million souls, and made a million dollars--which they gave to their friends The Good Guys, to pay for a million flowers, to reach a million sinners, less one--some really stubborn hard-hearted wretch named _____. (Not you I hope?)

**Yassin Amal** , the blind painter, fortunately was able to sell the camel picture later in the evening, then buy cheese, and summer sausage, and apples, and trois baguettes, and return proudly home to his passionate English wife Ann, and their hungry Irish setter Howie, and his wife's shiftless Welsh ex-half-step-second-cousin-in-law-once-removed ("But churl not gif river me so eassy, nozzle dive, solbered up a pit!"), who was staying with them while he was between jobs. After splitting the meager provisions four ways, poor Yassin was back in the alley working again the next morning. Such is life.

**Gepetto's Kid** got up to some typical childhood mischief. Nothing most of the rest of us haven't done when our parents weren't watching, right?

**Brian the Tofu Anarchist and the Poetess Emily the Kid** got married and lived happily ever after. The Tofu Anarchist inadvertently contributed something useful to society by inventing the camera, even though his intentions were anarchist-pure: "I just wanted to take a picture of how messed up everything is." It turned out OK, coz the extra money he gained from his invention allowed Emily the Kid to quit her job and concentrate on writing delicious, seditious poetry full-time. It was cutting-edge stuff, which is why nobody else understood it. That's how you know you're a good writer.

She was too good, in fact, for **With-it Larry** , whose work had become formulaic and stale. Not one to settle for being only the second-best poet in Chair, With-it Larry eventually gave up the rivalry and was instead elected mayor after Mayor Willy retired.

**Mayor Willy** served a couple more terms as mayor, and then moved south to enjoy a happy retirement sipping drinks in the Caribbean sun, living off all his hard-embezzled campaign funds. Before he left, he actually helped behind-the-scenes with With-it Larry's campaign, "despite his moronic political beliefs." Coz Willy became convinced Larry sought the mayordom mostly from vanity, and, having long approved of the beatnik's use of big words, Willy compromisingly admitted: "Two out of three ain't bad."

**Jean l'Artiste** began sharing his faith with people in restaurants, but was hungry for a larger forum. After the invention of the camera made his sketching biz obsolete, he turned his artistic talents to stained glass and architecture, and built Cathedrals all around the world with the construction assistance of the incomparable **Jonnathinn Halley** , master of all trades, jack of none.

**The Right Honorable Scrapper Jim** survived an attack by the Cuban assassin Macmillan, but perished at the hands of a deviously attractive assassin named Sarah, whose special talent was making people die of a broken heart. (Aww!) He was succeeded by his equally formidable brother The Right Honorable Scrapper Tom, who, after the rout from Hun-Country, realized that there was more money to be made in professional sports than in war. He turned the Penetanguishene Raiders into a pretty good football team which enjoyed a bitter but lucrative rivalry with the perennial champs the Hun-Country Huns.

**The Gatekeeper and Murphy** lost their jobs and got thrown into the Instinkerator for their good deeds, but they sang hymns and praised God for the privilege of suffering as Christians. When they got out they spent forty days fasting down by the river (it took them that long to get clean, and to get their appetites back anyway.) There, God poured out the Holy Spirit upon them and used them to help found the 'Church of God in Christ in Penetanguishene', where they played an instrumental role in the worship service--Murphy played bass, the Gatekeeper played drums. Among their first penitent converts were The Right Honorable Scrappers Jim (just in time) and Tom. Thus they succeeded, with God, where Luke on his own had failed.

**Cardinal-Bird** kept doing what he did best: singing, and soaring, and praising God. He also taught the children to do the same. Always room for more volunteers to sing in the branches of God's "pretty big tree"!

**The Tree** aspired to be that tree!

**Sheenagh the Banshee** floated on up to heaven, said the magic word, and got in. It wasn't what she said, so much as the way she said it--with sincerity and contrition.

**Rasheed** blew out a knee in an exhibition game, and had to return to pumpkin farming. Thank goodness for signing bonuses.

**Mr. Schultz** married "the woman with the windows and the garden" and had four weird kids. Enough for a golf foursome, except none of them shared his extraordinary golfing abilities. Good thing teaching school had taught him so much patience, huh.

**Mr. Sutton** married a beautiful damsel named Deb, and they lived happily ever after, serving the Lord, loving each other, and teaching the children of the world, one at a time, about kindness, patience, wisdom and dignity.

**The beautiful Ms. McRitchie** was blessed with a beautiful life. She loved her husband, loved her children, loved her job, and loved the Lord. Sometimes there were diseases, but God healed them all in due time. Sometimes there were doubts, but an unbreakable faith in the good word of God eventually prevailed. Sometimes there was even betrayal, but she took out her Bible and read, _"Persecuted but not forsaken; cast down but not destroyed,"_ and fought through this also, with her own pure heart shining and the eternal love of God remaining.

**Mr. Young** taught school for a few more years, but decided he just couldn't hack it. He caught a job as a receivers coach for a new professional football team in Sagueneen.

**The Wildflowers** were born again. (Every summer)

**Gynander the Gnome** ticked off the wrong pack of prairie dogs. Talk about Run, run you better!

**Horse the Mystery Horse** got a job transporting the Pope. Like Shadrach, he just showed up one day, with a desire to serve. (And a coupla big jewels of his own?) Meanwhile **Pony Meroni** stayed at the circus, with the rest of the Circus People: havin' fun and eating popcorn. Ah, the good life.

**Peter Crowfoot** worked his way up to full partner in the Rancho de la Raunchy Lawrence Ranch. Which meant he got 50% of the profits. Most years he would have been better off with an hourly wage! But then when Lawrence finally passed on, Peter inherited the land. _'In your patience possess ye your souls.'_ In your patience possess ye your land too.

Since Peter Crowfoot was pretty quiet, eventually **Raunchy Lawrence the Rancher** joined a social club for company, with **Reuben and Tito and Admiral Jack** \--kind of a support group for people with only one arm. For a while some of them got into new age spirituality and eastern religion to try to mellow them out and unstress them and give them peace from their worldly suffering--all kinds of meditation and chanting and goofy ceremonies to make them feel special. Contemplating the sound of one hand clapping was a mainstay. Until finally Tito, who had unfortunately picked this stuff up as an impressionable young mind at a liberal college, came to his senses and announced, "This is stupid. Let's go to church." So they went to Reuben's church, got saved, and praised God. Then they _really_ learned about the sound of one hand clapping! as they clapped them against the pews, against their pants, or against a partner!

Industrial Dave kept his nose to the grindstone (literally.) Eventually he suffered a repetitive motion malady, and cancelled the midnight shift--which gave him time to moonlight in his injury-inspired band, the Ganglionic Tendon-cies. At their peak, The Tendoncies even opened for the infamous all-girl group The Swinging Cradles, whose sound was 'a lovely mélange of industrial rock and big band music.'

**Rebecca** moved back to be with her family, only to have Luke show up and sweep her sister away to be his queen shortly afterwards ("Hey!") So she kind of took over for Jenny, making Terry breakfast and helping him farm, until he reached a ripe old age. Every Christmas they went to Hun-Country to visit Jenny and watch a playoff game. Rebecca also conveniently took over her sister's old job at the Children's Center, (kinda like the dude that relieved his brother on Blues Clues), because not only did she have a college degree, but she also met the other important requirement for working with the kids--she was really nice.

**Susan and Kip** moved out of The Garden into a house of their own after a while, and raised a wonderful family. Inspired by Bert's rhyme, ambitious Kip made a pilgrimage to Atlantis to get trained as an electrician himself. Which worked out even better, employment-wise, once the good people of the rest of the p.p of T. actually discovered electricity! Susan made the world a brighter place too, with her holy smile, her good home cookin' ( _"Put it out! Put it out!"_ ), and by raising her children to _'shine as lights' 'in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation'._

**Shadrach the Peasant** was reinstated by mercy as Shadrach the Priest, and dispatched to Hun-Country to save the day, and to save the souls, with some real fire-and-brimstone, shake-'em-up preaching, that set a lot of Huns to thinking. While there, in a stunning completion of a spiritual full-circle, he met up with Bert, the man who had led him back, and he returned the favor, with rough warnings and frightening visions. Their fates somehow linked, they saw fit to work together on a joint new credo, combining Bert's mastery of poetry ( _"I am really great at this stuff!"_ ) with Shadrach's goodness and devotion. Together they wrote the strange triptych, "Who I Was Then", "What I Have Become" And "Who I Choose to Be", or as Shadrach alternately titled them, Psalm, Lamentation, Creed. _('If I can form a one-man union and a two-man mutiny, why not a multi-person poem?'_ Bert figured) Then Bert tucked away a copy of the first for his memories, by mutual agreement they burned the middle one and symbolically scattered the ashes _'as far as the east is from the west'_ (Mikki's spaceship came in quite handy), and they each taped a copy of the third one to their respective bathroom mirror, and vowed to live it out faithfully all their remaining days. (see Appendix I) ,

**Kevin and Karla the Troll** took a vacation up to Hun-Country to visit Luke and Bert, and while they were there, shrewd Luke signed them both up to play offensive guard on his new professional football team. Sprinkle in 'Faflak the Destroyer' and 'Sammy Pancakes' at tackle, add Dominic Raiola at center, and together that O-line "Rolled like a five-man war! Like General Sherman in shoulderpads!" Bert proudly observed. The rest of the teams asked for a rule change to ban non-humans at the end of the season, and in order to preserve the league Luke reluctantly conceded. At which point Kevin and Karla retired and stayed on as the Strength and Conditioning Coaches!

**The Pope of the Whole World** kept on being holy and strengthening the church, visiting congregations all over the world. It kept him pretty busy. Also he took up tennis. Lotta aces.

**Bridgette** , flirted for a while with Luke's idea of her as the first ever lady Pope, but eventually decided she didn't need the stress of worrying about everybody. So she moved down the coast to the Kingdom of Santana where she started a dance studio, and lived out her motto: "I dance when I'm happy and I'm happy when I dance." Seemed like a good idea to do it all day every day, then, coz that's how happy she was! Sometimes she had trouble making ends meet, but then she would moonlight as a singing instructor too.

Provoked by the memory of how the missionary ship had been sent to him, 'because there was a soul in the north they had forgotten about', **Rick the Baffin Islander** moved with his wife **Nina** to Iceland, to try to convert some other forgotten northern souls. They got jobs with the others in the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine Factory, and preached the gospel to both new friends and old. They also had lots of kids, founded their own city, and even built Iceland's first golf course. (High time.)

**The Laughing One** kept on laughing; and kept on living well, seeing joy in all things, and teaching those questing few who showed up at her swamp-step, until at last in her old age, she died and went to Ha-ha-ha-Heaven.

**Sister Kitt** day by day lived in wonder, and night after night slept in grace, following her own rule: 'Only good things can happen now.' (which was later abridged and popularized as "It's all good.") **The Children** made out okay too. **Big Nate** for example, grew up to become Very Big Nate, and played nose tackle for the Hun-Country Huns: since knocking stuff over remained his specialty.

**Tony the sketch artist** followed Chief Otis back to Hun Country where he got a job as a police sketch artist, cleaned up on the overtime (some Huns had more trouble adjusting to law and order than others), and retired young.

After visiting his friend Luke and hearing the Word of God preached, **The Dragon** left feeling renewed and rededicated, and y'know, he did stick his head back inside his own little church a little more often. Later he married a lovely lady dragon named Lakeia, whom Luke had steered his way, after she had shown up at the Hun-Country football stadium a season too late to try out for wide receiver. ("Why? Because I can flat-out fly!")

**King Federico Featherbelly the First** reigned cautiously and conservatively over his kingdom until his old age. Then, absent not only heirs, but lacking a challenging quest upon which to send his own three nephews, he finally dared them to take out a really troublesome groundhog. _"He's a pretty big one, though. Watch it now!"_ After hapless Simon Spongebelly and helpless Timmy Tinkerbelly literally bit the dust, after dashing madly into battle and breaking their ankles stepping in holes that the fearsome beast had dug, young Owen Oozebelly gloriously saved the day--by remembering his uncle's cheese sandwich story in the nick of time, and making a cheese samwich for the groundhog. He put some rat poison in it. The people of Detroit look forward to more peace and prosperity under the wise and heroic Owen XVI!

**Serpent St. Helena** was slain by Beowulf in a tragic misunderstanding. (He doesn't like to be touched.)

After his conversion, **Hough** sold the hotel complex in order to build and shepherd the new Greek Orthodox Church: which did some fine work in that part of the globe. **Chef Roland** became the new hotel manager, promoted **Gillis** to chef/maitre d', and let **Donnelly** do double duty as bartender and bouncer. Since they were both drawing two salaries, Gillis and Donnelly eventually saved up enough money to start their own nightclub. But it went belly-up (due to poor business skills and an ineffective advertising budget), so then they signed on as hockey coaches for the Windsor Spitfires: ah, home again.

**Dennis the Driver** delivered the mail faithfully for many years. Then when he retired, he pulled up his bus to Hun-Country, loaded it full of Bibles hot off their printing press, and drove away into the dangerous distance, never to return. None of the anthropologists and explorers ever quite agreed among what strange nation he met his end, but later heroes who rode off into the distance already found it Christianized. In addition to owning Bibles, some of the various tribes were also found to have some quite intriguing hand-written epistles, sent by a bearded man they referred to as 'the Apostle Dennis'.

After many more years coaching an as-yet-undefeated Hun-Country Huns football team, and defending the gospel with the Bible in one hand and brass knuckles on the other, **Chief Otis** did in fact ride off into the distance, like a departing legend. But once he got there, he found that most of the missionary work had already been done by a bearded bus driver. Otis shrugged, sat back, and sipped. "Gives me an excuse to relax and enjoy my retirement, I guess."

Inspired by the legends of the Apostle Dennis, **the Good Guys** tried to emulate his courage and commitment. Their compound was getting fuller of new joiners, new believers day by day, so they adopted a custom: whenever any felt strong enough to leave, to strike out into the world and do God's will, they would form a group of two or three, and then climb a high mountain with their hang-gliders, and with backpacks full of Bibles, knapsacks full of foolycake, and bouquets of flowers. Next they would pray together, and then literally cast their fate to the wind, jumping off the mountain and letting the breath of God blow them to wherever He wanted the next church to take root. Seeds and harvesters, all rolled into one.

**Julie** had a good life: doing good deeds, singing good songs, and serving a great God.

**The Bus to Nowhere** rolled on oblivious, drinking themselves to ruin, partying themselves to pieces...until one Sunday morning, when they were all still sleeping off a drunk, the **Bus to Glory** pulled up alongside and boarded them suddenly, like Pirates for Jesus! Then they spread out, letting God match one witness to one listener, until the whole Bus to Nowhere had heard and accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ. Then they divided back up half-and- half and there were _two_ Buses to Glory! each looking for another occasion to double once more. "Like a family of amoebae..."

**The hitchhiker** eventually realized he had a drinking problem. It went a long way towards clearing it up once he decided to not only think of Jesus Christ every morning, but at the end of each day as well! After he added 'and all points in between', things really got rollin'.

**Hammer** eventually turned the driving of the Bus to Glory over to Harold and Mary, which quite eliminated the Great Speed Limit Schism (though it did not prevent the later occurrence of the 'Can We Please Go a Little Faster' Reformation.) Later he joined the EAHL to play hockey. He led the league every year in both points and penalty minutes ("Hey, he started it. And him... And him..." _"And him too?"_ "Who else?!") After passing Dale Hunter's penalty minute total, and finally feelin' guilty, he set about preaching the gospel door-to-door: "Knock-knock" _"Who's there?"_ "Cool Guy." _"Cool Guy who?"_ "Coolg Uy interest you in this lovely new vacuum cleaner?" Once he had gotten his foot in the door with that pretense, his apprehensive customers were usually quite glad to hear the Gospel instead!

**Louise** left the Garden to ride along with the Bus to Glory for a while. Then later in life, she found a tree-covered hill, and built a quiet cottage, and there shone out the rest of her days. Not quite a 'City on a Hill' but it was a start. "Come join me," she calls.

**Janet the Angel** keeps going where God sends her: including even Mexico, once, coincidentally.

**Herman the German** played a pretty good round, and then went home to be with his honest wife Ann.

**Mikki** flew her spaceship around to many of the planets she had formerly visited, preaching the gospel and planting churches. The 'Mikki and Bert Gospelseed' label seemed to fit: they knocked out a string of six or ten planets right in a row. But then they went to Earth, and realized, "This one is gonna take some time!" They began in New York, where no one even noticed or commented on Mikki's most-unusual appearance. In fact, she even worked briefly as a supermodel to pay the bills during their stay. (Briefly, before violet skin became blasé, and stunning beauty went out of fashion). New York proved a hard target, and that's about as far as they made it. Eventually, Bert got restless and they seriously discussed letting him take the spaceship back up for a spin...

**Jenny Harris** already had her bags packed and was tapping her foot when Luke came back to share his life with her. They had a small wedding ceremony: Pixie Crinkles was a bridesmaid, (as always), and Jenny's sister Rebecca had returned in time to be the maid of honor. Then it was off to a tent in Hun-Country for the honeymoon: Oh how romantic. With guilt but never-before-so-much love, Luke watched her standing on the ferry waving farewell to father, sister, orphaned children and her whole world, with tears in her eyes, and a Bible in her trembling hands. That was the last time for a long time that Luke ever saw her sad, though--coz they did live happily ever after, don'tcha know. And he never again saw her fearful; for once the change was made, she stepped up to the challenge with Hun-huge courage, winning the hearts of all of Hun-Country with her soft voice, and her wise words, and her daring glare. She made sinners into saints with two-fisted shirt-collar warnings, squeezed-hand weepings, and crown-always-falling-off-while-jumping-up-and-down-singing-and-dancing-praising-God celebrations. Like Paul, she might have said: _'I have been made_ _all things to all men that I might by all means save some'_. Just as importantly, she was made all things to Luke: the noble queen, the faithful friend, the perfect partner, the beloved wife, and the good mother to a thousand generations of gentle children. Gave Luke strength like a sword, a shield, and a boxing glove to boot. Well done lass.

THE CREW

**Admiral Jack** soon retired from sailing and whaling, and used his second-boat savings to buy a bus instead. Then he carved out his own trade route on land, coz he could drive a bus all by himself, without having to pay anyone union wages! It was going pretty well until he ran over an anthill and it caused a rollover accident that destroyed his vehicle and his merchandise, and left him bankrupt. He joined Tito's special support group to help ease his loss and subsequent depression, and he was startled and pleased by his too-happy ending!

**Gonzales** realized there was no glory, songs, or remembrance of those who serve as lookouts in Crows-nests, so he became an Olympic sprinter instead. It went pretty well until the steroid scandal.

**Robespierre** fell overboard during a wild party. The crew was fishing him out, when along came a great white shark which ate him. When they saw him sheared gruesomely in two, **Kennedy** promptly repented, **Edwards** immediately retired, and everyone else regurgitated. When the shark got a taste of that horrible unwashed sailor, he did all three.

**Morel** was lost at sea, but that's nothing new, he was lost everywhere else too.

**Aussie Joe** moved back to Australia and went into the beachcombing business with his brother-in-law Electric Man. They didn't make much money. (" _You finding anything over there?"_ "I got some driftwood again. You?" _"Some pretty cool seaweed."_ "Faaab-ulous.")

**Che Vanier the Cook** moved back to the Caribbean, where he would never be cold again! He set up his own bistro on the beach, and mostly just enjoyed practicing his craft. Occasionally however, the Spirit would suddenly move him to preach the gospel to certain tourists. Among others, he converted a guy named Mayor Willy.

**Chains** received a letter from Luke at Midway, sharing his faith and telling him the good news that Luke hadn't been courageous enough to share while at sea. Chains took him up on his invitation to 'Come and See': At a quiet harbor on the east coast, he shimmied down the anchor chain and left the ship behind, striking out on a spiritual journey of his own, even visiting some of Luke's old haunts. It was a shorter journey than Luke's however, coz he didn't even have the stubbornness to resist the Man of God, and he accepted the Lord right then and there! Then he took a hunk of gold that the Man of God gave him, and used it to buy Jack's ship. Next, Chains converted **The rest of the crew** , and led all who were willing on an extraordinary brand new voyage, preaching the gospel on the opposite side of the globe... They finally found the faith to bother with the Don't Even Bother Ocean!

**Bert**. With a half-laugh and a sly-twinkling eye: _"Ah, he asks about my future..."_

**Luke the Hun** began by calling himself Luke the Servant instead of Chief Luke. The more skeptical Huns thought that title sounded kind of soft and weak, until Luke 'served up' some Hun-hospitality in the defensive war against Penetanguishene: He knocked out a coupla dozen of their top warriors, with a big club and the Caveman's patented technique, the 'Underhand Unconsci-fier'. He thus spared their lives, and they returned safely home (once someone pointed them in the right direction and reminded them where they lived.) After that, Luke's authority was seldom questioned, and he was able to use his position of leadership to grow the church. Not that it's _as_ important, but he also used his other position of leadership to quarterback the Hun football squad to plenty of championship seasons--even doing double duty as both QB and receiver after Bert left--it took a lot of skill and speed, but it worked surprisingly well on delay patterns.

Between politics and family, sports and farming, Luke led a pretty busy life. But never too busy to make room for God! He chose to make Bert's sestina his own form of devotion, his own type of love poem. He realized he even had the keywords handy, from all his accumulated notes! So he called upon the Hun alchemists and artificers to forge him a mystical 94-sided die, (Sure he could have just put the words in a hat and picked them out, but why not support a fledgling local industry?) and each week he would roll it six times to pick out the framework for his sestina, and then would let the Holy Spirit fill in the rest! (Look for Sestinas for Sunday, on sale soon at a bookstore near you...)

Speaking of letting the Holy Spirit fill in the rest...that good ol' boy turned out okay.

Glory; praise praise praise praise; praise. Praise; glory praise; glory praise praise!

# APPENDIX I: Multi-Person Poems

Psalm

I was the youth that lives forever...

I was born again in summer's fire,

and summers always filled my heart--

Each warm breeze was the breath of God

and each sun-rushed day his kiss of hope,

sending me ever forth in love:

Relentless, permeating love,

for everything for everyone forever...

Upon seas of peace and roads of hope

I was sent to spread this kindling fire--

Feeling always close and chosen by God,

Who gave my brave just-made man's heart,

This faithful, sunburst-strong child's heart

which roared and rang with brilliant love:

Blessing the earth but following God,

Filled with a sense of now and forever,

Warmed with the heat of sweet soul-fire,

Knowing each moment I was saved by hope.

In days of light and nights of hope

I smiled through life with faith and a pure heart,

Down leaf-rainy streets amid stars' fire,

Looking at strangers with dove's eyes and love,

I held in warm hands the best of forever,

Met heaven laughing, and was a child of God:

A strange and secret, all-enfolding God

Whose presence filled the air I breathed with hope--

Each moment was graced with the weight of forever,

Joy pulsed through me with each beat of my heart...

I lived in an ether of simple love,

and danced among the tongues of sacred fire.

I sang in the rain and prayed by the fire

and was foolish, but a fool for God:

My only goal was to learn how to love,

To see good in others, filled with the hope

of innocence; And always my young heart

leapt, thrilled with the promise of Forever.

In those bright days God himself graced my heart

With the gifts of love and wages of hope,

and with holy fire I thought could burn forever...

Lamentation

O where have they all gone

Those days and nights of strength

when I wore holiness

like robes? Much time wasted

since, wisdom forgotten,

even love nearly dead.

Now I walk with the dead,

My faith and hope long gone.

Since I have forgotten

God, I have lost the strength

He gave me, and wasted

and squandered holiness.

Tatters of holiness

cling still, like tombs of dead

kings, temples from days gone

by, or ruins in wasted

lands: tributes to a strength

debased and forgotten.

Each new vow forgotten,

Regaining holiness

remains beyond my strength

of will. My heart seems dead.

Something vital has gone.

Grace too has been wasted.

How could I have wasted

such gifts, and forgotten

their Giver? Have I gone

too far from holiness

to be raised from the dead

and live once more in strength?

God Himself was my strength,

But His love I wasted!

Many paths reach the dead,

endless and forgotten.

The road to Holiness

is one, and almost gone.

Love, though wasted, is not gone!

Return, O strength forgotten!

Rise, holiness, from the dead!

Creed

I CHOOSE TO travel with God once again;

Recover myself a seeker of truth;

Return to a culture of dreams and rainbows;

Walk into strange realms of new love;

Feel all about me excitement and light;

See in the mirror Christ-beautiful eyes.

I RESOLVE TO meet each day with new eyes;

Learn to see the good in all things again;

Have courage in darkness and strive for light;

Defend till death the sacredness of truth;

Sing with the sparrows and smile at rainbows;

And dutifully keep my heart filled with love.

MY UTMOST GOAL IS TO grow in God's love;

Have diamonds shining out of dark eyes;

Lend my limbs the fluidness of rainbows;

Bounce through life with that smile alive again;

Share with strangers the freedom found in truth;

Live together in harmony and light.

I PLEDGE MY LIFE TO the good of no light

cause, but to the saving power of love;

Guardianship of revealed and reasoned truth;

Protection of the hope in children's eyes;

The quest to make myself a saint again;

Remembrance of mercy-shining rainbows.

I BELIEVE IN children and in rainbows;

Dog-bark loyalty and warm summer light;

The power to become our better selves again;

The Divine source of even human love;

The holiness that hides itself in eyes;

The 'never will you break me' voice of truth.

I EXPECT my vision to become truth:

I will see more shooting stars and rainbows;

Having finally opened my hungry eyes,

They will be filled with invisible light

From a world made of promises and love;

And I shall follow God Himself again.

With fearless faith and rainbows in my eyes,

I choose again to be a child of light.

The only truth I need, I find in love.

# APPENDIX II: In Order that the Reader May Better Judge a Particular Matter

# Bad Day at Chez Vanier

By Bertralamus J Loreword, Para-Poet, also uncharitably known as Bert the Hack

(To be read aloud dramatically, with an excited teenage drawl)

Chez Vanier has just served a nice luncheon,

When in walks a Hit-man, wielding a truncheon.

A blow to the throat drops the maitre d'.

The customers scream, and the waiters flee.

He spies his mark, and he presses forward,

Through the crowd of patrons surging doorward.

He does the man in, with blunt force trauma,

Face down in a plate of veal parmigiana.

The police are called, and arrive post-haste.

He draws his piece, and prepares to be chased.

Six cops later, they call off the pursuit,

Crying, "Man! That dude can really shoot!"

As the distant gunfire grows sporadic,

Diners resume enjoying the haddock.

# The Further Adventures of the Vanier Hitter

When we left our charming anti-hero

It was Hit Man seven, Good Guys zero.

But his tale's not told, though his ammo's spent--

There are always feet to encase in cement.

He lurks wherever there's elbows to rub,

Dispatching yuppies, with a knife or club.

So stock up on ice packs and anti-venom,

And b'ware th' bad cat dressed to kill in denim.

Tonight he strikes at the Philharmonic,

Where he renders a tuba player catatonic.

Concertgoers gasp, in shock and awe,

As the head swings limp, with a detached jaw.

Then dodging sirens and flashing lights,

Hear him vow to return on Opera Night...

# It Ain't Over Until...

Opera Night, and the House is abuzz,

Though they've added guards, and invited the fuzz.

Backstage the cast all has the jitters,

For dread of the one called the Vanier Hitter.

What is his mission? By whom is he paid?

Will he kill tonight? They are sore afraid.

The curtain is raised. Let the show commence!

Now looks over shoulders are their only defense.

They reach the last act of La Boheme,

Without mischief, murder, or mayhem.

A whisper goes up: Could it be they're safe?

Will no one be bludgeoned, stabbed or strafed?

Then on comes the fat lady, a mezzo-soprano...

Who falls prey to the classic exploding piano.

# BOOK II: Sestinas for Sundays

"For we cannot but speak the things which we have seen and heard." -Acts 4:20

Luke's words

Look Listen God Sundays Honesty Love Grow Children Choose Wonder New Eden Memories Loyalty Teach Learn Cathedral Beware Precious Confession Prayer Miracles Blessings Hope Holiness Youth Feel Soul Dance Yield Together Let God Help Greater Sing Today Respect Kindness Grace Accept One Freedom Regret Positive Perfection Work Curiosity Worship Steps Now Better Trust True Within Everywhere Innocence Equal Image Forgive Practice Completion Second Chance Spirit Prayer Day Night Silence Holiness Know Last First Content Laugh Renewal Ourselves Follow Remember Love Love Deep Near Faith Jesus Christ Saved Blessed Protected Guided Power Glory Salvation Forever.

These are my words. I wrote each Sunday, imitating the form of the sestina, using the words I gathered on my journey to complete each line. If I violated any poetic conventions, one ought to forgive and understand. Was I not instructed by a writer called "Bert the Hack"? (Who only learned it secondhand himself he says, from reading Auden and Kipling.)

I make no claim to be a poet, no, not at all. Actually, though my friend Bertralamus J Loreword once conned me into buying a "poetic license" from him for $15, after later proofreading some of my work he added insult to injury by refunding my money!

But let the humble speak of proud things, let the weak voice give glory to the strong--that the praise may not be to the songs, but to the One of whom they sing. Not all of them will bless you. But wait for the one that will.

Some of these are more psalms than poems; some are more sermons than psalms. And others are memoirs, history lessons and political opinions. Often they reflect the famous phrase used by my friend, neighbor and euchre partner, the King of Zembla, "A jumble of enjambments". Sometimes, indeed, they feel more like word puzzles than artworks. Yet in the end I was satisfied with them, pleased that they speak God's name and honor his authority. Doubtless I was blessed in writing them, more than you will be by reading them...

...which suggests your own challenge, if I may be so bold. If my poems displease you, write me a better one. I would look forward to publishing a second volume of Sestinas for Sundays. Perhaps my biographer could compile them.

My biographer, ah yes. A familiar figure, who resurfaced driving a rainbow-colored shuttle bus about Hun City, to and from the Cathedral and the football stadium. He presented his idea, along with a diploma from an obscure university, and convinced me to allow him to share my tale--the tale of a journey, and the promise of finding: "So that the stagnant might learn to seek, so that the sleepers might dare to dream, and so that the frightened children of forgotten worlds might feel their way back to the safe arms of the Father."

Sounds a bit ambitious, but hey, I wished the kid luck and gave him my time and my notes. May some slight good come from it someday. In love and hope, Luke.

# Out of Darkness

When first I found small faith to try to follow

a path towards truth, scarce did I even believe

in truth. Much more distant then, the dream to know

God Himself, a strange hope more meet for laughter

than acceptance. So it seemed, 'til memories of love

wafted the scent of holiness and all good things near.

Kindness, righteousness...such things I bid near,

not guessing the blessings and grace which should follow.

Stalking truth, sliding down joy, tumbling towards love,

with each step I was steered by those who believe--

prodded by meek hands, coaxed by Christian laughter,

as each day they taught me the things I need know.

Each saint was glad to share what all of them know,

ready to point me further or hold me near.

Each longed to prove the secret of their laughter,

eager to straighten the paths I should follow.

They fervently prayed that I too might believe,

and acted as vessels for Christ's perfect love.

Ah, the depths of His inexpressible love!

It makes one feel His presence and finally know

God is real! What then can one do but believe

that the gospel is true and the kingdom near

at hand? Then yield one's life and pledge to follow,

and receive the Spirit in dread and laughter.

My heart now pounds joy; my lips dance with laughter;

my eyes twinkle at truth; my soul sings of love;

my mind thrills at the hope of all that must follow;

my spirit bows and then soars, to finally know

the King of heaven, and to see my search near

its end. This have I learned: simply to Believe!

I cry out to all who might through me believe.

With tears of compassion and holy laughter,

I bid you come, for the hour is drawing near!

God offers the choice: red wrath or golden love.

The way into mercy you already know...

saints march, drummers drum, and a child calls "Follow!"

These things we know in faith and teach in laughter:

God waits patiently near, with mercy and love

for all who believe, for all who will follow.

# First Steps of Faith

From the simple knowledge there is something greater,

from the first moment we cease to trust in ourselves,

everything begins at once to draw us towards God.

We do not approach by ritual or practice,

but after seeking privately through love and hope,

faith falls upon us with the suddenness of night.

Then from the timid uncertainty of night

we are born instantly into something greater,

brighter, a place in the soul filled with shining hope,

the promise of things we could not achieve ourselves.

The righteousness that cannot be gained by practice

is given freely through Christ the Son of God.

We bow before the Almighty, the true God,

with songs of praise in the noontime and prayers in the night.

May continual worship become our practice.

Such honor befits "That than which nothing greater

can be conceived." With nothing to give but ourselves,

we yield our hearts, our minds, our souls, to Christ our hope.

No further harm may befall those who have this hope,

no fear for those whom Christ has reconciled to God.

Though for His glory we try to improve ourselves,

we are upheld if we should stumble in the night--

helped by Christ, whose purifying blood is greater

than all our sacrifices, efforts and practice.

"Mere superstition", "An antiquated practice":

These are the taunts of those who know nothing of hope.

Of late their ranks swell, and their voice has grown greater,

shouting "Faith is myth" and "Man invented God"--

though none say which man breathed life, or made day and night.

...And yet we think no less of them than of ourselves!

As they are, so were we, ere we committed ourselves

to Father, Son and Holy Ghost, in solemn practice

of this our faith. We fast this day and pray this night

that these too might find room in the Kingdom of Hope,

and in the knowledge of our all-powerful God--

by first humbling themselves to seek someone greater.

Those who will practice humility will meet God.

To those who search day and night he will reveal hope--

And that not of ourselves, but in One far greater.

# Faith More than Feeling

Our faith is more than a feeling,

it's certain truth beyond equal;

joy exceeding all dreams and hopes,

holy as a thousand Sundays;

days made great, life become complete

in the fullness of God's blessings.

What are we without those blessings?

Bones and flesh, thought and some feeling--

And how shall we call this complete?

Add up life, what does it equal?

Tedious weeks and empty Sundays,

until we seize His sacred hope.

Jesus Christ himself is our hope,

And God the sole source of blessings.

Whether we recharge on Sundays

and live a week on that feeling,

or honor each day as equal,

Only in God are we complete.

By worshipping God, we complete

our true nature. Only through hope

in Him do we become equal

to our role--to receive blessings

gratefully, as children, feeling

reverence for the God of Sundays.

The Church of God still meets on Sundays.

The ranks of saints are not complete

without you! Trust that true feeling

that bids you near! Come and find hope!

Stay, and claim love's lasting blessings!

In needing God, all men are equal.

To whom else shall God be equal?

Does science give grace on Sundays?

Can man bestow heaven's blessings?

Will blind chance build worlds? Or complete

chaos breathe life? Make Christ your hope,

we pray with faith and deep feeling!

No earthly blessings can equal

meeting the God of Hope on Sundays,

and feeling ourselves made complete.

# Descartes Revisited

I am a man, fashioned in God's image.

Unless, therefore, I learn about the Lord,

How shall I ever understand myself?

Shall "man as mere particles" hold my trust,

Or does our form suggest something greater?

Surely Will and Reason imply a soul.

What are the faculties possessed by this soul?

Freedom to create and change an image;

Curiosity which yearns for greater

truths; Conscience, keeping the fear of the Lord;

Logic, to judge which stories we should trust;

Highness of mind to contemplate myself.

What do I find if I think on myself?

A transient being, a contingent soul--

nothing lasting, in which all flesh could trust.

And yet I exist--as though an image

of the eternal office of our Lord:

"That than which there can be nothing greater."

If indeed there is none who is greater,

then God must _exist_! Or else I myself

would exceed him, which cannot be! The Lord

reigns forever, and must be the First Soul,

who creates all others in His image.

This makes sense to me, and compels my trust.

But what of the fables in which men trust?

The science which claims there is no greater

God than chance? They err in their whole image

of nature, by missing what I myself

have learned to ask: Is there thought apart from soul?

Could any life begin without the Lord?

Once we admit the presence of the Lord

We may commit our spirits to His trust,

and fully learn the place of our own soul--

bowed adoringly before One greater.

For if I find God, then I find myself,

who am molded daily to His image.

I give up myself to be His image.

My soul surrenders, yet becomes greater.

I trust in no man--and so gain the Lord.

# Forty Days Fasting

Forty days fasting, forty nights in prayer;

Christ was tempted, but also protected

by angels--but more so by what he knew:

that God is faithful, His promises true.

Christ held firm, emerged from that soul's dark night

unscathed, with no sin, no cause for regret.

Perhaps, however, he felt some regret

when Lazarus died. Though a single prayer

would raise him, Christ wept for his friend's brief night.

He truly loved those whom he protected.

Then in the name of the Faithful and True,

He called Lazarus forth, and then all knew...

They learned what the prophets already knew,

who spoke of an end to all our regret.

Christ came, and proved all the prophecies true,

shepherding his own with sermons and prayer--

the same way Israel's God had protected

them, clothed in a pillar of fire by night.

Jesus walked on water in the night;

Told people of things they thought no one knew;

Escaped stones as one whom God protected;

Healed the sick, and bore our sin and regret

to the cross, where after one final prayer

He gave his life, and proved God's love is true.

Stories of His resurrection are true.

Disciples found Him risen in the night,

and sensed an answer to their hope and prayer.

Then Jesus appeared to them and they knew

He was the Son of God, and felt regret

for doubting their Lord would be protected.

Christ sent them forth apostles, protected

through trials and death, as they preached the true

Gospel, without compromise or regret.

They preached in the day and died in the night

and spent themselves willingly, since they knew

God would uphold their work, and hear their prayer.

Their prayer was that the church be protected,

That more might hear and trade blind night for true

God, and regret for the joy each witness knew.

# The History of the Christian Church

Whispers of heroes with surprising faith...

Hidden acts of sacrifice and kindness...

A new flag raised from a nation's memories...

Sudden revelation of secrets deep...

Wisdom surpassing all human learning...

An army sent to win the world with love.

The cross, the symbol of God's perfect love,

clutched fast in cold hands by those slain in faith...

Old monasteries, centers of learning

that preserved the records of Christ's kindness...

The Holy Word, that links us to the deep

past, when witnesses wrote firsthand memories.

Criminals, no more bound by sin's memories...

Newborns, bathed in grace and swaddled in love...

Missionaries who brave the raging deep...

Country preachers, working healings by faith...

Church widows, baking cookies with kindness...

Future Elijahs, busily learning.

Brand new believers, happily learning

God's will, keeping Christ's words in their memories...

Young children, flashing bright eyes of kindness

and singing God's praise with holiest love...

Small scattered churches, fed solely on faith,

surviving poverty by digging deep.

All this, yet our history is not as deep

as it shall be: A time comes when learning

will be put to the test, when just our faith

will remain--when peace and safety shall be memories,

when hate and torment shall make it seem Love

has grown cold, and death shall seem a kindness.

Then we will know God's ultimate kindness.

Caught up in the air, we will see how deep

is mercy, feel how true are grace and love.

As the world ends, and with it man's learning,

all our works and struggles shall be memories,

when we meet God and sing the song of faith.

The church took root in stark memories and wild faith,

grows strong by learning patience and kindness,

and will soon be shown the deep mysteries of love.

# L'Eternel

God has been from the beginning, now and ever,

existing eternally as Prime Mover, first

cause of all that now is. One always remains free

to think otherwise, but what recommends it, pray

tell? It seems to my mind a worthier practice

to trust the word given by one who is perfect!

The word is complete, self-evident and perfect:

Created things prove God, all events that ever

happen show his will. Yet some charge that we practice

circular reasoning. If so, then let them first

prove it: Show us wherein our falsehoods lie, we pray.

Teach us, ye knowing, the truth that will set us free.

_The mind bound by its own assumptions is not free_.

Are skeptics immune? They too are less than perfect.

They oft assert that we only believe and pray

because it helps and comforts. Yet if they ever

tire of mere assumptions, they might simply ask first,

"Is God real?" If so, their theory fails in practice.

To deny our Maker is a detestable practice.

Does chance redeem, or variation set us free?

Which specific particle shall we praise as first

and last? Is there a holy rock or a perfect

stone? Shall any ray of light remain for ever?

To which of the elements should we bow and pray?

And what of Life? Did the dust really wish and pray

itself into a man? Did lizards through practice

leaping become birds? Has one kind of creature ever

begotten another? Need alone does not free

us from heritage. Nor does chance make us perfect--

it favors the perfection that God placed there first.

Before any created things could be, God first

was. He made man his chief work... because man can pray.

Ask God then, to sweep your mind, and give the perfect

knowledge of His wonders! Seek, and serve, and practice

obedience--the surrender that sets us free!

Then worship God who reigns forever and ever.

Before all that has ever been, our God was first.

He designed us to practice righteousness and pray,

but left us free. _Choose Christ_ , in whom we are perfect.

# Penance

I make my way down to the white

and holy ice. For renewal,

for healing. To find a second

chance after forgetting myself.

I move silently and am blessed

with a cool, clean, singing spirit.

I come to work on my spirit,

to wash its sins and make it white

as the snow that falls from God-blessed

skies. I come to earn renewal.

I labor to remind myself

that God watches us, each second.

I lift one floe, test a second

for its weight--to make my spirit

stronger I must challenge myself.

I grapple and hoist the thick white

slab. Arms lend my heart renewal,

Strong legs help a weak soul get blessed.

I trudge uphill, panting and blessed;

set it down and find a second

piece--frozen chunks of renewal.

While my body strains, my spirit

breathes Our Fathers, as in the white

silence I atone for myself.

I continue to push myself.

Ice block joins ice block, and a blessed

tower takes shape, sculpted in white,

declaring that for one second

I loathed my sins, and my spirit

earnestly sought for renewal.

My penance brings this renewal:

It helps me to forgive myself,

as God forgives. It keeps my spirit

in mind of the grace God has blessed

us with, each moment, each second.

Fear and hope glisten in ice-white.

Seeking renewal of spirit,

I put God first, myself second,

out among the ice, blessed and white.

# Parable

Upon a certain day, several servants were summoned by their Lord,

who offered them freedom should they bring him Truth. All accepted,

but were also warned that "All those who fail shall be lost forever."

The five took bread and figs, and saddled their horses on Sunday.

On they rode, pondering, "Is Truth found in thought, deed, or feeling?"

Then they stopped by a small church, where they heard glad voices singing.

Each of the servants had a different reaction to the singing.

"They are mad," thought the first. "How would I carry this back to my Lord?

Strange words like grace and glory, hard doctrines like redemption?" Feeling

overwhelmed, she decided these were delusions, then accepted

defeat, since "In a mad world, there can be no truth." Still, on Sunday

she wishes and wonders, while wandering empty landscapes forever.

The second servant loved their joy, and wanted to join forever.

But caught up in music, he never met the Source of their singing.

He assumed it was for their own comfort that they sang on Sunday.

He found no time to hear commandments, creeds, or the word of the Lord,

but thought, "Emotions are truth. Whatever feels right should be accepted."

When described aloud, all he could claim to know was transient feeling.

The third servant liked that church too, sang praises and left feeling

blessed. But faiths that met on different days had different takes on forever.

Scared to weigh their claims, too dull to judge which truths should be accepted,

she thought, "All truths are equal. One vague force hears all kinds of singing."

Unable to define this force, she could not return to her Lord

with any real answer--having failed to take a stand for Sunday.

The fourth hated hymns, but thought of a bar that was open on Sunday.

To him, those raised voices had merely been people who were feeling

happy, and inspired an answer, should he again meet his Lord:

"Just enjoy pleasure. Be happy now, life won't last forever."

He stayed there, drunk, pleasuring his body but not his soul, singing

bawdy shanties, enjoying the useless fate he had accepted.

The last servant heard the true words of God. She knelt and accepted

Jesus as Savior. She prayed daily, worshipped many a Sunday,

and when she was ready, strong in faith, she rode home again singing.

She told the man no more her master about faith more than feeling,

joy past finding out: "Jesus, the Way, the Truth, the Life, forever."

She shared the Gospel, prayed with him, and led him at last to the Lord.

Though not released by their Lord, the four faded away forever;

and though set free, the accepted servant still sees him each Sunday:

in their common church, feeling God's grace, knowing the truth, and _singing..._

# Imagine a moment

Imagine a single moment stretched forever...

How would you fill it? What delight would you accept

eternally, and to what pleasure would you yield

your being? Imagine that you may ask, and have God

grant it--what moment would you choose beyond equal?

What beauty would you behold, to what sounds listen?

One might fill corporeal senses: view art, listen

to symphonies, dine sumptuously forever.

Imagine your perfect mate, ready flesh made equal

to desire, glorious mouth willing to accept

each kiss. Eons later, would this still rival God,

before whom all flesh fades, and all glory must yield?

One might relive a time of triumph, feel friends yield

before your mighty football shoulder, and listen

to oofs and accolades; then stand smiling like God

above the vanquished. But does pride smile forever?

Will you boast before Him, and demand He accept

you? Or honor yourself above One with no equal?

Not pride then, but pure camaraderie--equal

among brothers, smiling as your friend drags a yield

of poker chips. Safe and free with those who accept

you, with the whole night to jest, argue, and listen

to stories: feeling the night could last forever.

They're good company, but would you choose them over God?

Imagine holding a child, to whom you are God.

One must learn to love back to truly be equal

to the role. Since love abides forever,

this must almost be perfect: to hold small hands, yield

to silly requests, to laugh and run, and listen

while she sleeps. That this is heaven, I might accept.

One thing better remains, for those who will accept

it: to no longer indirectly worship God

in others, but _be_ the children, whose Father will listen

as we sing Holy Holy. Joy without equal

awaits--a perfect timeless moment--when we yield

hearts and voices to the choir which sings forever.

One moment, when we yield it as worship to God,

becomes perfect forever, an endless equal

state of grace. Listen for His offer, and accept.

# Christ speaks

Christ spoke to the children, and gave them this blessing:

"I will watch over your souls with patience and prayer.

Through me ye shall be kept safe in your innocence.

I will be your light on the paths of salvation.

When you follow me, I will show you true freedom,

and shepherd you into my Kingdom forever."

Christ spoke to the aged, and promised them Forever:

"Well done faithful servants, you have been a blessing

to my church. You have sacrificed worldly freedom

for divine labor, with tireless fasting and prayer.

Not for these works, but faith, I grant thee salvation,

and welcome thee into eternal innocence."

Christ spoke to the sinners of restored innocence:

"Your crimes are pardoned, and forgotten forever.

Sin no more, but claim the free gift of salvation.

The curse on your lips shall be turned into blessing;

a mouth that once blasphemed shall henceforth speak prayer.

From base temptations ye shall finally find freedom."

Christ spoke to the righteous, to offer them freedom:

"Though you keep the law slavishly, your innocence

is as filthy rags. Not by thy strength, but by prayer

comes mercy. What, art thou God? Perfect forever?

Eat my flesh and live, drink my blood and find blessing.

Take my hand and be led into sure salvation."

Christ spoke to the seekers, pointing out salvation:

"I am the Way. Enter through me and find freedom.

Truth is not found by labor, but as a blessing

it is given. Submit, approach in innocence,

or in pride fumble outside the door forever.

All of man's wisdom pales next to one word of prayer."

Christ spoke to the scoffers, inviting them to prayer:

"The Father has wrought miraculous salvation.

Will you deny Him and risk just wrath forever?

Who else has given thee your lives, your minds, your freedom?

Clear your minds of the world's lies, and learn innocence,

And I will show you Heaven in love and blessing."

Christ speaks today, and forever. He whispers prayer,

sighs of grace, and breathes blessing. He sings innocence,

speaks forth salvation, cries love, and shouts of freedom.

# What We Have Lost

We have received from the Lord a storehouse of treasures.

His first gift was to make us feel a godly sorrow:

We found out our wickedness and yearned to be holy,

Then laid claim to grace and salvation ever precious.

Absolution followed, the purest of all blessings,

Which frees us from attempting impossible penance.

And yet we girded our hearts to live lives of penance--

To atone for our thefts by sharing heaven's treasures,

And mitigate our misdeeds by now bringing blessings.

We now offer the world joy, where once we brought sorrow,

Teaching sinners that not gold, but God's love is precious,

And the greatest conquest is making oneself holy.

Has it helped? Doubtless it is better to be holy

Than to be as we were. But no amount of penance

Can undo the wrongs we wrought. God's mercy is precious,

But it would be better that we never stole treasures

Or took lives. There is no remedy for death's sorrow,

Nor care the grieving if we mutter prayers and blessings.

This year's fruitful harvest brings a bounty of blessings.

But what of the last? The crops we burned, and the holy

And honest folk to whom we brought famine and sorrow?

The wounds we dealt cannot be healed by any penance,

Nor dead babes unstarved when we now choose to share treasures.

It comes too late. Too late we have learned what is precious.

What we lost most was time, and time is most precious.

Though we are saved now, we have missed years' worth of blessings!

Each day of believing, rejoicing in God's treasures,

Is outweighed by the years when we scorned what is holy.

Though forgiven, the past remains. It spites our penance,

And asks "What might have been?" For what is lost, we sorrow.

We speak to the future, out of our present sorrow:

Do not make the mistake we made. Seize what is precious.

The errors you make will not be set right by penance.

Repent at once. Let God fill these your years with blessings.

Cherish each other, and honor He who is holy.

Grace and joy, love and peace, are the only real treasures.

Time is precious. To waste it is the greatest sorrow.

Moments are blessings. Spend them as your chiefest treasures.

There's no need for penance when we make each day holy.

# Genealogy

It all begins and ends with God's holy power.

Who else creates worlds with neither counsel nor help?

Nature is not random, but carefully shaped and blessed.

Every property has been arranged to better

support life. He simply spoke into the silence

and it was so: With God, word and deed are equal.

God next made man, in His image, not His equal,

and granted him reason and free will--the power

to disobey. Then as now, man left the silence

of Eden, lured by the voice of temptation. "Help

yourself," it hissed, and man did, though he knew better.

Then God cursed Adam, whom he would have always blessed.

Out of faithless generations, Noah was blessed

and found righteous, and for his great work made equal.

He preserved a remnant into a new and better

world, when all things were drowned by God's poured-out power.

In spite of wrath, God was still with Noah to help,

and kept him while the waters assuaged in silence.

When wicked men strayed once more, God kept not silence,

but chose the faithful servant Abraham, and blessed

Israel above all nations. He was their help

in Egypt--Pharaoh's magicians could not equal

the signs of Moses, who freed them by God's power.

God had reserved his people for something better.

Then came Christ, to establish a new and better

covenant; to replace law with grace, and silence

our accuser; to free us from death's power,

that we might worship the true God, holy and blessed.

Centuries of sacrifice cannot equal

The drops of blood shed for our healing and our help.

Despite his bright coming, today men still need help:

If we don't know Christ, He cannot make us better.

If we don't cling to Him, our doom remains equal.

One more miracle must be found, in the silence

of prayer: We have but to believe to join the blessed.

All things begin and end with God's holy power.

God has no equal. He formed man from dust and silence,

Sent us righteous examples to help us live better,

And blessed us with new life in Christ, to whom be all power.

# My Heart Sings on Sundays

My heart sings on Sundays,

of how God has blessed me.

My soul dances today

to know I am chosen.

My spirit leaps to feel

God's presence with each prayer.

My whole life becomes prayer--

My heart sings on Sundays

and at all times I feel

His mercy upon me.

I greet each new today

safe in whom I've chosen.

And what have I chosen

but love, and holy prayer,

and to give God today?

My heart sings on Sundays,

but each day He saves me,

each night His joy I feel.

What words tell how I feel

to walk with the chosen?

Each morning God greets me,

each eve is silent prayer.

My heart sings on Sundays,

rejoices in Today.

I am made new today,

God's grace is all I feel.

My heart sings on Sundays,

thanks God who has chosen

to forgive, heard my prayer,

and sent Christ to save me.

I love Who first loved me:

I will praise Him today,

serve Him always in prayer.

All that I am and feel

yearns for Christ, God's chosen.

My heart sings on Sundays.

God has chosen today

to save! Feel Him through prayer;

Sing _with_ me on Sundays!

# Easter Morning After Rain

The warm sighs of the grass's love.

Glad shouts of puddle-kissed children.

Clouds, surrendering, join the dance.

Bright flowers blaze with holiness.

Insects hum, alive with new hope.

All around us, death becomes youth.

Some things we have known from our youth.

Always there was the knowledge of love

or its lack: even outcasts hope

to be wanted; beaten children

still draw smiles out of holiness;

two orphans together may dance.

All of nature sways in a dance.

Clouds become art for maid and youth.

Trees shake down drops of holiness.

The wind whistles a song of love.

Horses stand proud with their children.

And the very air swells with hope.

From our first days we felt this hope,

and learned to sing and clap and dance.

Somehow we knew, though yet children,

that He who had given us youth

would also give us all the love

we need to live in holiness.

The world wakes to holiness.

Cardinals and thrushes talk of hope.

The sun bathes us in rays of love.

Crickets sing and butterflies dance.

The earth steams with the strength of youth.

And old eyes twinkle at children.

This day we are made God's children,

immersed in Christ's own holiness.

We share the cup of constant youth,

And break the bread of eternal hope.

We take our place in the saints' great dance,

And welcome God's glorious love.

On Easter, our hearts dance in hope

of holiness... washed in God's love,

wrapped in youth: forgiven children.

# Be Content

I am now more content

than ever: I know God,

and believe myself saved;

I receive joy through prayer,

and feel the Lord's kindness:

In Christ, I'm accepted.

Now that I've accepted

Jesus, I can content

myself in the kindness

of a personal God,

seeking His face in prayer,

singing songs with the saved.

I know that I am saved

by grace, not accepted

for works, but for the prayer

of faith. I rest content

in weakness, trusting God

for mercy and kindness.

I strive to show kindness,

learning love from the saved

and forgiveness from God.

This is our accepted

service, and will content

Him more than empty prayer.

I am always in prayer,

thanking Him for kindness.

Let my Lord be content

with these words I have saved;

May they be accepted

as praise to thee, O God.

There is only one God

worthy of fear and prayer.

Now is the accepted

time to seek His kindness.

Come, repent and be saved,

and in Christ dwell content.

Our God has accepted

our prayer and shown kindness.

Be content: You are saved!

# History of the Huns

When the world was just-born, the first Hun crossed new

and empty seas to find a place of safety

for his sons--a place where he might trade regret

for joy, trouble for peace, aimlessness for Truth.

He came proudly, with a defiant spirit,

and made a home with only his own sword's help.

But what would be her wealth, and what course would help

her grow? Lacking wisdom to find something new,

he fell back on that age-old warrior spirit,

chose the force of arms to provide her safety,

made the certainty of death her founding truth,

strove to capture laughter from others' regret.

For long ages the Huns sowed ruin and regret,

and reaped stolen riches. There was neither help

nor hiding place when we came. Our only truth

was vengeance; we never fashioned any new

thing but corpses; we cared for no man's safety

but our own. We confessed no God or Spirit.

Nor cared we what befell each victim's spirit.

We did these things without mercy or regret.

Yet for all our success we had no safety;

the dread of us never purchased neighbors' help;

we squandered each plunder while it was yet new;

waste and emptiness remained our only truth.

In a moment's pause spoke the small voice of Truth.

We heard our names called by the Holy Spirit,

and sought something honest, something just, something new.

We started to turn from things which cause regret,

and humbled ourselves to ask others for help--

and so were steered to the source of all safety.

In Jesus Christ are salvation and safety.

In Him we find purpose, glimpse eternal truth;

In Him we find rest, and unspeakable help--

not by our might or power, but by His spirit.

In this twice-born world we part seas of regret

to storm into a Kingdom holy and new.

We claim a new life free of tears and regret,

and pray for the Holy Spirit, who will help

teach us truth and defend our young faith's safety.

# My Queen

What amazed me first was her holiness.

Her heart shines, as all must who know the Lord.

She has a tenderness, a Christ-like love,

as though with Him she might chant forth Today

and sing out Tomorrow. She knows to choose

the good, and to evil she will not yield.

She can talk to you about the corn yield

or the catechism, hay or holiness,

and is patient enough to let you choose.

She simply smiles in the joy of the Lord,

knowing He is with us! alive! today!

How can her heart but race with His love?

I quickly found myself falling in love,

or, into _her_ love, to which I would yield

immediately, and still do today.

By her example I learn holiness,

in her I see the image of our Lord,

from her I learn the things that I should choose.

It is not her grace but Christ's that I choose--

she would say as much. And yet I still love

her madly, with the love wherewith the Lord

loves His church. She is not ashamed to yield

me honor, though my faith and holiness

are still less than her own, even today.

She has taught me that we serve God today

when we act as He acts, and when we choose

what He wants for us, namely holiness.

Living with her, I grow daily in love

and strength and faith. Together then, we yield

better fruits of righteousness for our Lord.

She has given her life wholly to the Lord,

rejoicing as long as it is called Today,

constant in prayer, ready even to yield

her body to the flames should God so choose.

Above all other things she puts on love--

like a banner praising God's holiness.

She showed me the Lord and told me to yield.

She taught me holiness and gave me love.

Today and always, it is her that I choose.

# Lumen Christi

The most persistent stumblingblock is pride; the last

heresy that holds us is our faith in ourselves.

The age-old fable speaks: "Simply practice kindness

and you are saved." The worm still whispers: "By helping

others, you help yourself to heaven." Some accept

these sayings, turn from Christ, and stagger into night.

We have a choice: pray for the light of Christ each night,

or trust our own lights, which dim and do not last.

But which will show us truth? Weak wills, prone to accept

what pleases? Fickle feelings, wrapped up in ourselves?

Base appetites, screaming for a second helping?

Untrained minds, which count each fad of thought a kindness?

Or shall we leap as God's voice tells of true kindness;

Laugh, as Lumen Christi leads safely through the night;

Sing, to find the Holy Ghost is with us helping;

See far and walk sure, following the First and Last;

Smile down straight paths, led by One wiser than ourselves;

Thrill to find truth which all who see it must accept?

Christ spoke hard sayings, and difficult to accept.

How can good people be left out of God's kindness?

We must cease from measuring ourselves by ourselves:

None are pure next to God. All hide sins in the night.

All are unworthy. Would you really come at last

before the throne of God, without Jesus helping?

What would you say there? "I spent a few hours helping

others, gave some money, loved one or two. Accept

me?" Shall angels tremble, to see you there at last?

There is a great gulf, bridged not by our own kindness,

but by His! He gives joy for mourning, day for night,

when we simply offer Christ, instead of ourselves.

There still remains a place for denying ourselves.

Our souls are still fed by giving, loving, helping.

But we offer these things like a child's prayers at night:

gestures of love and obedience, for God to accept

as tokens, not as payment. Only Christ's kindness

redeems us. Without the cross, the first shall be last.

By ourselves we can achieve nothing that will last.

But like the cool rush of night, God shows His kindness--

He sends a helping of His Spirit, and we accept.

# Those Who Have Known

Those who have known Jesus Christ

have no choice but to practice

virtue, to seek God's spirit,

to trade cursing for blessing,

to drink deep of perfect love,

to be led in holy faith.

Those who have placed their full faith

in a risen, living Christ

will follow Him into love,

shunning all evil practice,

and will count it a blessing

to serve Him in the Spirit.

Those filled with the Lord's spirit

shall know the riches of faith,

and cherish every blessing.

They shall do the works of Christ,

and be equipped to practice

the same form of selfless love.

Those who accept the Lord's love

shall find wholeness of Spirit,

healing beyond the practice

of any physician. Faith

shall be their balm, Jesus Christ

their cure, God's grace their blessing.

Those who take hold of blessing

and lay claim to endless love

shall find themselves hid in Christ,

clothed with the Holy Spirit,

strengthened in the Christian faith,

and tireless in its practice.

Those who constantly practice

righteousness shall find blessing,

and have this reward for their faith:

They rest in the Father's love,

shine with the Holy Spirit,

become the image of Christ.

Patient practice of our faith

yields this blessing: the spirit,

power, and love of Jesus Christ!

# Everywhere

We began as little children,

from the far ends of everywhere.

Lured by the scent of sweet blessing,

we came where we found we could feel

the presence of the living God,

in the air thick with miracles.

We have grown up with miracles,

since the time that we were children.

But not till we remembered God

did we observe them everywhere;

not before we knelt did we feel

the full weight of endless blessings.

Dream of a life sewn with blessings,

a heart woven from miracles,

for a faint sense of what we feel

to be called His chosen children--

to be in His grace everywhere,

clothed in the awesome love of God.

We laugh and worship the Lord God,

singing the song of His blessings,

shouting that He is everywhere,

dancing the dance of miracles...

then fall hushed like humble children,

made still by the reverence we feel.

Never had we felt what we feel

now, personally known by God,

loved as His own precious children,

comforted with all good blessings;

fear and awe, joy and miracles,

for He is with us everywhere.

Publish the good news everywhere,

testify that we know and feel

its truth. A million miracles

await those who will honor God,

who accept His priceless blessings,

and approach as little children.

The mighty God of miracles

pours His blessings on His children.

Close your eyes, and feel Him everywhere.

# When We Pray

Share your life with God, speak to Him in prayer,

sing from the mountains, or cry from the depths.

Though at first it is daunting, with practice

daily we will improve, until we perfect

this sacred art. The Spirit will comfort

us in weakness, and guide us as we grow.

It is our duty as children to grow,

to lay hold of virtue, and master prayer;

to find the strength to forsake soft comfort

for a hard cross borne high through smoky depths;

to increase in knowledge of the Perfect

One, and to love every righteous practice.

Good habits are established through practice,

and our own spiritual efforts help us grow.

Continual struggle helps to perfect

that which is lacking. By battling in prayer

we draw near to God, and escape the depths

of sin, trading filth for heaven's comfort.

We ought not to be constrained by comfort,

but should faithfully put into practice

the Lord's example, braving any depths

of shame and suffering in order to grow

the Kingdom. The more time we spend in prayer,

the closer we draw to God only perfect.

If we desire a life that is perfect,

we should choose no pleasures, but the comfort

of Christ: whom we follow, devout in prayer,

with faith not in theory but in practice.

We are saved by grace, yet like plants we grow

by craving light, and forsaking our depths.

Those who seek God shall discover the depths

of the riches of His glory: Perfect

love to cast out fear; Grace in which to grow;

Truth to set us free; Hope to give comfort;

Holiness for our own souls to practice...

These fall upon us during every prayer.

Through heights or depths we hold fast this comfort:

that when we practice godliness we grow,

and when we say each prayer, we are perfect.

# Visions of Mexico

I crossed into Mexico like a child,

bathing in the waters of innocence,

baptized by night in a nameless river.

A thousand bloody acts rinsed from memory,

I woke with the long-sought will to worship,

face-to-face with God himself in Eden.

Mexico become my private Eden--

a thousand tales of beauty for my child,

and the presence of He whom all men worship:

whose mercy sent me forth in innocence,

with a holy command fresh in memory

and strength for the far side of the river.

Mexico moves me like a river,

urging me to make this nation Eden;

bringing Christ to mind with every memory;

giving the lion-like heart of a child

which will fight fearlessly for innocence,

and which snarls out truth and roars God's worship.

In Mexico I lay prone to worship;

found love and mercy beside a river;

put off my sins to wear His innocence;

had Christ touch my heart and show me Eden;

admired the sky with the eyes of a child;

and pressed the face of Love into memory.

Visions of Mexico haunt my memory

with inspired shivers each time I worship.

I strive for words to explain to my child

the voice I hear from each quiet river;

how calm nights whisper, "This too is Eden";

how day breaks like a call to innocence.

Mexico holds the hope of innocence.

I am healed when I hold her in memory;

blessed when I live with the wonder of Eden;

cleansed when I confess, repent, and worship;

saved when I leave my life in the river

to be born again with the faith of a child.

I follow a river back towards Eden,

purge foul memory with liquid innocence,

kneel to worship, and arise God's own child.

# St. Sheryl's Cathedral

The cathedral gave our community back its youth,

Reminding us of an age when battle's glory

had no charm, a time in Eden when holiness

held our hearts, not the slaughter of helpless souls.

It towered suddenly, promising perfection,

making soldiers wonder after something better.

It was built to make a bloody nation better.

One by one, killers were born again into youth,

laid down their arms and raised hands to God's perfection.

It came to make a proud nation curse its glory,

to make heartless men realize that they too had souls,

to teach both fear of God and love of holiness.

When her great bells are rung, they toll out "Holiness"

like a one-note prayer. There never was a better

noise in all our land, a sound more fit to stir souls.

When they peal, now smiles each damsel, now runs each youth,

to meet in this sacred place and give God glory.

At these times our community finds perfection.

The stained glass portrays Christ's Passion and Perfection;

thousands of colors bear witness to holiness.

They delight the eye, but point to greater glory.

Somehow in the shining silence, we can better

sense God's presence, and regain the reverence of youth.

We kneel among the pews and offer Him our souls.

What really gives her beauty are the humble souls

by candlelight praying for others' perfection,

or bowed in confession for the follies of youth;

the mouths that open at dawn to sing holiness;

the hearts that truly vow to love each other better,

or leap to hear " _Christ in you, the hope of glory._ "

We assemble in this church to sing God's glory;

to pray for ourselves and all lost souls;

to hear sermons that will help us serve God better.

Then we leave, and discover that His perfection

is not here only! Everywhere His holiness

surrounds us, and christens us with eternal youth.

Sad widow or rough youth: These doors welcome all souls.

When we give God glory, we too are made better.

Revere Christ's holiness, and share His perfection.

# My Search

On stark hills, in cities, and in caverns deep,

I heard rumors of a water that renews.

I met strange wild-eyed men whose souls burned with hope,

who claimed that each day is a momentous choice.

They spoke in hushed tones befitting confession,

and shone as if holding secrets within.

It did not seem what they offered was within

my frame of reference. Such stories wise and deep!

Different help was found in a shrugged confession

of ignorance: Though each glimpse of gold renews

desire, each poor man proves the value of hope.

Out of reach but in sight, it steered each day's choice.

Driven by dreams, it seemed not to be a choice,

but an irresistible voice from within.

My ears heard truth, my own eyes saw signs of hope.

I was told by innocent women whose deep

faith destroyed me and set me free: "Mercy renews

itself daily. Faith waits for your confession."

In chambers dark, I witnessed true confession--

saw a thief made a priest with that single choice.

I experienced how sharing faith renews

the Church--and longed to stay, had it been within

my power. Instead I searched o'er the unknown deep,

sailing to the world's end to satisfy hope.

Coming face-to-face with love surpassed all hope.

For her, I wanted to make full confession.

But wishing alone could not make faith more deep;

"We find God not by our will, but by His choice,"

she said. So I too could have grace rise within

me, by trusting my fate to the God who renews!

He led me at last to a river that renews,

To the feet of Jesus Christ our blessed hope--

who gives us the kingdom of heaven within,

returns true life for our mere confession,

and ends all rumors with His name. What further choice?

I tasted His living waters, and drank deep.

His words became a spring of life deep within.

It refreshes my love, and renews my hope;

It murmurs confession, and thanks Him for His choice.

# Exhortation

Let us be like Jesus,

who did His Father's work

in holy innocence--

teaching men to forgive,

turning our hearts toward God,

showing us what was precious.

Nothing is as precious

as following Jesus,

witnessing for God,

doing love's thankless work;

being quick to forgive,

assuming innocence.

Let us love innocence.

Since mercy is precious,

leave less to forgive!

Presume not on Jesus;

make holiness your work,

that we may honor God.

Obey the Lord our God,

who commands innocence.

Let us do all our work well,

for time is precious--

some still don't know Jesus.

These too He would forgive.

Tell them He will forgive

all who believe in God,

all who accept Jesus,

giving them innocence

through His holy, precious

blood: by grace, not by work.

Christ wrought a perfect work,

made a way to forgive,

delivered the precious

children safe home to God.

In Him is innocence.

Thank you Lord Jesus.

God grant us innocence;

forgive our wicked work;

make us precious through Jesus.

# The Old Man on Miracles

"Kid," said the old man, "What do you make of miracles?"

Did he mean the good-old-days kind, from the Holy

Bible, or the faith healings modern guys practice?

"Either or," said he. "Some events are truly great,

some fair. Some come from God, and some men have... guided.

But in general, do you think they happen, son?

"Take, just for example, the birth of my own son,

so long ago. I'm pretty sure as miracles

go, that one was up there! Someone must have guided

that whole thing, coz I didn't do that much! Holy

smokes if I had, he wouldn't have turned out so great!

I'd forget the blood or bones without some practice!

"Yet along comes God, who without any practice

brings forth stars, worlds, and to keep it the same, a Son.

Well just in its own right, isn't that pretty great?

But it's Jesus! Perfect from birth, does miracles,

saves the world, brings man back to God, and is holy!

Now are these the types of things that could be 'guided'?

"If so, I'd like to shake the man's hand that guided

them. I'll bet resurrection takes lots of practice.

Or calming a storm. Heck, even being holy

is beyond me! I see what you're thinking there, son:

'Maybe he didn't really do those miracles,

it could be his publicists were just really great.'

"Well, except for one thing, that idea works out great:

Everybody saw it! Were their stories guided?

All that suggests it is your fear of miracles.

What else makes you know more than them all? Practice

that much gall, and you're cheekier than we were, son.

I simply prefer to leave room for the holy.

"Because that's not the only age that was holy...

Look about you boy, everything God makes is great!

Grass, birds, air...mysteries and treasures for you son!

Don't call it nature--by whom is nature guided?

If a million men had a million years to practice...

Yet you call it chance?! Give glory, it's miracles."

When this great man had gone, I knelt and thanked the Holy

God--Father, Son and Spirit--for His miracles.

That which transcends man's practice, God must have guided.

# Judge With Righteous Judgement

To call God the Lord confesses His authority.

To call ourselves His children implies a duty to obey.

To believe He speaks to Man, is to strain to hear His voice.

To believe Him eternal is to look to Him for truth.

We honor Him as Maker when we wisely use our freedom.

We honor Him as Savior when we become a useful Church.

It is a disquieting time: The world has rocked the Church.

Shall we respond with timidity, or authority?

Will we succumb to worldliness in the name of freedom,

Or are there still commandments that we treasure and obey?

Do we allow them to believe there's no absolute Truth,

Or proclaim "He has risen!" with a strong, united voice?

Peril arises when each man wants to add his own voice.

Are we a thousand congregations, or one Holy Church?

Confusion occurs, when opinions are piled over truth,

And every new preacher claims prophetic authority.

If we cloud the gospel, inventing doctrines to obey,

Will the world not be tempted to misuse the same freedom?

Faith becomes one choice among many, in a world of freedom.

When views conflict, itching ears tend to seek out a pleasant voice,

Offering them conveniently hand-picked fashions to obey:

"Judge not that ye be not judged," they warn--while judging the Church

For daring to ask that men yield to God's authority;

For opposing the lie that each soul creates its own truth.

Unless men also can create worlds, we cannot touch Truth.

Some resent rigid values as an affront to freedom--

But one replaces them _by what moral authority_?

Bleating "It's true for me" does not make a compelling voice

Next to the resurrection miracle that grew a church,

Or the parting of seas that caused a nation to obey!

Reality is what God makes it. We ought then to obey

Our natural longing to know God and to learn His truth.

Wisdom may not be bounded by a particular church,

But it is bounded by God--without whom, moral freedom

Is merely our capacity to err. Heed then His voice,

And tremble in the presence of the Highest authority.

Who are we to judge other men's freedom? We are " _the church_

_of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth!"_ Our voice

Is charged with His authority, and the prudent shall obey.

# Every Man Adam

Because one man and one woman could not listen,

sin cursed us all. So some say. In all honesty,

all humanity might be guilty together.

Who among us would have kept their place in Eden?

We share their disobedient spirit today.

Since the beginning, none have been sinless, save one.

It is incredible that, though God gave but one

command to obey, they would not heed nor listen.

We are not that different. Though it seems today

we have more rules, "Be kind, be chaste, love honesty"

all add up to "Love the Lord thy God." But an Eden

of pleasures calls, and we forget all together.

Weigh up temptation's good fruits, they are together

lighter than wind. Man must now toil all day for one

day's bread, rather than eat the bounty of Eden!

Curses and loss are the fate of all who listen

to sin. None escape wrath through 'Adam's honesty'--

that first attempt to fool God still plagues us today...

"Adam ate the fruit and was cursed", think most today.

But the curse was brought on by two sins together.

Though disobedience forced God's wrath, honesty

would have allowed His mercy. Instead they blamed one

another, refusing to repent. Please listen

to what this means: There is a way back to Eden!

The presence of the Lord God is what made Eden

paradise. This is still offered to us today!

The gospel is abroad for all who will listen:

Christ came to reconcile God and man together!

Because all men were guilty, God sent Christ, that one

might suffer for us all, and teach us honesty.

God does not demand perfection, but honesty.

We have all disobeyed, like Adam in Eden.

Do not, by lying, add worse sin to the first one!

God will forgive yesterday and love us today,

if we come earnestly, honestly, together

with Christ, willing to heed, and ready to listen.

Though we all together share the sins of Eden,

God will listen if we confess in honesty,

clinging to Christ our one hope. Claim mercy today!

# Steps

I began a journey of many steps,

hoping to find a place among the blessed;

trying to solve a mystery called God;

needing a second chance at innocence;

wishing for the joy that makes children dance;

hungry to learn the real meaning of love.

When I began, I knew little of love.

I wore a rough glare, and strode with stern steps.

Then to my need, like partners in a dance,

spun laughing, graceful figures, wise and blessed,

They were gentle, and treasured innocence,

and with bright eyes confessed the name of God.

During my whole search, I was led by God,

who hedged me round about with perfect love.

Though I blundered along in innocence,

an unseen hand shepherded all my steps.

Day and night, feet and legs were being blessed,

stepping straight and gaining the strength to dance.

As I went, I watched the saints in their dance:

in virtue always, singing praise to God;

helping the weak with the strength of the blessed;

eager to forgive, abounding in love;

keeping the faith, closely guarding their steps;

models of chastity and innocence.

But God is not reached by our innocence.

If we try to seize heaven, it will dance

away. Grace is not gained by many steps,

but is given to those who wait for God.

He saves as soon as we accept His love.

Return it, and we are even more blessed.

At the journey's end, I find myself blessed

in more ways than I can count: Innocence

through Christ, a new heart made out of His love,

lips that sing praise, feet which can't help but dance

from joy unspeakable. Guided by God,

I wheel and spin with saints, sure in my steps.

Be drawn by God. Let Him direct your steps.

Accept His love. Take your place with the blessed.

Then rejoice with the dance of innocence.

# The Old Man on Faith

When we met again he asked, "Aren't you curious

to know why believers have such strong faith in God?"

I shrugged, having so enjoyed his sermon the first

time. "Well, most people think we're just hicks, with precious

little sense. But really, we just don't need to see

something to believe it, or measure it to trust.

"It's a simple difference in what we choose to trust.

Some say wishful thinking fools us. I'm curious

why they never try that shoe on their own foot? See,

it could be they're unable to acknowledge God

because their own godless worldview is too precious.

Why? Maybe because it lets them put themselves first!

"Everyone wants to place his own opinions first.

Commandments to obey? or church doctrine to trust?

Who needs that? Yet if we hold our ways too precious,

we blind ourselves. What happened to that curious

question 'Am I right?' While weighing its answer, God

might be just the one to fill in what we don't see.

"Senses and reason can only judge what they see.

What if we look at different things? Let's try that first!

When have scientists and atheists looked for God?

If they won't look, are their conclusions worth our trust?

'Myth, culture, delusion'...they choose some curious

words, for something they haven't studied! Too... precious.

"What of healings, visions, tongues, and other precious

gifts? If you explain them based on what we see,

the explanations indeed become curious!

Yet ask Christians what happened at the very first

and we know. Ask us the hard questions and we trust

Jesus for answers. Stump us, and we point to God.

"Man will never explain creation without God.

Both small and large approach infinity. Precious

mystery always prevails. At some point we must trust

someone's account regarding the things we can't see...

Will you ask a proud man for his reckless guess first,

or look to the Lord your Maker? Just curious."

When he had gone, the first thing I did was pray God

would keep my heart curious to seek His precious

secrets, and wise, to trust in what I cannot see.

# Imagine a Place

Imagine a place filled with love,

graced with the voices of children;

where saints and martyrs continue

to live and praise God's holiness;

where the light of the risen Christ

shines its beauty on completion.

Picture a time of completion,

when each spirit returns God's love,

brought together by Jesus Christ;

when all men become as children,

wrapped warm in borrowed holiness;

when God lets no sin continue.

Think what it's like to continue

in God, until the completion

of His work. Dream what holiness

feels like. Contemplate perfect love.

What must it mean to be children

of God, and fellow-heirs with Christ?

Believe that God sent Jesus Christ,

who died that we might continue;

who delivers us like children

from just wrath needing completion;

who fulfills mercy's plan in love,

and leads us into holiness.

Search for someone with holiness--

I know of none. This is why Christ

was given--because of God's love

for us. Why watch sin continue,

when one act could bring completion,

and lead home the hopeful children?

Wonder how we might stay children;

recall the key to holiness;

ponder how to find completion...

Our place is to be found in Christ.

In Him, hearts and lives continue.

How shall we refuse such great love?

Find your soul's completion in Christ.

Become children of holiness.

Continue to lay claim to love.

# The Dream

I dreamed of a land where mothers kill their own children,

dispose of them quickly without guilt or remembrance:

as if that which is unseen cannot be beautiful,

as if those who are unnamed deserve no loyalty,

as if they who are smallest should have no chance to grow,

as though we have no duty to keep our weak ones safe.

In my dream I read slogans, like "Legal, rare and safe."

Safe, they mean, for women, but not for unborn children.

Rare, they say, while by the millions the piles of corpses grow.

Legal, if God and nature are swept from remembrance.

They marched for "Choice", "Liberation" had their loyalty...

yet each step trampled out a life truly beautiful.

Some were vain, not knowing motherhood is beautiful.

Some were doctors too lazy to keep both patients safe.

Some were fawning men, with unquestioning loyalty.

Some were selfish, not wanting the burden of children.

Some were young, whose fear blocked their child's form from remembrance.

Most were ignorant, not having seen a baby grow.

The worst were altruists: "It's not right to let them grow

up in poverty,"--as if the rich and beautiful

alone enjoy life. Their banners haunt my remembrance:

"Every child a wanted child"--a mere excuse it's safe

to say, since God already wants us, loves all children,

and cares for all His creatures with grace and loyalty.

My dream-plague filled the land, destroyed family loyalty;

undermined the sanctity of life; made most hearts grow

cold; gave women power by diminishing children--

cheapening to a choice who once were a beautiful

blessing. What becomes of dignity, when none are safe?

When luck alone lets us live, see light, and find remembrance?

A still more gruesome image troubles my remembrance...

A babe in the womb, trusting its mother's loyalty,

needing to be loved back, to be nourished and kept safe;

All its features are complete, needing only to grow.

Sudden strikes the knife-bright blade, to sever beautiful

limbs. Waking with shocked tears, I embraced my own children.

Let these aborted children be held in remembrance.

Show them this loyalty: keep your own little ones safe.

They are beautiful, even before God makes them grow.

# The Ages Watch

Jesus has given us a second chance.

Each morning we wake is another day

we might fill with goodness, kindness, blessing.

Each night, we can choose to honor the Lord,

heads bowed in prayer or voices raised in song,

imitating our Savior's perfection.

Each hour is a window on perfection,

a doorway into majesty; a chance

to come before God and to learn the song

of all saints. Each moment of every day

is an invitation to meet the Lord,

who scatters seconds like seeds of blessing.

Right now, this second, receive his blessing;

accept a part in Jesus' perfection.

Right this very moment, come to the Lord,

taking advantage of this sacred chance.

Are there not twenty-four hours in a day?

Come spend each one of them in holy song.

Upon your bed each night, seek Him in song,

then sleep in Christ's peace and dream of blessing.

Choose love and innocence this very day,

and walk in the light of God's perfection.

Gather as a church each week for a chance

to be renewed, and strengthened in the Lord.

As the months go by, remember the Lord;

let not the passing of time stop your song.

Though the years are weighed down by fate and chance,

know that each one is filled with blessing.

As generations pass, God's perfection

stays. Teach it to your children in their day.

Knowing this: that Christ shall return one day,

with endless life for those who love the Lord.

Take hold of heaven's timeless perfection!

Worship God forever in joy and song!

Be welcomed into eternal blessing!

The ages watch, as we use this day's chance.

Each new day is a God-given chance

to seek the Lord, to join His perfection,

and to claim the blessing of eternal song.

# The Old Man on Love

The third time we met, he said, "Let's talk about love.

Here it is, almost an archetype--I regret

not knowing the lingo--this perfect thing within.

What is it? A thought? A feeling? A trait? A _grace_ ,

that's what I say. Can anyone prove me wrong? Look,

if no person can define it, why not let God?

What do you think we'll discover, if we let God

explain? _'Love is of God, and he who does not love_

_his brother has not seen God.'_ He is its source! Look

at a brain--nerves and mush. The heart too, I regret

to say, is muscles and blood, moved only by grace.

There simply is no love-secreting gland within!

What then? It comes from the Lord, who places within

us _part of His spirit_! If you'll simply let God

in, you'll see what I mean. All becomes grace!

Your days and nights are filled completely with love

that was not there before! My only real regret

is that most people can't see this--because they won't look!

Some think love is something we find because we look

for it, a mirage-like self-delusion within.

This bunch are the truly deluded! Some regret

not loving, not believing, but none who let God

fill them ever turn back. Why? Nothing's more real than His love!

No one shall succeed in explaining away grace!

Scientists' unproven claims continue to grace

the textbooks, as though it were possible to look

at man and map everything. Well, you can't see Love,

or blame Faith and Free Will on chemicals within.

Yet these things exist--and abound, if we let God

give them. From Him come all true things, with no regret.

If I were those skeptics, you know what I'd regret?

Calling man an animal, denying God's grace;

Dwelling on the physical, failing to let God

have His place; Measuring truth by what we can look

at--missing our spirits and the good things within;

Thinking God isn't proved by the presence of love!"

When he had gone, regret made me kneel and let God

have the glory for the love he has placed within.

We don't look like much, but inside we have His grace.

# The Whole World Lies in Wickedness

Small minds, which cannot conceive of something greater.

Distracted minds, wasted on play or useless work.

Gullible minds--every new theory they accept.

Vain minds, scornful of others, puffed up with themselves.

Closed minds, unwilling to open for God.

Empty minds, hung with a sign reading 'Room to Let'.

Animal hearts, with their vilest passions let

loose. Misguided hearts, thinking nothing is greater

than happiness. Hollow hearts, with a space where God

should be. Proud hearts, not knowing they are still a work

in progress. Cold hearts, caring only for themselves.

Timid hearts--what path is easiest, they accept.

Gluttonous eyes, which eat up the world and accept

its temptations. Roving eyes, which will not let

virtue stay them. Haughty eyes, admiring themselves.

Downcast eyes, scared to look up to someone greater.

Faithless eyes, which hate the Lord but lust for His work.

Blind eyes, that by their darkness miss the light of God.

Arrogant mouths, speaking blasphemies against God.

Wanton mouths, calling adulterers to accept

their kiss. Tale-bearing mouths, doing the devil's work.

Flattering mouths, which will not fight for truth but let

sin go unchallenged. Cruel mouths, cursing with greater

fervor than they bless. Greedy mouths, gorging themselves.

Scheming hands, gathering much mischief to themselves.

Heavy hands, unwilling to lift up praise to God.

Bloody hands, daily pursuing more and greater

violence. Grasping hands, which are eager to accept

any bribe. Unclean hands, not yet ready to let

go of evil. Slothful hands, slack in the Lord's work.

Awakening spirits find this world's ways do not work.

Curious spirits start to look beyond themselves.

Incomplete spirits sense the Lord's presence and let

Him in. Hopeful spirits come cautiously to God

and find mercy. Contrite spirits he will accept.

Healed spirits soar, finding a love that is greater.

Those who accept this world's wickedness harm themselves.

But if we let our spirits lead us back to God,

His mercy is greater than our wickedest work.

# Because Jesus

Because Jesus came, the whole world was given hope.

He came with the authority of God's only

Son, and with grace enough to sanctify Sundays.

He came and walked among us, and felt what we feel,

The rages of days and the temptations of night.

He came and lived perfectly, and so earned our praise.

Because Jesus died, we offer undying praise.

He died to bear our sins, and in him is the hope

Of redemption, souls made gentle as the night.

He died for wrath, and to fulfill God's plan: only

God's will redeems us, not what we do or feel.

He died in grace, and was raised the King of Sundays.

Because Jesus rose, we raise sacred hands on Sundays.

He rose as the firstborn, as leader of our praise,

As the way and the light for the worship we feel.

He rose high like a banner proclaiming our hope,

Showing salvation to all, not Israel only.

He rose to lift man to God in a single night.

Because Jesus lives, we can speak with him each night.

He lives in each hour, and all days are like Sundays,

As we look to Him and learn to serve God only.

He lives to prove our faith, and justify our praise:

That life is of God, and eternal life our hope.

He lives in our hearts, and His presence we always feel.

Because Jesus reigns, holy power is all we feel.

He reigns over each day, and triumphs every night,

Smiting evil with good, ending misery with hope.

He reigns through the will of the Father of Sundays,

And the whole world trembles with thanksgiving and praise.

He reigns in our lives, and we obey Him only.

Because Jesus saves, pain lasts one lifetime only.

He saves from eternal fire, whether we feel

It or not, and opens wide the Kingdom of Praise.

He saves from sin, from death, from the terrors of night,

And delivers us into green lands and warm Sundays.

He saves--and so we save for Him our faith and hope.

Jesus came to bring hope, died as an act of praise,

rose in the night, lives in all that we see and feel,

reigns as God's only Son, and saves us on Sundays.

# Open the Door

Upon rough mountains I met men who had laughter

in their heart, and holy triumph in their spirit,

who with strong hands pointed out the path towards worship

Though I arrived there steeped in my steaming sorrow,

I left suspecting that they spoke of true wonders,

hoping to hear Wisdom's whisper if I listened.

In teeming cities a single maiden listened

to my confession. She turned tears into laughter,

promising pardon and all salvation's wonders.

Inspired, I wanted to redeem my own spirit,

but found all efforts could not stop death and sorrow...

At least in humility lie seeds of worship.

In green valleys danced the young, whose lives were worship.

They sang, and the air filled with God while I listened.

Their eyes shone, and sweet peace melted away sorrow.

They preached Jesus, and my heart trembled with laughter.

They bid me stay, and I felt joy in my spirit...

but somehow trudged on, in search of still more wonders.

Out on scattered islands, a man showed me wonders

in the earth and sky, whose silence spoke of worship.

An elder taught us to choose a happy spirit:

we watched thousand-mile seas, and laughed as we listened.

But what was ours, compared to my true love's laughter?

She proved how perfect love casts out fear and sorrow.

I sailed many waters to be cleansed of sorrow;

I climbed high peaks and witnessed all the world's wonders;

I heard the wind's song, and felt the moonlight's laughter,

and began at last to believe I might worship.

But it was when my thoughts grew still and I listened

for God, that one word, 'Faith', brought a brand-new spirit.

Faith led me quickly to Jesus, where my spirit

bowed, surrendered, and gave up sin and sorrow

for life and mercy. My soul leapt as I listened

to my Savior, and beheld the holy wonders

of His love. Sure at last, I fell down to worship,

received salvation, and rose in strength and laughter.

The Spirit always called, and at last I listened,

trading worldly sorrow for enraptured laughter.

We open the door to wonders when we worship.

# The Old Man on Evolution

The old man next chose to elaborate on Chance:

"It can't create order. That's not in its power.

Random processes yield random results. God bless

anyone who thinks otherwise, and may the Lord

grant them light. Coz they're believing a strange story,

worshipping forces which can't produce perfection.

"Make no mistake--this world manifests perfection.

Think about water and ice: what a happy chance

ice floats, else the seas freeze solid, end of story!

And what if plants could not harness the sun's power?

Chloroplasts are precise structures, made by the Lord.

If not, whence came they? Did the sun magically bless?

"See, the great idol scientists revere and bless

is 'Natural Selection'--which brings perfection

only to things which reproduce! Likely the Lord

allowed adaptation as a hedge against chance,

so that entropy and sin should have less power

to corrupt. This fits with the Creation story.

"In contrast, how well does evolution's story

fit the facts? Well, great, as long as we let it bless

itself with gimmes: Presume life, though no power

but God's could make it. Claim reproductive perfection--

needed to pass itself on, I guess! Assume chance

adds some new thing, beyond what was planned by the Lord.

"The only thing bigger than their assumptions is our Lord!

Which is exactly the point: they wrote their story

to replace Him! How else could they trust in mere chance?

Randomness alone, out of nothing, would not bless any

organism with each kind of perfection--

Metabolism, Waste, Distribution of Power...

Respiration, Locomotion, and oh by the way, the power

to reproduce. Picture this, then praise the Lord:

A million monkeys, busy writing perfection...

If someday, by luck, one of them writes a story,

will that book proceed to write copies of itself? Bless

God and give glory! Could chaos make us? Not a chance!"

When he had gone, I used the chance to thank the Lord,

who alone has the power to create order and bless

it with life. Creation's perfection screams God's story.

# The Old Man on Happiness

When next I met the old man by whom I'd oft been blessed,

he asked, "Are you happy? Not just a positive

attitude, mind you, but are you truly content?

Does your life compare to the greatest miracles?

Do you breakfast on kindness to begin your days,

and wrap them up with a dinner of innocence?"

I hung my head, unable to claim innocence.

"Son," he consoled, "It's never too late to get blessed!

Imagine knowing God, having Him fill your days...

You want to talk about having a positive

attitude! Try existing amidst miracles,

breathing in glory! Think that might make you content?

"But these days, most people would rather just content

themselves with worldly goods. Who values innocence

anymore? And yet, out of all God's miracles,

an undefiled conscience may be the most blessed.

Why? It takes effort, sacrifice, and positive

action--not just taking, but giving God your days!

"But trust me, you'll never get more out of your days.

In what do men indulge, to try to be content?

Food, drink, and lust--vain, vile, and empty. Positive

results come from seeking purer things! Innocence

is good... Add love and mercy to really get blessed!

Give God your heart, and He'll add these like miracles.

"Can earthly happiness rival such miracles

as these: a mind in tune with the Ancient of Days?

Feet which know how to run to the halls of the blessed?

A heart that trusts in Jesus' love and rests content?

A single day of grace? One night of innocence?

Not thinking we are saved, but being positive?

"No worldly things match those, of that I'm positive.

Man's highest deeds still fall short of God's miracles.

Money can't buy happiness, nor can innocence

be had for gold. Gems can't shine like Christ-filled days.

Only God, who formed the heart, makes the heart content.

Some folks think they're happy--others know we are blessed."

Positive he had spoken the truth, I knelt, blessed

God for His miracles, prayed He would fill my days

with Christian love, pledged innocence, and rose content.

# Now is the Accepted Time

The time to repent of your sins is now.

The right moment to learn to praise and bless

God has come. The chance to let love complete

you is here. The voice warning "Put God first"

speaks presently. The hour to live better

is at hand. Come at once to Christ our Guide.

As soon as we seek Him, he comes to guide

us. He knows in advance what we need now.

Right when we ask, he will make us better.

The instant we approach Him, he will bless

our hearts. When we speak a prayer, God is first

to hear, and answers ere it is complete.

The moment we accept Christ, we complete

God's plan for salvation. Christ came to guide

sinners into righteousness--only first

we must believe. The future begins now!

Look instantly to God and watch him bless!

The sooner we enter grace the better!

We all have questions. But who is better

poised to answer them than our God? Complete

knowledge and perfect peace are His to bless

us with. Truth is not found without a guide:

Our small minds scarcely grasp the things that now

are. Only God can know what things came first!

Turn then to God! Live today like your first

day, ready to learn, to be made better!

Seeing that miracles surround us now!

Feeling extreme innocence and complete

wonder! Hearing the voice of the true Guide!

Breathing the Holy Name which all men bless.

There is one God who is able to bless

and to save. He has existed from the first.

He has been there throughout history to guide

His people. He prepares someplace better,

and will see it through till time is complete.

This same eternal God calls your name right now.

To become complete, we must trust Christ first.

For a better way, we must let Him guide.

If we want God to bless, we should seek Him now.

# The Old Man on Worship

I found my friend next in a park, bowed in worship.

I was embarrassed. He was not, but explained, "Grace

made me kneel! The Spirit fell upon me today

saying 'Praise Him where you are!' We came together

in prayer instantly, without finding a church first--

pleased to confess His name in front of old and young."

As I helped him up he grinned, "Thanks, I'm not as young

as I used to be." Then he talked about worship.

"Hmm, what is it exactly? Well, I guess that first

and foremost, it's loving God, praising Him for grace,

knowing He is real, wanting to get together

to pray for tomorrow and give thanks for today.

"It used to be, everyone worshipped. Today?

Look around you. Who has time to 'train up the young'?

But here's a funny thing--if you don't learn together,

they'll learn on their own. I've seen teens come to worship

without being told--moved by the hand of grace.

Do you think that's just 'culture', or was something there first?

"Those who call it conditioning should ask themselves first:

is faith still compulsory anyplace today?

And yet some feel compelled. What can that be but grace?

The simple knowledge that we have had since we were young,

that there exists a God who deserves our worship,

and that, through Christ, God and man are joined together.

"The church's custom of gathering together

has its place. But who shall come unless they are first

made curious? Since only God inspires worship,

it becomes a sign! Perhaps that's why I knelt today...

To remind the old, and bear witness to the young,

that there lives a God who both commands and gives grace.

"In an age like this, any sign that points towards grace

is welcome. God wants all people saved together,

serving Him with the obedience of the young.

Before there are churches, hymns or creeds, faith comes first."

He winked, "That's why I knelt on _your_ behalf today.

Praying for the lost also constitutes worship."

When he left, the first thing I did was to worship.

I too felt the grace he had spoken of today!

Talking together with God, my heart was made young.

# On the Cross

His passion began with a night of prayer,

asking His Father to strengthen His soul.

Knowing that this cup would make Him perfect,

He did not shrink back, but gave thanks and blessed.

Since God's will would be done, He rose content,

and enjoined his friends to live as he'd taught.

He was seized in secret, though he had taught

openly. He made no struggle, nor prayer

for release, but remained meek and content,

knowing that God would watch over His soul.

When they smote and cursed Him, he smiled and blessed,

as one whom God had called to be perfect.

Though Pilate had power to cause perfect

suffering and death, Jesus' fearlessness taught

the world faithfulness: He thought it more blessed

to obey God than to save Himself. Prayer

was His escape. With every step, His soul

drew closer to God, and so was content.

On the cross, he could not have stayed content

without God. Pierced and gasping, in perfect

agony, God's cool grace still soothed His soul.

In His last hours, with His last breath, he taught

one last sinner to repent. With one prayer

of faith, the man was forgiven and blessed.

His work finished, Christ prayed, and was blessed

with death. But not Christ only: to content

the law, blood was required. All gifts and prayer

could not redeem us. It took a perfect

God sending His only Son. The love Christ taught

He also showed, dying to save each soul.

God who saves sinners also spared the soul

of the Just! Christ died for us, but was blessed

with eternal life! Just as He had taught,

He rose again, that all might content

themselves in new life: a life made perfect

when, like Christ's, it begins and ends in prayer.

Christ leads by example. He taught that prayer

is blessed, and to obey God is perfect:

to content God's will, he spent His own soul.

# His Ministry Was Holiness

Because no man was found worthy,

Christ manifested God's grace.

Though no man could claim holiness,

still it pleased God to remember

and pardon our weakness of soul,

sending His Son to be our Lord.

By coming in the flesh, the Lord

saved all men and made us worthy.

He shared the struggles of our soul,

that we in turn might share His grace.

Christ came that God might remember

not our sins, but His holiness.

His ministry was holiness.

Every miracle proved Him Lord.

All who met Him would remember

forever, and call Him worthy.

All those whom he touched felt God's grace,

and found sudden peace in their soul.

Jesus cared for every lost soul.

The blind were healed by holiness;

the deaf ears were opened by grace;

lame men leaped to follow their Lord;

old saints had seen none this worthy

as long as they could remember.

Christ taught sinners to remember

God, rich men to think on their soul.

He told us what things are worthy

of our lives: love, faith, holiness

and mercy. In the end, the Lord

showed all these, with one act of grace.

The sacrifice of one brought grace

to all. Let the world remember

the holy gospel of our Lord:

with His body, he freed each soul,

cleansed each heart with his holiness,

and with his death, proved God worthy.

Always remember Christ our Lord:

who lived worthy in holiness,

and died to bring grace to each soul.

# Call

We are those who trust ourselves to the Lord's guidance.

We are the meek, who desire love and crave kindness.

We are the hungry, yearning to share God's spirit.

We are those who give thanks, greeting gifts with laughter.

We are imperfect, but continue to practice.

We revere God, in awe and curiosity.

Not for us the flesh's faithless curiosity.

Not for us to follow fallen man's blind guidance.

Not for us to join in every wicked practice.

Ours instead are the holy commands of kindness.

Ours is eternal life, and enlightened laughter.

Ours are the sacred fruits of the Holy Spirit.

They are those who scoff at the notion of spirit.

They are sleepers, whose souls lack curiosity.

They are the lost, led astray by sinful laughter.

They are the proud, refusing to accept guidance.

They are miserable, hiding from heaven's kindness.

They deny God, in every thought, word and practice.

Not for them religion's obedient practice.

Not for them to know the wonders of the Spirit.

Not for them to be born again through God's kindness.

Theirs instead to indulge sin's curiosity.

Theirs is a life unrestrained by moral guidance.

Theirs are broken hearts, vain lives, and hollow laughter.

You are the ones with the chance to share our laughter

You are the seekers, putting hope into practice.

You are the humble, willing to ask for guidance.

You are the called, chosen to receive God's spirit.

You are adventurers, whose curiosity

will lead you from darkness into God's bright kindness.

Not for you to stop at complacency's kindness,

Not for you to settle for ignorant laughter.

Not for you to shrink back from curiosity.

Yours instead the search for Truth, though prayer and practice.

Yours the worthy quest to learn who made man's spirit.

Yours to cast aside all maps and trust God's guidance.

You are drawn towards kindness by curiosity.

Not for you to practice their vice or spurn our guidance.

Instead receive Christ's spirit, and holy laughter.

# The Old Man on Education

The old man's brow was creased, lip bitten in silence.

When I asked what was wrong, he said, "It's the children.

It troubles me that nowadays, the things that they learn

In school are opposed to the things we teach at church.

Not only does this conflict undermine our faith,

They are being taught falsehoods--since truth is of God.

"We would be served best by schools that honor God.

We could tolerate those which choose neutral silence.

But we cannot stomach schools which attack our faith.

This is child abuse--an assault on our children!

Though they say we may still teach our morals in church,

Is there any doubt what they really want them to learn?

"I'm old now, but I recall that we used to learn

By repetition... How handy then to force God

Onto one day a week, to limit Him to church,

And in all public affairs demand His silence!

That gives them free rein to condition our children

The rest of the time, and engross them in _their_ faith!

"You heard me--secular humanism is a faith,

With its attendant doctrines and values to learn.

A false religion is being thrust on our children!

If the point was to avoid squabble about God,

Then on all moral issues, schools would love silence.

But instead they have become a competing church!

"What good does it do to preach moral truth in church,

If it's mocked all week as fairy tales and blind faith?

Will kids answer wisely? Or keep stoic silence?

They're not soldiers, they're just kids. They just want to learn

Without mixed messages. We want them to know God,

And He wants us to protect and teach our children.

"We can no longer, therefore, offer our children

As sacrifices to a world that hates the Church.

We cannot leave them in schools that war against God,

Or submerge them daily in a heretical faith.

What kids become is determined by what they learn.

In this struggle, we will no longer keep silence."

Moved, I prayed at once that God would save our children--

Prayed for schools that learn not to tempt them from their faith,

And a Church that no longer watches in silence.

# The Old Man on Priorities

When next we met, he sat me down and said, "Look.

I want you to really think how much you love God."

I asked why. "Because, for some people, He's just one

thing among many--as if they care for their soul

no more than mind or body. To call someone Lord

you must love them! To obey, you must hear them first!

"Do you even know what it means to put Him first?

You won't find out from today's Christians. Better look

into your Bible. The woman who brought our Lord

perfume--she fell at His feet, knowing He was God.

How many of us would likewise humble our soul

and fall prostrate, submitting to the Mighty One?

"Darn few, would be my guess. Well, really only One--

only Jesus perfectly put His Father first,

submitting to the torment of body and soul.

Why was that? He didn't think of himself, or look

at it as his own life--since all life comes from God,

all life belongs to, and should glorify, the Lord.

"You'd think that as Christians, we would treat Christ our Lord

as our example, wouldn't you? That maybe one

or two of us would follow Him and honor God?

We shouldn't make a move until we seek Him first,

nor perform a single action until we look

to find His will! Each thought and word should bless our soul!

"Imagine living as though your immortal soul

was at stake, heaven in the balance, and the Lord

watching! What would God see in you if He should look?

Have you kept your master's house swept and clean, like one

eager to greet Him? Or is it now your house first,

built around your wants, with the cracks filled in by God?

"The purpose of our lives is to glorify God

with a chaste body and a kind and loving soul.

All that we have or are is from Him. So our first

and only pleasure should be to worship the Lord!

Or else what use are we? I think I can find one

or two verses about wrath, if I really look..."

Once he'd gone, I committed my soul back to God

the Holy One: "Thy will and not mine be done, O Lord.

Be first in my life, and be everywhere I look."

# His Image

What happens when we gain knowledge of the Savior?

Do we instantly become as righteous as God?

Gain angels' courage and speak with the prophets' voice?

Do we automatically acquire innocence,

Or find our hearts enlarged with superhuman love?

Yes and no. We seek such things, but we don't have them yet.

Hence the critics' charge: we talk up Jesus and yet

Fail to display the perfection of our Savior.

Fighting them over issues doesn't feel like love,

Nor can our answers approach the wisdom of God.

Are we hypocrites to fall short of innocence?

Yes and no. We don't speak with, but we hear God's voice.

If they condemn us for failing to share God's voice,

They miss the point: we don't claim to be like Him yet.

We are not innocent, but we love innocence;

We are not Jesus, but exalt Him as Savior.

If they look at us, should they expect to see God?

Yes and no. We should strive to represent His love.

But they need to keep their eyes on His perfect love.

They should read the Gospels to hear His holy voice.

Our words cannot compare to the mysteries of God,

Christ's sinless life, and rising from the dead. And yet,

Ought we not manifest in the flesh our Savior?

Yes and no. We should imitate His innocence.

Not just for our own sake: closing on innocence

Makes us better witnesses. Showing gentle love

Impresses skeptics more than preaching the Savior.

They will not believe 'til we make them hear His voice.

Can we act in His name, though we're not worthy yet?

Yes and no. Like salvation, our witness comes from God.

It is our duty then, to draw closer to God;

To shine like lights by displaying Christ's innocence;

To make Jesus known to a world that does not yet

Believe; to prove Jesus' truth by showing His love.

Do _we_ miss the point, if we fail to be God's voice?

No, and yes. Christ saves. But we show them the Savior.

The doubters need to keep their eyes on God, and yet,

We need to keep ours on innocence. Only in love

And grace can we speak with the voice of the Savior.

# The Old Man on Freedom

The old man sought me out to lecture on freedom.

"I'm for it of course, but what is it but the chance

to fulfill our destiny--which is to worship

our Maker. For this cause we were made, remember?

Does it seem constraining to take orders from God?

How much worse to play slave to some other master!

"That which brings you into bondage is your master,

be it sin or righteousness. You can't have freedom

from everything--those who throw off the rule of God

are still bound by sin and death. This life is our chance

to choose! I know I'm old, but I can't remember

any pleasure worth picking death over worship!

"The one 'right' worth the name is the right to worship.

Infringe on that, and all is lost. What cruel master

could decree that his subjects should not remember

their Lord? It offends nature, destroys all freedom,

transforms glory and dignity to dust and chance,

by removing God's image from the light of God!

"On the other side, what can be a right if God

has forbidden it? It's not that I like worship

and another man likes vice, and deserves the chance

to practice it. It's more like, _all_ have one master

who appoints the proper limits of our freedom.

These stay the same, regardless if we remember.

"Whence comes liberty? Think son, try to remember:

'No liberty without life, no life without God.'

To whom else could anyone appeal for freedom?

His law applies to all--not just those who worship.

Civil governments, then, should help weak men master

their lusts, lest they transgress Divine Law at every chance.

"With 'free will', the Lord indeed gives us all the chance

to do wrong--and to suffer for it! Remember,

a nation has the collective right to master

sin, not be complicit in it. To obey God

is praise, to help our neighbor do so is worship.

Too much license is a curse, and not true freedom."

I knelt and thanked our Master for giving me this chance

to remember: Just laws reflect the Law of God,

that all might worship in holiness and freedom.

# An Angel Sleeps Beside Me

An angel sleeps beside me every night.

She laughs as she dreams, and wakes with glad faith.

Her eyes still closed, she sings in the Spirit.

The day won't break till it hears her bright voice.

Nor would she greet the day, without her prayers:

simple and true, innocent and childlike.

A saint of God takes my hand, leads my childlike

steps towards dawn, lest I stray in dark of night.

All along the way, assurance and prayers.

If I slip, I am held up by her faith.

If I fall back, I hear her lilting voice,

and see the light of her shining spirit.

A prophetess fills me with her spirit.

She commands the fear of God, and childlike

obedience. She raises her stern voice

against folly, condemns the works of night.

She demands that we live each day in faith,

constantly seeking God through fervent prayers.

An apostle lends her weight to my prayers.

She trains my mind to ponder God's spirit,

insisting I become mature in faith,

that my doctrine should not remain childlike.

She stands near me in the stillness of night,

and waits while my heart listens for God's voice.

A child of light inspires me with her voice.

Together we learn love, in and after prayers.

She whispers words of wonder in the night,

and says things more sacred with her spirit.

We cherish one another with childlike

love, reflecting the true love of our faith.

A martyr joins me in living out faith.

She will gladly lay down her life to voice

the truth of Christ. She questions men with childlike

persistence, then lifts them up in her prayers.

She would give her life to save one spirit,

and rush into darkness to war against night.

With her, I have childlike peace of spirit.

With her, I have faith that God hears our prayers.

With her, I raise one voice against the night.

# Sin's Service

It's when we sin that we see what mercy is worth;

when we stumble we find how forgiveness fulfills.

It's when we fall that we most long for holiness;

when we stray, we remember to follow Jesus.

It's when we have failed that we forsake our own works;

when we are weakest, we let God make us perfect.

Sin is a reminder that we are not perfect,

and a proof that in God's eyes our inherent worth

is determined by His love, and not by our works.

Though all sin is abomination, it fulfills

this role: it brings glory to God through Christ Jesus

when he pardons, and it sets off His holiness.

Sin is a violation against holiness--

but it cannot overcome that which is perfect.

It merely provides an occasion for Jesus

to manifest God's love and prove redemption's worth.

Grace does not come cheap. Only precious blood fulfills

the pattern, and atones for mankind's wicked works.

How carefully then, we should consider our works!

Make every effort to live in Christ's holiness.

Fill your heart with the merciful love that fulfills

the law. Obey the Lord God, strive to be perfect.

Struggle hard to remain virtuous, which is worth

fighting for. Live in a way that exalts Jesus.

Yet if we sin, we have an advocate in Jesus,

who would rather save than condemn us for our works.

As soon as our hearts repent, they regain full worth.

We are not lost until we give up on holiness:

as long as we crave it, that wish makes us perfect.

Our efforts help us grow, and our struggle fulfills.

That which God promises, He always fulfills.

He has said that we are freed from sin through Jesus.

Why then do we still struggle? That patience may perfect

our faith. So that we seek not salvation through works,

but trust in God's grace, and offer Christ's holiness.

When we fall short of glory, we learn its true worth.

By myself I am worth nothing. My wretched works

are far from perfect. But this one service sin fulfills--

It makes me run back to Jesus for holiness.

# All We Can Do

All we can do is show others the way;

point them in the right direction and pray

they will see; talk of God's mercy and sing

of His love; warn of the need to repent,

and invite them to the joy of worship,

while displaying the light of Christ ourselves.

All we can do is look well to ourselves,

and keep our own steps in every right way;

devote our lives faithfully to worship,

remembering to always make time to pray--

honest enough to confess and repent,

thankful enough to shout glory and sing.

All that's left to do is rejoice and sing

that God is the Lord, and not we ourselves.

Shout that He is true, and will not repent

of His gifts; thank Him for making a way;

as sincere in our songs as when we pray,

murmuring glory and warbling worship.

All that remains is eternal worship

in the presence of God, angels who sing

Holy Holy, and saints in white who pray

for justice--and we among them ourselves,

praising God's grace for providing a way

when we believe, a door when we repent.

All we need to do is kneel and repent:

Cleanse away the sins that hinder worship;

Let Christ's blood wash our past out of the way.

Finding mercy, let us rise up and sing

of the grace we could not earn by ourselves,

which needs us only to believe and pray.

All we can do at this point is to pray,

that those whose hearts are hardened might repent;

that we might grow in love and grace ourselves;

that God might accept our humble worship;

that all people might join their hands and sing--

in the name of Jesus, who leads the way.

Of the Way, the Truth and the Life we sing:

He hears when we pray, saves when we repent,

and fills us when we bring ourselves to worship.

## "And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." -Revelation 22:17

# Endnotes:

for those of ya who skipped the Foreword, (shame shame), just be aware that this world has a groovely mix of Earth stuff, once-upon-a-timey stuff, and all-its-own stuff. A more complete explanation will be encountered in Chapter 22, sit tight and enjoy 'til then, k?

 an appropriately nationalistic nickname, no?

 I don't use the term 'cracker' in a racial sense, but in the literal sense: 'one who cracks' (his knuckles...your back...the mold)

 there are no guns on the pretty planet of Timnalauren. (Why would there be?) But sometimes when you're a little guy you have to bluff. (Right Jack?)

 like Husker losses.

 Francis Bacon, Advancement of Learning

 um, or so I'm told.

 Every football season, baby!

 I didn't consciously try to imitate the original-and-still-the-best Double-Naught Spy, Jethro Bodine, but one can't help but be influenced by such a weighty cultural figure. (Weighty enough in his armored trench coat to crash through several floors, if I remember that episode correctly.)

 Though other things may vary on this world, the Bible is mostly the same as our own. Since God's plan of salvation was perfect, why not use it again for these people as well? The only textual differences that immediately spring to mind are, Mephibosheth was named Stevie, and the epistles to the Corinthians and Thessalonians were addressed instead to the Hectorburghians and Troilustowners respectively--after alert custom agents discovered the Greeks in the horse and the Trojans went on to win that whole war and take half of Greece, like they should have done here.

 It's not every day that you get to name a chapter after what the guy said (glasses broken and voice breaking) after losing a fight at the sub shop.

 "What, I have asthma...Really!"

 Mmm. Plenty.

 This chapter barely has time to touch on all the arguments, evidence, and examples, and is not intended to be complete. There are plenty of websites out there worth investigating. (The Caveman's own website, however, was not yet up and running.)

 This is a great annoyance to scientists, who expect that in order to be judged to be true by science, a theory must first be 'falsifiable': there must be specific conditions under which it could be shown _not_ to be true. Religion is ignored, simply because it doesn't live up to this criterion. Quite apart from the hubris of making your own rules to judge God, it's a ridiculous request for this reason: the only condition that would make belief in God 'falsifiable', would be for it to actually be false--which it's not. Deal with it.

 otherwise, it would be like expecting to be able to play computer games on a monitor alone, without a CPU and a power cord (all three of which are products of intelligent design): If any of you _do_ start seeing pictures on that monitor, good luck finding someone willing to play against ya!

 He won't get into microbiology either (He's a Caveman): even though the greatest leap evolutionists make is the very first one--from non-life to the extreme complexity and purpose of a single living cell! Cut him some slack, he's having enough trouble with Law!

 He may have been confusing vitreous with vitriolic, but isn't that what lawyers are trained for? Confusion and expensive words: the co-equal tools of the legal trade.

 or even a house without a phone, according to my wife.

 not really. actually he just got hit by lightning a lot as a kid, and doesn't remember coz of the blackouts. But what's his mama going to tell him, "Son, you were too dumb to come in out of the rain"?

 Do you think these directions begin to get a little ridiculous? You've never driven in Chicago, I take it...

 They only stamp in response to visual cues from their trainer. Ba-dump-bump.

 In fact, despite the Huns' frequent incursions into France, the only words Luke had ever picked up were a single pick-up line (Ajoutez, maman!), a single curse (Voisin!), and a single warning (Posseder ton chien!) As well as every possible variety of "We surrender!"

 never lose your wallet, either. There lies the cash and the photo ID.

 oddly, both this, and the next book Luke reads, listed the same "consultant and collaborator", the innovative and intriguing Dr. Ken Riedl, (of the celebrated Rural Route 4 Riedls), a man who obviously possesses broad interests and exquisite tastes--and who was most famous, strangely, for authoring the signal text in Choreography, Carmine Was a Dancer!

 If Luke had continued on to read the 'About the Author' on the dust jacket, he would have seen that the writer had recovered himself by the time the book went to print: Instead of a picture of the author, there was a pencil sketch of a pretty car parked outside a brick building with a reinforced door, and the lyric:I wrote a rhyme of Owen Sound, The critics said it stank. As I cruise through town in my gold Rolls-Royce, I'll cry all the way to the bank.

 Actually, Luke heard it wrong, they were really saying 'Glory'. They always do.

 should I change it to 'jammed like a basketball player' for the anti-gun crowd? How about 'jammed like a basketball player _with_ a gun', for the Allen Iverson fans?

 A glass of water. Credit for this crafty way of saying it goes to LT, the bus driver between KCI and Lawrence, Kansas; the man who flies planes and fights sharks; the man with the bionic legs and the red pants.

 "Dang. Now that boy gets into _character_ ," thought Sam the Bluesman, arriving early to set up for rehearsal.

 or even just "wise" and "man", according to my feminist sister.

 Especially when completing a multiple-choice exam.

 I did tell ya he was The Really Cool Guy, Didn't I?

 just kidding. he had some cheap wooden teeth.

 Though it must later have spread into universal usage, as great slogans will, I'm sure this one began with us. (Mere coincidence, once again.) Once in University, we were going to host a pool tournament as a fund-raiser for our floor, and my boy Casey Finnegan was drawing a pool table on a poster, and he put the side pockets in the short sides. When we pointed this out, he simply drew in two more pockets, and we added this caption. Strangely enough, no one entered our otherwise very professionally-run pool tournament.

 The mayor had once thought that Larry might make a great politician himself, due to his mastery of big words. ( _"Until I found out about his moronic political beliefs!"_ )

 I used to have a poster in my room, of a bunch of children of many ethnicities, in a line as though playing follow the leader, each with musical instruments, and at the front of the line was a boy with his head tilted back, blasting his trombone at the sky. My man Pat Relax provided a quote that I added as a caption: "I want to be the kid with the trombone."

 he was in the process, week by week, it should be noted, of making restitution for the stolen chandelier, by mailing them foodstamps and boxtops, paintings and poems, and the occasional pewter or kevmantium coin.

 Elbert Hubbard: Epigrams

 I know what you're thinking, but they were special flame-resistant piranhas. They cost a little more, but there's no substitute for quality. (Just don't let any silver-tongued salesmen con you into paying extra for the "waterproof" ones!)

 Once I thought I saw this familiar slogan written also on a garbage hopper in a Ford plant I was visiting. Turned out, the message really said "Boxes must be broken down," but the stenciled X resembled a stenciled N, and the last word was obscured from my position. So my first thought, admiringly, was "Wow, talk about a strong union!"

 Penetanguishene is the name of a real town in Ontario, home to either an armed forces base, or a hospital for the criminally insane. I get the two confused sometimes.

 I would be remiss if I failed to point out that this is the unofficial motto of the University of Windsor, as everyone who has walked from the Quad to H-K will testify.

 Not to be confused with a Vegetarian. Though they share certain kind-to-animal principles, the latter doesn't get paid quite as well.

 There might be kind of a pun there, did you catch it? Well there's one, anyway.

 This might be takin' the idea of 'deathbed repentance' a little far. It's not my intention to teach that ghosts or banshees either exist or do not exist (sometimes they're not even sure themselves), much less to judge their relationships with God. All I claim to know is, 'God is merciful.' and 'Jesus is the Way': But for those who refuse Jesus: just like the wailing Banshee, _'there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth'._

 Actually, the flowers were telling him that with every petal, just Luke misquoted them half the time.

 A note on signs (to anybody who decides to try this at home and take it as proof of the opposite if it comes out different): Signs and miracles can be anything up to and including fire from heaven consuming an offering and licking the water from a trench... anything up to and including one rising from the dead! But signs may only be given by God, never taken from Him. Keep your eyes and your mind and your spirit open, but mainly: ' _Wait, I say, on the Lord.'_ remembering Jesus' promise: _"If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself."_ So be willing!

 kinda like Baptists.

 This river was first discovered by the intrepid explorer Sean "Shemp" Hinnegan, in the mountains of a mysterious island. How it migrated to the prairie is unclear, but one may safely assume the process involved plate tectonics, glaciation and an inordinate number of oxbow lakes.

 Rounding out the top five were cows named Trottier, Potvin, Gillies and Smith. Purely coincidence again, however, to be sure.

 He was not merely making up metaphors, but actually had a framed degree, Master of Freedom, from World U., where he had studied for many years. He had especially enjoyed his experience as a member of the brotherhood of Mu Alpha Nu. Also he played hockey on the travel team.

 if you wants to get technical, there are actually not too many banana trees in the West. Which just goes to show you what a luckygood day they are havin'.

 You prob'ly thinkin' 'this kid needs to get a girlfriend'. Funny, he's a-thinkin that too.

 The top two, by the way, were I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sellew, also by Suess, because in the end the guy goes home to solve all his troubles with a bat; and of course, at #1, Hop on Pop, which contains the famous rhyme that the Canadian parliament enshrined as a national motto in 1957 (six years before it was written--it was that far ahead of its time): "Day. Play. We play all day. Night. Fight. We fight all night."

 Similarly, by way of digression, the policy 'Every Child a Wanted Child' is better served if you don't choose to kill the child, but choose instead to 'Want the child'. You wish I hadn't gone there? I wish our society hadn't. So do the millions of children who have been aborted. So y'all are outvoted.

 Yeah, I know I mentioned a gold Rolls-Royce a few chapters back, but remember, "It's not a car; it's a Rolls"

 He left out the fact that his teachers had nicknamed him 'Bert the Hack' (due in large part to a "breezy, lilting sonnet" in which he attempted to rhyme _luncheon_ with _truncheon_ , _maitre d'_ with _waiters flee_ , _blunt force trauma_ with _veal parmigiana_ , and _gunfire became sporadic_ with _enjoying the haddock._ See Appendix _)_. One does have one's ego defenses.

 sounds like the name of a superhero. I'll bet he wouldn't have a sidekick. _Or_ get good press.

 Bert was a big fan of that classic wrestling movie, Ready to Rumble. (Who isn't?)

 That's also the long-handed-down recipe for making Hun Chiefs by the way. Add 1 pair of brass knuckles and simmer over an open brew, stirring the pot regularly. Serves one.

 Just because they have Iowa State, Nebraska and Oklahoma doesn't mean this world has the whole Big XII. Had to leave room in the conference for Notre Dame, Wabash, and Camlachie College, after all...

 Bert had to admire any pugilist who had achieved sainthood and had both a city and a hockey arena named for him. Being Canadian, Bert suspected the latter was the greater honor.

 Be advised that at least in our own world, the real Garabandal was a real place, where children were given visions of a real God's glory and God's real wrath. Much weightier than 250 pounds, much more terrifying than any fullback. (even a Nebraska fullback.) Better look into it, while there's still time, actually.

 Indicating Mimi, the coach had berated his players, "When I bring in a girl to add toughness, that doesn't say much for the way you've been playing, does it?" Taking exception, Mimi had made sure to 'accidentally' run over the coach a few times while making big tackles on those sideline plays: Howzabout that for toughness, Sunshine?

 Man! Those guys _never_ cover the spread!

 in a related story: Once when I was first a Christian, I must have slept on my arm wrong, and I woke up with one of my arms asleep. Waking out of sleep to find that I couldn't move my arm, I panicked, thought the devil was possessing my arm, etc. So I gave a bigger effort to try to bend my arm, and it moved, but since the nerves were still asleep, I couldn't control it, and it jerked up and I punched myself right in the head! (The only time I ever literally saw stars when someone hit me.) But you can believe if I thought the devil had my arm when I _first_ woke up, I _definitely_ was worried when my own arm started attacking me! After I woke up a little and realized what had happened, I had a good laugh--but before that, as with G. the V.'s victims, there were prayers...

 I had a 'Mini-wheat party' once, just dancing and smiling with mouth and hands full of Mini-wheats, in the hail and the sun, listening to rocknroll. My friend Gordo had a 'Tornado Party' another time: threw open his window on a wild windy night and let everything blow everywhere while he trashed his room and yelled "Tornado Party!" Guys from small towns gotta make their own fun I guess. Gordo is from a smaller town than I am.

 that is, 'anger that should not be taken too seriously'--like the Southern gal describing a cheerleading tiff: "I was jest furious!"

 Yeah, it's corny, but no more so than the one by Peloza:"There once was a young man from China, Who stopped for a bite at Mel's Din-ah. The food was like slop, So the chair he tore up, Then Mel yelled, 'What happened to my reclina?!"...and _he_ went on to become Poet Laureate of Yugoslavia after all--though it's true he was renowned less for his limericks than for perfecting and popularizing the wonderful genre of the 'One-Line Soliloquy', of which perhaps his best, if not his most famous example, was that masterpiece of articulated anger, that magnum opus of accusation, (Ah what exquisite emotion! Ah what deep despair!) entitled Lament Upon the Loss of a Baseball Game:" **All because of Mon-ge!"**

 show _me_ one, while you're at it. Coz our house costs everything we have too, but we just got a regular run-down old house for it.

 No dead to be raised this morning, though. They had trouble making it in.

 in general, the intercom hadn't been invented yet on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, but hey, this guy has connections.

 ( _"So, do you come here often?"_ Bert cracked wryly, knowing she worked there. She wasn't impressed by his strange sense of humor, so next he tried telling her how beautiful she was. Figured women usually like that. But Bridgette shut him down with the quite-final-sounding remark: "You tell me I have a beautiful face, but your friend told me I had a beautiful soul. Who do you think will get further?" _"I said you had a beautiful figure too,"_ Bert reminded her with a wink, undeterred. When he got the stony look again he laughed out loud and took a seat close to the Pope's door. And slyly stored Luke's line away for future use!)

 I went there for a half a semester, but I dropped out. (I was failing the Honesty class, didja notice?) They let me keep the hat. Well, 'let' may be the wrong word...

 Rudyard Kipling, "Seal's Lullaby"

 this could have been America's credo too. Once.

 Chez Vanier was the nickname we gave to Vanier Hall, the site of the University of Windsor Food Services. Perhaps it was named after this famous chef? We often prayed there ourselves, actually: not only thanking God for the food, but prayers for protection against it as well.

 I am reminded of a time in Kansas, out on my own (but never on my own), when I was soaked to the bone by the downpouriest rainstorm ever--the streets ran like rivers! With no home to go to, I kept wishing for hours that the rain would stop so I wouldn't be quite so soaked. But it wouldn't. Well eventually, I remembered the bit in the Bible (James 5:17-18) that _, "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. Elias was a man subject to like passions as we are, and he prayed earnestly that it might not rain: and it rained not on the earth by the space of three years and six months."_ So finally instead of merely wishing I _prayed_ , and hear me now, friend: after over an hour of hard rain, within _seconds_ of that prayer it slowed to a drizzle, and within a couple minutes the clouds parted and the sun came out. **God helps us when we ask Him, and He works miracles when miracles are needed.**

 I did tell ya Bert was part American, didn't I?

 will there ever be a better opportunity to remember my mentor's motto? "Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'Em!"

 The kid always gives 110%, after all.

 He might have felt better if he had known it would work out OK in the end: coz the children still enjoyed the costume jewelry, and aren't they the ones who matter? Also even the fake furs found a good home, as the crew of the T.D.Jonah peddled them later to the liberals on the east coast: "Ooh, stylish _and_ PC!"

 Kinda sounds like the name of a cookie. Um, well, not a very good cookie...

 Hey, Luke's not the only one who has been brushing up on his maritime terms and nautical knowledge! I spent years researching, to help me write the Sea-section of this book. Decades. (Assuming that Popeye cartoons and Gilligan's Island re-runs count as 'primary source material'--as the University of Windsor Academic Advisory Center has repeatedly assured me they do.)

 It's possible that the pretty planet of Timnalauren simply has less ice than Earth, to make this voyage feasible. (But it's not global warming, definitely not global warming.)

 plants take in CO2 and give off oxygen. Bert takes in oxygen and gives off laughter.

 how often do those two appear in the same sentence, by the way?

 Is this fanciful, do you think? To imagine that all possibilities might occur? I would venture that it's much _less_ extreme to suggest that God could create whatsoever things He chose, than to imply that all possible outcomes and combinations would take place on their own, by mere chance and chaos, in a prebiotic soup, until Voila! ...as evolutionists have tricked themselves into believing.

 Doctrinally, am I saying that 'other worlds exist?' That, 'potential would be made actual by an active God?' I'm saying that's not our business. All I know for sure, or need to know, is that God created us, redeemed us, and reigns over us. The good people on the pretty planet of Timnalauren, wherever it exists, will doubtless find out the same thing, as they work out their own salvation with fear and trembling.

 Luke had never liked that word much. But out here on the cold seas, thinking about it, "Lukewarm" didn't sound so bad. "Lukesleepin'' sounded even better.

 _and_ snowmobile boots. a dangerous combination.

 my grandpa used to tell a story about someone asking him why he laughed at his own jokes. "Because I think they're funny!" he explained, and laughed at that one too. (If only I could claim the same justification...)

 it wasn't that they didn't have electricity, actually. It was just that they also had quite a strong Lamplighters' Union.

 That's what the kids called him here, 'Mister Luke'. Luke liked that. Eased the pain of not having a last name.

 Take that, Chicken Soup for the Soul.

 And what of Original Sin, you may say? It is countered by Original Grace. 'O. G.' All you 'Original Gangsta' (and 'Opera Ghost') wannabes take note. To share _those_ titles I'm told you have to have killed someone. But to partake of Original Grace, you have to have had someone willing to die for you. Which will stand you in better stead before your Maker?

 Thanks mom.

 On Earth, Midway is in the Pacific Ocean, and most of the other stuff they are exploring would be in the Atlantic. But this ain't Earth. Here they have the Wide Ocean and the Don't Even Bother Ocean, and stuff is wherever it needs to be.

 Luke still believed this, having learned it from the beautiful and much-trusted schoolteacher Mrs. Levitan in 3rd grade. One of the girls had asked why men talked with deep voices, and not wanting to be the one to teach a health class about puberty and physical changes and growing up, she had merely answered, "To make them sound important. Men always think they're important." Luke laughed now at the memory, of a bunch of important third grade girls and boys running around the playground for days afterwards, all trying to talk in deep voices.

 My own favorite unconsciousness story: Back in my days in the dorm, we decided it was a lovely February day, and why not play some full-contact football on the frozen ground? (I did mention we are all now the proud owners of University degrees, didn't I?) Can you see what's coming next? Coz I didn't. I missed a tackle against my man Raj S. (of 'If you don't like me, fight me' fame), and went headfirst into the ground. Witnesses said that I _bounced_. That can't be good. The next thing I knew, we were all kind of walking back towards the dorm, and I was saying, confused, "What happened, why did we quit? Did somebody get hurt?" Laughingly, _"Yeah, you, Hammer!"_

 Luke was sure Tom would forgive the digression, and would maybe have news from back on land: "How are the Iowa State Cyclones doing?" he asked impetuously _."Undefeated. They've run through their non-conference opponents. Even beat my beloved Chair Persons 17-16."_ Tom pouted. _"But all that'll change--they play Nebraska next weekend."_ Thinking Tom was just being partisan, Luke shot back proudly, "Oh, they'll beat them too, this time, I think." Tom ended that conversation on a sad note for Luke, reminding him: _"Hey, who's the prophet here?"_

 so long as one can find an excuse, right?

 With his violent past, Luke felt uncomfortable putting on a sword again. "Even if you don't plan to use it, you'll still want to have it," Bert assured him, "...like taking a handkerchief to a funeral." Luke cringed, wishing Bert hadn't said 'funeral'.

 Admiral: _"You named the vermin after me?!"_ Crew: "A tribute! A legacy!" (Check out the ABAB internal rhyme scheme by the way. Dis not called 'The crafty tale' for nut-ting.)

 "In the beginning, you follow God. In the middle, follow God. In the end, you follow God. Must I draw a map for you?"

 wisdom according to Phil A.: "I love bed. I tell my bed at home I love it, every day."

 it's cool what you can do when you feel weightless.

 Besides, what better place for a mountaintop experience than, um, the top of a mountain?

 _"My, the air is thin up here",_ Luke realized.

 It could be yet another coincidence, or it could be that, like keeping a single plan of salvation, God also kept the same universal pattern of shocking beauty... but she bears a striking resemblance to my fellow UWindsor alum, the lovely Mikki B--though 'my' Mikki's skin is dusky, not violet, and she looks better in green than in red. Actually, she's not even from outer space, either--though sometimes she acts like she might be. If she was, I would wamma be an astronaut.

 Um, actually, Luke had just added the qualifier coz he felt guilty giving other women compliments, after Jenny. Gotta be careful, see.

 Yes, that actually made her best-of list, by default. Small wonder that she never made a second trip to that ridiculous little world!

 eternal life vs. _'eternal destruction from the presence of the Lord'._ Serious? Um, kind of.

 Sure, of course this planet has Santana! Who could leave them out? 'cept here it isn't just a band, it's a whole Kingdom! (Who needs California anyway?)

 Luke hadn't met enough angels to know the proper form of address. 'Your Honor' isn't it. 'Your Grace' might do.

 like the Garth Brooks song, Friends in Low Places, except, as the hockey announcer said about Kirk Muller and Aaron Miller: "No relation coz the names are different."

 it should be obvious: **God's creatures obey God**. Occasionally God sends us help by them. Like Elian's dolphins. Or like the newspaper account I carried in my wallet for years, of the teenage girl being pursued by a bear: _"Now I'm not very religious or anything, but I said a little prayer. And for some reason, the bear stopped. And then it turned and walked away"._ Or like my own story: the one time in University I almost slept through a morning exam, was also the only morning I was ever awakened by the sound of birds. A seagull came right up to my open window, so close as to be deliberate, and let out a big squawk, as if to say, "Get up!" Talk about a wake-up call. What service! Bob Dutko, Detroit's Christian talk radio kingpin, tells another bird story: how one time while driving he asked God for a sign to show him which decision to make: he asked for a bird to poop on his windshield in a certain spot. And he says he could literally see it change course and swoop down to target him, just as he had asked! Um, I think I like my bird experience better! (Though I could be biased, cossoff that _other_ time, flushed with pride after a basketball victory, when God sent a bird to poop on my head...)

 Like Oscar Wilde said: "Laughter is the best beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one."

 Speaking of tainting special miracles, has anyone noticed how Hollywood likes to ascribe them to witchcraft? In The Craft a witch walks on water, in Practical Magic they raise the dead. Coincidence, or deliberate acts of blasphemy and deception? (They say everyone's good at something.)

 Husker linemen being the notable exception.

 _"Actually, not quite so cool anymore,"_ T.R.C.G. corrected Luke when he called him that. _"Ever since I put on a sweater."_

 so why hadn't this hat passed with the Chiefdom to his younger brother DavidGorki you may wonder? Uncomfortable with taking Luke's birthright, DavidGorki had boasted, _"When you're seven feet tall, you don't need a symbol of authority! Besides, I'm too high up for a hat: how would I get that thing way up here on my head?"_

 From 'Streets of America' by the KBC Band. How come _they_ never show up on VH1's shows about One-Hit-Wonders? Guess that song wasn't a big enough hit. Makes 'em a No-Hit-Wonder, then. And they can't take that away from ya! (taunts the unpublished author.)

 well, the p.p. of T.'s distinguished version, anyway. (Is that enough to protect me from lawsuits do ya think? Or only against lawsuits filed on the p.p. of T....)

 Maybe you thinkin', "All that from a piece of fudge?" Hey... It's pretty good fudge.

 Van Morrison: "Inarticulate speech, inarticulate speech of the heart."

 Right next to that cherished companion of environmentalists and nature lovers, Tree Weekly. ("How nice for us," Luke mused. "With all our exploits and adventures, we're still only one-fourth as interesting as a journal about wood.")

 When he found out her name, Luke couldn't help but remark, "Hey, you should meet my friend, Bertralamus J! I think he'd like you." _"But would I like him?"_ she wondered cautiously, and then they both laughed, while Luke acknowledged, "Good question."

 Does that expression have its roots in the Latin, or the South African? "Carpe DeBeers": Seize the beverages. The Bus to Nowhere was truly a multi-cultural event.

 One wants to be on one's guard against society giving us false choices: When they tell you to choose between Republicans and Democrats, vote for the Constitution Party. When UN shills tell you to choose between "internationalism and isolationism", ask at least for an international order that submits to God... and when Billy Joel says, "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints," you go ahead and feel free to _laugh with the saints_ , brothers and sisters!

 Luke smiled pleasantly at the quaint place names...until he passed a crossroad signpost pointing towards Gibsongehrig and Hernandezberra. Then he rolled his eyes, and suspected Bert's hand in this.

 Gulp.

 In that respect, a good church is like a good hockey team...except with less fistfights (oh, not counting those rowdy Catholics, of course.)

 " _The_ Benny Hane?" _"The same,"_ Hane said humbly.

 one does get inventive when one is overtired. (I wrote half the book that way.)

 do I ever get tired of talking about answered prayer? No, nor do I get tired of having them answered. This particular event in Luke's life reminds me of a story told by my brother's friend Mr. Jones, about a time when he was running away from home. "No word of a lie, Dave: two or three hundred cars must have passed me by, and no one would stop. Would you? There I was, long-haired teenager, heavy metal T-shirt, probably looked like I was on drugs... I don't blame them for driving on in safety. So finally, what else was there to do? I was desperate. I went into the bushes and prayed. And what do you think happened when I went back out to the road? The very first car, Dave. No word of a lie. The _very first car_ stopped for me. And it was a Christian man, who took me into his family until I was finally ready to call my Dad and go home. So yes, I believe in God, Dave."Amen. Me too. I'm still thankful for the Christians who stopped and did the same thing for me when _I_ ran away.

 Once after a long journey of my own, crashing with cousins, I observed: "'tired' is a hard word to say when you're this weary... and that one's even worse!" _"Why not just say 'ug'?"_ my cousin suggested. "Too tired to think of it," I told him, and went to bed.

 Actually, invisible, indivisible, and invincible.

 home of such legendary figures as Bob the Elf, Suzie the Sprite, Perelandra the Pixie (with a nod to Brother Lewis), and Francis the Fairy.

 Good thing they're holding their meeting in warm-weather Mexico. Coz, hey. Gotta have the sandals.

 Matthew 11:5-6. What? Am I going to put words into the mouth of our Lord? Like Bert forging his note, I wouldn't dare! True, one of my greatest pet peeves is Sci-Fi movies like 'Contact' and 'Stargate' where they finally meet the aliens and it's some kind of cop-out for lack of knowing what the universe really holds. But I _do_ know what the universe holds: or more accurately, He Who Holds the Universe--and Jesus' words, if you'll read them, are the furthest thing from a cop-out! On the contrary, they're better than anything that _anyone_ but God could imagine or make up. _'Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life._ ' So lissen up, pilgrim.

 Matthew 26:24, Luke 24:26

 Is it more presumptuous to know that one is saved, or to doubt that one is? St. Joan's words give God the glory: "If I am not in a state of grace, may God put me in one. If I am, may He keep me there."

 Luke 8:48

 (Don'tcha? Come awn naow, be nice.)

 Matthew 26:19-20

 True, I did say that Gepetto's kid was wearing a Detroit Lions T-shirt, back in chapter 9. But come on. Dat not professional football.

 'They' meaning the IRS.

 arrested development, anyone?

 as a child, she was sad because she was the only one of her siblings without a name of Praise: until she realized that Luna meant moon, and 'Like the moon, I reflect the Son's light', and Kalina meant flower, 'and like a flower, I grow in God's love'. After that she was happy and hit the drums extra hard.

 I'm doing my best too, by the way.

 and her uncanny ability to pick college football games against the spread.
