The Wandering Path

Content warning: grief, loss, death, child death

It was dark and humid, and she couldn’t see very far past the dim light of the fire. A circle of tree stumps sat around the fire. Lydia entered the circle, surprised at being the first to arrive at her post, and chose a seat at random. The warmth of the fire was comforting, but added to the sheen of sweat that gathered on her forehead. 

Her feet ached. She had been walking for miles. It always feels like miles, she thought to herself. She flipped her long, dark braid to her other shoulder, gathered up her skirts, and slipped off her roped sandals to massage her feet. She knew the discomfort would recede quickly, but she still liked to help it along. 

Her feet should be full of fine lines and veins that stand out under thin skin. She remembers the age spots that had covered her 85 year old face and body. But they are gone now. Replaced with a version of her skin that was somewhere around twenty-five to thirty years old. They had gotten to choose what age they’d preferred to look, and this had been Lydia’s choice. 

The darkness outside the small circle of light was looming, but she wasn’t afraid of it. She knew this darkness well, but also knew it wasn’t alive. It only seemed alive if you stared too long. It only consumed you if you didn’t have the Light with you, and she always carried the Light with her. 

She set down her burning torch, placing the burning tip into the fire to keep burning. It would burn continually, and she was a creature of habit. She glanced around at the paths, worn by being tread so often, by so many. They all headed in different directions. She was sure that if she chose one for herself, it would lead somewhere else. Onward. Home. For now, Lydia was content to be part of the circle, and glad to be off her aching feet.

A bouncing light came down one of the pathways, small, but powerful and far reaching. She squinted as the light bounced over her face, shielding her eyes. Despite his tall frame, his steps were nearly silent on the trail. Peter smiled knowingly at the sight of her putting her sandals back on. He’d felt the pain of long walks in the night, but didn’t seem to mind. His body healed quickly, too. He gracefully sat down onto the tree stump next to her, and clicked the button on his flashlight to turn it off. 

“Hello, old friend. You know, you don’t have to carry around the old torch anymore. Creator issued us modern light-carriers a while back,” he smiled, and gestured with his flashlight. 

“Greetings to you too, Peter. Yes, yes. I know about the fancy flashlights, but this feels more comfortable to me. Reminds me of home. I know you like to keep up with the times, and I admire that. I’m stuck in my ways, I suppose. Besides, the wanderers expect something cryptic and old fashioned like this, right?” She watched him as he brushed stray leaves off his thick denim pants and flannel shirt. He hit his hiking boot against the ground to shake off the excess mud that had gathered, first one, then the other.

“Not the new wanderers. They often expect nothing, actually. Most are shocked to even find me in their path,” Peter shrugged, “Gotta admit, sometimes it’s fun to set them straight. Some of them take a lot of convincing, but I always get them where they need to go.” 

Lydia sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities more acutely tonight. “Yes, I know you do, and I’m so grateful for that,” she said as she patted his shoulder. She glanced around at the other empty tree stumps. “Where are the other guides? I was doing some extra rounds, down some of the old paths, and I didn’t see anyone. Must be a busy night.” 

Peter’s eyebrows shot up, as he leaned in closer to Lydia, “The old paths? Oh friend, you know you don’t need to take all that work on yourself. Let some of the newbies look on the old paths for wanderers who have strayed. They need the experience, and some of them still need to get acquainted with the dark. Their eyes are open to the Light, but their resolve could use a bit of work.” 

Lydia let out a chuckle. It broke through the downward pressure that her sadness placed on her shoulders. It seemed to loosen something tight that had clenched in her chest. It turned into full blown laughter, which rolled on and on, past rationality. She felt some relief from the weight in her chest as she felt Peter’s hand rest on hers. His touch was gentle and brotherly. His eyes crinkled with joy as he shared in her laughter. Lydia wiped away the few tears that rolled down her cheeks, whether from laughter or grief, she did not know. 

“You know, I thought when I took this job that I would grow immune to all the stories of pain. I thought I’d hear the occasional sad story, but that most wanderers would remember the joy. But it seems like despair is all I hear about these days. Lives filled with war, loss, and abuse, that ended with even more trauma passed on to the next generation.” She sniffed, and wiped her nose on the linen sleeve of her simple dress. Her laughter was gone, now.

“Some don’t experience much joy in their lives, unfortunately.” Peter sighed, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. Lydia knew he didn’t like to focus on the darker aspects of human life, and much preferred to look toward the Light. Her own tendency to stare too long into the darkness was something that plagued her in her former life. It seems to have stuck with her in this life, as well. She found her eyes stuck to the fire, and nodded in agreement, not knowing what to say to that difficult truth. 

“There is a comfort you bring to those who meet you on the Wandering Path, Lydia. You see them, wholly and completely. Not as a compilation of painful experiences, or as some uncomfortable amalgamation of negative feelings that you need to fix. You see them as a whole person. The good, the bad, the ugly."

She shook her head slightly, but Peter just continued on.

"You see the Creator’s imprint on their heart, which no darkness can consume. Your ability to see them this way, and to lean in with compassion is a great strength. It helps you to guide them from the Wandering Path, and into the Light. But I know it can also be a great torment when their pain seems to burrow right into your skin and settle in your heart. I’ve felt it, too. You don’t need to bear this pain alone, friend.” 

He smiled kindly, grasped her small, unwrinkled hand in his own, and rubbed the back of her hand with his calloused thumb. She felt the callouses, indicative of the difficult life he had experienced in his own human life. Though their bodies were young and something more than human, now, some scars of life run too deep to fade. 

Lydia squeezed his hand in gratitude. She was grateful for Peter’s willingness to sit with her in her grief, allowing her to feel the burden of life and existence. She took a deep breath, and realized it had been a while since she’d done that. She closed her eyes, continuing her deep breaths and listening to the sound of the wild woods around her. 

A small whimper floated into their circle, and the two companions turned to look for the source of the sound. A small boy stood outside the tree line, a few feet behind the circle of tree stumps. His colorful hospital gown reached past his knees. Peter and Lydia exchanged a look, knowing they must shift gears to complete their duties. Each knew they must set down their own feelings, for now. They could come back to this conversation later. They had all the time in the world. 

Lydia bent to grab her torch, and felt Peter’s steadying hand under her arm as she straightened back up. She met his gaze, his eyes still crinkled in a joy that never faded, no matter how dark the Wandering Path got. 

“No more crying, friend. We're all dying here.” Peter whispered to her, his bemused smile reaching through the heaviness of her heart. She felt her own mouth lift at the edges, at Peter’s odd but comforting mantra. She’d heard him say it thousands of times, now. He was right, in a way. All humanity is in the path of death, just at different points. 

They walked over to the young boy, and Peter waved, searching the boy’s weary face to ensure they weren’t scaring him. 

“Where am I? Who are you?” the boy whispered. 

“You’re in-between, right now, but you are safe, dear child.” Lydia replied, as Peter took another step forward, and knelt down to get eye level with him. 

“I am Peter. This is Lydia. We were waiting for you. What’s your name, young wanderer?” Peter asked, his voice gentle. 

“P-Paul. My n-name is Paul. Where’s my mom? Is this the hospital garden?” A tear escaped his eye. He brushed it away, lip quivering as he looked around at the dark night sky and the overgrown wilderness around them.

Lydia took a deep breath to keep her emotions in check, as they threatened to overflow. Her heart ached. Another life cut short. Far too short. She kept smiling kindly at Paul, holding her torch up a bit higher to illuminate more of the area. 

Peter’s grin grew wide, “It’s such an honor to meet you, Paul. What a great name! You know, one of my very best friends is named Paul. Would you like to meet him? He’s just down this other path. I don’t think your mom is here yet, but we can go somewhere warm and wait for her. We could all walk together, if you’d like. Does that sound okay to you?” 

Paul looked from Lydia to Peter, seeing nothing but kindness and love in their faces, and nodded. Peter reached his hand out, palm up, and Paul took it, leaning in close to the tall man. 

“Want to carry the flashlight? It’s a big responsibility, but you seem like a trustworthy young man,” Peter asked, nudging his small shoulder with his elbow, playfully. Paul grinned and puffed his chest out, as excitement took over.

“Yes! I can do that. I know I’m short for my age, but I’ll be eight years old on my birthday next month,” he said and took the flashlight from Peter. The pale boy pointed it directly out in front of him, as they walked around the tree stumps and took a wide, well-worn path on the other side. 

Lydia followed behind them, raising her torch to help brighten the way before them. She knew Paul would never have that eighth birthday, and felt a pang of sadness for the family that he left behind. He was safe, here, though. His body was whole, and he would go to be with his Creator. All the children do. There are no more tears and no more sorrow in the Light.

Beside the grief in her aching heart bloomed this small pocket of gratitude. She remembered why she volunteered for this role. She could have chosen to stay in the Light, removed from feeling the sorrow and despair of humanity. And yet, despite the darkness surrounding them in the Wandering Path, just for this moment, her thankfulness couldn't be overcome by sorrow.

She was truly thankful that she and Peter got to walk with the small child down the Wandering Path. Comforting him. Hearing his story. Letting him know that he is loved, and that a great, unending joy awaits him in the Light. 

It wasn’t Peter’s certainty that gave her the strength to continue walking the Wandering Path, though. It was how clearly he saw Lydia, even in the times where she felt overwhelmed by her own darkness. Being seen and being loved had the power to lift her up off of that tree stump, and given her the strength to put one foot in front of the other down the Wandering Path.

She knew it had the power to lift up others, as well. Peter had an unyielding and contagious faith that the Light was more powerful than the darkness. That it would eventually overcome the darkness altogether, and blot it out. She took another step, and another, still following behind the pair in front of her, who were becoming fast friends.

Every life is a story, and every story matters, no matter how brief, she thought to herself. Paul was sweeping the flashlight around him, as they walked. As the flashlight and Lydia's torch illuminated the dark path on either side of them, they saw beautiful blooming fields of flowers, green tall trees, and heard the sound of a quiet stream of water nearby. Paul let out peals of laughter and had a pure, joyful wonder in his voice. He marveled at what he saw, and Lydia knew that this time with Paul was a healing balm that she would never forget.

She whispered a prayer of thanks for the difficult blessing of being able to carry the Light into the darkness. The tension was still there for her, and she knew it always would be. Seeing darkness and death up close felt so wrong, because she, like all of humanity, wasn't created for death, but for life.

She knew that trying to carry the weight of darkness for all humanity was too big a weight to bear, but she could help Paul. And the next wanderer, and the next. She would focus on illuminating the darkness, one wanderer at a time, until they can all see the Light for themselves.